Arrival at Ceuta at 11.30. And here we were in AFRICA -- at last (but still in Spain). We found our way up the road to Monte Hacho, and to a convenient if unconventional camp site on a shelf halfway up the cliff just below a layby beside the road with the beam from the lighthouse revolving slowly above us. Bed at midnight.

Oct 20.

I am writing this in the evening under the awning with light rain falling, in a sparsely vegetated river valley in the wild and unknown hills of the Rif Atlas of Morocco. Halfway between Tetouan and Ouezzane.

Sudden entry into the Arab world has jolted us into the realization that this is where our journey really begins. All Africa lies beyond with no more necessity, we hope, of public transport. Rain marred the day somewhat, with breakfast eaten in tents. Shopping in Ceuta was interesting; our first experience of being among crowds in Arab dress. In the market poultry was being bought alive before being killed and plucked behind the counter while you wait. We bought fish (dead). Ceuta no cheaper than Spain proper, except for petrol. Finished our last peseta on 102 litres for 182 pesetas, a little over half the cost in European Spain.

So to the border, two miles out of town. Less than half an hour there, and no trouble. But, as Peter points out, our Moroccan flag was wrong; we had a green star on a red background, but the star should be black (We had made hardboard flags of all our African countries to display one by one in a holder above the Union Jack on the driver's door). Foreign currency no longer has to be declared, but still illegal to import dirhams. So we carried on non-stop to Tetouan to reach a bank before lunchtime, and cashed a cheque at 10 dirhams to the pound. Warm sunshine here. Arab bustling atmosphere more marked than in Ceuta. 'Bible' scenes greet us all along the road. First camels sighted. Donkeys support vast loads or carry flowing-robed old ladies or djellabahed, fezzed old men; younger women always walk behind. Sackcloth djellabahs (usually plain brown or striped) are worn by men and boys of all ages. But many children are more European in style. Ramadan is upon us. Restaurants closed till 6pm every day, but food shops seem to be open, so the effect on us should be slight.

On into the hills. Too hastily as it turned out, as our lunch stop was curtailed by rain. We were visited by a young boy trying to sell 'strawberry tree fruit' (arbutus) in little baskets. Very pretty but we did not consider they were for eating. Offered him a chocolate in the hope of being allowed to photograph him, but he gave it back. However, when the camera was put away he immediately accepted the chocolate Through more heavy rain all afternoon until finding this site at 4.15 near Chechaouen, then dry for pitching camp and having supper. Found that we had stopped just above a well of good-looking water, and below the well a vegetable 'garden' of miserable tomatoes and maize, fig trees and beans. The gardener passed by while I was cracking almonds for supper. He spoke Spanish, not surprisingly, I suppose. We had previously had our water container filled at a roadside well by a bar where Spanish was spoken; the first of many fillings at wells, we assume.

Packs of wild dogs were heard baying in the hills at dusk. Marion and I sleep under the awning with no tent. 80 miles today to this 'Rif Atlas' home.

Oct 21.

Sun again all day. Soon after starting we overtook numerous donkeys and people trudging along the road, and gradually more and more, and strings of people coming across the fields to join the road and all heading the same way. We realized there must be a market ahead which might be worthy of a visit. There was. We had to cross a narrow footbridge in company with the loaded donkeys to reach it -- no village, just the market place in the middle of nowhere. But marked on the map as 'Es Sebt' (in other words 'the seven' or 'the weekly' hebdominal market). There were stalls selling an interesting range of colourful spices set out on basket trays, secondhand clothes, gumboots and Moroccan slippers, pottery, torch batteries, pannier baskets and livestock -- hens, donkeys, cows. No camels. We managed to buy three eggs (in Arabic) so that I could take a photo of the transaction. Most people objected to photos, but I used the telephoto lens to good advantage from the roadside and vehicle.

More normal shopping in Ouezzane, including 'shbaki', a sticky syrup-covered crisp rolled up pancake which we had for lunch. (A perennial delight of Morocco and northern Algeria.) An afternoon of solid driving for 76 miles in 2 1/4 hours to Fes along good but narrow straight roads via Ain Delafi, having been warned that the signposted road was 'kaput' (and longer anyway). In Fes we patronised another official campsite, a great improvement on Granada with plenty of open space, a pleasant number of trees, and running water. Many British and other expedition-equipped vehicles, including a Transit Travel bus with trailer (from Kensington High Street), and about twenty tents. A German party of three with a Borgward wireless truck looked the best equipped. On the boat to Ceuta we had met another German party in a Chevrolet truck, also very efficient-looking and luxuriously appointed inside.

In the evening we left the children (the camp had military guards on duty), and Marion, Bo and I went into Fes new town to sample the mint tea and cakes in a cafe, and to buy plastic pants for Timothy. Met a couple of students very interested to hear all about life in England. We later discovered that mint tea was half the price in the camp site. 112 miles today.

Oct 22. Sunday.

A whole day of Fes (after a few hymns after breakfast accompanied by Marion on the Melodica, and much clothes washing and showering in the running water).

In the town we found a car park near the old walls, and, resisting the importunities of many potential guides eager to lead us by the hand, we wandered along a street of tiny shops and 'hole-in-the-wall' establishments of various sorts. Part of the street had a roof of matting which created intriguing patterns of light and shade as people moved along. Incongruous to see the occasional car or taxi trying to move through this 'arcade'. We soon realised that this was not the Medina, the old city for which we were looking. This was the Jews' market. So in the end we did enlist the aid of one of the enthusiastic helpers, a pleasant English speaking student.

He took us through the gardens of the former Royal Palace (flowers, paved courtyards and dirty water), round the outside of a long length of old wall, and finally into the Medina itself. A fascinating place. Eerie. Almost unimaginably tiny streets. and alleyways with little shops and workshops, steps and arches, water troughs, and crowds of bustling humanity. Loaded donkeys as wide as the streets. Cedarwood, leather, peppers and spices. Beggars. We were led round so many corners that we were soon completely lost. 'Vol confiance' we heard from a group of youths that passed by; we wondered; we could easily have been abandoned, lost, in some dark alley, and had to use the sun to find our way out; if we could have seen the sun; it would never reach many of the streets. And here was our guide racing ahead holding Jennifer by the hand and disappearing round the next corner.

However all was well, except that he showed us far more than could be assimilated all at once. Part of another palace kept as a tourist attraction, an extraordinary contrast to the street outside. Spacious, with brass doors, tiled floors and alcoves in use as a restaurant with lavishly upholstered seats and low tables. Then a shop in which all the children were persuaded to try on djellabahs -- they would be most useful garments for the desert. We were pressed to buy the thicker more expensive ones at a bargain price, but the cheap ones were unable to be reduced for us. In this same shop were brass trays having intricate patterns beaten on with hammer and chisel. When we bought nothing we sensed disappointment all round; it was not merely chance that we had visited that particular establishment, we thought. Outside another shop a woodworker was using a lathe with a cord in one hand, his other hand and foot operating the tool. After a wealth of interesting sights, we concluded with successful bargaining over our guide's fee, paying him 5 dirhams (50p) in the end. "When we got out the sun seemed so bright it was difficult to look at anything," says Peter.

Lunch was eaten at 2 o'clock on a hillside overlooking the old town, and the rest of the day back at the campsite. With schoolwork.

Oct 23.

Having discovered (only now) that Moroccan time is an hour different from European, we found that we could not have breakfast in the camp restaurant as hoped, nor leave until the office was manned. So in future we will be getting up at 6am (sunrise), stopping for the day at 3.30 and going to bed at 9, as our more or less standard times.

Back again to the Medina ("as Daddy called it. I called it the old town of Fes"). This time, on our own, we could control our movements and enjoy it, making sure not to get lost. Bought a new bag for my camera, mint to make mint tea, three pencils, small wallets for presents and two loaves of hot bread (khabs). Marion got talking to a chap who offered to take us to the tannery (no fee; he merely wanted to practise his English), which he and a friend duly did, and also the dyeing souk. Jennifer very glad of our bouquet of mint to hold to her nose while watching the raw skins being lugged around the tannery and dipped into the many-coloured dyeing vats. We were taken to an aerial viewpoint on a broken wall to see all this. Then to the weaving looms where rugs were being made.

Other craftsmen in action were doing wrought ironwork, applying gold leaf to leather, making sieves, making clothes and shoes, and baking. We looked into a window of a Koran school, very dark, with young boys sitting on the floor busily reciting. All around were heavily laden mules and donkeys, men and women in Moroccan and European dress, children with rickets and tattered clothes, and shops selling television sets nestling amongst the more traditional stalls. Our friendly guides asked only for a copy of a photo I took of them. So goodbye to friendly Fes.

Lunch a little way out of town on the road to Azrou, then across the Plain de Sais and a climb into the Middle Atlas. Glorious scenery of rocky and vegetated hills and little streams of clear water, coming soon to the cedar forests. Took the Mischliffen road from Ifrane and camped early in a delightful little shallow grassy valley between spurs of hill clothed with scented cedar and holm oak. The contrast between this and the street of the tanners could not be more complete. A perfect spot but decidedly colder. Just 50 miles from Fes.

Oct 24.

Up at 6 o'clock, 8.30 start from 'Cedar Valley'. Through the plateau country between the Middle and High Atlas. Berber villages of mud huts, and settlements of black nomad tents. Arid country. Maize the chief crop.

Midelt was the largest town en route, Stopped for petrol, and a larger crowd than usual collected to witness such an interesting sight. In one village we tried to photograph a family outside their house. They demanded a dirham for a photo. I had difficulty in posing them but when it came to giving them the dirham they just grabbed. Marion gave it to one of the women (to her surprise) and all the boys crowded round and followed us back to the van demanding more, so we distributed a few cigarettes and drove off apace.

High Atlas. Very heavy storm on the highest point of the road at 6000ft; Bo had to stop driving for a few minutes as the windscreen wipers could not cope. This end of the High Atlas, limestone with several caves visible, is not so high as the Middle Atlas, but the descent to the plateau again and a flat road to Rich were succeeded by the Gorges du Ziz which made up for the not so spectacular mountains. Red sandstone country with the River Ziz flowing between cliffs; most of the gorge has villages and a flourishing 'palmerie' down the middle with the arid red cliffs rising a little way away on each side. Too much habitation made finding a camp site difficult, so after the gorge we cooked supper in a sort of layby and eventually camped in the middle of stony desert down a rough track at the head of a lake where we met undesirable insect life again (mosquitoes). Two tents in a streambed and one on the stony road. All this bright red country must look fantastic in a good sunset. Must go back to the gorge tomorrow. 150 miles today to this 'Lakeside Desert'.

Losses to date: one bear, one pressure cooker gauge, one hand brush, several tent pegs, one penknife. Nothing stolen. Not bad, specially as Jennifer and Timothy tend to take things to their nightly 'houses' and toys get scattered round the countryside. Amazing that no little cars or lorries lost yet.

This morning I took a photo of a graveyard. Each grave had a vertical stone (any old stone) at each end and most had an upturned bowl or plastic pot at the head end. We passed several old forts and most villages included a mud-walled fort-like square building all blending in well with the predominately brown landscape.

Oct 25.

A most interesting morning. While Marion went fishing in the lake, the rest of us went back to the Gorges du Ziz. In the village of Ifri we met a Berber boy who was keen to show us round and told us many interesting things about his life there. He wanted to have photos of all his family whom we found stripping corn cobs outside their house, on condition that we send him one later. He then took us into his house and showed us the donkey enclosure, the cowshed, the sheep shed, a rabbit yard (with one rabbit), a yard with charcoal fire and a carbide handlamp hanging on the wall, and took us up on to the roof where there were pigeons. All this was within the main four walls of the house. Walls of mud and straw, the roof being wooden beams crossed by bamboo and overlaid with the same mud and straw mixture. We also saw into the living and sleeping room with blankets piled up. Only one window looked out to the outside world. He also wanted our address so that his brother (I think) could write to us in English. We bought our first dates from his neighbour and he picked a pomegranate for us from a tree. we did not buy calcite crystals, stalagmite or galena being offered by other boys, but Peter was given a lump of crystal. Once again we were impressed that he did not demand money; we gave him cigarettes, and chocolates to his younger sisters. the women had colourful kaftans and the girls had safety pins through their ears. The morning's language was French; the village has two schools, French and Arabic, and almost all the younger people seem to speak French. Peter wrote "The mosque you would not know was a mosque because it looked the same and just had 'Mosque' written on it."

Back again to join Marion who had had a fishless morning. But she had risen several and lost one small one using various flies. After lunch we walked to a ruined village spectacularly and strongly situated on a rocky spur steeply overlooking two valleys. We met one man nearby who told us that it had been abandoned at least 20 years ago, long before the dam had been built farther down.. We found some old clay oil lamps in amongst the ruined walls, and other sherds and bones.

On to Ksar-es-Souk, the capital of the province, only ten miles further on. Approached by a wide dual carriageway in the middle of the desert with an impressive line of street lights down the centre. A scattered town (plenty of room for it) unlike the close confinement of the villages or of Fes. Many soldiers and barracks (not far from the border here).

Preparations here for 180 miles of semi-desert country between here and Bou Arfa. We filled up with 140 litres of petrol in tank and jerricans on roof, and ran out of petrol coupons. Had some soldering done on the petrol stove; all other jobs dropped in order to get it done immediately; no charge. We had a restaurant meal sitting outside in a large square -- salad, mansaf (stew with potato and tomato, but not cooked in buttermilk (thankfully) as it should be), grapes and coffee, all for 3 dirhams 50 francs (35 pence). Not bad. We then retraced our tracks for a few miles to camp well beyond the last habitation out of sight of the main road, hidden behind a fenced mound ( perhaps a reservoir). Nevertheless within ten minutes we had a visitor asking for bread; we gave him a little and hoped he was the last. One of our less successful sites.

Oct 26.

Peter and I have just been playing football with a Berber goatherd on our first evening in the semi-desert; that is to say, tufts of rough grass and thorn bushes and fairly frequent palmeries, 20 miles east of Bou Denib. This 14 year old boy approached us soon after we stopped, eager for conversation and contact with strangers; after much interesting chat (in French) he noticed the football in the van and his eyes lit up. "Bal", he said, "a jouer ?" He was obviously delighted at such an opportunity.

Each day seems to be more interesting than the last and there is far too much to write about and remember. In Ksar-es-Souk this morning we met a British party of three in an Austin K9, who had had a good desert tour as far as Reggane on the Tanezrouft route, crossing the Algerian border at Figuig (a sometimes 'difficult' crossing place, we had been told). Exchange of useful information, but they would not sell us any jerricans (leaks in two of ours). Left at 10.30 after a long wait in bank.

Short drive to the 'Source Bleue de Meski'. Greeted here, in fact almost ordered to stop, by an enthusiastic elderly Arab tourist hunter and avid collector of souvenirs. He put us through what is obviously his standard tourist routine but nevertheless we thought it all worth while. First along an irrigation channel with frogs, fish and waterweed, through palm trees to a spring in a pool (more or less blue), then through his 'garden', with date-laden palms, broad beans, tomatoes, lucerne and cabbagy things but most of the land ploughed, to the river (Ziz) where a fisherman was trying to net fish and then, in the van, to his house in the village. Here we saw his sheep and two lambs (lambing twice a year), and his three daughters. He gave us mint tea and dates with elaborate ceremony, having to heat the water on a charcoal burner as his gas had run out. A super drink but oversweet. He himself could not drink too, as it was still Ramadan. We sat round on mats as in all the best tourist pictures, and he gave us 'presents' of a branch of dates and a small rush tray. Peter notes that Jennifer and Timothy did not like the tea nor the dates. Finally, the object of all this hospitality, we could not leave without giving him presents in return: an old pullover of mine, a London bus from the 'cars and lorries' box, three dirhams for his children and a little petrol for his Mobylette. The street where he lived was about two feet wider than our 'Explorer', but other traffic was nil .

An unfortunate incident on emerging from the village; the engine petered out and the fault had to be found while all the village children still clamoured round. Clogged petrol filter; should have been done at the Algeciras stop. We hope this accounts for the slight unevenness of running of the last few days.

So on east to Bou Denib and then the open desert with a tarmac road for the first 15 miles. Then our first taste of a stony corrugated desert road which will now be with us for 80 miles, we expect, nearly to Bou Arfa.

Our goatherd reappeared after supper bearing a bucket of dates even though we had assured him that we were already well stocked. We gave him his first ever mug of English tea, and think he enjoyed it.

A definite feeling now of being in the desert. We called this camp site 'Semi-desert with goatherd'. 77 miles from Ksar-es-Souk.

Oct 27.

First completely sunny day for some time, but by no means too hot with a breeze all day. More football straight after breakfast. Our friend and Peter had a good game. Then he took us on a conducted tour of his oasis; a section of dry river bed with a spring that provided permanent water for the animals; there was also a 7 metre deep well with a hand pump for irrigation and drinking; in the river bed grew tamarisk, small palms, bamboo and a large shrub with pink flowers. The family had been there for two years and were obviously very industrious; they had created a plantation of young olives, apples, almonds, peaches and palms. Each tree was surrounded by a fence of leafy twigs for wind protection, and water had to be carried to them every four or five days. Forty goats, a cow and calf, a few hens, two dogs and the family of six completed the domestic scene. And all this within 200 yards of our camp which we thought was surrounded by open desert. Back in camp, a nomad boy was chasing a kid in and out of our tents and finally cornered it in the children's tent. A pair of pliers left on the bonnet was never seen again -- a mistake. Previously a nomad man had wandered by; he and our friend of the oasis had had nothing to say to each other -- a class society.

10am. Set off again on our desert crossing. A straight road following a line of telegraph posts, with several deviations; we always kept to the most recently used track. Very wide in places, and sometimes a narrow rutted dried mud track dipping into dry stream beds. Loose sand in patches. At one time we made the mistake of following the posts instead of the proper road and met a barrier of low dunes. One real ford where the road had been washed away and a rough causeway made; loose boulders and about 18" deep; first gear but not four-wheel drive; a steepish short climb out with numerous children hanging on the back, as this was the approach to the village of Bouarnane. A strange place with a vast square in which the Bou Arfa to Ksar-es-Souk bus was waiting; this seemed to be the event of the day (or the week) as everyone had turned out to see it. It is difficult to imagine one of Whittle's coaches on this road.

During a lunch stop we were passed by a large road grader. On all this 80 mile section we saw about four lorries, two cars and a motorcycle. We think we may have had lunch in Algeria, so close were we to the border. Country very flat with distant hills, difficult to tell how far away, floating above the horizon at times. The approach to Bou Arfa was by 25 miles of dull tarmac road again; we had enjoyed our jolt through the desert. Many more inquisitive children enveloped us here.

We camped a few miles out at the foot of a ridge of pink hills near a manganese and copper mining village (with a railway to it), and in an abandoned nomads' camp dotted with their tent sites and fireplaces. 101 miles.

Oct 28.

Bo and I went for a walk up a pink rocky ridge. Good walking weather; sun and cool wind. Climbed about 1000ft. Good views of deserts mottled with sunshine and shadow. Marion did the washing today, and supervised schoolwork. She noticed a passing Arab making off with one of our water cans that had fallen off the roof only 50 yards away, and managed to retrieve it. Greasing of all springs, steering and track rods.

We left at 11.0 after coffee and dates for elevenses. Dullest driving day yet; good straight flat tarmac due north over the desert. Accompanied by a railway all the way but did not see the one daily goods train. Bought fresh bread for lunch at Tendrara, and a celery-like vegetable that we had to throw away after cooking -- taste too unpleasantly bitter. "Lunch right beside the road, a thing daddy would hardly ever want to do." Many nomad tents en route, camels, sheep and goats; but what did they all eat in this flat, flat country of unappetising coarse tufted grass and bare stony soil ? The animals must surely be increasing the soil's aridity. By 4pm we had reached a range of hills (the eastern extension of the Middle Atlas) and the outlook got more interesting again. Found a pleasant hillside for camping. A bit greener here.

This was the end of our southerly deviation, the object of which was to give ourselves a test of desert conditions before attempting 'Le Grand Sud' of Algeria and the Sahara. We were now nearly back on the direct Ceuta to Algiers road.

129 miles today to this 'Col de Jerada' camp site. Four weeks today since leaving England.

Oct 29.Sunday.

Cold morning. Marion went for a hill walk before breakfast and the rest of us ran races. Hot cloudless day later. To Oujda where we finished our last dirhams on petrol and shbaki. Lunch in a colourful field of red peppers.

So to the border and ALGERIA.

About an hour of formalities. Documents checked but the vehicle not looked at. Entry forms, money declaration and a form to get petrol coupons. Had to buy insurance, in spite of already having a green card. Expensive: 89 dinars (9 pounds). Lucky that we had some dinars with us. Illegal, we were told, but our explanation that we had been told that we were allowed 50 dinars each was accepted. We certainly could not have cashed a cheque there on a Sunday.

Up into hills, the Monts de Tlemcen, part of the Tel Atlas. Good twisty roads to camp on a rocky scrubby flat hill top with sheep and young shepherds who couldn't tear themselves away from our pitching camp and cooking operations (couscous). A few more signs of prosperity than Morocco, with tractors and cows, vines and orchards, and forested hills.

Sorry to say goodbye to Morocco. Hope not for ever.

Oct 30.

More 'help' from little shepherds and shepherdesses as we packed up camp. They looked enviously at all our breakfast cutlery: 'beaucoup', they muttered. Peter had a slight temperature.

We soon found ourselves passing through ancient walls dominated by a huge minaret. We stopped to investigate; discovered that this is Mansourah and one of the famous sights of Algeria. It had been a large city of which nothing is now left except the walls enclosing a vast area of olives and poor pasture, and the minaret of the 13th century mosque. All in reddish brown stone.

Then Tlemcen. Large town with interesting street market. A bank for money and petrol coupons. We are allowed 400 dinars worth (about 400 litres) per fortnight for which we pay 240 dinars. More twisty roads up again accompanied by the railway; had an impressive view of a train crossing a high viaduct above a gorge with waterfalls. Stopped for lunch by a level crossing to see more trains, at Timothy's request -- but we didn't.

On through Sidi Bel Abbes, and camped on a hilltop on the road to Mascara. Drove up a rough lopsided track to a ruined building with three donkeys tethered nearby. Impressed by the good use made of the land; extensive vineyards, a large acreage of newly planted fruit trees, much improved pasture rather than the tussocky grass of Morocco. We stopped at 3.30, rather earlier than usual and were able to have supper in the sun. "What nice places we find to camp", remarked Marion.

But Jennifer was sick before supper, having had slight stomach pains for the past few days. Peter now quite recovered.

92 miles today to this 'Longitude 0' camp site.

Oct 31.

Early start. 8am. We were aiming to reach the sea today. Shopping stop at Ighil Izane (Relizane in French). Fruit and veg cheap but meat very expensive. Our today's fare, a scrawny chicken, cost about a pound. Not much to have on bread for lunches, no pates or cooked meats as in France or Spain, but found some cheese today. Our lunch stop was interesting, specially for the young. By a river, across which a dragline was operating, scooping sand from our side and lifting it to the top of a hopper on a cliff on the other side. The hopper was at the top of a concrete-making plant, making sections of irrigation channels which were piled all round it. We sat enthralled on the sand amongst plants with long thin trumpet-shaped yellow flowers, and enjoying a bottle of Harrach wine, an Algerian speciality; and grapes. We drove alongside miles of these irrigation channels, diameters varying from 5 feet to1 foot.

We were then on the main Oran to Algiers road (with traffic) for 50 miles, before turning off in El Asnam to cross the coastal range of hills and drop down steeply to the sea through a gorge to Tenes, a small port. The hills were right down to the sea except at the town itself, so we continued eastwards towards Cherchell, climbing slightly inland, and camped among Corsican pines with just a glimpse of the sea. We picked strawberry tree fruit and found them a bit dull to eat.

Jennifer had been better today, but more complaints after a rather too large chicken supper; we had our chicken with carrots, potato and onion, and beetroot with white sauce, followed by melon. Rather a good meal, the rest of us thought. Cloudy afternoon, the first for several days.

More starting trouble with the van. Considering trying the spare fuel pump. The starter motor seems well able to cope. Amusement from the Michelin map: we passed an aerial ropeway, the sign for which being in French 'teleferique aerien industriel'. This rendered in English as 'commercial airline' !!!

November 1.

Rain in early morning, breakfast under the awning, and cloudy all day. A pity, because we spent the day on the most scenic road we have yet found. Twisting along a rocky coastline sometimes high on the cliff, sometimes down by the sea. We stopped to identify cormorants on a rock and saw a seal swallowing a large fish, Took one photo of the coast, to be labelled 'above Combe Martin', so reminiscent was it of the N. Devon coast and the Hangman Hill in particular.

Lunch at a delightful abandoned commercial camp site by the sea. We think this was one recommended by Col. Francis as a 'must', which we were expecting to be nearer Cherchell. When we did reach Cherchell we found no camp site there, so we were lucky to find a place by a house at the edge of a vineyard right by the sea where we were invited to stay for a month if we liked. We did like -- for a three night 'holiday' anyway. On arrival we had tea on the rocks in the gathering dusk with the Cherchell lighthouse winking at us over the point. More rain in the evening At our lunch stop we had had sardines we had just bought from the roadside in the village. We also played 'kick the can' and saw a fisherman land a large skate; it had a sinuous horizontal fin all round with which it was tortuously trying to escape and its poison-stinged tail furiously lashing about; he pinioned the tail with a two-pronged bamboo, cut it off and threw it back into the sea. He had also caught a dogfish using sardines as bait. It was some sort of holiday today but we found shops open in the few villages we passed.

Just 64 miles today to our 'seaside holiday camp'.

Nov 2.

An unpleasant day. Into Algiers to renew visas for Chad and to collect mail from the extraordinary post office that could well be mistaken for an icing sugar palace. But the city was altogether too big for us to cope with -- like London. We left Marion there for the night because the visas would not be ready till tomorrow. The rest of us had an omelette in a restaurant on the way 'home'.

Our camp site has proved to be a 'Cooperative Agricole', with at least two families living in the house. It has a vineyard and market garden and sheep that come in each evening.

Marion's lonely night: "Found a cheap hotel in a backstreet near a quiet thoroughfare. Was guided to a bus depot to find out about bus back to Cherchell, and managed to get rid of my guide. Had a 7 dinar meal and then found that my quiet thoroughfare had become a very busy street with masses of cars flowing along and much humanity. Returned to the hotel for some Agatha Christie and a hardish bed. (Eau courdite = dripping tap)."

Nov 3.

Marion continues: "Had breakfast at a brasserie -- croissants and coffee. Walked to the French Consulate. Had to wait 2 1/2 hours for the consul to return and sign the papers. As the next bus was not till 3pm, wandered round the old town near the port, with souk, and bought one or two things for lunch; one was a crepe with onion and ham, salt and black pepper, and a fresh egg, folded into a neat packet and fried in deep fat and eaten hot -- delicious. Caught the bus with difficulty. I was one of the last of the 50 or so standing passengers and stood for most of the 1 3/4 hour journey. I can see why Algerian buses stay in business when English ones fail. Many people were not allowed on, so I suppose they waited for the next which might be just as full. Returned to camp to find supper cooking, the rest of the family having had a day on the beach, except for Seaton who spent the morning with a mechanic investigating the vehicle."

Yes, part of the morning. At a garage in Cherchell, a mechanic and I decided that our starting problem must have been cured by my draining the petrol tank recently; the fuel pump seems OK anyway. He also soldered three jerricans for me. I was back for a swim in the sea before lunch; such a cooling swim on a hot day was something I had been looking forward to for a long time. A 'bath' in our paddling pool in the afternoon was followed by another swim. Peter:- "Jennifer, Timothy and I made a Fri because it was Friday. We made our Fri out of seaweed. We picked it from water about 1 foot deep. While Bo was swimming she put her hand on a sea urchin."

Marion was back at 5.30 after her wearing day, pleased to find a sardine supper nearly ready. We live on fish now, being far far cheaper (specially sardines) than meat.

All our toy cars disappeared during the day. After complaining to the head of the establishment, they came back in batches during the evening, having been 'found' by his children. "We got 23 out of 27 back", says Peter. We were also presented with some tomatoes from the estate. Grapes have been harvested.

Our camp is just by a rather grand farmhouse flanked by palm trees on a rocky promontory jutting into the sea. We are by a little path leading down on to the rocks along which one can scramble to the beach 50 yards away. Perfect, except for the excess of rusty barbed wire around, left over perhaps from the Algerian liberation war.

Nov 4.

A maintenance morning, topping up oil, greasing, changing wheels front to back (back tyres getting more worn). Schoolwork for the children. A short trip into Cherchell for Marion and me, to get help with loosening some of the wheel nuts. Time for another swim for us all before lunch. "On the beach our Fri had dried up so we dipped it all in water... Daddy took a photo of the family in the sea with Timothy in the foreground playing in a pool. Nothing had disappeared from the camp this time." Cooler in afternoon. Less swimming. Some of us had slight colds. Letter writing in evening. A little thunder heard.

Nov 5. Sunday.

We all went to the museum in Cherchell to see the Roman remains. "But we did not see any at all," says Peter. Not strictly accurate. We did see various bits and pieces, and some of us were impressed with the mosaics, their colours and completeness, and with the number of statues. But the main relics of the Roman town of Caesarea were elsewhere; we got hold of a map and left further exploration till tomorrow.

Back at camp, we were invited to pick more tomatoes and had lunch on the beach. No one bathed. Sun and strong wind.

The evening brought the day's chief event of this November 5th, a bonfire on the beach. A good blaze of bamboos, and we each had a sparkler brought with us specially for the occasion. It all aroused no interest, rather surprisingly, from the local population.

Several strange insects found here. One like a caddis fly lava crawling round covered with little bits of dead stalks. Another like an elegant grasshopper, green and well camouflaged in the grass. Also a 3 inch long brown stick insect on brown dead stalks. The many grasshoppers take flight as they jump showing bright coloured wings, blue, red and yellow, each place we stop at having its own characteristic colouring.

I have forgotten so far to mention the odd story of the paraffin coffee I made about two weeks ago. I filled the kettle with paraffin, boiled it and poured it on the coffee in the mugs. The coffee congealed into a nasty sticky mass. Mystified, I appealed to Marion for a scientific explanation. She, of course, merely detected the smell. So obvious. Why I had not done so seems incredible, but there was a bit of smell I suppose from the paraffin stove itself. And the paraffin container was exactly the same as the water one. Since then they have been different ! But the mugs have only now ceased to taste of my indiscretion.

Nov 6.

This time we did find the Roman city of Caesarea. Theatre, bath house and amphitheatre. "It had a lot of schoolboys in it, It was a proper ruin." Lovely tessellated floors in the bath house. Interesting but not well presented to the casual tourist. Unkempt. No Ministry of Works gravel paths or mown turf. Nevertheless I returned in the afternoon on my own to the 'Park of Mosaics'. One large floor still in its original position and others relaid. Some excellent. In particular, one I photographed of wild animals included a lion attacking a horse and a leopard attacking a bull. In one corner of the park were several orange trees with the fruit left to fall off. This seemed so sad that I asked if I could have some, and was given a large bag and a small boy to help, and came away with a good haul. Delicious for tea to accompany special cakes concocted by Marion and Bo from limited resources: raisin pancakes by Bo and chocolate nuggets (deep fried) by Marion. Judged a great success but baking powder might have been helpful.

Our last day by the sea for many months we expect. And the last sea bathing. We have been invited to come back next year by our farmer 'hosts'.

Nov 7.

End of Ramadan holiday. Every one appeared in best clothes (European style for our hosts). We were presented with a plateful of Ramadan cakes of various sorts, bread and dates; we had just finished breakfast when these appeared, but they greatly enhanced our lunch later. I then went to pick tomatoes with the farm manager from a greenhouse, and we left with what must have been about 30lb.on board, some of them green for future use. We said goodbye to Mohammed Bechi of Boumaza Amar, and headed south. We were again invited to return next year.

So, a significant day in our travels. 'Le Grand Sud' lies ahead.

30 miles to Blida where we joined the N1, the main south road from Algiers to Tamanrasset. Up the Chiffa Gorge of great scenic interest. We stopped at the Ruisseau des Singes, a wooded valley where wild monkeys are said to live. We saw none but met a friendly camel; our first close contact with one of these. We fed it on fig leaves. In the menagerie by the restaurant and gift shop we did see two monkeys, also gazelle and jerboas.

Through Medea and Berrouaghia the towns and villages were in holiday mood, cafes open in daylight for the first time for a month with tables outside all occupied by men; many girls with red-stained palms.

Near Ksar el Boukhari we camped in the shelter of a railway embankment, sheltered, that is, from the sight and sound of the road. We had been following the railway from Blida winding in and out of tunnels through the Chiffa Gorge. We had seen one four-coach passenger train, and a goods train passed our camp at supper time heading for Djelfa. Djelfa, 100 miles further on, is the end of the line, the end of a one time trans-Sahara railway dream. Our own dream was still intact.

Nov 8.

7am start. We wanted to complete the 175 miles to Laghouat today. A complete waste of effort; we never made it. After an interesting flat run across the semi-desert Plateau of the Shotts, we nearly reached Djelfa. Ran out of petrol, refilled from a can. Restarting difficult, but got to a garage that helped with a flooded carburettor. 5 miles later, after lunch, complete restarting failure. Had to wait for a tow from a passing lorry. Back to Djelfa. To a different garage where a possible leaking exhaust valve was suggested. Yet another garage could undertake this job tomorrow. Pulled by a tractor helped by human pushing (and somehow denting our number plate during the process), the van was finally safely housed for the night.

But what about us ? This question was answered by a magnificent night of Algerian hospitality. First of all, amongst the group of interested 'helpers' that we had by now collected around us, was the tractor driver who took me to his house for a wash. He then offered to conduct us to a restaurant where we had a good solid meal of soup followed by heart with chips and salad -- an example, we thought, of local fare with no elaborations. Our friend waited around chatting to friends until we were ready to be conducted back. On the way we decided to finish off our meal with a sweet something from one of the many shbaki stalls, a sugary cake each for which we were not allowed to pay Back at the garage we assumed we would be putting up our tents on a bit of waste ground nearby. But no; we soon had to think again. The garage owner, no less, led me to his house to show me a room where we could sleep. A rather dingy flight of stairs made me unprepared for the sight that met my eyes at the top. A spotlessly clean room, spread with brightly coloured carpets, rugs and cushions appeared as if by magic before me. This, it seemed, was going to be a real Arabian night's entertainment.

So, up we all trooped. The children were soon disposed amid the colourful luxury, but we had by no means completed the evening's surprises. Mint tea and cakes were lavished upon us, sitting (in armchairs now) in the comfort of the sitting room in front of the television set. From 7.30 to 9.15 we were transported as if by another magic carpet to Wembley, where we followed the antics of Leeds United and Carl Zeiss Jena in the European Cup. Leeds won 2-nil, I'm glad to say. The Arabic commentary taught me a few new names like Jackie Charlton and Jones, but on the whole we had to imagine our own comments. We didn't learn much from the news at half time, except Nixon, McGovern, Hanoi and Vietnam.

And so to our luxurious cushioned beds.

Nov 9.

Coffee and cakes were set out for us before we had time to refuse or get away early. Very very sweet and strong coffee, but made drinkable with a glass of water (that we had to provide for ourselves).

Frustrating morning of slow mechanical progress leading to cylinder head removal and discovery of a broken gasket. While having lunch on the waste ground by the garage (tough meat and sour milk semolina), our plight was observed by several small children; their interest soon led to an invitation from their house to 'prendre un cafe'. We accepted. There we found a mother and grandfather in a room with one single light bulb and closed shutters. Rather a different style from last night's luxury, but still with bright rugs and cushions all along one wall. More sweet coffee with equally sweet milk for the children, but it was only the guests who partook, watched by the hosts. Local boys outside were playing an original noisy game with a key on a length of string. A match is inserted in the barrel of the key and then the pointed end of a nail. Swinging the string hard against a wall lights the match, causing a very satisfying explosion.

Walking round the town and playing games occupied much of the day. "Learnt some new card games like Go Fish and Pig & Pyramid and Napolean. They were all good games," writes Peter, and "we bought a little notebook for the girl at the house where we had coffee because she drew on the walls with chalk. When we got back we got her some crayons."

The night was spent very differently from last night, We were invited to occupy a corner of the garage, which we duly did after work had stopped for the day. Convenient, you might say (with electric light), but hardly luxurious.

Nov 10.

Hopeful morning. But vehicle still a non-starter. Timing, contact points, plugs all tested. Renewal of points tomorrow planned. A day of schoolwork and more games, Peter feeling below par with stomach ache, a large soup lunch for the rest ( real tomato soup from our market garden supply, with liver), a walk to the railway station (a bit of shunting going on), tea watched by 27 children, and another rather depressing night in the garage.

Nov 11.

Bo's Birthday. So a celebration breakfast to cheer us all up. We went to a hotel for a pleasant change. Plenty of good cafe-au-lait (with lump sugar), a large tin of apricot jam opened specially for us, a mountain of butter and two whole loaves of fresh baked bread. We felt better after that.

The vehicle, however, little better. With new points and new condenser, I did manage a ten mile trial run with the mechanic, but it failed again on returning. New plugs would help but these are unobtainable.

Meanwhile we had been approached by a man offering us the use of a room in which to disport ourselves during the day and beds for the night. He turned out to be the warden of a youth hostel; 'Le Pere', as he was generally known, French and presumably a priest. So once again we had comfort and mod cons. But we had our evening meal in a restaurant again, to sample couscous, the Algerian national dish (but not universally available in restaurants). A sort of semolina, with meat and a sauce with vegetables to pour over it. Excellent, although the couscous itself was cold. It had been a cool day as well; 16C.

Le Pere showed us his collection, a one man museum of insects, fossils, and local tools, weapons and oddments. Scorpions, caterpillars, spiders, lizards and even a chameleon in formalin; ploughs, baskets, an old rifle, a sword, ancient saddlery; ammonites, shells, sea urchins and petrified wood. Large lumps of salt from the salt mountain and Iceland Spar which polarises light and is used for optical glass. He also gave us information about local rock engravings. Worth a visit when we can get started again.

By the end of the day things were improved, so we could look forward to some progress tomorrow after a night in 'l'auberge de jeunesse'.

Nov 12. Sunday.

Today we really did set off again. The van started first time; perhaps it likes being cold. We were soon over the insignificant Col des Caravanes, our highest point in the Saharan Atlas, and made for the rock engraving site we had heard about. Along a rough desert track east of Sidi Makhlouf to an area of rocky mounds at the foot of a line of hills alongside the dry Oued Hesbaia. After judiciously parking on a slope for easy getaway, we did with some difficulty find some engravings; various signs and symbols, hands and crude animals cut into the soft pink sandstone. They were said to have been there for some 9000 years. They were unprotected in any way and some of the attempts at engraving we thought could be labelled 'definitely recent'. On another smooth black cliff we found rather better samples, large outlines of animals, a bull about 8 feet long, a rhinoceros with horn, a deer with horns joined at the top, and a curious man. Peter and Marion illustrate their diaries with some of these. Marion tracked various creatures over the sand by following trails they had left; lizards, beetles, small birds and caterpillars. One beetle was trying to dig itself into the sand with its two hind pairs of legs but got distracted by a crumb of bread from our lunch.

On to Laghouat. Stop for petrol and cleaning plugs. We were advised to try 'Williams Bros' just along the road for new plugs. Sounded unlikely, but we did find, not a Welsh Williams, but a Scottish Mr Mack, who had a warehouse and oil pipeline depot. Unfortunately he no longer used Dodge trucks and was unable to help. We camped soon after in featureless semi-desert in a gravel pit, once again parking on a slope. Black or pied wheatears came to visit.

We are now in the country of the Ouled Nail, the local tribe; those who are still nomadic are recognisable by their red and black striped tents, a change from the usual all black pattern.

Nov 13.

A cold morning until the sun started warming things up at about 7am. We had breakfast too early and the children had to retire into the van to quieten their moanings.

Within two miles of starting we met a police check. For want of anything else they picked on our rear brake lights to inspect. We have never had any of these. "Do something to make them work". I fiddled around with the rear lights for five minutes "You may now proceed -- but next time..." We proceeded. But were they passing our number along the road ?

A good tarmac road, the first 80 desert miles featuring only lines of pylons following an oil pipeline and an occasional nomad tent with sheep or goat herd, then becoming more interesting with pink rocky hills and even corners on the road as we started descending to Ghardaia. We bought bread at Berriane, a small pleasant oasis town in a hollow, for an early lunch, and reached Ghardaia at 1 o'clock. 115 miles, a good morning's run.

Ghardaia. The last town of any size before the 'Great South'. Delightfully situated in a wide valley oasis; the town with its houses all pale blue and sandy laid out before us as we wound down towards it looked clean and inviting. It is really a number of old walled towns on little hills with palmeries all round, and some modern development in between, linking them up. Each little hill; is topped with a tapering cigar-shaped minaret from which a muezzin calls at intervals. But what must it be like in the heat of summer ? We found the official camp site, pleasantly set in a palm garden, and found it also clean and inviting -- in fact, superb. It advertised hot water, and it had hot water ! We all had the best showers of our life, being so unexpected and so necessary. In fact, the first showers the children had ever had, which no doubt must sound surprising.

Ghardaia had a reputation for vehicle repairs. We found the Landrover agent, explained our various predicaments, and encouraging plans were made for much help from them for tomorrow. We also met there a British Landrover travelling south and a Swiss Volkswagen having been south to Tamanrasset and back. Useful information: "Stock up here with everything and get all repairs done -- beyond is nothing."

So we had no difficulty in making a decision to enjoy at least two nights here.

Nov 14.

Marion and I had early breakfast alone and were in the centre of Ghardaia by 7 o'clock, Marion to go shopping and I to spend a whole long day on the 'Explorer'. In the garage forecourt (a good place for calling for help), I removed and refitted inlet and exhaust manifolds and renewed gaskets. I also got some welding done on an exhaust pipe, and soldering nipples on petrol priming lines. I ate my lunch in the heat of midday when the whole place became deserted at the call to prayer from loud recorded muezzins from all the minarets. Obviously a time for compulsory stoppage of work. A useful day in the end. My French mechanical vocabulary has been developing expansively. Our trouble may well be with the priming system which has such thin pipes that they easily break. Could be blanked off altogether if necessary (with chewing gum perhaps).

Here in Ghardaia we have the feeling of being on the edge of a different world -- the world of the Sahara. It is the land of the Mozarbit tribe, renowned for being successful merchants, who wear thin pale robes quite unlike the coarse djellabahs of the north, and long baggy trousers "which look as if they have room for a bushy tail" (according to Marion), and little white caps often with embroidery. The people are becoming darker, some definitely black. We are 100 miles from the next town.

In the evening I recorded some gentle music from some stringed instrument coming from a hut next to ours in the camp site. Our garden has many little beds floodable by the irrigation system. Most contain two crops; onion and lettuce, carrot and cabbage, beetroot and lettuce, all in seedling stage, and various mature crops such as aubergine, marrow (gourd), red pepper and some unrecognisable. Some newly planted dates have their leaves cut short and bound up in a polythene bag. Water is mechanically pumped from a 20 foot deep well.

Nov 15.

A hot morning at the camp site. Lunch in the shade of the van: delicious tomato soup again from the hoard of fruit we brought from Cherchell. We left at 3 o'clock and drove 60 miles for an hour and a half, stopping just before sunset. The sun went down sitting in a vee notch in a distant range of hills looking like an egg in an egg cup. In half an hour it was nearly dark. A very desert spot. On the slope of a little hill of rocks and sand with a stony plain stretched out before us to the isolated hills in the distance. The pinkish soil was not a good match for the so-called 'Sahara Dust' with which we had painted the van at home. We had passed sand dune areas this afternoon with 'attention au sable' signs and wisps of blown sand on the road. A warm, windless evening until the usual night breeze started at 7pm and the temperature fell. 'Sand and rock' we called this place.

"A place that I would really call 'Proper Desert'," wrote Peter, "After tea Jennifer and I went to the top of the hill which was near. There was a beautiful sand dune on top."

Nov 16.

As an experiment we started off without breakfast at sunrise (6.15), and stopped an hour later in the pleasant heat of the warming sun. On the slope of a little hill which Marion and Jennifer climbed after breakfast, finding footsteps of, perhaps, a jerboa. A sandplough passed us clearing one lane of the sand-drifted road.

On to El Golea, and had lunch overlooking this oasis town after buying bread and petrol. The thousands of palm trees made it look much more like an oasis than a town. Then to yet another garage when starting again became difficult; mechanics and electricians played around with distributor and carburettor without success. Another night of camping on waste ground beside a garage. Depression. All demoralised. "Very smelly camp site" (Peter).

Weather getting much warmer. 28C, but only 8C at night.

Nov 17.

Another day of waiting and helping with repairs. This time at a more efficient, though less obvious, garage. But we did, in hopeful mood, go to the police station to get authorisation to travel on as far as In Salah. We had been advised to do this, although not a legal requirement, to help our rescuers when we got lost !

The rest of the family had a more interesting time Marion writes: a passer-by invited us into his house for mint tea and showed us his garden (he owned rather over 700 palm trees). Hamida ben Hamza was growing beetroot, broad beans, capsicums, carrots and various other things. We sat in a room with a sand floor covered with rugs, and drank tea, ate dates, and chatted to him. He was very pleasant and got us to write a note in English that he could show his friends, to the effect that we had enjoyed having tea at his house. Peter adds: "He showed us some fossils and some sand roses (made by dew on sand). We went up on to the roof and he showed us the Ksar (old castle)."

I rejoined them in the evening for a big meal in a small restaurant to which we were conducted by a small boy who had been 'hovering' all day and offering to help in various ways. We made the mistake of ordering six full meals -- the piles of couscous, macaroni and haricot beans were more than we could manage, and when this was followed by an oily salad we wished we had stuck to the one course at half the price. But an orange at the end rounded it off nicely.

That night's camp site was an improvement. In the garden (uncultivated) of this second garage. Much more private. We dispensed with tents for the first time, being a warmer night in this sheltered oasis, but needed two blankets as well as sleeping bags.

Nov 18.

Repairs successfully completed by midday. Distributor found to have a loose contact spring. Carburetter completely dismantled and various new bits found by sifting through piles of spares in dusty shelves and cupboards. A very clever operation, I thought. A garage to be recommended: the Peugeot, Renault, Fiat and Polski agent.

The rest visited the Ksar, the old fortified town which had some houses backing on to the rock which had been hollowed out to make extra rooms. "Quite near the Ksar we met two boys who just followed us and showed us round, we did not ask them to, and of course they wanted a dinar each afterwards. The boys showed us the old Mosque, the well and they showed us the way up on to the roof."

Payment for our repairs took most of our ready money. Not enough left for buying petrol at In Salah to get us to Tamanrasset. No luck in trying to cash cheques here or in changing dollars, but we set off nevertheless on being assured by our friend Hamida that, at In Salah, being 400 miles from a bank, we could easily change dollars. We sincerely hope that this is correct.

So on into Le Grand Sud, The Deep South. Passed first signpost to Tamanrasset -- 1120km, and then Agades -- 2010km.

Desert.

We passed two hitch hikers waiting at the famous Timimoun Corner ("Don't forget to turn left at Timimoun Corner," we had been told). So we did turn left, expecting the end of tarmac road 20 miles later, but it was still with us when we stopped for the night, and enjoyed a sunset tea. A nearly full moon at night had interesting effects on the desert; a line of sand dunes about a mile away kept their orange glow all night almost as if fluorescent.

All glad to be on our way again.

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