Nov 19. Sunday.

Tademait Plateau day.

Early start again with a breakfast stop planned at Fort Miribel. We never saw it. The new tarmac completely bypasses it. Nevertheless we did have our breakfast !

We hardly noticed the ascent up to the plateau. The tarmac now extends 133 miles from El Golea, and nearly halfway across the plateau. A great help, but rather sad to think that soon one will be able to do the whole way in any old car. However, when it did end with a line of boulders across the road and a little arrow directing us into the sand, we realised that this was the start of something a bit different. A voyage across a stony sandy sea, flat to the horizon all round, and stretching another 60 miles before us. Our course was marked by 'buoys' ('balises' is the local term) on tall posts, but one could choose one's path anywhere within half a mile either side of these. Most other 'ships' on this sea were huge petrol tankers and freighters sailing along in clouds of dust. and 'dust devils' were whirling along like waterspouts. Once or twice visibility was almost nil. Most of the obvious latest-used tracks were good for a speed of 25mph or so, but there were loose boulders and sandy sections dragging the speed down every now and again. The horizon ahead kept appearing as little knobs floating in the sky like tops of palm trees, often with shimmering 'lakes' in front. Occasionally we met great bulldozers madly intent on preparing the extension of the new road. Our vehicle was becoming completely plastered in real Sahara Dust, helped by the continuous wind.

This landscape kept us fascinated for four hours, until suddenly we looked over to our left and instead of the flat horizon miles away we saw that we were near the edge of a cliff a mere hundred yards away, and overlooking a valley and a line of conical flat topped hills beyond. In the valley was a tree ! We stopped thankfully for a late lunch at this aerial view of scenery once again.

We were so impressed with the scenery that our afternoon's travelling consisted merely of the descent of the 1 in 5 hill down to the valley where we camped in a dry oued and had a relaxing afternoon. But we had done 130 miles today.

We had a first carol practice in preparation for sending home a tape of Christmas greetings. We stopped when interrupted by the arrival of a truck full of soldiers offering us a packet of milk: "You must drink plenty in the desert", they advised. "We had some strange swaps," records Peter, "some water for a ciggarette and two bags of Pasturised milk for two matches...There were four trees growing in the river." Jennifer's diary springs to life again today, having dried up for a long time: "Today we are caping in a river and the river is dry now but when it rains it rains very hard and the river will not be dry it will be a proper river and we will hope it will not rain tonight. this is the desert." And she has some very well printed sentences as part of her schoolwork: "we sang carols to send to Granny. we put them on a tape. the tape will go to England in a parcel."

Nov 20.

After another early start we stopped for breakfast (fresh milk with our Weetabix !) near a well 9 miles on (Ain el Hadjadj). It seemed to be an Army water tanker filling station with electric pump and gushing warm water. So we now have enough to see us to Tamanrasset, as we have heard that the In Salah water is brackish ('eau potable salee' says the Michelin map). The road was now flat with sandy patches, and one rather more scenic stretch winding down between hills. We passed the airport ten miles before the town (no planes in sight). Sandy tarmac from there.

In Salah: a small oasis town in the middle of a plain without the attractiveness of the situation of El Golea or Ghardaia. The streets are 'paved' with sand but we did not get stuck in the main street as often predicted. An attractively coloured place, with the buildings of red-brown mud contrasting with the light orange sand.

Our dollars were not acceptable, either for changing or for buying petrol. What might have been a very awkward situation was relieved by the kindness of an Italian couple who were in the process of filling up with petrol for Tamanrasset. They lent us their last petrol coupons and almost all their money on condition that we accompany them on the journey. By this means we were able to take on board JUST enough to get us there (279 litres). We must certainly keep in convoy; we may yet have to sponge on some of their reserve. They are in a Volkswagen van.

We reported to the police and obtained authorisation to proceed to Tamanrasset. So our convoy set off at about 1 o'clock across the wide open spaces. Too wide and too open, as it turned out; a first attempt to stop for lunch had to be abandoned due to the wind (the Gibli) and flying sand. We found a slightly more sheltered spot a little farther on. The road soon became very corrugated; we found that by increasing speed uncomfortably up to 30mph we could then have a comfortable ride by keeping to that speed. Loose sand in places, and most of the time we were not on the road itself. Our clouds of dust kept the two vehicles well apart, and this also gave us the freedom to swerve from one track to the next as necessary. Bo drove to start with, but only until a rather sudden stop. We were stuck. Leaning over with two wheels on the road and two in deep soft sand over the edge. Timothy in Marion's lap and the rest of us surprised to be still more or less upright. She had swerved to the edge to avoid bad corrugations and had not realised that the sandy edge was so deep just here, or that it would pull the wheel round so forcefully. However, we were not as stuck as we first thought. Four-wheel drive and second gear soon extricated us in reverse, and I drove on after a hasty redistribution of shifted luggage and a check of conditions on the roof.

We drove on later than usual in the evening to conform to our new companions' routine, and it was nearly dark when we stopped soon after 5 o'clock. But this did enable us to reach Hassi-el-Khrenig, where we expected to find a well at the foot of a cliff. We found the cliff but no well, only a sign pointing into a hillside strewn with black boulders. Anyway, it was beautifully sheltered here, so a good place to camp. 300ft sand scree slopes rose steeply above us, up which we climbed in the dark after supper. Even Signor Betti Guido made it -- just. "We have too much foods; we are too heavy". When he said this earlier he had been referring to their van, but he might well have meant it more personally.

We had been hearing a roaring sound above us as we climbed and at the top we were suddenly back in the strong wind, which was behind us ! So our campsite was on the windward side, but sheltered down below because the wind must have been rising well before reaching the foot of the cliff creating a sort of vacuum. A strange phenomenon.

We finished the day by inviting Betti and Adele to coffee and travel talk. They were indeed travellers of considerable experience, and were now heading for Cape Town (from Bologna). But I'm afraid that Italian litterism really must not go unrecorded. They eat out of tins which, when empty, are just thrown away regardless of landing place. In open desert the result is fairly obvious. This is similar behaviour to what we met in the Dolomites where every mountain top had its mound of tins, as did their beaches. One feels powerless to protest. "The Algerians are crazy," we were told several times this evening. Perhaps everyone is sometimes. But

Nov 21.

Evening.

Approaching the Arak Gorge. We are overlooked to east and south by dark rocky hills with a full moon lighting up our sandy arena dotted with little clumps of tamarisk trees on sandy tumps (but more likely to be mimosa). A good place to be, We are glad we came. And we are alone again. Somehow our best camps seem to be when we are out of sight and sound of other folk's existence.

It has been a good day. The moon was just going down as we got up. Marion went back up the hill for photos before breakfast, and breakfast was photographed too. Specially for Ellen (Bo's sister). She had always been amused by my partiality to porridge, specially when camping, and had ordered Bo to bring back a picture of 'Seaton eating porridge for breakfast in the middle of the Sahara Desert'. So this was it. Although on this expedition we by no means always had porridge. We had a late start after some maintenance work The engine is behaving well now, but I did have to refill differential oil because of a leaking seal. We also had to tow the Volkswagen out of the sand before it could get away. One up for the Dodge.

Better roads today as well. At 30mph or more to even out the corrugations one could keep to the road all the time. Just an occasional deep hollow to make a nasty jolt. But it was not so good for the Volkswagen; their small wheels could not overcome the jarring corrugations at any speed; at one place we noticed something drop from beneath them, so we stopped to pick it up; it was a shock absorber; another one was broken; so for the rest of the day they kept a slow progress while we carried on and were able to enjoy good stops for lunch, etc, until they caught up. A case of hare and tortoise.

Flat plains alternated with delightful mountain scenery. Pink cliffs rising out of the sand, tempting for climbing. We felt that if Pyers were here he would be out route finding by now. Over 90 degrees F (33C) for the first time at midday. Relaxed under the awning instead of exploring the rocks. In the afternoon we stopped at a little oasis with a few palm trees, and grasses and rushes growing luxuriously. This was the Tadjemout well, with a couple of houses, and, very unexpectedly, petrol. But of course we still could not buy any. A trickle of a stream had mosquitoes breeding in it. Camels and other hoofed animals had been to drink recently and brilliant red dragonflies flew around. I had to do temporary wiring up of the silencer here after finding a broken hanger, and managed to make a new hanger in the evening.

We reached this camp site which we have named 'Tamarisk Tumps' in good time, and were soon passed by the 'tortoise' VW. They wanted to go on to Arak village for the night, thus leaving us pleasantly alone. A good meal tonight: corned beef, root veg in four varieties, sponge fruit pudding and custard. Marion, Bo and I slept without tents. 109 miles today.

Nov 22.

The three stages of involvement with the desert: apprehension (the approach of the last stages of tarmac road); fascination (the first stages of an apparently inhospitable land); and enchantment.

Enchantment is tonight. Looking out over a sea of sand and rocks; the rocks are reefs and islands in the sea; the sandy surf is piling up against the rocks. The long shadows of the low sunlight accentuate every bay and promontory. Later the moon rises over the same scene. Enchantment.

This day has been notable for its mountain scenery. First the Arak Gorge. 600ft high cliffs on either side, about half a mile apart. Scree on the lower slopes, climbable gullies and buttresses above. The gorge leads into the Mouydir Mountains, up on to a plateau of sand and rocky hills -- strange, weird and attractive shapes of rocks lying around; 'bears' and 'camels' and 'elephants' we saw. We stopped to climb the 250ft high island of 'Tryfan' ( a quarter size version of the Welsh one to all appearances), the top crowned as you would expect by 'Adam and Eve', the ascent of whom necessitated chimneying between the two. "From the top we watched the Italians go past. The rocks were hot to feel. We had a drink of lemon," says Peter. Later we came south through the countryside of Blaenau Ffestiniog, with mountains of slate all round. By afternoon we had reached the Heads of the Valleys road above Ebbw Vale winding through great black 'slag heaps'. An igneous region. Mountains of 'boiler plates' rising from the sand and shattered piles of loose debris.

The road much as yesterday. 30mph corrugations with occasional bigger ones. It must have been one of these that broke our front spring; one leaf is cracked; we intend carrying on to Tamanrasset with it thus.

Now in Touareg country. We met our first welcoming committee at Arak; black, hooded and veiled, with expressive eyes; long flowing 'Touareg blue' robes. After much hand shaking they offered to show us the fort and well. We took several photos and presented a little two year old boy with a pair of Timothy's trousers (possibly the first he had ever had). His name was Tayub. We gave one of the men a lift to his house in the village. His name was Tayub. More photos here which we paid for by a gift of a little coffee, aspirins and cigarettes. The houses were in bamboo enclosures; we could not see inside; the children wore nothing here; we had no more trousers to give away.

The Italians are with us again tonight, still plodding successfully on, finally rejoining us an hour or more after we had arrived. Much colder; sleeping in tents again.

Nov 23.

Only 3 degrees C at sunrise. Marion and I went for a brisk walk among the 'islands'.

Breakfast pleasantly unusual again: bread and milk cooked together like porridge to make use of stale bread, with added prunes. Followed by a very special genuine Spaghetti Bolognese cooked by our Bolognese companions. Super, with plenty of bite, not all mushy like a British version. They insisted on doing this for us. An 8.30 start and we were soon travelling, on 20 miles of tarmac road, past In Ecker, an ex-French atom bomb establishment, marred by barbed wire on both sides of the road and a general air of disuse. One or two Algerian army posts still occupied. But we never saw the monument which we had been advised that we must circle seven times to ensure a safe crossing of the desert. Never mind.

Then came In Amguel, a nice looking village, and soon the Hoggar Mountains were in sight several miles across the sand to our left, and we thought we could see Tahat, the highest peak. We entered the Tropics. 'Tropic of Cancer' announced a rather battered notice. We made the necessary stop to record our respects and photograph the 'landmark'. Encouraging proof of continued southward progress, if nothing else. Then

Our goal of the last two months. "Tamanrasset if no further," we have been saying.

First things first: Money. We parked outside the bank in the main street of brown mud houses and mimosa trees. One and a quarter hours later I cashed a cheque ! It appeared that our cheques should have been declared at the frontier with our cash, although previous banks had made no mention of this. Now it was necessary to go to the customs to make the required declarations. I had committed a serious crime, they told me, as they made copious notes on the form and handed it back with a smile. Then the bank smiled too. Without smiles difficulties could have been overwhelming. We found our Italians again and thankfully repaid our debt. Meanwhile Bo had collected her mail from the post office and been told there was none for us. We could not believe this, so will have to return tomorrow to get them to revise their opinions. The Italians were camping at a hotel, but at six dinars each (55p), we preferred to carry on to the edge of the town and find our own free site. The most beautiful sunset we have seen, but we were just too late and too tired to appreciate it.

Numerous young spectators crowded round as usual, but we managed to get them to disperse before we sat down to eat. We enjoyed fresh bread again.

So we had reached Tamanrasset, at last. First impressions of slight disappointment. It is not the mountain resort we had expected, but on a flat plain three miles from the nearest hill. But the Dolomite-looking jagged peaks of the Hoggar Mountains do make a good background. A cold night. All blankets needed again. 129 miles today.

Nov 24.

More inquisitive visitors this morning wanting to sell things, receive souvenirs or just watch our strange activities. Then into town again to make better acquaintance with 'Tam'. Shopping and going to the Post Office again, where we did find letters after insisting that a more diligent search was made. But no parcel of wheel studs; so we accepted that as a dead loss; they may well have got stranded in Algiers; a waste of money. But no more have broken and we have found suitable bolts to use as spares.

Out of the town again towards the mountains to find a more amenable camp site for the next two days. This we found near the Im Laoulaouen Guelta. A guelta is a rock pool, and this one is a series of five pools in steps up a rocky gully. We had hoped there would be swimming opportunities here, but not all had water and those that did were very non-inviting; definitely dirty-looking with green algae. We had lunch by the pools and retreated a few hundred yards to set up camp on the sandy beach of a dry oued. The afternoon was spent in letter reading and writing, so we were now well up with the news of an English autumn. Primroses have been picked at Monmouth. Black wheatears came to visit, almost as friendly as robins; also a herd of goats that nibbled at our campsite thorn trees before being led home by a man, a boy and a camel. Another camel strolled by later with a load of wood. Fresh camel for supper from the town market -- might be described as toothsome (tasty but chewy), after three hours cooking. Four hours would have been really good. A peaceful site but it lost the sun rather early.

Nov 25.

I abandoned the others to return to the town for all day vehicle repairs. Spare front spring fitted, new differential oil seal fitted, some welding and soldering done and brazing of two jerricans. All well worth doing. Myself, I swept out sand from the whole interior -- two hours work -- well worth doing ? Got 200 miles of petrol for the next three days' jaunt, and water from a well beside the garage. Back at camp they had had a useful day too, including schoolwork. But Peter "did hardly any because my 1st finger split. So I read 'The Hobbit'. I thought it was a nice book". But Marion lay around in the shade for much of the day, having developed a rash of raised lumps on neck, back, hips and thighs, and had an uneasy stomach (Oxo and early bed type of illness).

Nov 26. Sunday.

Marion completely revived, and even made (and ate) a sort of pancake for breakfast to prove it.

So we set off on the Hoggar Circuit, the standard tourist route of the Hoggar Mountains, but none the less spectacular (we hoped) for that. We were armed with some tourist literature, but we were soon to find large gaps and inaccuracies in this. A narrow mountain road twisted all over the place and did not always follow the track shown on our 1:200,000 ordnance map, but, as this was a badly printed French army map of 1940, perhaps not surprising. We saw gazelles skipping over the rocks ahead. We failed to find some rock carvings below the peak of Akar Akar, but did find the Afilale Gueltas. (There was a signpost to them.) Here we had a good explore, playing in the pools and having lunch by one containing trout (at least one 8-incher). A surprising valley of greenery in the middle of all the wild rocky mountain desert. A spring in a shallow valley giving rise to a series of pools connected by watercourses, the first naturally running water we have seen since Laghouat. Lower down, the valley became deeper and many pools were 'giant's saucepans' in the rocks. "It was a nice place", according to Peter. And a good place for plants and birds. 'Lauriers roses', oleander, purple cabbage, tamarisk, thorns, bulrushes, figwort, nightshade, a palm tree and lots of wild mint. Mint tea for lunch. A bit of sunshine would have been appreciated. The day was almost entirely cloudy and we were climbing all the time.

The afternoon was road climbing with a vengeance. On and on up into the grey pink peaks rising vertically out of the plateau. We were expecting at every bend to pass the turning to Djanet. At one point we stopped to consult our dubious map and information, and had to clean the plugs before restarting. Engine definitely warm. However, a signpost soon comforted us -- right for Hirafok and Djanet, straight on for Assekrem. But we were by no means at Assekrem yet. The last four miles were even steeper, and at the start of the last long climb we stalled. Four-wheel drive, and low ratio gears just to make sure, and we were able to proceed just in time to get out of the way of a Landrover descending towards us.

So up to the mountain hut of Assekrem (all locked up), but still 400 ft below the Hermitage to which there is only a path. We had to leave this for tomorrow in order to be sure of our evening meal before the darkness and cold overtook us. We camped in the lee of the refuge. At 7700ft it was almost winter camping, certainly the most wintry ever for the children --and this in the middle of the Sahara Desert. After supper we all retired into the van for a carol practice which seemed very appropriate. Another family is encamped nearby; French, we think. We later discovered that they were Belgian, also on their way to Kenya.

Sunset was brilliantly brightened by an orange gleam lighting up the peaks around for ten minutes. A fine spectacle after the cloudy day. Lovely mountains of vertical basaltic structure. Great chunks of rock broken off and lying about like columns from some ruined giant's temple.

Nov 27.

At sunrise we walked up to the Hermitage in the golden morning. A 400ft steep path is the only access. A monk was saying mass in the chapel (6am daily). From the highest point of this little plateau we could see Mount Tahat. It looked an easy enough climb; our plans for the day were decided. Back at the Hermitage we met three monks who showed us the chapel and the library where one of them was doing the Monday morning task of changing the tape on the temperature recorder; once a month they transmit all their weather records to Algiers by radio. We were also shown a book in English about Pere de Foucauld the original builder of the place and one of the first Europeans to live on friendly terms with the Touareg nomads (1912-1916). A little below the chapel are the present monks' living quarters which they have occupied since 1955.

The day was completely sunny again. We travelled on only a few miles, dropping at 1 in 4 again from the summit and soon reaching a turning to the foot of Mount Tahat. This seemed to be a new road but with some shocking loose surfaces and a 1 in 3 up followed by a similar one down, two miles to a sort of car park. Here Marion and I left the rest of the party for our conquest of the mountain. A 2500ft climb in perfect walking weather with a slight breeze, up firm boulder-strewn slopes steepening all the time to some scrambling on good rock near the top among sweet-smelling herbs, including a lavender- like flower, but with downy pinnately lobed leaves. In fact more plant life near the summit than lower down. Satisfaction was derived from the ever increasing difficulty, until without warning we emerged from the last little gully and found ourselves on the summit ridge looking out to the edge of the mountain mass and the sandy desert beyond. We were at 9500ft, on the highest point in Algeria and the highest in the western Sahara. We felt on top of the desert. We had dates and digestive biscuits. A very suitable mountain, as most of the peaks are unclimbable (or unwalkable anyway). We took only three hours up and down, and rejoined the others at 2.15.

Then we started the return to the 'main' road. In 4-wheel drive. We approached the 1 in 3 climb. First gear. We climbed steadily like a tank. Nearly at the top, hoping the front wheels were not going to rise in the air, the Dodge dug in all four wheels and said "this is too much -- this road is ridiculous". So there we were, unable to move forwards or even backwards (despite the angle), so far had the wheels sunk into the soft sand. Excavations had to be made to enable me to roll back to try again. (A stream of water from the radiator was luckily found to be merely from the filler cap.).. A second attempt got us even more stuck. But by this time Marion was off across the rock strewn waste beside the road convinced that the road makers could have found a better route.. She soon returned, urging me to follow. So I set off on to the rocks. A long sloping traverse with a turn at the end avoided the necessity for anything in the nature of a 1 in 3, but the angle of side slope was in places such as to convince me that the whole vehicle was about to topple sideways at any moment. I was imagining just what to do when the next big boulder under one of the upper wheels had tipped the 'Explorer' and me irretrievably on to the rocks. But it didn't. And a final hundred yards on the level led back on to the road above the 1 in 3. Marion's engineering had won the day.

Then another few miles over a fearsome col brought us to a suitable camp site in more gentle scenery near the spiky peak of Ilamane in the valley of Isaheyne. We soon had two small visitors, and only then did we notice a group of huts a few hundred yards away. We had thought we were still miles from habitation. What can they live on here ? These two were black, with hair shaved except for a 2" wide strip fore and aft in the middle; a typical Touareg style.

We had travelled just 12 miles today.

Nov 28.

An even colder night at +2 degrees C. Marion went climbing up a neighbouring hill to greet the sun rising as she stood on the summit, and increased the height by two feet by building a cairn. We all warmed up quickly in the sun while having breakfast. We drove on about three miles to the foot of the elegant tower of Ilamane. Bo and I went for a walk while the others had schoolwork. No hope of climbing such a vertical peak, but we climbed a scree to a ridge with good views of Tahat and the desert beyond. We found some ancient rock paintings quite by chance; two cows, one very clear. We called Marion up and she then found some more -- a whole scene of more animals and men, all done in a red ochre paint. Up to a foot long, some in outline, others solid shapes. Mostly cattle, but one reindeer (?); all facing right. Three men, one apparently riding a cow, and another leading one. Quite exciting, making our own discoveries. They were all on the wall of an overhanging rock shelter. Marion and Peter set to with paper and pencil and made copies on the spot.

After lunch we continued winding steeply downwards into the Ilamane valley with its fantastically cut-up cliffs, jumbles of enormous sandstone boulders and a sandy floor. We passed one or two villages, but did not stop to pick up passengers who seemed to want lifts, and followed the oued, crossing and recrossing it; a greenly vegetated valley with oleanders, palms and mimosa. After 40 miles we were within sight of Tamanrasset airport and the tarmac road to the town.

We stopped just short of here for the night, in sight of the airport lights. A windy evening with even a few drops of rain, but warmer.

Nov 29.

Only porridge and coffee for breakfast as we looked forward to an early lunch with fresh bread.

Completed the last few miles of our Hoggar circuit back into Tamanrasset. After shopping and other business we went out of town for five miles or so to the base of Pic Laperrine, the nearest pinnacle, where we knew we would find a scenic camping place. "(Fort Laprine is french for Tamanrasset)" Peter points out (in the days of the Foreign Legion). Our fresh bread lunch at 10.30 was really appreciated.

The afternoon was occupied with maintenance, a walk exploring the peak for Marion and Bo, children playing on the rock outcrops. The peak is a vertical tower rising 600ft above a scree slope and made of basalt organ pipes. some 12 or 15 feet in diameter with here and there a cave that seems to have been a large air bubble when the liquid mass coalesced. Marion also records "on our return found Seaton distracted by the loss of a vital screw he had dropped somewhere in the engine. I later found it much to his relief." Camel for supper again; cooked for four hours this time and just right, accompanied by dried tomatoes, another local product; but Tamanrasset is not a great fruit and veg market. We did buy some hard cheese there, but it is so impenetrable that it will need experimenting with to break it up or soften for eating; our hammers have little effect.

Nov 30.

A day of rest and more preparations for the continuation of the southward journey. More vehicle jobs. Marion did some very successful polythene welding on a water container by melting spare bits to cover a hole, clothes mending, washing, and had time to make botanical drawings of a few desert plants. Had another visit to the Laoulaouen Guelta for a cold bath and rinsing clothes. Completed our recordings of Christmas greetings, carols and diary readings for sending home, despite weakening batteries not enhancing our beautiful singing. Used a rock shelter as a recording studio because of wind noise. Even at midday we had to have lunch on the sheltered side of the rocks and there were a few drops of rain. Not a typical Sahara day.

December 1st.

A game of cricket on the sand. "Daddy scored 13, I (Peter) scored 7 and Mummy scored 4."

Then back into Tamanrasset. A better day in the souk today. Supplies must have arrived from the north with more fruit and vegetables, and we came away with cabbage, cauliflower, potatoes, tomatoes and even mandarins. And stocked up with much petrol and water. Then out of town to find rock paintings near the airport, and a new camp site. "We turned off on a road that was signposted 'Rock Paintings 3 kilometres', we went 3 kilometres but we could not see any. So we had lunch." A later search was successful, however. The paintings were in shallow engravings on low rock outcrops in open desert, a great variety of strange signs, patterns and animals, giraffes, ostriches, elephants, as well as the more common antelope, cow and deer. We were informed that some of the clearer ones may well have been 'touched up' recently for photographic purposes, although basically genuinely old (2000 years ?). Our informants were an American and an Englishman who were finding sherds of pottery in a rock crevice.

The children very impressed in the evening with the landing of a plane at the airport with headlights blazing. "At about 6 o'clock pm we saw an areaoplane come down. It had great headlights ! I have never seen an airoplane come down at night."

Dec 2.

Southward bound again.

We now have 110 GALLONS of petrol aboard. This should be more than enough for the next 561 'dry' miles to Agadez at 7 miles/gallon through loose sand. (We do only 9mpg on normal roads.) We also have 25 gallons of water, more than twice as much as we should need before the next well at the Niger border. We reported to the police again for a passport check, but they were no longer interested in our future well-being. No insistence on our being in a convoy; once we have left Tamanrasset we are out of the country as far as they are concerned, and can be forgotten, even though it is still 230 miles to the border. We had contacted one or two groups proceeding south within a few days, so feel safe to carry on on our own, with support from behind, as it were.

We visited the souk for a last time to spend spare cash and the children had pocket money. Peter bought a Touareg purse "that I wanted every time I saw one. It costed 30 dinars. Bo got a purse like thing too, but it only had tiny pockets and was mostly for decoration. It cost 25 dinars." Sweets and chocolate for everyone. Jennifer was presented with a bracelet at one of the stalls. We resisted real genuine Kelloggs corn flakes at 60p (!) a packet.

As we left the town we studied the comprehensive signpost that included 'Agadez 900 km.', and we said goodbye to Tamanrasset at 11.30. Good to be on the road again heading ever forward. We are as heavily laden now as we will ever be; one tends to think of springs much of the time. We gradually left the mountains but without losing much height, through a strange country of mounds and hills of loose boulders until the scenery became flatter and sandier with distant hills. Road very corrugated until two tyre draggers passed us. These are a very efficient way of decorrugating -- a raft of old tyres dragged along behind a tractor or lorry. The road was beautifully smooth behind them for a time. But getting more sandy. Let the tyres down again from 40 to 30 lb/sq in.

We stopped after 78 miles to camp on a hill slope at the approach to an apparently featureless plain. Very much warmer; more our idea of a desert evening. No wind to have to shelter from for supper. Slept with no tent. After dark a vehicle passed, ignoring rules that we had read about night driving; but this is no place for rules. Nor for any vegetation.

Dec 3. Sunday.

6.10am start. Breakfast at 7.0. Still cool in a breeze. Lunch at 11.30 in 90 degrees F for the second time only. Long featureless stretches of road; distant hills had sand blown up against them like snow. Marion entertained us, as on previous occasions, with tunes on the Melodica; 'Over the sea to Skye' will, I think always remind me in future of rolling across the desert. We had started to think that we had left all interesting landscape behind us when we entered a new fantasy world of rock scenery. Igneous masses rising out of the sand; fiercely eroded and many with sand drifts built up around them, some in individual shapes, some in groups of larger blocks with hidden valleys and inviting gorges. Some looked like great blobs of liquid rock that had solidified as soon as they had landed on top of each other. One 'cathedral cloister' had a wall of narrow pointed arches separated by columns like a stalagmite curtain. We were so fascinated that we just had to stop and explore and stay the night, even though it was only 1.30.

Marion was soon starting climbing, enjoying the excellent rough surfaces with little caves and holes between different horizontal layers. We all explored in our various ways with much use of cameras. The children also had plenty of time for making roads for their cars in the sand as usual and we all had baths in the paddling pool.

So much to see adds to our delays, but, after all, we are here to see the Sahara and enjoy it, so let's see it and enjoy it.

Even Jennifer's diary springs to life again here: "today we are caping by some rocks and we climbed the rocks and we had tea here we made some good roads."

Possibly our most lonesome day. Four lorries and a Landrover sighted, and nothing in this magic valley until, as darkness fell, a large lorry parked 200 yards from us and set up camp. They lit their fire and started cooking, the baby cried and Arabic radio wafted across the sand. However by 9pm all was quiet and our two encampments ignored each other. The Sahara slept.

We contemplated the stars above us. Perhaps not as impressed as we should have been. Books about the desert tend to stress the nearness and brightness of the stars; 'almost too bright to sleep,' said our favourite guide Jon Stevens. We think that these writers have perhaps never lived out of sight of street lights. The stars at home can be every bit as good as they are here. But a lovely display, anyway.

We are 960 miles from the sea to the north.

We are 960 miles from the sea to the south.

Dec 4.

Tonight we are in NIGER.

We can see the horizon in every direction, with nothing but a sea of sand in between. This might be many people's idea of the Sahara Desert. We are the only feature in sight.

It has been a sandy day. It started with a dawn walk for Marion and Bo for further admiration of our craggy landscape. Marion acquired a French anorak lying abandoned in the sand. We were well into breakfast by the time they rejoined us.

Off again at 8.15. More sand. We got stuck for the first time in a loose patch, but did manage to reverse out in the end. At 10.30 we reached In Guezzam, a scattered village followed by a customs post with sentry and rifle, and a little barbed wire to make it look like a frontier. We thought he was waving us on, but then had to reverse to his hut. We lost our passports for 1/4 hour before being allowed to proceed over the chain which was dropped for us to drive over.

Niger. Or was it ? The border itself was not marked . There were now 15 miles of no-man's land to negotiate, a really desolate landscape leading to a sandy plain across which tracks fanned out in all directions as if no one knew the way. Marker posts were half buried in sand, but we assumed that a few trees and a building on the skyline were our objective, so we ploughed on towards them, the first signs of life in Niger. We stopped to engage four-wheel drive as the sand became looser and deeper, and somehow managed to keep going without getting stuck. As we approached the settlement, waving hands directed us to keep over to the left, and we eventually found ourselves crossing a muddy water flow from the spring and sliding up this slippery slope to come to rest at the fort of Assamaka.

Our passports were demanded once more. Could have been a tricky moment -- our visas were more than a week out of date. In less than five minutes the passports were handed back with smiles and no comments Not even any forms to fill in. We were welcome in Niger.

Then most of us had hot baths ! The spring was gushing hot water into a couple of metal troughs deep enough to lie and wallow in. The water was a bit sulphurous and not attractive to drink, but we had to take some on board nevertheless. An unlucky party of English people were camping there; they had no transport; their truck had been taken 250 miles away to Arlit for welding repairs, after breaking a trailer coupling just as they were approaching the fort the day before. And there is not even a road on the map to Arlit. As we had lunch in the shade of the few trees we saw our first vultures hovering overhead: brown Griffons with buzzard-like wings, and smaller Egyptians, white with black wingtips.

(At breakfast time, and the day before, we had been visited by a white wagtail, the Continental variety of the pied wagtail, very smart in grey and white with black bib and check patches. Also one solitary swallow, from Highley perhaps.)

We set off again at 12.30. A small signpost pointed into the desert. I went over to consult it. It clearly said: 'Sardines in oil -- Ship brand -- Canary Islands (Spain)'. On the other side careful scrutiny revealed the word 'AGADEZ'. Two metal posts could be seen sticking out of the sand more or less in the direction of the sign; this was our road.

We had been told to expect a sand plain today; we thought we had had two already, but nothing like this. We have now done 54 miles since Assamaka and the horizon has been visible almost all the way. Sometimes there has been an obvious 'main road', sometimes one follows the track of one's choice, sometimes one just makes a new one. Most important is to keep in sight at least one marker post, in front or behind. This was where Bo and Peter proved that they had the best eyesight. To me, distant posts and distant camels all looked much the same. The way ahead was always a mirage. We were continually approaching lakes of shining water with palm trees growing on the farther shore. But as we got nearer the near shore crept forward, so that the water was never quite reached and the trees became mere rocks, hummocks or posts on the near shore of the next lake. Why did the rocks look like trees ? Each distant object seems to be floating above the horizon at first sight. Then it gradually elongates in a thin shimmering vertical line to join the visible horizon, so that a 'floating' rock becomes a bushy topped tree with a thin trunk until finally the whole rock comes to rest properly on the ground. This vertical extension also has an amusing effect on camels. A floating camel's body first becomes a grounded camel with extraordinarily long legs before finally assuming the more normal shape of a camel standing correctly proportioned on the sand.

The mirage effect is remarkable on even the slightest roughness in the ground. A distant floating shape may become a barely noticeable roughness of the surface when it finally comes down to earth. A distant palm may become nothing at all in the end. The scene is ever changing as one travels at 30mph in a truck, but it is easy to imagine that, on foot, specially if running short of water, some of these distant oases might exist for a very long time before dissolving into sand.

On the whole the posts are well spaced and within sight of the most used tracks, but at one place we kept to the most obvious track despite a notice painted on an old tyre advising 'follow the markers' ('suivez les balises') pointing a different way. This was a mistake, and we soon had to diverge again when we realised that there were no more markers ahead. Now we are camped near a post labelled 'AG 388' (Agadez 388km), even though not on the most used track. So we assume we are still on course and that all roads will lead to Agadez tomorrow. No tents again, but two blankets only just adequate for the strong wind and temperature of 14C. Sunset 5pm; dark at 5.45. Sunrise 6am. Started taking our daily anti-malarial Paludrine tablets ready for less healthy climes after the desert. 106 sandy miles today.

Dec 5.

Started again just before sunrise across 20 more miles of this sand sea. No evidence of the much quoted 'fact' that the sand is more firm while still cold.

Then we suddenly found ourselves in a 'forest' of thorn trees, some with yellow flowers like mimosa; a six foot high forest. All tracks converged into one, deep in sand, one vehicle width, and edged with the little trees thickly packed on either side. A remarkable change. We went through in four-wheel drive. On the far edge we stopped for breakfast. A Renault car soon appeared; a French couple from the Congo; they disappeared into trees, soon reappeared to try another route. We never saw them again, so presumably there was a way round.

The next feature was a barrier of sandhills that the road had to wind its way through. Dunes dotted with small bushes, making a picturesque desert scene. Ever-shifting dunes; in places, the previous road led straight into a dune with a new route weaving round it.

Then it was In Abangarit, a small community 25 miles before we expected it. A collection of nomad tents, a large herd of camels, the first cows we had seen in the desert (the humped Zebus), all rather dominated by a large machine pumping water from a well. And numerous waving, shouting children longing to help us by showing the way. We were a bit dubious about this, having been warned of In Abangarit. It is easy to drive straight on due south and get lost in soft sand in the middle of nowhere. The map shows a 3/4 circuit of the well before heading off on a bearing of 110 degrees. The marker posts had here suddenly stopped. We scanned the horizon in vain and consulted two of the nearest helpers. "Agadez ?" They pointed. The bearing was 110 degrees. We took their word for it and gave them cigarettes. As we headed in this direction we saw a distant Landrover, so we then felt safe to carry on. After a mile we did see a post and five miles later another, but that is the last we have seen.

But soon the road became more clearly defined and we gradually entered more semi-desert country with a little grass growing in oueds, many more scattered thorn trees, camels grazing, and occasional nomad tents and people rushing out to see us pass. Still some deep sand patches, four-wheel drive sometimes, and once having to reverse out and try again.

A lunch stop among little bushes hoping to see another hornbill; we had seen one earlier stalking away, and also several gazelle streaking away across the desert. Marion also thought she identified a bustard, like a large long-legged turkey. We had one stop for a large herd of camels crossing our path with three friendly Touareg riding. They also stopped to talk to us in the hope of some reward; they got cigarettes in return for allowing me up on one of their mounts while a photo was taken, but the fee did not include a ride as well. We crossed several miles of flat dark muddy earth, obviously wet at some seasons, but completely barren. Surely there is scope here for some sort of agricultural revival ?

This led to the village of Tegguiddan Tessoum where the road skirted the lowly mud walled village, outside which were camels, donkeys and huts made of woven matting. A road junction. Left for the direct road to Agadez, straight on for In Gall. "You must see In Gall," we had been told. We kept straight on. No signpost. Unnecessary. Many willing hands showed us the way. Three of them got cigarettes. Then through barren, stony areas separating shallow valleys of oueds well vegetated with clumps of grasses and small trees and bushes. We stopped for the day early, by the dried-up well of Arhat, and had a relaxing reading and drawing session before supper. 131 miles today.

We now feel the beginning of the end of the desert is at hand.

Dec 6.

We reached In Gall, an oasis with palm trees. A pleasant enough village which we would have liked to be able to wander round on our own unmolested. This was impossible. As soon as we arrived we were surrounded by the young crowds. But helpful, as we took one of them on board and he showed us to the market place. However, no one could contemplate changing our money; our lowest value note met with almost unbelief; so many thousand francs CFA had never been seen before. Eventually someone did think of a way, and led us to the house of an old man who might help, and did. A retired successful merchant perhaps. He managed to find enough small change for us. We could then buy a cheap shoulder of goat and rather expensive onions, and the local staple crop, peanuts, of which we will no doubt be having a plentiful supply from now on. Fresh bread was also expensive, bought from a boy wandering around with bread on his head. No baker's shop visible. Very welcome, although our four day old bread had kept reasonably flexible wrapped in a damp cloth in the paddling pool, not all hard and dry.

The onward road was a great improvement, and being actively improved by the first road gang we had met in Niger. Still some sandy places and ditches crossing oueds. Hot, windy and dusty, and our hottest day so far (34C).

So on to Agadez. Agadez, that only four days ago had seemed so far away. We had completed the 561 miles without petrol or repair facilities; we had 20 gallons of petrol left and needed no repairs. We arrived at 3pm and discovered that it was now 4pm. So sunset will be at 6. A truly desert town -- even the chief 'Hotel de l'Air' is mud walled. We had to report to the customs who relieved us of our carnet, and to the police who kept our passports, all to be returned tomorrow. Once again we co-opted a willing guide as passenger to help us finding supplies like bread and fruit, as we wanted to reach a particular well-recommended camp site in good time. There is no bank here, but, forewarned, we were forearmed with enough francs CFA to see us through the country. The camp site turned out to be 8 miles out of town, and was, in fact, the 'Mr. Joyce's Garden' that Col. Francis had told us of. A nice shady place in a palmerie, but not much shelter from the strong wind still blowing. Three Landrovers in occupation, one from Kenya and two going south. A supper of goat (tough) with carrots, onions and potatoes, and bananas.

Dec 7.

A morning pottering around. We woke to the sound of chirping birds which were the delight of the garden. A sort of exotic aviary. Many unusual finches, rather slim, the male being red in front fading to brown behind, the female with red round the beak and above the base of the tail. Very friendly. Marion took a photo of a pair sitting on a jerrican. Another bird, more chunky, had a slight crest like a jay, a red heart shape on the chest, and a red beak with white, yellow and brown. Also a shrike-like bird, with yellow head, brown spotted white back and long tail. A blackbird with white feathers edging the tail, many pied crows, a small glossy blue-black bird, and the more common black crows and pied wheatears, and a brown unidentified species, possibly a pipit.

Washing, cooking, a swim in a small pool, very efficient showers from perforated buckets, buying eggs and carrots by bargaining with strolling sellers, and cleaning the vehicle all occupied the time. Only normal maintenance jobs needed, checking oil levels, testing nuts and bolts, and cleaned plugs and oil filter. The children were a bit fractious early on (too much travelling ?), but better after Peter and I had been for a walk and we had all had a cooked lunch. On our walk we found palms with large hollow fruit, possibly oil palms, and a well operated by a cow. The Zebu cow had to walk forward to raise the bucket, made of skins, on the end of a grass rope over a wooden pulley; and the water was tipped into a hollowed tree trunk trough leading to irrigation channels.

We left after lunch to go back into Agadez where we retrieved our passports, filled up with petrol (250 litres) and bought what food was available. We also met a party of New Zealanders coming from the south and learnt much useful information about routes through Cameroun and Zaire.

Then off again for the final 293 miles of desert to Zinder. After only 16 miles of corrugations we stopped to camp among scattered thorn bushes.

Dec 8.

The desert was having its last fling at us today; a strong wind flinging sand everywhere. A wild night with sand finding its way into the tents, enough to start wondering about their stability.

We had a rapid packing up in the morning to get safely inside the van, and set off at 7 o'clock. The sun rose barely visible through the mist of blown sand, and was soon lost altogether. Not only was visibility down to 1/4 mile for much of the day, but the road was one of the worst so far; sand-filled ruts, frequently diverging on to side tracks, and often in four-wheel drive. When a Landrover passed we followed in its tracks, but they were soon obliterated by new blown sand. The whole desert seemed to be moving itself from east to west.

Breakfast was in English picnic style -- inside the van. Marion insisted on brewing coffee on the Primus under the steering wheel, and we all felt better for that. But we were not the worst to be affected by the conditions. We came upon a lorry blocking the road, deep in sand, with a broken differential and a leaking radiator. We gave them five gallons of water and then managed to crawl round them in bottom gear. We also gave one of the passengers a lift for ten miles back to his village; he had abandoned his attempt to reach Agadez that day. At the village (Abelama) we could only just see the matting houses of which it was composed; no one was about; we dropped our passenger and he disappeared into the mist.

By lunchtime, in slightly less wind, we were able to get out, put up a tent in the shelter of a grove of trees, and appreciate a bit of fresh air again. But firmly shut windows all morning had not stopped a layer of fine sand covering everything inside. Just as well the sun was blotted out and not adding to the heat. A red-billed hornbill paraded in the road for our lunchtime amusement.

But Peter feeling a bit unwell did not add to our amusement.

We passed through the village of Aderbissinat; we hardly saw it, but had to use four-wheel drive to leave it through another sand-filled trough, passing a 30kph speed limit sign ! Worse to come. Nasty bumps appearing between the deep sand stretches.

We stopped at 3.30. 104 miles on such a day seemed rather good. It really is nice not to have a fixed destination. We camped near the dry well of Eliki, the wind dropped and we were able to have supper sitting at the table in the normal way. All except Peter, that is. Definitely feeling sick by now, and retired to bed.

We could see the sun set, but only just, through the continuing dusty haze.

Jennifer: "I didn't like today." But a better evening. It was 'Snakes and Ladders' and a story with Bo after supper for her and Timothy.

But certainly an interesting day. It made us realise how lucky we had been so far, and wondering how often this occurs at this time of year. Under the bonnet, I cleaned the air filter again but left everything else covered with its honourable film of orange dust. Tyres and wheels on the windward side had been scoured clean by the sand, the first time we had seen the paint on the wheels for a long time.

We were surprised that, despite the storm, we had passed several nomads travelling with their camel trains, people grazing herds of goats and camels (but little or no visible grass), and life apparently going on normally. One would have thought this was no day to be out on foot.

Dec 9.

Peter still unwell all day and eating nothing. We suspected some of the little gratuitous 'titbits' that the children had been given by other little people at Agadez. Diarrhoea treatment applied.

Breakfast for the rest of us (scrambled egg for a delicious change) in the morning sun after a quiet night. Watched over by a hoopoe in a tree; black and white barred body, dark tail, orange-buff breast and head, orange barred black crest, and long curved beak.

But by 9 o'clock when we left, the wind had risen again and started flinging sand about as before. The first 35 miles much as yesterday, until we found ourselves on a real road once more. A real laterite road, that is; gravel surface on hard packed earth, the first of thousands of miles of such roads, no doubt, all through Central Africa. But only the first 13 miles were excellent, before corrugations were once more encountered. We pressed on to reach Tanout before lunch in order to buy bread, knowing it to be a market town. We found the active colourful market and fresh baked hot rolls, and black and white pigs wandering about, and continued a couple of miles to enjoy a good lunch beside the road to Zinder. We saw a white-streaked squirrel, and a pale green bird with some orange, and long points on its tail -- probably a sun bird. Still windy, but less flying sand, and the sun shining effectively through the haze.

Signs of greatly increased cultivation, goats contained within fences so that even the indigenous plants had leaves on. Maize and sugar cane stubbles and pumpkins growing.

We passed a recent collision of two lorries blocking the road; while edging past, a jagged piece of one lorry made a gash in the edge of our roof; not serious, but will need some re-sealing. My fault, as I was guiding Marion's driving on foot. We have a low opinion of the standard of local lorry driving. At the village of Gezawa we stopped for a little extra water. At the 47 metre deep well water was being drawn by a camel; the huge leather bag of water must have been a heavy load for it; village maidens were waiting hopefully by with bowls, jugs and gourds so we joined them with our plastic jerrican and were afforded the honour of being served first. Colourful clothes here; the men mostly wear small embroidered hats and have tribal gashes on their cheeks. We have left the blue-robed Touareg country now.

Tonight's camp site is on the slope of a small hill among small bushes at the edge of maize stubble; a distinct drawback is the dead grass tufts with nasty catching prickly little burrs. No one goes barefoot. Soil very sandy but definitely no longer desert.

THE SAHARA IS BEHIND US.

Dec 10, Sunday.

Note in Peter's diary: "The last two days I felt ill and could not write."

But today we were woken by a song: Peter singing 'People look east' in his tent. This cheered us all up. Back to normal once more.

Still windy with a sand haze. Perhaps there always is. We continued on to Zinder, passing numerous villages in the haze. Zinder is a fair-size town with stone buildings. We finished our Niger coins on bread, bananas and lettuce, but CFA notes can be used in other ex-French countries. Reported to the police for a passport check, but customs not interested in us here.

Tarmac road once again, now for all the 162 miles to Kano. What a luxury, and how dull and soporific driving becomes.

Larger villages have mud walled houses. We passed a 'brickworks', a pit out of which clay bricks were being cut, which then merely had to be laid in the sun to dry. Smaller houses were made of matting of woven grasses or reeds, as were beehive shaped grain stores having removable coned lids, and raised on stone blocks. The crop we have been seeing recently seems to be millet rather than maize. We have not seen groundnuts growing, even though frequently on sale. Many unrecognisable plants. Marion writes: "I am looking forward to getting some identifying literature in Kano so that I know what I am looking at." We saw 6inch and 8inch lizards at our boulder-strewn lunch stop. Peter writes "Mummy said 'It's nice to have Peter eating with us again'."

In Matameye we did have another brief stop for customs, and five miles later camped in amongst the remains of a millet crop, across which we drove several hundred yards from the road. The road, although tarmac, is only one lane wide so the laterite verges have to be used for passing. Supper was corned beef, mashed potato, and lettuce carefully washed in sterilised water, followed by 'couscous' semolina with apricot jam.

Evening grasshoppers once again for a change -- huge ones -- locusts perhaps. Marion has drawn a picture of a black and white and yellow caterpillar that turned its forequarters from side to side as it walked and the front two of its six antenna-like structures were sensitive to touch. (Later identified as of the family Danaidae.)

The wind dropped again in the evening to almost nothing by 7pm. As the sun set hazily it looked like the misty orange ball in the centre of the Niger flag. After nightfall the sound of tomtoms beating from a village nearby gave us a first welcome to Sub-Saharan Africa.

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