Algeria

We flew back into Tunisia with a battered suitcase that had managed to mislay two of its wheels on the three-hour flight from London.  Weighing in at 25kg, it had obviously raised a red flag as, rather than appearing on the conveyor belt with all the other luggage, it appeared 30 minutes later being pulled along rather lopsidedly by a uniformed airport official.  Closely behind was another official carrying a long carefully wrapped package which turned out to be a replacement boat anchor belonging to a French couple.  By now the airport was completely empty apart from us four passengers and four customs officials who did well to hide their surprise and delight when on managing to get the zips on our case to work the contents spilled out.  A brand new Land Rover radiator, various replacement filters, transmission shaft (just in case) and basic larder items lay sprawled across the floor and the long and laborious process of identifying anything that could be taxed began.  It took nearly two hours for a list to be produced with the various tax rates applied.  These ranged from 2% - 40% which did seem a bit suspect but, concerned about missing the evening buffet at the hotel, we paid without complaint. 

It was one thing having all the bits we needed, now we had to find someone to fit them.  Our observations of the numerous garages dotted about Tunisia were not terribly optimistic. Tiny, scruffy workshops surrounded by a motley selection of rusting cars raised up on blocks.  We had seen the occasional hydraulic lift and as such had fingers crossed that replacing the radiator would not require some enthusiastic mechanic to give it a go.  But, hey, this is one of the reasons we chose Bob, a bush mechanics dream, and having talked the talk it was now time to take a leap of faith and hand him over to The Big Truck Garage. 

Collecting Bob the following day, we were delighted to find him not only intact but with a clean bill of health and we left the garage in high spirits.  40 minutes later, having gone just 7km, Bob died at the side of Tunis’s main throughfare. His temperature needle was pointing up to the heavens and he was emitting a distinct burning smell.  Fortunately, the garage was still open and after an agitated WhatsApp exchange the mechanic arrived on his motorbike.  After about half an hour of poking around and head scratching it occurred to all of us at the same time that there was probably an air bubble in the coolant – a quick blow cleared the problem and we were once again on our way.     

Originally our intention had been to exit Tunisia at the Nefta/Taleb Larbi border crossing which would have seen us 500km along on our proposed trip of 2,300km to the south of Algeria and deep into the Sahara Desert.   We had been quite close to this border whilst camping at Douz but after making several enquiries about crossing here had been told that this border was not allowing foreigners through (even with a visa) unless they were part of a tour group or with a guide.  There were also reports that if permission was denied a big red ‘rejection’ was being stamped into passports which might possibly cause problems when trying to cross at one of the other borders.  Given the main border between Tunisia and Algeria meant retracing our steps 500km back north, we had been deliberating over whether or not to attempt a crossing.  The matter was eventually decided for us when Bob started leaking; we had no other option than to head back north towards Tunis, get a flight to the UK and return with a replacement radiator. 

Hadada border

The Hadada border between El Kala/Oum Taboul is the main crossing between Tunisia and Algeria and we reached it after a day’s drive along Tunisian’s north coast.  It was difficult to believe that this was the main border as, on approach, we were routed off the road onto a dirt track by lines of bollards and channeled into a tiny parking area where we had to execute a multi-point turn in order to then travel back the way we had come on the other side of the bollards before reaching a grey portacabin where we were promptly sent back to the parking area on foot,  Obviously we had to enter the building marked in large red letters as ‘Duty Free’ where, instead of giant blocks of Toblerone, we found a collection of counters each one surrounded by a disorganised crowd of people waiting to receive their exit stamps.  With our own exit stamps eventually acquired we returned to Bob and rejoined the crawling line of traffic which proceeded in a snake-like fashion to a booth on the Algerian side.  Having been handed arrival cards as we inched passed a couple of guards, we were feeling quite organised on reaching the booth and more than a little smug when our photoshopped car registration certificate didn’t even raise an eyebrow.  As the Algerian rubber stamp came down onto our passports and we were waved through, I would be lying if I told you that we weren’t feeling pretty pleased with ourselves.  We were definitely getting the hang of this.  Unfortunately, our self congratulations were a little premature as accelerating towards the exit road that we could see just in front of us, an official jumped out and asked for Bob’s TIP (temporary import permit).  Apparently, there was another booth behind the one we had just left where we should have collected this annoying but essential document.  45 minutes later we were on the move again with no more than 50m between us and freedom before being stopped yet again and asked for car insurance.  This we did have and produced it with a flourish and big smiles.  Unfortunately, despite our efforts to translate the policy document into Arabic using Google Lens , the official wasn’t satisfied and Ian was whisked away to purchase local insurance at the cost of €18/month.  All things considered, the crossing was relatively straightforward and had we been a bit more on the case we would have saved ourselves a lot of time.  Our inefficiencies were soon forgotten though as we drove away from the border with our drone, binoculars and satellite phone securely hidden within the cubby holes inside Bob’s front seats - we had made it into Algeria!

algerian embassy

Algeria is the largest country in Africa and the 10th largest in the world.  Over 80% is part of the Sahara with sweeping sand dunes, plateaus and oases.  It was colonised by the French for over 130 years before gaining independence following a brutal war in 1962.  It is a major exporter of oil and natural gas, commodities that have dominated the national economy leaving little or no focus on the development of any tourist industry.  The lack of infrastructure towards tourism is evident immediately on application for a visa.  Compared to most other countries the process is bureaucratic and time consuming and without an easy Visa on Arrival or Evisa we had to make a personal application through the Algerian Consulate in London.  It wasn’t a difficult process per se just a tedious one – 2x photocopies of every single page in our passports, proof of funds, hotel bookings for the duration of our stay, along with the usual photos and application form.  We did feel a bit guilty submitting false hotel reservations within the permitted northern part of the country knowing full well that as soon as our visa had been received these would be cancelled and we would be heading south to the restricted area of the Sahara. 

Following a period in the 90’s marked by the “Black Decade” - a civil war between the government and extreme rebel groups - much of Algeria has experienced political stability.  However, the struggle for independence from France, the Sand War with Morocco over the Western Sahara and on-going terroristic threats have seen Algeria continuously improve its own security forces.  A large part of this security are the many road checkpoints which have been making it difficult for overlanders to explore without either police escorts or accredited guides. 

algerian checkpoint

As we started our epic journey to Algeria’s desert oasis of Djanet, the wind and rain were so bad that it wasn’t possible to see much more than a few grubby towns containing a lot of derelict or partly constructed buildings, the occasional BBQ grill pumping out thick grey smoke and roadside stalls displaying the same high quality fruit and vegetables that we had been enjoying in Tunisia.  Given the wild weather, the first few checkpoints we passed through were unmanned and we covered about 200km before being pulled over for the first time.  As we were still within the “safe” northern region of the country, we had no problem proceeding once our papers had been checked and approved.  Another 580km under our belt and we arrived at Hassi Messouad, a south-eastern town surrounded by sand that processes nearly 50% of the country's oil. We had passed through numerous checkpoints en-route but been fortunate enough to arrive when the guards already had their heads poked through someone else’s window thereby enabling us to nip through. In fact, we didn’t get pulled over again until 100km south of Hassi Messouad where after a long discourse with the guard in charge and subsequent swapping of telephone numbers we were eventually permitted to continue. 

near bjord omar driss, held at checkpoint

The ribbon of road (RN3) we were taking south was in reasonable condition.  There were a few broken sections that forced us to slow to second gear but there were also long stretches of new tarmac then allowed us to make good progress for another 250km.  There wasn’t too much to observe – some impressive golden dunes in the distance, some camels, the occasional oil refinery and a few abandoned upturned cars.  A ubiquitous sight was that of the blown-out tyres scattered on either side of us; Ian, delighted to have something other than Tunisian number plates to occupy his mind, commented that there were roughly 32 tyres every km.    

Just after the road started curving to the left, heading towards the Libyan border, we were stopped again.  This time it wasn’t just the national guard that was the issue – a sandstorm was approaching and visibility further down the road had all but disappeared.  After more than an hour of indecision by the guard, it was decided that we would spend the night across the road from the barracks.  With passports confiscated, presumably so that we didn’t make a run for it during the night, we were just thinking what a long evening it was going to be when a Swiss guy and his daughter arrived accompanied by a Tuareg guide and a cook in a second vehicle.  They were also stopping for the night due to the sandstorm and invited us to join them for dinner.  With access to a metal hut, gained by one of the guards smashing the padlock with the butt of an axe, we settled down to a traditional Tuarag meal of Chourba Bouktouf (vegetable soup), Lham lahlou (lamb stew) and fresh bread cooked in a small frying pan.  The meal ended with traditional strong and sweet Maghrebi tea.  Who would have thought, there we were in the middle of a sandstorm somewhere in the Sahara Desert. A bucket-list item well and truly ticked. 

road south to djanet and the sahara

The following morning our dinner companions had already left when our passports were returned, and, to our surprise, we were once again allowed to continue.  When planning to visit Algeria, there had been a huge question mark as to how far south we would be able to travel unescorted.  Online reports from other travellers seemed to indicate that we had passed the point at which many had been turned back and, as it turned out, the remaining 1,100 km to Djanet turned out to be extremely straightforward. In fact, all of the checkpoints seemed to be expecting us and we were promptly waved through.

tuareg ‘blue men of the desert’

It was a big milestone for us to eventually arrive in Djanet, a small but bustling town that is the key gateway to the Tassili n’Ajjer National Park.  The Park is a mountain range containing what is considered to be one of the most beautiful deserts in the world, the Tadrart Rouge (Red Mountain); It is also home to the Tassili Plateau, an area that holds one of the most important groupings of prehistoric cave art.  A few weeks previously we had been in touch with Abdellah, a local Tuareg guide, who had agreed to arrange a trip to both of these places should we manage to get ourselves to Djanet.  We met him the following morning in our hotel; he was easily recognisable in his Picasso blue robe and cheche (a 6 meter long cotton scarf) wrapped around his head. Apart from a pair of large dark brown eyes, his facial features were completely covered. As we chatted, the realisation of just how tightly the government was controlling Saharan tourism began to sink in. We already knew that we were the only foreigners in town that hadn’t flown in and been met at the airport by a guide and police escorts and we only knew there were other foreigners in the area because we had briefly seen them being bundled between the various guesthouses and the Tuareg guides 4x4s.  They certainly weren’t being allowed to stroll along the dusty streets in search of a coffee or join the locals at one of the many eateries that were all serving up the same food, namely bbq chicken, rice and chips. What we didn’t know is that Abdellah would need to apply for permits in order to be able to take us further into the desert; a request that was initially refused but subsequently granted.

tadrart rouge

We set off the following day.  Us in Bob, and Abdellah in his old but typically capable Toyota Land Cruiser.  Making the most of this unusually intimate grouping, Abdellah had invited along his Arab girlfriend, a rather large young lady with an endless supply of different outfits and obsessed with taking selfies. When she wasn't asleep on a bed matress laid out on the sand she was making every effort to maintain or possibly increase her weight. Since arriving in Africa the enormous bulk of many Arab women had been hard to miss and watching Abdellah chuckling as he repeatedly cut up potatoes to make yet more chips we concluded we were amongst a culture that had a high regard for the more voluptuous female believing them to healthier and more fertile. For the next few days we toured the Tadrart with its deep red-coloured sand dunes, dramatic rock formations and wide sandy canyons.  Despite being a bit heavy himself and not a soft sand lover, Bob chugged along quite happily although we were a bit miffed that Abdellah kept telling us to stop driving with the handbrake on.  At night we camped amongst giant dunes, staring at huge star-studded skies, the likes of which we hadn’t seen since leaving Australia.   

We returned to Djanet with just half a day to prepare for our next trip, a 5-day trek up to the Tassili Plateau with donkeys.  Abdellah was unable to accompany us but had organised our company which felt a bit overdone as we set off with a guide, a translator, a cook, 2 donkey handlers and 8 donkeys.  Climbing up to the top of the extensive Tassili sandstone plateau (72,000 km²) we entered a surreal environment consisting of thousands of natural rock arches, canyons and other bizarre land formations all shaped by wind and water over millions of years.  This UNESCO world heritage site contains over 15,000 examples of ancient rock-art dating back as far as 12,000 BC.  Some of the paintings suggest the Sahara was once a lush green savannah and depict early human life, animals such as giraffes, elephants, cattle and antelope as well as spiritual practices.  We were fortunate not only to have the place to ourselves but also that there had been the rare occurrence of rainfall a few days prior which meant that we got to see water in the natural rock pools and the flush of small flowers and shrubs.  As well as the rock art our guide showed us the smugglers tracks to and from neighbouring Libya. A smuggler once himself, he had used donkeys to carry all manner of goods across the border, on one occasion even a European washing machine. Despite the risks involved, he was proud to share that this had been an extremely lucrative period. We explored our surroundings by day and gathered around the campfire at night. Our Tuareg companions relaxed with their shisha pipes and performed the long drawn out ritual of tea making, where the strong, sweet liquid was repeatedly poured from a height between teapot and glass until sufficiently aerated as to form an impressive froth. The end result looked like mini beers with excellent head. With the coals now warm enough to make bread, charcoal was spread on the ground and a simple dough shaped into a flat disc placed on the top and covered over with sand and charcoal. It didn’t take long for the bread to cook, the hard crust proving quite resistant to any grains of sand. Once cool enough to handle, the bread was broken into small pieces and added to whatever soup or stew was on offer.

Around 75% of Algerians are Arabs. The Berber minority make up most of the rest of the population and are divided into many groups with a long and complex tribal/clan history. Following the Muslim conquest of the Mahgreb at the end of the 7th century, many Berbers converted to Islam but chose to keep their identity, languages, customs and traditions intact. The Tuareg people, often referred to as the ‘blue men of the desert’ represent a Saharan offshoot of the Berbers and amount to somewhere between 1.5-3 million people spread around the desert regions of Algeria, Niger, Mali, Libya and Burkina Faso. Typically nomadic and with an unsurpassed knowledge of the desert, they once dominated the caravan trade routes across the Sahara transporting gold, slaves, salt, ivory and textiles. Caravan trading inevitably ended and the introduction of country borders along with the challenges of survival amid increasing desertification dramatically changed a lifestyle that had been in place for thousands of years. Whilst some Tuarag have been able to take advantage of opportunities within the tourist industry acting as desert guides, many are deriving a living by more nefarious means. The smuggling of immigrants, gold, drugs and weapons across the borders of Nigeria and Mali is one way to make money as is the kidnapping of foreigners for ransom. Talking to Abdellah and our other Tuareg guides, we were left in no doubt that many of the issues currently going on in the Sahara involved the Tuareg. Heavily armed with weapons and artillery looted from Colonel Quadaffi’s extensive arsenal they were a common site racing across the desert sands in their vehicles of choice - the Toyota pick-up.

The next stage of our journey was a 600km drive west parallel to the Niger border, a trip that Google was showing as taking over 16 hours. Having asked around we knew that the route was partly tarmac but that there were large sections of desert piste. Abdellah warned of the very real danger of car- jacking and also that despite there being a couple of fuel stations en-route it was probable that they would have no fuel - something to do with not wanting it to be transported and re-sold in Niger. Having seen first-hand how quickly the light-weight Toyota’s were able to fly across the sand we figured Bob wasn’t likely to be too much of a target and with an extra fuel tank giving us a total of 110 liters we weren’t too worried about that aspect either Of more concern, was the recent kidnapping of a Spanish tourist in Tamanrasset, our next destination and that we were travelling with quite a bit of cash. Having been unable to get any of our cards to work in the country’s ATM’s and nearly everyone dealing in cash, we had returned from the UK with a large stack of Euros that had turned into an enormous stack once we exchanged it into Algerian Dinar. Taking all this into account we decided to ask Abdellah to act as our guide and were totally gob smacked when he got back to us saying that the national guard had refused his request and we were to continue on our own.  Our presence in Djanet was of course no secret.  On one occasion we had been woken by the police at 1.30am in order to have our passports checked and every time we went out for coffee no sooner had we sat down than the police would arrive asking us numerous questions before curb-crawling behind us until we returned to the hotel.  So we were more than a little surprised and definitely a bit put out by their apparent turn-around in regard to our safety. Well, no way where we going to go back the way we had come and, weighing up the odds, we figured that kidnapping a couple of bickering retirees in the most unsuitable vehicle for any kind of stealth work would be a terrible investment for any would-be captor.