Morocco, Algeria, Niger, Nigeria, Cameroon, Central African, Zaire, Rwanda, Tanzania, Kenya, Tanzania, Malawi, Zambia, Botswana and Zimbabwe.

INTRODUCTION
In 1988, I signed up with Exodus Expeditions in London, England for a 21 week Trans-Africa tour. This was nearly my first trip abroad (I'd lived in Mexico for 4 months) so I not only was going to exotic places, but I would be going there for a long time. Of course most of my family thought I was nuts but I'd always wanted to see Africa and decided there wouldn't be a better time.

I arrived in London two days before my trip began and spent the time sightseeing. I was a real Anglophile and was enamored by the city. Everything was very new, very exciting and promised to get more so. I was lucky (not foresightful) enough to be taking the trip in Africa's dry season. After we were there I heard some real nightmare stories about trips during the wet.

This journal recounts my trip from London through Western Europe and into Northern, Central and Southern Africa. Most of it is lifted directly from my notes I took although in some spots I have added for the sake of perspective.

Apologies for any embarrassment caused to fellow trip members named in this journal.
(yeah, right!)

NOV. 4
At 6:30 PM sharp, I walked into Exodus' offices where about twenty people were standing around looking at each other without saying much. The night before I arrived in London, everyone going on the trip had gathered for a brief introduction and meeting about trip routines and logistics. A few knew each other now but I was a little surprised no one was making much effort at socializing considering we would be living together for 22 weeks. Then again, with that long to get to know one-another I suppose there was no hurry. We climbed aboard a bus headed for Portsmouth on the English Channel and rode for three hours in nearly complete silence.

[side note] I will briefly introduce each trip member here. These are the people I started the trip with. Later, some would get off while others got on.

Allan & Jane from England - a couple in their early to mid thirties who spoke English in a way I could easily understand it. The same couldn't be said for many of the other people aboard. Allan's hair is completely gray making him look much older. He has a very quick wit and good taste in music. Jane grew up in Africa before the end of colonization. She now works for a branch of the UN and has what I would call a very proper English disposition. Allan is a student of Literature.

American Dave - a photographer who has done another trip through Africa with a different company. Seems pleasant enough. Likes drinking and womanizing.

Devon Dave - my "tent mate". Apparently Devon is the English equivalent of West Virginia - country yokels. I was told he was a genuine stereotype. We got along well but I got bloody sick of him using the word "bloody" far too often.

Chris the Unlikeable - Chris is a stereotypically rich spoiled American 19 year-old. He eventually got on everyone's nerves. I was one of the few that got along with him, but I'm very patient.

English Mike - Mike didn't really seem to have much personality at all, at least none I could detect. In three months I don't think I ever had a conversation that lasted more than thirty seconds with Mike.

Warren - a rowdy Aussie who's likable, independent minded and generally all-round good company. He had already been traveling for several months, throughout Europe before this trip began. Apparently he won the Australian national lottery and is making excellent use of the prize.

Colin - a young Brit. from Manchester who has the thickest accent I've ever heard. At least two of every three words I say to him are "What?".

Gerard - a teenager, I think. He wears some very silly clothing and holds some very silly conversations. I find him amusing but I think others on the trip would pay for the opportunity to rip his tonsils out. He is perhaps the only person I've ever seen wear a sweater as a pair of trousers.

English Pete - from the Lake District, Pete is very amiable. He seems to do everything in moderation. He quit his job as a professor of physics(?) to come on this trip and plans going onward to Asia after its completion.

Bryan & Carole - my chore partners from New Zealand. They both seem a little self-righteous and are a little too full of their religion to suit my taste but I get along well enough with them. I think Bryan would be alot more fun if Carole wasn't always prodding him.

Pam (Pim) - a librarian from New Zealand who is good hearted but has the nasty habit of losing practically everything of value she has brought.

Maria - before coming on this trip, Maria earned a living by pulling worms out of fish in Iceland. She seems kind of melancholic, but I suppose I would too if that had been my job.

Steve - a real estate agent from London, he has a good sense of humor, a bad taste in music, and a pretty carefree attitude about most things. He grew up partially in Kenya.

Carrie - a middle aged lady from New York who had taken a similar trip through Africa and one through South America. I never got to know her very well, partly I think because all the Americans aboard steered clear of each other. If we can't stand our own company, it's a wonder anyone else can.

Tine from Denmark - Tine was nineteen, blonde, pretty with a nice body, spoke little English (or Danish for that matter), and kept trying to disprove my assumption that she was, in fact, not really an airhead, but just liked to keep to herself. She didn't seem to enjoy anything on the trip, while not seeming to dislike anything either. Every day she would write tremendously long entries in her journal. I'd love to read it someday. It was fun watching the men on the trip try and make moves on her, only to be discouraged by what appeared to be a lack of awareness on her part. She grew to eventually detest Chris and constantly referred to him as "focking as-hall'.

Mike from Denmark - he and Tine got along well, no doubt because they both spoke Danish. In the first stages of the trip Mike would only frown alot and complain about things I hadn't even thought of. He entertained everyone with his butchery of English slang expressions, but at least was interested enough to ask when he didn't understand what something meant.

Roger - a kiwi who was the trip leader and main driver. Roger was very street wise about travel through Africa and got us past alot of difficult scrapes. He was a bit of a "scalawag", as he liked to refer to himself - he played the black market in every country and got his spending money by trading for anyone of us who didn't want to take the risk, skimming off the top.

Simon - he grew up in South Africa and was forced to leave because of his father's political views. He was the co-driver and this was his first trip. Simon had a knack at trying to do more than he was capable of and he kept making silly mistakes. I know he always tried his best but it was fun to watch none-the-less.

[Back to Portsmouth]

At the ferry landing, Roger and Simon met the group and showed us how to stow our gear in the lockers, and gave us ferry tickets. The ferry was huge I never once felt like I was moving during the whole crossing. On board, we discovered that all sleeping cabins were booked so we had to make do with sleeping on the floor or hopefully find an unoccupied couch.

The crossing took six hours - Portsmouth to Caen, France - and as it was about ten o'clock when we boarded, I went to the bar and had a quick beer by myself, then went to where most of the group was sitting. Some of them had begun to play cards but I was beat so found a small sofa, pulled out my sleeping bag, and fell sleep. I woke up a number of times but was somewhat refreshed when we landed in France.

NOV. 5
Customs was easy. The air was cold, slightly below freezing and my clothes were not warm enough for it. A half day into the trip and I'm already wishing we were in steamy, hot Africa.

The ferry lobby in Caen was a cold sanitized French version of every bus terminal I'd ever been to in the US. I was cold, hungry and sleepy and I had no Francs with me to buy anything. I could have murdered for a cup of coffee.

We climbed aboard the truck which was to be home for the next six months and headed off towards Paris, our first night's destination. Our seats were on benches built into the bed of the truck and the only covering from the elements was a sturdy tarp that stretched over a frame - very military style which only made sense because the truck was army surplus. I instantly recognized that the closer to the cab I sat, the less breeze and thus less cold I would experience.

Everyone huddled in their warmest clothes as we rode through the French countryside. Boredom finally forced everyone to begin to open up a little and start introducing themselves. I talked mainly to Chris since he was the closest but he got on my nerves within three sentences.

After a couple of hours, we stopped at a roadside cafe for hot drinks. I ordered a "cafe noir" thinking of a nice black coffee. What I got for $1.50 was three ounces of unrefined crude oil in a cup. It was about as refreshing as flat, warm soda.

We arrived in Paris at about 2:00 PM and pulled into a campsite along the Seine River. Roger gathered everyone together and explained how the trip would be run - what our responsibilities were, how decisions were made concerning itinerary, etc. We broke up into six groups of three people each. Every day one group would be responsible for cooking and buying food, one for cleaning, and one for truck security. I joined with Bryan and Carole, thinking that a couple would have some good ideas as far as cooking went. I volunteered to be the food kitty manager.

The rest of the day was ours and I took a bus into the city with Warren, Dave, and Carrie. We got off at the Champs Elysses but it was under repairs so I got to see a large piece of scaffolding artwork. Thrilling! We went to the Charles DeGaulle Center, a building with escalators running up the outside for a height of about ten stories. The view from the roof was terrific. I saw all the famous landmarks - Bastille, Notre Dame, Eiffel Tower, Louvre, etc. It was getting dark so we started to make our way back to camp. I was exhausted and went to bed after a few beers in the camp bar.

NOV. 6
We awoke at dawn and begin a madhouse scramble to eat, tear down tents and pack everything in the truck. We drove out of Paris on a major highway but soon got off onto a two-lane. The truck's top-speed was 45 mph and it was fun to watch cars pull get behind us and start swearing when there was too much traffic to pass us.

Stopped in Chartres for a mid-morning coffee. Bryan, Carole and I went to a butcher and bakery to buy food for tonight's dinner (we had first cook duty). None of us spoke any French so it only took two minutes before I became frustrated trying to buy large quantities of beef, bread and cheese. Hand signals only go so far.

A thoroughly uneventful afternoon of driving in France. Looked at cars and farms. Made small talk. Read. Waved to cars passing us. Twiddled thumbs. I began to suspect this type of travel would have some dry times.

Made camp in an operable but nearly abandoned campground outside of Poitiers. We used the propane stove to cook because open fires weren't allowed in European campgrounds. Preparing dinner took a long time because we were the first group to do so and didn't know where anything was. It felt good to take a hot shower after supper. I had my first squat toilet experience here. Now why the hell would they have hot running water but no toilet fixtures?

NOV. 7
Corn flakes, instant milk and fruitless yogurt for breakfast. Does life get any better than this? We piled into the truck and shivered our way along the flat roads of central France.

Stopped for shopping in Limoge, a beautiful Bordeaux town with a quaint river and a hilltop cathedral. The grocery store didn't open for an hour so some of us played Frisbee in the parking lot. On his first toss, Chris threw the Frisbee up on the store roof. It was the first and last time we played Frisbee on this trip.

I went to a bank to change for some francs. What a relief it was to finally have some spending cash. I celebrated by gulping down a few Stella- Atrois beers in a tavern then bought a couple of $2 bottles of Bordeaux wine for evening entertainment.

At lunch on the roadside, I picked up a stick and started swatting rocks into a farmer's field. Some of the people who'd never played baseball thought this looked fun so they joined in. We had a contest to see who could have the fewest misses and the longest hits. I won. I rightly claimed my title as batting champ of Auvergne.

We drove through Brive-la-Gaillarde and after passing several closed campsites, found one open. It was in a field with a nearby farmhouse serving drinks and selling hot showers. I know I won't be able to take many hot showers once we leave Europe so I'm trying to get in as many as I can now. It's a new concept I invented called "washing off tomorrow's dirt today". The sunset tonight was gorgeous - overlooking a pretty medieval looking village.

NOV. 8
Awoke to a spectacular blue, orange and red morning sky silhouetting the hilly, still dark countryside. Drove through some very pretty, gently rolling terrain today.

Stopped at a supermarket in Toulouse. That's my entire memory of the city - a supermarket. I may not know where the good hotels, hidden-find restaurants and night spots are in Toulouse, but I sure as shit know where you can get some good frozen vegetables or digestive crackers.

Upward and onward towards the Pyranees. They are beautiful in the distance. Passed a castle in Foix that was situated on a rocky precipice. Got out to photograph it and Simon started to do a 3 point U-turn in the road. All went well until he tried to shift back to first gear from reverse. I appeared stuck in first. Ended up blocking the entire road until Roger took over for him. This was the first clue we had that Simon could turn the most mundane task into an adventure. Learned some French swear words from passing motorists.

We made camp in a Disney-like setting. Alongside a small brook on soft grass, nestled in-between two mountains. Too pretty for words. I went to a tavern after dinner with Chris and Colin. We played pinball and wrote postcards while listening to old drunken Frenchmen argue.

NOV. 9
All morning we ascended a steadily rising road into the Pyranees. Roger wanted to save wear on the brake pads so even during the slight downgrades he went along in first gear at 10 mph. The pace was so agonizingly slow that at one point I jumped out of the truck and jogged beside it just for something to do. I had my first ride in the cab today. Nice listening to the stereo but it is rudely cramped for three people.

We stopped for lunch and shopping in the duty free principality of Andorra. The town is situated in a lovely valley surrounded by the gray snow-capped Pyranees range. Its only reason for existence seems to be as a duty-free purchasing stopover for tourists going between France and Spain. The main road is lined from city limit to city limit with shops selling everything from jewelry to booze, imported groceries to electronics and clothing. I think it is perhaps the largest flea market in the world. On either side of this main strip are low-quality condominiums, presumably used by the Andorran merchants.

We entered Spain towards dusk with overcast skies and a cold wind blowing. Roger pulled off the road down a dirt path leading to a river and we made camp here. Danish Mike, English Mike, Tine and Chris took their first turn at cooking and made a phenomenally spicy concoction of beans and sausage. Just smelling it gave me the shits.

This was our first "rough camp" and also our first campfire.

After dinner, Chris, Allan and I took turns strumming on Chris' cheap Spanish-style guitar and trying to encourage others to sing along with us. Problem was, none of us knew any songs that anyone else knew. Campfire sing-alongs did not become a nightly routine.

As we were about to go to sleep, a police cruiser pulled up beside us and an angry officer warned us in Spanish that we were crazy to sleep there because if it started raining, the river would rise and flood us. While he was telling us this, raindrops started coming down as though on cue. But it was late and we were too tired to move so we told him we would take our chances. This time I learned a few swear words in Spanish. The day's security contingent was told to keep one person awake to watch the river. I'm sure he was asleep fifteen minutes after the rest of us. At one point during the night, I woke up and looked out the tent flap to make sure I wasn't floating down through the Spanish countryside.

NOV. 10
A very, very long day of marathon driving today. I enjoyed the landscape of neatly rowed olive groves and treeless hills. For about an hour. The next thirteen were just so much repetition.

We stopped in a beautiful old style Spanish town called Lerida for shopping and currency exchange. I tried to find a cheap guitar for myself but was unsuccessful. I hung out at the central square and watched people go by for a while. This activity is probably my favorite when traveling. Just find a comfortable spot to sit back and watch life in a different culture go through its own unique routine.

We drove until well after dark before Roger pulled off the busy road on a rocky plain to camp. The ground was bone dry and rocky and pitching our tents was an exercise in frustration, prompting my normally passive tent- mate Dave to use some down-home Devonshire expletives.. After bending yet another tent stake, he threw down the wooden mallet, screamed "oh for fuck's sake" and stormed off to sleep on the floor of the truck.

We were only about a hundred yards from the roadside, and the headlights and roaring engines of passing traffic kept me awake much of the night.

NOV. 11
A wonderful day. Drove through Guadalajara, the most charming Spanish town yet.

I arrived at the conclusion today that Spanish women are mostly gorgeous. I guess I'm really attracted to the black hair, brown eyes and dark complexions because I find them so much more attractive than the pale French women.

We drove through Madrid. Literally straight through it without even a fuel stop. In fact we only went through the suburbs so I have no idea what the city itself actually looks like. All I can state with authority about Madrid is that their suburbs are equally as ugly as any American suburb I've seen. How's that for testimonial endorsement?

Toledo was a different story. When we crested the hill overlooking Toledo, the skies were dark and threatening and I felt like I was in an El Greco painting. The old city is on a hilltop and is completely walled like a massive fortress. The cobblestone streets are barely wide enough for even the tiniest cars to navigate and the hills make the roads twist and turn. Walking through it is very much like being in a tunnel. I spent about two hours happily getting lost in the streets, window shopping at some stores. It seems they sell alot of swords here.

Toledo's Cathedral and government buildings are nothing short of spectacular. I used more film photographing them than I had used thus far on the trip.

Camped in a real campground tonight but it was raining. Most of us washed some clothes in the bathroom sinks. This was kind of a mistake because clothes don't dry well in humid, rainy weather.

NOV. 12
"In Spain, the rain falls mainly on the plain." Whoever wrote this line knew just what the fuck he was talking about. A cold, steady downpour accompanied us all day on our drive from Toledo south to the old Moorish town of Granada.

After washing clothes last night, everyone had draped their soggy laundry on every available protrusion inside the truck, hoping that the breeze would dry it. No such luck on this humid day. Swatting damp, semi-clean underwear and socks from my face was not a good way to spend the afternoon.

Adding to the sour mood I was in was the fact I had cooking chores. Our lunches seem to have settled into a standard of sandwiches made from canned-meat, processed pseudo-cheese, tomatoes and onions on baguettes, topped by a horrible bile the called 'salad cream'. This last item is a sauce apparently used to accentuate the taste of a sandwich or salad. To me, it tasted like rancid, cucumber flavored mayonnaise. Lunch time potables included a delicious choice of warm, chemically treated water au natural or with a flavor additive called "Squash" which gave me a newfound respect for Kool-aid.

The day's pleasantries extended into the night as we made a rough camp in the dark, in the rain.

I think we passed through some towns today, but I wasn't interested enough to find out their names.

NOV. 13
Rumbling and lumbering along the Trans-Spanish highway on our third consecutive overcast sodden day. Patience was the key word today. Because of the rain, we kept the plastic tarp pulled down over the sides of the bed all day. There are clear spots on the plastic but it distorts everything, so I spent the day watching disproportionate images of Spain roll by. Kind of like watching TV when the horizontal control has gone haywire.

Olive groves, when seen from a distance look very similar to gigantic stalks of broccoli. This whole country is out of focus.

Trip members have finally begun to show their true personalities. Chris has become tiresome to nearly everyone. His spontaneous nature is captivating but his total lack of respect for other people overshadows it. Bryan and Carole are becoming a little too moral minded. Gerard talks too much, but his positive attitude and cheerfulness are welcome on days like today. He is a "Chatty Cathy" doll come to life.

Belongings become very precious and well-guarded on a trip where personal space is so limited. Every time someone wants to get in their locker, at least three people must move. They do so grudgingly and with a "what could possibly be so important that I should move, you pathetic asshole, you!" look.

I'm really into learning the cultural differences between America, England, Australia and New Zealand. We all speak English but do so with very different accents ( a noteworthy observation if ever there was). In fact, I learned that there are many more distinct dialects in England than in the US. I'm also amazed at how much the other cultures know about American culture. I think this is because we export so many TV programs and movies.

We finally made it to Granada this evening. Tomorrow we check out the castle.

NOV. 14
The Alhambra is a hilltop fortress overlooking the town and plains of Granada. Built in the 1300's, it was the pinnacle of Moorish influence in Spain and remains one of Europe's most famous landmarks. The numerous gardens contain hedges shaped into exotic animals and geometric forms. Acres of flowers surround pools and fountains decorated by beautiful mosaic tile designs. I would guess the place was virtually impenetrable not only because of its fifty foot high, three foot thick walls, but also because it is on top of such a steep hill. I thought I would have a coronary climbing up to it.

Inside are unfurnished palaces, minarets, elaborate stone carvings and hidden passageways. The views from the fortress walls looking out over the red slate roofs of Granada and the mist covered hills beyond were breathtaking. We must have come at an off time for tourism because we had the place all to ourselves.

I was fascinated by the antiquity and grandeur of the place, while for others, it was just another building to check off on a list, make a few rude comments about the improper upkeep, then whisk off for a cup of tea and morning snack. Either you enjoy history or you don't, I suppose.

We left the Alhambra at noon and drove to the Mediterranean coast. I was excited to see this sea for the first time and couldn't have asked for a prettier setting. The sky was partly cloudy with the sun breaking through black clouds and a rainbow overhead. Sleepy fishing villages lined the road but on the seaside cliffs were the clean, new summer homes of the European jet set. Some spots were revoltingly touristy while others had the charm of an Eighteenth century village.

Stopped for lunch in a small town and Simon and I headed off to find a seafood lunch at a restaurant. We wandered into a tiny brightly lit bar where some local people were playing pool on a trick table. Apparently the balls were too large for the return slots and after completing a game, the entire table top was removed to retrieve them. Very unique.

We camped in a small tourist town at a regular campsite. Our neighbors were a caravaning German group who complained about the noise we made. I found out how much the English really detest Germans.

Walked alone along a littered beach and watched the sunset. It was nice to get off by myself.

At night we crowded into a small bar where several of the group got shit- faced on cheap Spanish wine and beer. I couldn't imagine spending a day on the truck with a serious hangover.

NOV. 15
My last day in Europe. Tomorrow, we should finally be in Africa.

We drove past some pretty densely populated touristy sections of the Costa Del Sol this morning. Most of the buildings appear to be condos used by comparatively wealthy European vacationers or ex-pats ("cow- pats", as Roger calls them). I probably saw more gray-haired, pot-bellied, sun-tanned shirtless old men in this stretch than I ever had in my life.

We reached Gibraltar about 11:00 AM. Since Gibraltar is a British outpost settlement, we went through a light customs check to enter from Spanish soil. Gibraltar (also known as the Rock Of Gibraltar - same thing) is, unexpectedly enough, a solid two mile long, narrow rock off Spain's coast. The RAF keep an air base on the rock and in order to reach the central district, you must stop at a crosswalk and wait for the jets to land or take off because you walk directly across the airstrip. I wondered if anyone had ever been run over by a plane here.

The central district is a small version of Andorra. Shop after shop selling duty free shit. The only difference was every third building was a pub that served meals. I ducked into a nice looking one and ordered a big juicy steak and a mug of beer. The price tag was high and the steak wasn't so great but it made me feel like less of a grimy, budget oriented tourist than I had since the trip started.

I think the only reason the British keep this place is so they will have some proper style pubs to use when traveling through Spain. I couldn't find one thing appealing about it.

Gibraltar seems to have its own weather and when we camped along a beach facing the rock, we were treated to a pretty spectacular sunset with the island engulfed by clouds and the cliffs of the Costa Del Sol as background.

I helped the cook group gather a large amount of driftwood and with the help of some diesel fuel, we started a raging bonfire on the beach. A really relaxing evening sitting around the campfire listening to the waves crashing on the shore. Tomorrow it's Africa!

NOV. 16
Woke up at the crack of dawn, shook a huge pile of the beach from our tents and headed off towards the ferry landing. We were in Algeciras, the port town, in thirty minutes. This town exists for the sole purpose of extracting money from intercontinental tourists. There are gas stations, restaurants and junk shops galore here. I spent my last Pesetas on junk.

The ferry looked far too small to me for carting large vehicles across the Mediterranean. I went up on the top deck and located where life preservers were kept. I figured if we capsized, I would, by God, be one of the lucky few to escape drowning long enough to be swept out into the Atlantic and float around for two or three days before the sharks got me.

The views of Gibraltar were pretty as we pulled away from Europe. It was a bit breezy and cool on deck, but I was too excited to go below. The crossing took about two hours and before I knew it, we were docking in Ceuta, a small Spanish port off Morocco that is Spain's version of Gibraltar.

Roger had told us this was the best place for duty-free shopping so I set out to buy a few things to carry me through Africa. I bought a cheap short- wave radio so I could pick up the VOICE OF AMERICA (VOA) and BBC broadcasts. I knew English-language newspapers (as well as uncensored ones) would be hard to come by and I thought I might like to keep up with current events. As soon as I took it out of the box, the volume knob broke off. I thought "well, that's fucking Korean garbage for you". Every time I turned the radio on throughout the trip, I ran the risk of waking up the whole goddamned continent.

I also bought some booze. A nice bottle of scotch for trading in Algeria, and a bottle of Spanish brandy for myself in Algeria (a 99 % dry country). The brandy came in a bottle that had been painted silver. This stuff tasted exactly like cherry cough syrup with a kick. I think they've carried the concept of "alcohol for medicinal purposes" a bit too far.

The border crossing into Morocco was fairly easy and hassle free. We went through a couple of police checkpoints on the road out of town, and I wondered why they thought people that had just come through immigration would feel compelled to start committing crimes within fifteen minutes upon arrival in the country. Isn't that what border guards are supposed to check for?

We drove along a paved two lane for several hours. I knew within five miles of Cueta that Moroccan drivers had taken up where Japanese Kamikaze's had left off. Passing cars was a life and death game. More than once we were forced onto the shoulder by someone who didn't judge the oncoming traffic well.

Other than the traffic hell, I was wide-eyed staring at the passing scenery - sun-browned men dressed in sandals, bright djellabas and fezzes; farmers riding burros on the road with huge milk-bottles stuffed into saddlebags; people lazing by the roadside in the middle of nowhere smoking hashish and selling small baskets of produce; cripples everywhere; beautiful white mountains; hedges made of eight foot tall, eight foot wide cacti; everyone smiling and waving. Quite an eyeful for one afternoon.

We rough camped in a lush pine forest where all the trees had the bark stripped from their lower trunks. The bed of pine needles was very comfortable but I couldn't help wondering what kind of bizarre agricultural practice required stripping a tree's protective coating. After a tasty supper of chewy meat stew, I got out my radio so I could listen to the world news report. Couldn't pick up even a local station on it! I promised to trade this heap of shit the first chance I got.

NOV. 17
We drove into Morocco's capitol city, Rabat, early in the morning and had the entire day to explore. On Rabat's outskirts is a huge above-ground graveyard with whitewashed cement sarcophagi decorated by flowers. At first I thought this was because Rabat is a port town and they had to keep graves above sea-level, but then I noticed there is a fifty foot high cliff overlooking the ocean, which means there is at least fifty feet of earth between the city and the sea.

We parked and I took my camera and went with American Dave to do a little exploring. We walked through some food markets and looked at the different kinds of fruits and vegetables I'd never seen before, and at the uncooled meat for sale. Often times it just sat on a table in the shade with swarms of flies attached to it. Really made me hungry! We made our way over to the Casbah (or castle, the old walled-in part of every Moroccan city) but didn't want to go far inside. The entrance is through huge gates and it made me feel like I was walking through a door into the past. There were very few cars on the narrow streets, but lots of donkey's and wooden carts. Most of the buildings looked hundreds of years old (as did some of the people). I had heard some people live their entire lives inside the Casbah walls, never going out into the modern world. I didn't see many places that looked like they were equipped for electricity or plumbing. Saw a lot of kerosene lamps and candles, rain barrels and houses for squat toilets. A REALLY bizarre little world!

Morocco is one of the few major tourist destinations in Africa and has been since World War II. Moroccans are used to seeing wealthy (by comparison) tourists and have developed some very inventive ways to take their money. For instance, it's impossible to take someone's picture here without paying for the privilege. The going rate is one Dirham (15 cents) per person, per photo. Pickpockets here are some of the world's best and the merchants know exactly how much they can scam out of you. A common routine is for a local boy offer to guide you through the maze-like Casbahs then demand money to take you back once you are good and lost. Tourists have been know to be robbed and even disappear forever in the Casbahs.

Security on the truck was a real concern in Morocco (and the whole of Africa). In Europe we always had someone aboard to discourage thieves, but when we went into cities in Africa, there had to be a least two alert people at all times (some places four). Alot of people here are literally starving to death (in case you haven't read any newspapers in the last 20 years) and anything they can sell or use is a prize. Also, large groups of curious people or beggars would always gather around the truck and it was easy for one person to be distracted on one side of the truck while someone was stripping everything off the other side. At night time, when we set up our tents, we didn't put anything into it until it was bedtime because it would have been ripped off while we weren't looking. Some of the trivial things that were stolen en route were sleeping bag stuff sacks, a plastic jug full of diesel fuel, cups, etc. Of course some valuables were taken but the point is, literally anything not secured WILL be stolen. In some particularly bad cities, Roger hired local boys to keep people away from the truck in addition to having several of us aboard.

In the afternoon, I went to a local Patisserie and gorged on exotic pastries and sweetened mint tea. It is one of life's curiosities how an incredibly tasty desert is good for about the first three bites, but then becomes a chore to finish. Too much of a good thing, I suppose.

Towards dusk, we headed off to a campground just outside the city. There were concrete walls surrounding the compound and shards of glass imbedded in the wall tops to discourage thieves. The toilet facilities here had no lights and I wondered exactly what kinds of things were crawling around me as I went to use them. I washed some clothes in the sink, in the dark and hung them around my tent to dry.

NOV. 18
I had a fun time shopping in Rabat's medina (or market) this morning. Bryan, Carole and I bought food for today's meals and we had to bargain in French for every single thing we bought. Bartering is sometimes fun but when we had to talk a merchant down on the price of packaged yogurt, I felt it was being carried to extremes. After picking up the food, I took off on my own for a look around. For some insane reason, I had decided to buy a nice djellaba for myself. It looks perfectly OK in Morocco, on a Moroccan, but walking down main street back in the States wearing a floor length striped monk's robe would have made me feel a little self conscious. I'm glad I didn't find one in my price range.

On the way back to the truck I heard a large group of people singing. It seemed to be coming towards me and so I waited to see what it was. Around a corner came about fifty people, walking very slowly in what appeared to be a funeral procession. Eerie, sad voices sang while women made wailing sounds. The pall bearers took one exaggerated step after another, holding aloft a wooden platform with a body wrapped in very bright green cloth, and flower garlands surrounding it. I was fascinated and followed until they turned away from town. If only I'd had my camera with me!

We left Rabat and drove along the coast until we reached Casablanca, then headed inland towards Marrakech. Casablanca is Morocco's largest city (and in fact, the second largest city in Africa) but has nothing to offer tourists so we skipped it.

We passed through some rich farmland and low mountains. Farmer's here work the soil with the most primitive tools - often a mule and plow or spade. We drove through some pretty remote stretches and I noticed a lot of people were just standing by the roadside in the middle of nowhere doing nothing. They weren't hitching and I didn't see any buses come by to pick them up. They weren't selling anything, weren't walking anywhere. They weren't waving, smiling, talking to anyone or doing anything at all. Who were they, where did they come from and how did they get there? I have never solved this riddle. I suppose it's just one more of Africa's grand mysteries. I'm sure I'll see a documentary on PBS someday entitled "Morocco's Aimless Masses".

We drove into the darkness to reach Marrakech's campground tonight. Just outside of the city, we were stopped at a police checkpoint. The guard mumbled something about inspecting the truck and Roger tried to be very friendly with him to avoid the hassle. He offered the man a cigarette from his pack of Galoises but the guy grabbed the whole pack. Roger had to just smile and pretend it was OK - there's really only one way to treat police in foreign places, and that's to give them whatever they want within reason. The cop got on the back of the truck and kept asking if we had any gifts for him, such as Casio watches. He was very specific in asking only for a Casio. Nobody responded to his suggestions and luckily he just left the truck and waved us through. This was my first experience with the unbelievably corrupt nature of government officials in Africa.

NOV. 19
Marrakech is Morocco exemplified. Everything you've seen or heard about this country happens here. The Djina-El-Fna, the main square in the heart of the city is filled with acrobats, dancers, snake charmers, people offering bets on games of chance, etc. Anything you've even thought of someone doing as street entertainment is done here. The snake charmers took the cobras and asps out of their baskets and put them on the pavement while they were doing their charming routine. Needless to say, I kept my distance from these imbeciles.

At one point I paid a silly looking dancer to take his photo. There was a large dance troupe in the background and as soon as I pointed my camera at him, the leader of the troupe ran up to me and demanded Dirhams for all of his dancers because they would be in my photo too. I don't speak French so arguing was pointless. I smiled looking confused and walked away while he walked after me with his hand out. I wonder if everyone in the square (probably about 500 people) would rush a building if someone climbed up it to take a panoramic shot?

A nice thing about Marrakech is that there are venders that squeeze fresh, cold oranges and lemons into juice for about fifteen cents. I drank the stuff by the gallon.

The street beggars here were more persistent than an insurance salesman. One boy was shooed away from the truck over and over, sometimes physically by a man we'd hired for that exact purpose, but he would just go around to the other side of the truck and stick his hand out saying "pliz, pliz meester". This went on from the time we arrived in the early morning until we left late that afternoon. I don't think he ever got so much as one Dirham.

My group had security duty today and I was hopping mad that I had to spend a good part of the day watching the truck. I kept thinking "we'll I've spent thousands of dollars and traveled thousands of miles so I can go to one of the most fascinating cities in the world to look at a parking lot".

I eventually got a chance to have a look around the Casbah here. I resigned myself to paying for someone to show me back out if I got lost but I was determined to really go far into it. Before I even got to the gates, a teenager was asking me if I needed a guide. I said no and he then followed me around for two and 1/2 hours insisting I needed a guide to see things properly. When I eventually came back out he was still on my tail pestering me. Now he started yelling at me because I had not paid him for his guiding services! This kid had balls bigger than the dome of the Capitol building. If there had been a handy machete nearby, I would still be in a Moroccan prison.

We left Marrakech in the early afternoon and headed for a remote Berber village high in the Atlas mountains. The Berber people are tribal Moroccans who speak their own language. They are not considered Arabs but are still Muslim. We would be staying at one of their remote villages for three nights.

The access road to the Berber village, called Tizi-N-Tetla, was actually a boulder strewn jeep trail. It wound through the mountains hugging the cliffs and sometimes narrowing to a point where I was certain the truck was too wide to fit. I sat at the rear of the truck bed through this ordeal, ready to jump out in case Roger or Simon erred in their judgment about the truck's width when going through the narrow passes. Everyone else seemed oblivious to the looming danger and I felt a bit foolish standing up each time we got too close to the edge. But what the hell was their problem? Didn't they realize they should be shitting their pants as I was? Boy it really irks me how some people can avoid getting frenetic in situations like this. We arrived at Tizi-N-Tetla, a "village" of about twenty houses with one small grocery/restaurant. Roger hired a guide, Omar, to lead us to his village up in the mountains. We walked along a well used trail for one or two miles before we came to an archaic looking hillside village where all the houses were made of stone. There were probably a hundred homes in the village, all piled together haphazardly creating a maze of stone fences and walls. It was located in a valley surrounded by 12,000 foot high, snow- capped mountains. The valley floor was green and brown with terraced farms and an idyllic stream running through it's center. A Moroccan Shangri-La! There were no phones, no electricity, no motorized vehicles, no sign of technology at all.

Our accommodations were on the concrete floor of an empty building with only oil lamps and squat toilets for conveniences. Bryan, Carole and I cooked a delicious stew for dinner topped off by vanilla custard. Warren, Dave Brown and Chris brought out some booze and wine and we sat on a large balcony looking out on the valley, chatting in the moonlight.

NOV. 20
When we awoke at dawn today, the valley below was still in misty shadows and the only visible direct sunlight shone brilliantly off the white cap of the area's tallest peak. It was a mystical, almost religious moment that kept everyone in humbled silence. At least until some realized what an excellent photo it would make. Then there was a mad scramble to set up tripods, take light readings, etc. I like beautiful photography as much as the next person, but if there's one thing that pisses me off, it's watching others ruin a beautiful moment by frantically trying to capture it on film. I guess it is human nature to always try and make good things last.

Some of us wanted to hike up into the mountains, and our guide, Omar, lead us through the valley along some steep trails. We ascended along scree slopes to an even more remote Berber village. The climb was really tough and I thought my lungs would explode by the time we reached it. There were about eight homes, all made of stone and all built directly into the mountain, using it as the rear wall. From a distance (or in a photo), the buildings were almost invisible.

Gerard and I were invited into a man's house for tea. His family huddled together and stared at us while he explained how the village lived. They were self-subsisting farmers who rarely, if ever, made it out of this valley. Warren, Colin and a couple of other masochists wanted to climb higher into the mountains, so Omar lead them on. The rest of us either had to wait for their return, or make our way back down to our stone hotel. I decided to take my chances alone and started back. About halfway there, I saw a pack of lone dogs wandering along the trail. I climbed down on some rocks and hid to avoid them because I had no desire to find out if they were friendly or not. I found another trail going in the same direction and figured it would bypass the dogs altogether. BIG MISTAKE! Yes the trail bypassed the dogs, but it also bypassed any sensible path back to the village. I ended up wading through some thick grass and muddy fields while some farmers stared at me. There I was, crashing through their crops, making my own trail as I went. I'm sure they thought I was a complete moron for not walking the nicely manicured trail above me. After about twenty minutes of frustration, I finally gave up and climbed directly up a very steep slope until I reached the worn path. Of course when I did find it, the pack of hounds was there waiting for me. Fortunately they were only curious and just sniffed.

When I finally reached our village, I was sweaty, scratched and exhausted. I should have taken a little better care this morning to memorize exactly which stone house we were staying in because now I couldn't for the life of me remember where it was. I kept asking people in apparently unintelligible French "where is the house of Omar?". They either shrugged and turned away or pointed and rattled off instructions. I soon realized that even if they were giving me correct directions, I had no idea what they were saying. After walking in circles for an hour, thinking I may have to spend the rest of my life wandering around this square mile maze, I heard Allan and Chris' voices from above me. I had walked by the place several times without recognizing it.

I did some laundry and relaxed the rest of the afternoon, making journal entries and reading. I had brought about eight paperbacks with me to read, but four of them were the last four in Carlos Castaneda's series about Don Juan. I was interested in mysticism and found his first books fascinating. These last ones were boring me too tears. I thought "Great! Only six more countries until I will be able to buy something in an English language bookstore.

Soon after dark, we gathered in a windowless room for dinner and entertainment from our Berber hosts. We sat around low tables on pillows and were served a delicious stew with pita style bread. No utensils were offered and we ate from a communal bowl using the bread to grab hold of the rice, steamed vegetables, lamb and goat set before us. It was very filling and tasty.

Several of the villagers put on a traditional singing and dancing performance for us. They genuinely seemed to be having fun and while it was obvious they were doing it for us, I didn't feel like I was watching some bastardized version of local culture changed to please the tourists. I took quite a few photos of the people and their dancing.

NOV. 21
We hiked back along a muddy track to the truck this morning. We all piled in and were soon on our way back to Marrakech. The return didn't seem nearly as terrifying or long as the trip out. I think this was because I had picked up a wicked cold in the mountains and was too busy feeling like a lump of shit to be scared.

I didn't feel like fighting off the professional hasslers so I just wandered around some non-touristy areas of Marrakech, buying as much fresh- squeezed orange juice as I could get down. We left town in late afternoon and drove along some decent roads on our way towards the city of Fez.

The skies clouded over and rain threatened. I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do less than sit in a breezy damp truck, fighting off a cold. I didn't feel like talking, reading or even like being polite. I spent the afternoon glowering at everyone on the truck. I think my attitude was contagious because everyone just glowered back at me.

Our diet has begun to take its toll of many digestive tracts because there has been a serious outbreak of chronic farting on board. Of course it's all done very discreetly with lots of glancing about whenever things begin to reek. I admit to adding my fair share but I think the most prodigious farters are our Danish friends Mike and Tine.

NOV. 22
I felt like a smelly old sock all day. My cold has hit full force and it's been raining since last night. I was extremely irritable all day and nothing seemed to be satisfactory. I've started taking some penicillin I brought along for such an occasion.

We drove all day towards Fez and if it wasn't for our lunch stop at a pretty waterfall, I would have considered the day a complete waste. We pulled into the Cascades de Ouzzoude at noontime and set up lunch in the parking lot of this tourist Mecca. Feeling crummy as I was, the rations of crusty baguettes, pseudo-cheese, a tomato slice topped with pickle relish made me gag. I've eaten enough of this shit in the last month to last a lifetime. I grabbed the peanut butter and jam and made my own lunch, looking at everyone defiantly just aching for someone to say something about using truck stores unnecessarily. I probably would have bitten their nose off!

The Cascades (waterfalls) were beautiful enough to temporarily calm my wrath. There were several chutes, the highest of which dropped about four hundred feet. I wanted to take a bath in the pool under the falls but the water was filthy. Just above them, a wheat gristmill was dumping it's refuse directly into the stream. I've suppose this made the water nutriciously fortified, but I just didn't feel like scraping soggy grains off my body.

We made camp in the rain at a proper campground. Fortunately there was a restaurant/bar nearby because I was in no mood for any more truck slop. I ate a scrawny chicken dinner at the bar and swigged some Moroccan ale. The Moroccans make beer just about as well as Americans do, which means it's generally tasteless but therefore, also harmless. Simon, Warren and Colin joined me for a few games of eight-ball at the bar pool table.

NOV. 23
Drove all day in the rain towards Fez. Had our routine shopping and "sticky bun" stop in mid-morning. Every town seems to have a number of bakeries selling some very exotic pastries and I can't resist gorging on sugar in every one. I think this is a French colonial leftover.

I spent the day in misery riding in the cab. My cold has turned into the flu and I think I have a fever. I couldn't bear watching everyone do the same boring things in the back today so I asked Roger as soon as he woke up for a cab seat. A seat in the cab must be requested and it is first come, first served. Of course it is a breach of etiquette to request two consecutive days in the cab. A new shift gets it after lunch, unless no one asks, then the morning riders can continue all day. I am learning that there is a skill to timing the question at just the right moment with Roger or Simon (who ever will be driving decides). So yes, the trip has come down to scheming and plotting to ask if I can spend the day in the cab rather than the truck bed. In my wildest dreams I never would have guessed I would ever get so petty.

We've been going long enough now for everyone to fall into their own routine to pass the boredom of long driving days. There is a group of card players. They mostly play Hearts and Euchre. I fucking HATE playing card games! so I never join in. There is a group of snoozers. They doze the trip away rocking their heads back and forth as they drift in and out of consciousness. English Mike has the unsettling habit of napping with his eyes partly open so all you can see are the whites. I've probably spent a score of hours musing over the nagging question of whether this bothers him when he wakes up. Are his eyeballs dried out? I know I could ask him, but then what the hell would I spend my afternoons thinking about? Finally there is the group that occasionally reads or plays chess or just sits staring at nothing in particular repeatedly asking themselves "what in fuck's name have I gotten myself into?" I fall into this last category. Oh yes, and then there's Chris. Chris spends every available minute irritating somebody. He has a talent for it.

We arrived at a campground outside of Fez just after dark and I went to use the showers. When I came out, a group from Encounter Overland, another Trans-Africa group, were parked next to us. Quite a few people from each truck started mingling. They had a number of slightly attractive young single women with them so our bachelors practically pounced on them. We would run into this group off and on for the next three months. Of course we compared trucks and camp chores, itineraries and drivers, etc. I liked ours more.

Allan, Chris and I split a bottle of vodka and tried to play some blues music. Me on guitar, Allan on guitar and harmonica. Chris had bought a mouth organ in Spain and proceeded to make it squeal until someone threatened to break it unless he stopped.

NOV. 24
Roger hired a man named Ghali to be our guide in Fez. He was a slimy middle-aged businessman who smiled alot and acted like he was a good friend, but actually only wanted us to buy things from his friends because he received a commission. I didn't hold any grudge because it's all part of the tourist game to deal with people like this. But I still didn't like him.

We went for a quick rubber-neck tour of Fez looking out from the truck. We climbed a hillside to get a panoramic citywide view, then descended into its narrow streets. We stopped outside of King Hussein's palace and ogled at the tile mosaic walls, but we couldn't enter. We walked by a mosque that we were allowed to look into, but being infidels, couldn't enter. We walked past several artisan's shops where, of course, Ghali just happened to know the owner. Here we were allowed to enter, especially if we wanted to buy something.

Around noontime, we went into a large carpet store where we were given a lecture on the "superior quality of Moroccan carpets", while being served sandwiches and mint tea. When the food was cleared and the lecture ended, a horde of salesmen appeared from behind the walls and tried to take each one separately into a side room. They do this because they can put more pressure on you if you're alone. And their sales tactics are extremely high pressure. They will make you feel stupid, insult you and in some cases threaten you if you don't agree to buy a carpet. Carrie told us beforehand (she'd experienced this before) that they have been known to threaten with bodily harm and weapons. She warned us the best way to avoid the situation was to refuse to go into a private room in the first place. I did but others who were interested in the carpets went along. Every single one of them bought a carpet worth no less than a hundred dollars. This experience really turned me off to Ghali and, I'm afraid, to Fez in general.

One unbelievable place we visited was a hide tanning facility. There were fifty large vats where men or boys were stomping on animal hides, curing the leather. They apparently did this for twelve or more hours each day. Just stomping and mixing animal hides in these vats. The unbelievable part though, was that the vats were filled with COW'S URINE! That's what they used as a curing agent. The smell was much worse than you could ever imagine. I think this is perhaps the worst job in the world. Even worse than being a turnpike toll booth attendant.

At night, we went to a dinner/dance show at a tourist restaurant. I thought the meal was far too expensive for Morocco (about $10) and of average quality and portions. The alcohol was flowing freely and many of the group were indulging, but it too was expensive. Out of disgust at being ripped off, I decided I was going to dislike everything about the place. I complained about the food and didn't drink at all. The belly dancers were hard looking hags and the jugglers and acrobats couldn't gotten a job entertaining toddlers. This place SUCKED!! I've had more cultural experiences at Epcot center.

I had a scare when we left the restaurant because I couldn't find my day- pack which had my cameras inside. It turns out I had left it on the sides of the truck, but since we only had one local man guarding the truck, I felt very lucky not to have lost it and resigned myself to do a better job of taking care of my things.

The drinking crowd kept it up back at the campground. I think Dave Brown and Warren slept with some of the Encounter truck women. I went right to sleep.

NOV. 25
Shopped all morning in Fez. Just looking around mostly, buying a few items of food and a souvenir or two. We drove the rest of the day towards Algeria. It was a perfectly uneventful afternoon. I gave up on the Castaneda books and dug into 1300 pages worth of James Michener's "Alaska".

I was glad to be leaving Morocco. There is certainly alot to see and do in this country but I am sick of being looked at as a meal ticket. It's seems Moroccans only see a way to make a living when they see westerners. Even children less than ten years old demand money for photos or information. I didn't once meet someone who was not interested in talking to me without seeing me hold out some Dirhams first.

What a yawner of a day.

NOV. 26
I had my first butt-puckering "Holy Shit" experience of the trip today . We were near the border town of Oujda in Morocco doing some last minute shopping to get rid of our Dirhams when I realized that the expiration date on my Algerian visa was Nov. 25 - yesterday! For some dense reason, I had been assuming for days that we would reach Algeria by Nov. 25 and only now realized that I was late. If the border guards wouldn't accept my passport with a one-day expired visa, I would have to make my way back to Rabat, by myself, and try to pick up a new visa. Then I would have to try and catch up with the truck somewhere in the Sahara desert. All this without knowing how to speak French! The idea of spending more time in Morocco, alone, made my innards melt. I became intensely religious very quickly.

At the immigration desk, Roger and I feigned ignorance about the visa (Roger was the trip leader and therefore, responsible to help us get through borders). Gerard, who spoke fluent French, came over to act his silly self and charm the official. Thank God he was successful. The guy let me through with a tsk-tsk shake of his head. I went straight for the outhouse and got rid of my quivering insides. I learned from Roger that the same official who let me through later came out to ask him for a "gift". Roger declined because we were already across the border. What a stupid guard. You're supposed to ask for backsheesh "before" you do a favor, right?

At the customs desk, we had to buy $160 worth of Algerian currency. The money is completely worthless as exchange anywhere else in the world, so this was their way of making sure any visitors spent some money in the country. We would be here three weeks so I thought it would be easy to spend that much. It turned out though, to be quite a chore. There isn't much of anything worth buying in Algeria. This apparently also discouraged black marketeers because no one in their right mind would want extra Dinars.

We drove towards the coast the rest of the afternoon. The weather has turned crummy again - windy, cloudy and cool. Camped outside of the town of Oran.

NOV. 27
The weather was miserable and cruel today. Windy, gloomy, cold, damp, rainy, ugly. I left Ohio for this? It was raining when we awoke and rained all day so we had to keep the flaps down on the truck. This of course meant we watched Algeria go by in beautiful DISTORT-O-RAMA vision. God what a depressing day.

My tent-mate, Dave Holloway, was sick all day with a fever - probably the flu. We stopped early for shopping in Oran, a non-descript city which lived up to its reputation from Albert Camus' book "The Plague". We pulled off the coastal road onto a quay for lunch and watched the gray clouds float over the Mediterranean. Since we usually pulled over for lunch in the middle of a clump of trees, I enjoyed the change of pace by having a view.

We drove along the coast towards Algiers the rest of the day, occasionally catching some pretty spectacular views of the Sea. The roads here are pretty good, always paved with few potholes. Can't wait to get to Algiers where we supposedly will be able to get a hotel room. I don't mind the camping but I also wouldn't mind a soft bed.

When we made camp on the beach, the rain had died down but the wind had really picked up. I was glad I had security duty today - it enabled me to sleep on the truck. I helped Dave set up the tent because he was so sick. We tried to bury the edges with sand to keep the wind from getting underneath it and Dave went straight to bed, skipping supper. Shortly after we ate, the wind began gusting. A couple of tents started to blow away, including mine - with Dave still inside sleeping!. It was actually very funny seeing a tent slowly rolling down the beach, flapping violently in the wind, with someone inside who had been jolted out of a sound sleep shrieking. I laughed quite a bit, but I think Dave failed to see the humorous side.

NOV. 28
We ambled along this morning on the coastal road, passing some very scenic overlooks of the Mediterranean. Our morning lunch stop was in the town of Gouraya where I bloated myself at the most comprehensive pastry shop I've ever seen. Two large floors of sugar filled goodies. At this rate, my teeth will fall out of my head before we reach the Sahara. There were lots of very cute kids hanging around the truck and they were eager for me to photograph them. I got some great B & W shots.

In the afternoon, we stopped in the small town of Cherchell where the Romans had politely left some ruins for us to see. I'd never seen Roman antiquities before and was excited to see this place.

The ruins were incredibly badly maintained. Some walls and columns were covered with graffiti and one crumbling amphitheater was being used for a garbage pit. The odd thing was, there was a beautiful museum devoted to displaying and preserving the relics. It showcased statuary and mosaic floors and walls. Why would they spend money on a museum when they paid no attention to the upkeep of the actual ruin sites. Just another bureaucratic mystery I suppose. In addition, the museum was selling REAL relics from the place. Selling pottery, statues and coins found on the sites. This didn't seem like a sound archeological practice to me. I didn't buy anything on grounds of principal. The items were expensive and I didn't have the principal. Hyuk, Hyuk, Hyuk. (Just had to throw that in)

Except for the museum, everything in Cherchell seemed to be closed for the day. I don't know if this was because of some holiday or if everyone in town was just lazy, but I was lucky to find an open restaurant. I ate a chicken dinner served with Greek salad in a place that had maybe three tables. Next door was a patisserie, run by the restaurant owners, and I ate sugar till I felt ill.

We drove another couple of hours and camped on a long stretch of very clean beach just outside of Algiers. There was another Overland group here, a company called Dragoman from Germany. There seemed to be mostly Germans and Scandinavians on it. Their truck looked more like an armed personnel carrier than a tourist vehicle. I'm sure this came in handy if the need to quell any native uprisings or smash through police barricades chanced on them, but it just didn't appear very comfy to me.

Danish Mike has taken a firm liking to the word "shit". He uses it in at least three of every five sentences. "I don't give a shit", "I gotta take a shit", "I don't like that shit", etc. I'm trying to get him to teach me how to say shit in Danish.

NOV. 29
We rolled into Algiers in a driving rain storm this morning. It really made me feel like walking around the city. I stayed in the truck till it stopped. We had to come to Algiers because the Nigerien embassy in London would not issue visas in advance. So we had to get them here. (note - so as not to be utterly confused, you should recognize that natives of Niger are called Nigeriens while natives of Nigeria are called Nigerians - one letter difference) Algiers is a fairly modern city and walking through the streets was a great opportunity to see old and new cultures clashing. Alot of people were clad in western dress - jeans and dresses, while many others wore traditional Arabic garb. The pastry shops here were the "creme de la creme", literally. This is where true pastry fanatics go when they die. As good as the cakes and tortes are here, the soft drinks are equally bad. Algeria is one of the few countries in Africa that will not buy Coca-Cola's licensing. They have their own brands of soda and they are nothing less than gag-invoking. Imagine drinking sugar-laced gasoline and you get the picture. Restaurants here are pretty expensive and the selection of food is weak. I ate every single meal either from a stall or from a cafe that specialized in chip omelets. This is basically an omelet with French Fries mixed in. I know it sounds revolting but is actually quite tasty.

I was REALLY looking forward to a hotel here but was sadly disappointed. There was some kind of diplomatic convention going on in town and all of us (except a few lucky bastards - Dave, Warren, Allan and Jane) got shut out of rooms. I later learned that the rooms had no hot water, so I guess I really didn't miss much, but it sure seemed like the end of the world at the time.

For the three days we stayed here, I followed an elusive trail of rumors as to where one could buy some Algerian wine. It was described as an "experience" in one of our guidebooks, and I damn well wanted to have this "experience". I went to several shops but all were closed. On the last day, Warren told me he had been successful at finding some wine, but when I went to the shop, it was closed. Of course!

Chris found the most expensive hotel in North Africa and charged it on his dad's credit card. He had run out of all his spending money that was to last him for the rest of the trip so he went into the main square in Algiers and played his guitar and sang, collecting some Dinars as a street musician. He is very resourceful when he needs to be but makes some hysterically bad common sense judgments.

In the afternoon, those of us who were forced to dwell in the elements on the beach drove to a Hamman, a North African version of a Turkish bath. For about 50 cents, you get entrance and a towel into a large steam bath. It was quite delicious to sit in this place and soak up the hot damp air, washing away several layers of dirt. Bryan and Colin paid for a massage which consisted of a mostly naked young man sitting on top of them and pulling their limbs, head and torso into positions I would not have dreamed possible. It looked more like sadistic torture than a relaxing rubdown. I declined my chance for one.

A beautiful night for stargazing on the beach - the skies over the Mediterranean are crystal clear.

NOV. 30
I walked through the old part of the city today. There is a very large Roman wall which is still standing. The markets were not nearly as exotic as Morocco's but they offered some very unique dishes. For an unexplainable reason, Greek salad is very popular here. In many of the butcher's shops, one could see baked goat's heads for sale. I'm not quite sure why any sane person would want to eat a baked head of goat, but the prices were low if the urge hit you. Perhaps they're not eaten at all. Could be they just use them for decorative table centerpieces. Another popular meat item for sale were very long strings of intestines. Yummy!

I walked through a small square where the main activity was selling old clothing. It seemed any rag was fair game and I imagined the sellers were also the buyers. A clever concept in attire marketing, actually - buy something, wear it a week, then sell it to some one else. No need to ever wash!

I had an extremely heavily salted chip omelet for lunch then polished off the meal with frosted pastries and a gallon of Algerian Cola/sulfuric acid. It's no wonder I've never seen any Algerian cuisine restaurants anywhere in the States.

Back to the Hamman for some more hot baths and limb twisting. I think Bryan will need to go see an orthopedic surgeon if he comes back here again. Today's masseur/martial artist went to work on him with some karate chops and punches in addition to the usual joint dislocating pulls. "I've never felt better" he moaned as he limped back to the truck.

Colin and Danish Mike got buzz haircuts at a local barber to keep their hair cleaner, so they said. I went to get mine cut but couldn't speak French so I had to give hand gestures to the man while other patrons chuckled at my ignorance. I signaled for him to shave my beard off but he wouldn't. I was later told Muslim men think beards are very masculine and anyone with a thick one shouldn't cut it off.

Beach camping tonight, then tomorrow we head for the Sahara.

DEC 1
Oh joy! My team's turn at cooking today! I am not really enjoying the food shopping with Bryan and Carole very much, as they tend to bicker about every single thing we buy. "Well, gee honey, I think I would quite fancy some scrambled eggs and some goat sausage tonight maybe." says Carole. "Oh. Fair out, honey. But doesn't this canned corned beef look good?" utters Bryan. "Oh I don't care. Just hurry up and buy SOMETHING!" Carole says resignedly. "Well, what would you like, dear?" Bryan asks. "I've already told you what I fancy" Carole hisses. On and on like this. I say "For Chrissake, shut the hell up already and buy some meat already. Then we'll boil the sin out of it and throw in some vegetables, see?" I maintain that if we just keep making bland meat stews, we really can't go wrong. No one raves but we don't hear any complaints either. Safety over sorrow, right? Meat is always the most expensive item to buy, but since I'm the food kitty manager, I always make sure my group gets what it needs to make food shopping easy.

The weather was nice for the duration of our stay in Algiers, but it has turned shitty again. The afternoon was a cold, damp drive over bumpy feature-less terrain. I wonder if they ever put comments like that in travel brochures. "Come to Algeria and experience a cold, damp drive over dull, featureless terrain". Nah. I doubt it.

I wish Africa would live up to its reputation for being a warm tropical climate already!

DEC 2
The weather was bright this morning but quite cold. We stopped to collect a heap of firewood in preparation for our trip through the Sahara. Obviously there is not a lot of wood to be found in the world's largest desert so we collected as much as we could. For about two hours, we all were busy with axes and saws, cutting and chopping up dead logs. We strapped several large logs to the truck and stacked more in every available spot on the truck. Needless to say, we looked like a living tree on wheels and received some questioning glances from Algerians we passed.

Some of the wood was infested with spiders and mites (of course the wood that was put on the inside floor of the truck) and I was glad not to be sitting near it.

At lunch-time, after I ate, I walked ahead of the truck on an absolutely flat straight stretch of road. It was a great change of pace to be away from the constant companionship of the truck, even if it was only for twenty minutes or so. I enjoyed doing this so much, it became a regular lunch-time routine with me.

At one point this afternoon, we pulled off the mostly deserted road for a rest stop, and a local man came whizzing up to us in his car, got out and tried to sell us a load of dates and figs he was carrying. They were filthy and tasted rancid to me but some of the others bought them and seemed to have no ill effects. I thought the whole idea of a traveling fig salesman accosting us in no man's land was unique.

Tonight was the worst of the trip so far. I was tired of driving and had been cold all day, and so was ready to make camp when darkness came. But Roger decided we should push on for another two hours. We passed many flat spots that looked good for a campsite and each time I hoped he would pull off the road and end the day's misery. But we just kept going on and on and I was really getting pissed off. To top things off, it started to rain and the wind picked up. When he did finally stop, it was just barely off the road on a piece of ground that was un-level at best. I was in a rage because neither Roger or Simon slept in tents, claiming that the drivers get to sleep in the truck every night. They therefore didn't have to deal with setting up tents and fighting the wind and rain. I carried on for about a half hour, cursing them both out while trying to set up the tent with Dave. The ground was very rocky and uneven and we spent about twenty minutes trying to drive the stakes in because they kept bending. We then got the shovel and buried the edges of the tent hoping it wouldn't blow away. By now the rain was really coming down, and I was so angry I could have bitten clean through a steel I-beam. I raved about how absurd it was to make up an hour's driving time then have to deal with a shithole campsite like this one.

I ate dinner, glaring and snarling at anything and everything, then went in the truck to write every swear word I knew ten times in my journal. About this time with the wind howling and the rain driving, Danish Mike jumped into the truck with his poncho dripping water to make one of his classic observations. He said with a furious scowl on face "I've got some good advice for you. Don't take a shit tonight!", then threw down the toilet shovel, grabbed his sleeping bag, and stormed off to his tent.

DEC 3
Several times during the night I was certain that the tent was going to blow away with both myself and Dave inside. Each time I yelled either "SHIT" or "FUCK" as loud as I could, in hopes I would wake Roger and Simon up. I regretted that I was unsuccessful.

When I got up to make the breakfast fire, it was still dark out and the weather was finally behaving. The only other person awake was Steve who was preparing breakfast. After building the fire, I grabbed a stool and sat next to it to warm myself. The lousy food I had been eating on this trip caught up to me with a vengeance and I found myself in a sate of virtually uncontrollable flatulence. I was having a genuine fart attack and Steve was practically in stitches as I kept making comments about being in a Mel Brooks movie. This episode went on for a good twenty minutes.

We drove less than an hour before we reached a Roman ruin site called Timgad. It was at the outskirts of the Sahara and was almost deserted (pun intended). There was a hotel and restaurant at the entrance but no one was staying in the hotel and the restaurant only served tea. The caretaker didn't open the place for 45 minutes after we got there. I thought this was ludicrous because he didn't charge an entrance fee and we were literally the only visitors. I had tea in the inn and waited for the gates to open.

To reach the site, you have to climb a hill and when I crested it, I was stunned. I looked out on a three square mile wide, mostly intact Roman city. Crumbling walls and columns were everywhere and some had engravings still in good condition. There were (presumably) chariot tracks on the roads, broken bits of statuary and thousands of pottery shards. I couldn't believe I had never heard of this place before. I guess it got little attention because it was so far from most civilization. Which made me wonder why in God's name the Romans had built it in the first place.

After lunch, we headed out into the desert proper. The road was mostly paved with an occasional stretch of hard packed sand to drive over. I didn't know it at the time, but this would be the last day of paved roads for several months.

The Sahara is unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Much of it looks like the American west - badlands type terrain - but there are also the endless stretches of 100 foot high sand dunes and completely flat sea beds. I thought the desert air would be crystal clear but there is a constant swirl of sand and the sun and stars seem to have a perpetual halo around them because of the sand. The blowing sand quickly got into everything on the truck. In my hair, my clothes, my eyes, my camera, everything. I resolved to get an Arabian style scarf that would cover my face as soon as I could.

DEC 4
We drove all day in very cold weather and I huddled into every article of clothing I had brought along. The tarmac road has become a 'piste' which is basically just well worn tracks in the sand. Because the winds constantly change the desert surface, the piste also constantly changes. Sometimes it is very easy to follow and sometimes it is more than a mile wide. It's very easy to get lost here and many people each year never reach their destination when crossing the Sahara. There are no markers whatsoever telling you whether you are going the right way. The piste today was well defined and we had no trouble following it.

We passed through the town of El Oued and stopped for shopping in Ourglala. I am noticing that the women cover more of their bodies as we go further into the more traditional Arab cultures. Some of them show absolutely no skin except their hands. Their faces are completely covered by veils and their dresses extended to the ground. The only time I saw them lift the veil was to spit.

We ate lunch near some enormous dunes. Their was a small oasis nearby and the air was alive with flies. I have a very deep loathing of flies - I often have fantasies of killing the repulsive little fuckers by the millions - and I prayed that the entire desert wouldn't be like this spot. After we ate, some of us climbed the dunes and rolled down them. It was fun until I realized I had gained about 10 pounds worth of sand in my clothes. I knew we wouldn't get a chance to bathe for at least 3 or 4 days so I was not very pleased with this discovery.

Simon wanted to play King-Of-The-Hill and he kept pushing people off the dunes. I suggested we all run back to the truck and leave without him. He stopped playing.

The area was amazing in that it was completely 100 % devoid of vegetation. Not so much as scrub brush to be found. I can't imagine a more desolate place on Earth.

As we were eating lunch, a lone bicycle rider pedaled up to the truck on a mountain bike. He was German and in broken English, told us he was riding across the Sahara from the Mediterranean all the way down to Nigeria. At first I was awed by his sense of adventure, but when I heard some of the preparations he had made (or neglected to be more exact), I realized that he was more a crazy asshole than an adventurer. For instance he only carried one gallon of water and relied upon finding oasis's and running into travelers for refills. He carried an extremely heavy old style camera that looked like it was made before World War II, and his bike didn't look sturdy enough to get him to the local grocery store let alone across the desert. After filling his water jug, he pedaled off down the piste.

For a camp-spot tonight, we simply turned the engine off on the truck and set out tents where we stopped. Any one place is as good as the next out here. The only thing to be careful of is to leave some kind of light on so that truckers who often drive by night can see us and not run into us. Because of this, I always set my tent up next to the truck and became nervous every time I heard an engine in the distance at night. If it appeared to be getting closer, I jumped out of the tent and made sure it wasn't going to run me over.

Algeria manufactures some of the worst tires in the world as evidenced by the hordes of throw-aways you can find strewn all over the desert. Before stopping at night, we collected some of these discarded tires. Roger threw diesel fuel on them and set them alight. It created one of the hottest fires I've ever been near. They burned brightly but for only a short time. I couldn't get within 15 feet of the blaze or my nose would have been seared off.

DEC 5
One unusual sight in the desert is the number of abandoned vehicles you see. I suppose there isn't much profit in towing these cars and trucks hundreds of miles over sand for reclamation and I didn't see too many auto parts stores to get replacement parts. Most of the vehicles are stripped of tires and many are turned over on their roofs. I could only surmise that it was some kind of bizarre unwritten desert law to turn your vehicle over once it died.

We arrived at the oasis town of Ghardaia in time for lunch. Before pulling into town, we crested a hill which dramatically showed how an oasis is a small green spot in an endless stretch of brown sand.

I went to the market and bargained for my Arabian scarf. This kept me warm as well as keeping the sand out of my face and hair. I ate lunch in a small restaurant right out of a 1940's movie about North Africa. We met a father/son team taking their land rover across the desert. They said the biggest problem was security on their car. I realized how difficult it would be to travel through Africa with only two people. Someone always has to watch the vehicle.

We stayed in a terrific campsite on the edge of town. There was plenty of hot water in the shower and the opportunity to wash some of the desert dust out of our clothes.

I walked back into town in the afternoon and went exploring on my own. There was a high hill to climb with the central mosque located on top. Of course I couldn't enter it, but the views were nice. I got a lot of stares walking through the part of town where apparently few tourists ventured. A small contingent of local boys accompanied me on my walk.

The most striking feature of this town is the complete absence of trash. I never saw any litter or any garbage cans for that matter. What the hell do they do with the stuff. Eat it?

DEC 6
At 4:00 AM this morning, the local Mosque began broadcasting prayers through one of the loudest public address systems I'd ever heard. The prayer was repeated every fifteen minutes or so until well after six. Any chance at a comfortable lie in were lost by the deafening racket. Each time I was about ready to fall back asleep, the warbling shriek jolted me awake again. If I lived in this town, I would have had to sabotage the mosque.

Gerard made an unusual discovery this morning. In one of the toilets in the men's bathroom was the largest turd any us had ever seen. It must have been four inches in diameter and nine inches long. Of course it would not flush and even some of the women went in to look at this curiosity. We never did find out who the author was and speculation raged for days.

We stopped in town before heading on and I called home from the post office. It was cheaper than I thought it would be (about $6). This was the first time I had talked to Mom and Kim since the trip began and it was nice to do so.

We left Ghardaia before lunch and drove the rest of the day through a barren landscape. I walked ahead of the truck after lunch and was amazed at the total silence - no birds, animals or insects, no leaves for the wind to rustle, no man-made sounds, nothing. If I stayed completely still, it was as though I had gone stone deaf.

I rode in the cab today because it was cold and the side flaps were down. Early in the afternoon, someone in back pressed the buzzer signaling the driver to stop. When I looked back, several people were leaping out of the truck, some of them diving over the sides. I wondered if there was a nasty insect on board or maybe a fire. Apparently what had happened was described as the most lethal fart anyone had ever smelled. Even prudish Carole was gasping and complaining. Back at the campground, we all assumed one of the other overland groups had made the incredible turd, but now we had to wonder if it wasn't the same person who had gassed everyone out of the back of the truck. I'd been riding in the cab and was therefore free of suspicion. Thank goodness!

We arrived after dark in In-Salah, a dusty oasis town and camped near a building that had a working water faucet. I used it to take a sponge bath. After two days with sand blowing in my face, my hair is about twice as thick as usual. If I was out here two weeks, I expect it would stand straight up on its own.

DEC 7 We passed no towns today and only stopped for lunch and an occasional pee stop. I rode in the dogbox all day. It was cold but I was sick of everyone's company and HAD to get away. At one point today, a convoy of Algerian army trucks caught and passed us. Before going ahead, though, they played chicken with our truck. They would steer towards us at an angle so that Roger had to stop the truck to avoid a collision. I guess the desert can get to be pretty dull if you live in it week after week.

We passed through the Arak Gorge, a famous landmark. The views were nice but I suspect this place is famous merely because it is the only recognizable landmark for hundreds of miles in any direction.

We made camp near some large sand dunes and the silence was interrupted by local boys riding up and down the dunes on motorcycles. Where they came from I couldn't imagine. We were on a vague piste and hadn't seen any sign of civilization for hours.

Dave Brown, Warren, Gerard and I climbed the highest dune around so we could watch the sun set. After diner, I went up the hill again to look at the stars. They weren't as bright as I thought they'd be, probably due to the sand haze. We did see a meteor shower however.

I lost my flashlight somewhere here. Now I have to do all my morning/night chores in the dark. How handy!

DEC 8
We rolled into the town of Tamanrasset (Tam) in the late afternoon and went to the best/only tourist hotel in town. I tried to sell my bottle of whiskey to the hotel clerk but he said no. The rooms were only $7 each for a double and I went ahead and splurged with Devon Dave for the room. Just after we entered the room, the same clerk knocked on the door and, cautiously looking around, offered me the equivalent of $45 for the whiskey. I felt like I was selling drugs or something the way this guy acted. But I was glad to get the cash. It would enable me to spend two nights in the hotel and eat out in restaurants for the three days we were there.

The first order of business was to go see the local police officials and get my visa extended. It would run out before we left Algeria and I didn't want any more nervous moments at the border. They took my passport and told me to come back tomorrow.

Most of us were staying in the hotel and we decided to have a group meal at the hotel restaurant. They told us there would be delicious food and Algerian wine so I was looking forward to it. But when we sat down at our table (we were the only guests in the place), they said all they had was a chicken dinner and no wine was available. Roger and I decided to skip the meal and go find our own dinner. We walked to the center of town and went into a small cafe where they served steak and chips. After eating it, Roger commented that it was probably camel meat we were eating. It was tough as shoe leather but tasted good. I realized there probably wasn't much profit in flying beef into the middle of the desert and there certainly weren't any large herds of cattle nearby so I assume Roger was correct.

DEC 9
I spent most of today doing chores such as letter writing and laundry. It seems my laundry is never done on this trip. I didn't bring that many clothes, and of course they get filthy with one or two days use. Sometimes I was able to get local people to do it for me, in which case it came out very clean. Usually I did it myself but it was not much better than a quick rinse. Not that I'm lazy. But how are you supposed to get clothes really clean in a sink?

Tam is filled with Tuaregs. They are the indigenous people to this area and like some Indians, are very dark skinned Caucasians. They wear turbans and veils and long flowing robes. Alot of their clothing is dyed a deep-blue color which comes off on the skin, causing them to have a distinct bluish tinge. I saw some riding camels with scimitars dangling from their waists and goat skin water bags strapped to the animal. I imagine these desert people live exactly as they have for centuries. They are very camera shy and I had to hide inside the truck, popping up quickly like a jack-in-the-box to take their pictures when they weren't looking. I suppose this is somewhat immoral, but I reasoned it out by claiming to be an ignorant tourist.

I went into a very small, darkly lit restaurant for lunch that was filled only with local people. They stared at me throughout my meal and I felt like barfing right on the table so they'd really have something to look at.

Had more camel steaks for dinner and went to sleep early.

DEC. 10
I bought my Algeria visa a month prior to beginning this trip so I really had no idea on the time frame I would need. Consequently it will run out long before we leave Algeria so I went to the local authorities with Roger to try and get it extended. I got the typical bureaucratic run-around: Come back in an hour; the person who does that isn't in today; go next door and talk to them; etc. So I'm leaving my passport with Roger while our group takes an overnight sightseeing trip.

At noon three 4 wheel drive trucks picked up our entire group for a drive to one of Africa's most spectacular sights - the Assekrem. The Assekrem is a former hermitage in the most remote Atlas mountains. It is at a very high elevation and overlooks the barren buttes of the desert in a scene comparable to the Grand Canyon. The prominent view from the hermitage is of three enormous volcanic plugs which hide the sun in the morning and create stunning sunrises.

Our driver, Mohammed (all first born male Muslims are called Mohammed, the reason for so many thus named) zoomed up and down the twisty rocky roads, climbing high into the mountains. After a three hour butt-puckering drive through some spectacular scenery, we arrived at the hermitage.

A French monk founded the hermitage as a remote monastery back in the 19th century and after he died, it fell into ruins until the Algerian tourist commission revitalized it. The accommodations were very crude - a few empty rooms with only mats to sleep on and an outhouse for a toilet. The actual hermitage sits in a pass between two peaks and to get the best views, you must climb 500 steps cut crudely into the mountainside. We were high up in altitude so the temperature was brisk. Upon arrival we stowed our gear then climbed one of the mountains to watch the sunset. It was absolutely mystical looking for miles out over a stark rocky landscape (it appeared more like a moonscape) with haze diffusing the suns rays into brilliant reds, yellows and purples. I could understand why the French monk had picked this place as a sanctuary for spirituality and contemplation

Chris brought a bottle of booze along to help enjoy the scenery and he and a few others had a jolly time watching dusk settle.

Dave Brown appears to have left his sleeping bag back in Tam. That's very unfortunate for him because I think it is really going to be cold tonight. Perhaps he will be able to make close friends with someone quickly.

DEC 11
We were awakened early by our Toureg guides so we could climb the hillside in time to watch the Assekrem's greatest phenomenon - the sunrise breaking over the three volcanic plugs off to the east. Ours was not the only tour group present and the hill was soon buzzing with people setting up cameras on tripods, complaining about how early and cold it was. I felt a sense of reverence by the place and was annoyed to see the event turn into just another photo opportunity by so many people. Another instance of missing the scene by trying to capture it.

When the sun finally came up, everyone quickly enough shut up and watched. It was better than advertised and literally took one's breath away. Lots of oohing and aahing and camera shutters clicking. Soon everyone was running back down to the hostel anxious for breakfast while a few remained to enjoy the sudden quiet.

On the way back to Tam, Mohammed stopped to show us some "ancient" pictographs on rocks in a gorge. I don't know if he was trying hard to get a nice tip but it was pretty apparent the drawings were made within the last several months. I'm sure living in the desert skews one's sense of time but when "ancient" falls into the category of recent memory, I think it's time to find a little civilization.

Back in Tamanrassett, I again went to the local authorities to get my visa extended and was told to come back in 24 hours. Must be one hell of a hard job extending visas.

We'd about had enough of the campground and drove a short ways into the desert for camping. Roger took a wrong turn and followed a dirt track for 2 miles before hitting a dead end in a high walled gorge. It was quite an interesting spot with waterfalls, cliffs to explore and solitude. We soon discovered a Berber man living by himself in a sleeping bag in this remote spot. He sold a few trinkets to errant tourists such as ourselves and apparently made a few Dinars by trading well enough to support himself. He offered us mint tea him and tried to barter clothes, cigarettes, sweets or anything else he was interested in exchange for the jewelry and carvings he was offering. I guess he was pretty lonely because he apparently wanted to a little more than conversation from poor Gerard.

Later, Brian and I climbed the waterfall. It was multi-tiered with crystal clear pools at each level, and it rose to a total height of perhaps 150 feet. Once at the top, we walked around the rocky desert until we found an easier descent back into our campsite. Bryan must have been feeling somewhat "native" because he took off his sandals for the walk back. All well and good except he kept hurting his feet on the rough terrain and yelling ouch.

I found the entire place to be very magical in it's solitude, thinking how few people had tread upon the same ground I was standing on. This was my general attitude about the Sahara. Many people saw it as an incredibly barren and unfriendly place. I enjoyed the sparsity of the desert. The Japanese find the placement of a very few objects in a given location to be esthetically pleasing and I found the lack of clutter, be it rocks, trees or hills, to be very tranquilizing.

DEC. 12
I spent a few anxious moments waiting to pick up my passport back in Tam - the truck couldn't wait any longer to push ahead and I would have to catch up on my own if I didn't receive it this morning. Fortunately, I did.

We drove south towards Niger on the last leg of our desert crossing. Shortly after noon, we passed another Exodus truck, this one making a northward crossing, having started in Harare. Some of the crew were unhappy with the trip, complaining of too much friction between group members and poor leadership. A few said they were leaving the truck in Morocco. I could hardly blame them for not wanting to crawl through Spain and France in the truck. I think it would be quite a letdown going South to North on one of these trips - seeing the exotic stuff first then being miserable for the last ten days. I bought a mosquito net from someone in the group. I hadn't brought and thought it might come in handy.

After lunch we passed a two man camel caravan and took some pictures with them. They asked for water and cigarettes in return.

DEC. 13
The piste became very wide and therefore difficult to follow. Several times we passed vehicles that had hit soft spots in the sand and were having difficulty getting unstuck. Our truck hit several such spots and we spent most of the afternoon sand-matting, a very laborious task. We passed a contingent of Swiss Red Cross trucks who were buried pretty deep. I wondered what in God's name the Red Cross was doing out in the middle of the Sahara desert

After a few hours, I began to notice that we hadn't seen any other vehicles for quite some time and I privately wondered if we hadn't managed to get off the main piste somehow. Towards dusk, Roger stopped the truck and confirmed what I was afraid of - we were lost in the Sahara! He reassured us all we need do was retrace our steps and everything would be fine. No one else seemed apprehensive about the situation as was I, and I wondered if they were just keeping their fears unvoiced.

We had gotten as dustier and grimier from the sandmatting than ever and this night we had an absolute need to conserve water, just in case. The night was a quiet one as no trucks passed us in the night.

DEC. 14
We began retracing our steps along the side piste. After about 10 K of strenuous sandmatting, we met a group of local Touregs in a 4-wheel drive jeep who offered to take us back to the main piste - for about $60 in Dinars. They were off the main road because they were looking for a French girl who had been missing for several days. Apparently, she and her boyfriend were driving separate cars and had an argument. She took off and was now good and lost. I can think of fewer fates I rather have than to die alone and lost in the desert. Sometimes impetuosity just isn't all that smart of an idea!

The Touregs left an eleven year old boy to guide us back. Boy did that ever inspire confidence in me. He immediately took us off the piste completely, literally going cross country through some very soft sand. It was a strange feeling having someone so young in charge of the fate of twenty-two adults. If he had been wrong in his directions, I'm not sure how we would have found our way out. Six hours later though, we hit the main piste at the exact location he said we would. With no apparent landmarks, I was astounded that he knew how to get around the place. He had no compass and as far as I could tell, used only the dunes and the sun to find his was. Absolutely amazing!

Three hours after getting back on track, we were near the Niger border in the town of In Guezzam, a dusty place with nothing more than a closed bakery to offer in the way of stores. Camped in a grimy campsite on the edge of town and I had the absolute pleasure of using truck stores to whip up a meal with Bryan and Carole.

DEC. 15
The Algerian exit customs checkpoint was routine. The Niger checkpoint was another story. The border guards wore T-shirts and sandals and openly asked for bribes and gifts although they didn't become obstinate when we told them we had nothing for them. There was a bar near at the border (run by the guard's families of course) and we were readily encouraged to make use of it while we waited to be processed. This was the first beer we'd had since Morocco and nearly everyone sampled Niger Beer (the only brand in the country) to excess. When the officials finally got around to our truck, they had us completely empty out it's contents on the ground and inspected everyone's belongings. Somewhere in the confusion of piling everything back into the truck, Pam lost her valuables pouch. She still had her passport, but all her cash and traveler's checks were gone. It was very distressing to see someone is such a bad spot, and it made me realize how important keeping a close watch on one's valuables was. Pam would essentially be without any spending money till we reached Kano, Nigeria where she could have more wired to her. One of those situations where you say "hmmm, a darn shame but better them than me".

We were at the border with the same Encounter Overland truck we had been running into since Morocco. They invited us to camp with them on the road to Agadez, but since most of us didn't like them (or more truthfully, weren't as close to the girls aboard as Dave Brown and Warren were), we took a vote to not camp near them. Warren and Dave were quite understandably annoyed with the vote results. Talk of truck jumping ensued.

DEC. 16
We drove south through the Sahara towards the town of Arlit, the first Nigerien city we would pass through. I felt like I had finally entered the true Africa with the dark, black faces in colored robes and the thatch roof huts everywhere.

I enjoyed a delicious lunch in Arlit (compared to truck chow anyway) followed by a shopping excursion at a local silversmith's shop. The Nigerien's make excellent quality silver jewelry, most of it in the form of "'stars", the traditional local brooches or pendants. Each star (nineteen in all) represents one of the cities/provinces of Niger. I bought a star of Agadez.

I must admit to being almost wholly ignorant of Niger as a country before I actually arrived in it. The people are mostly Muslim but not as strict as their North African neighbors. It's an interesting cross between black Africa and Arabic Africa.

We ended the day with a pleasant drive through dusty roads to a camp-spot just outside of Niger's second largest city, Agadez.

DEC. 17
The next few days would be spent relaxing after our long Saharan journey in the pleasant and well-stocked town of Agadez. Roger bought a goat from a local farmer and arranged for it to be slowly barbecued throughout the day while we wandered around the city and frequented the main hotel bar, then brought to our campsite for our evening meal.

Gerard and I wandered around the local market and eventually found ourselves talking with a man who claimed to be in charge of the whole affair. The market is where all goods are bought and sold in Agadez and everyone's trade is strictly regulated by this guy. He offered us mint tea, peanuts and goat's cheese as he tried to persuade us that if we bought several kilos of tea, we would be able to make a killing on it when we reached southern Niger in Zinder, where tea was apparently very expensive. I deferred on the offer but Gerard took a chance and bought two kilos (which he later regretted because tea is even cheaper in Zinder).

Agadez has a few shops which made the stop-over even more interesting including an ice-cream parlor. This was the first ice-cream I had seen since leaving Europe. As I sat in one of the few air-conditioned buildings in the town eating my treat, I noticed a group of local children looking through the windows watching the white tourist (me) eat something which I had no doubt many of them had never even tasted. It was expensive even by western standards and I was sure these people who often live in nothing more than wire and canvas huts didn't have the kind of spare money something like ice cream required. I was very self conscious after I saw them and finished in a hurry.

There are a number of West-African tribes represented in Niger - Fulani, Toureg, Hausa, Wadabe, to name a few, and most could be seen in Agadez. They seemed to have very different dress codes from one another - quite colorful to see.

I got rip-snortingly drunk at our "goat feast" this evening, along with many other trip members - one of the funniest nights I've had. We all took turns grabbing huge hunks of meat and attacking it with our mouths while others took memorable photographs. I felt very cannibalistic, but I believe that was the whole point of eating an entire roasted, stuffed goat.

DEC. 18
We shopped all morning in Agadez then drove out of the city to a camel ranch where several of our group took hour-long camel rides. I wasn't feeling too great (hungover) so I passed. On top of the excess beer from last night, I had eaten a number of roasted meat sticks from street vendors in Agadez and I'm afraid I may have eaten a spoiled one. Either that or the most incredibly fiery hot pepper I've ever come across kept my stomach in knots all day.

Some liked the camels but most complained of sore butts. We spent the afternoon driving towards Zinder and didn't camp till dark. I was sick as a dog all night, firing away from both ends all the food I'd eaten in the last two days. This was my second experience with food poisoning and I hope to God my last.

DEC. 19
Felt like a big bag on non-health all day. I sat in the cab and had to keep asking Roger and Simon for shit stops every hour or so. I couldn't eat and had no desire to do anything but sleep. To make matters worse, we bounced along all day on a very bumpy, corrugated piste.

Towards evening we came to Zinder where there was a bonanza of fresh and packaged food - the most we had seen since Algiers. I wish I had felt a little more like eating some of it. I did try a few fruits I had never seen before.

DEC. 20
I felt better this morning as we crossed the border into Nigeria. The crossings were easy on both sides (borders always have 2 sides - out of one and into another). Within an hour of entering Nigeria I again felt that amazing rush of having entered a magical place. It was great to be entering an English speaking country - I could now converse with local people without an interpreter. The scenery was rolling hills, farms, brightly colored clothing, circular mud and thatch huts and of course everyone seemed to use their heads as the primary method of carrying anything. As we entered Kano I saw some outrageously funny sights: a man driving a herd of long horned cattle down a busy city street; a smartly dressed Islamic man wearing a fez and driving happily along on his moped; people carrying everything on their heads from bowls, trays and pitchers to, believe it or not, sewing machines, car doors and a (presumably empty) fifty gallon drum!

Kano looks like an interesting populous place but it is very dirty and the city streets are clogged with traffic. We stayed in a campground with razor wire and ground glass walls. Next door was a nice hotel with an even nicer poolside bar which I made good use of. Guinness beer is sold by the liter here and costs a mere 33 cents per bottle. I drank a few, then ate dinner at a Chinese restaurant (a night out for all from our food kitty) but began feeling nauseous before I finished. I'm beginning to think it wasn't food poisoning because other members of my group as well as people from the Encounter truck (also at the campground) have come down with the same symptoms as I have.

DEC. 21
Spent a relaxing day in Kano. In the morning we gave our clothes to local boys for laundering then went to the bank and went to pick up my poste restante. The post offices in Africa are second only to it's banks in terms of bureaucratic inefficiency. In one PO, the clerk searches the poste restante bin for your letters. This is frustrating because they often are careless about searching, which means you might not receive much anticipated letters. In another PO the clerk hands you the bin which means you can search at your leisure, but it also means anyone can take your mail. It's really a hit and miss game. The banks are so frustrating, it is often a matter of convenience rather than profit to use the black market. First you stand in one line to be told which line to stand in for foreign exchange. Then you stand in another line for them to take your money. Then you wait an hour or so while they process the transaction. Then you get a receipt and stand in another line to actually get cash for the receipt. These countries make such a fuss about the black market yet they do very little to make travelers want to use the state run banks.

Kano is like several African cities in that there seems to be a severe lack of potable water. There are rivers all around the cities but they can't seem to process enough of it. Consequently the water taps in hotels and campgrounds may only work for an hour or two per day. This was the case at our camp-spot and as everyone seemed to be fighting diarrhea, the toilets literally filled up to the point of overflowing. Nothing quite so disgusting as having to use a toilet in that condition, but there isn't really any alternative. Also taking sponge baths rather than showers is not exactly a treat.

The markets in Kano are excellent fun. They have just about anything one could expect to find anywhere in Africa. An abundance of food and even a wide choice of necessary items such as toilet paper, batteries, pharmaceuticals, etc. Of course every merchant tries to lure you into their stall and they often get into shouting matches over your attentions. One gentleman I talked with asked me where I was from and when I hesitantly said America, not knowing if that would be a good or bad thing, he laughed and said "Ah yes. God's country." I can't describe how much more I am getting out of the culture when I can actually converse with local people.

In the late afternoon we went on a rubbernecking tour of Kano with a local tour outfit. Our guide, Eddris, was all too helpful showing us the marvels of his city with great pride. It is a bustling city but so dirty. I wonder if that is because gasoline is very cheap in Nigeria (13 cents per gallon) which means there are far too many cars on the roads with no pollution control devices.

Had a lovely meal at the hotel nearby for dinner but I lost it all during the course of the night. I seem to feel fine as long as I don't eat, which could come in handy should I ever want to go on a hunger strike.

DEC. 22
Called home today to wish my family a Merry Christmas. Yeah, it's three days early but I don't know if I'll be near a phone on Christmas day. Our group is anonymously exchanging Christmas gifts so I went to the local liquor store to get Pete Hedley a few bottles of booze (the perfect gift really). Bought myself some ridiculous looking sneakers in the market - I need something to beat the shit out of on the dusty roads and I'm ruining my good boots. They seemed to be mix and match shoes, not really having left and right defined. I also loaded up on candy, biscuits and a few cans of corned beef for those times when the evening dinner concoctions are unbearable.

Drove in the afternoon towards Wikki Warm Springs, a resort and game reserve where we will spend Christmas.

DEC. 23
Arrived at Wikki Springs about midday and set up camp. This place is very beautiful. It's set in the Yankari game reserve and the main attraction is a 600 foot natural swimming pool filled with delightfully warm spring water. At one end of the pool is a waterfall and caves; at the other it narrows to a rapidly flowing stream. The main section is about 100 feet wide with palm trees hanging over the water. You jump in near the waterfall with an icy cold Guinness Stout in hand and leisurely float towards the other end. The water is very buoyant so there's no need for swimming. The only problem is that wild elephants tend to come down to the spring to drink and that can be a very awakening experience if they surprise you. Also the numerous baboons try and pelt you with small objects from the trees as you float beneath them.

The baboons here are mischievous and aggressive. They will steal the food from inside our truck if it's left unattended and once they grab it, they can be quite dangerous (huge, sharp teeth) if you attempt to get it back.

I had a delicious meal at the hotel restaurant then drank Guinness by the springs till late at night. I had changed into my swimsuit and left my clothes and boots near the tables set up by the springs and when it came time to go back to camp for the night, I couldn't find them. Everyone was drinking and in a fairly good mood so I figured someone had played a joke by hiding them. When I went around asking everyone what had happened they all seemed to not know and not even be in the least concerned. This made me quite angry, especially since I knew if I didn't find the clothes that evening, they would be gone by the morning. I tried to get somebody interested but no one would listen so I really lost my temper. I yelled at a few people and took the truck keys and said no one was leaving until I found my stuff. That sure grabbed everyone's attention and they helped me look until I found them. I felt like a true ass for my performance afterwards and it ended up spoiling my Christmas mood. Oh well!

DEC. 24
We went game viewing through the reserve all day in our truck but didn't see anything spectacular. I was feeling sheepish from my fit the night before and wasn't very sociable. On a number of occasions we had to get out of the truck and clear vines and overhanging branches so they didn't rip the tarp on the truck as we went along. The sightings included crocodiles, waterbuck, lizards, large foul, green monkeys, baboons and the carcass of an elephant shot by poachers. The viewing was disappointing and the brush became thick towards afternoon so we called it quits. We had another good meal at the restaurant (an all-u-can-eat buffet) but I was feeling lonely and homesick so I didn't join in the partying. I went back to my tent and went to bed early.

DEC. 25
Christmas Day. I shaved off my beard this morning as a means of starting fresh on the trip. Just trying to get rid of the blues feeling I was having.

Relaxed around the pool most of the day, sipping cold drinks and eating good food from the restaurant. In the afternoon I went out on in a hired van on safari with Warren to try and see something more of the park. Just when I thought we had wasted our money, we spotted two female lions on the hunt. It was incredibly exciting seeing my first lions in the wild, and these were even hunting. This made the trip worthwhile and made all the others were jealous because they had not wanted to go on the safari.

We had yet another meal out at the hotel and everyone opened their Christmas gifts. I was still feeling badly from two nights prior but everyone had such a good time I was soon joining in the fun. Simon even offered me one of the cigars he had bought in Spain which was a rare treat indeed (no cigars to be purchased in Africa).

DEC. 26
All day drive on a good tarmac. Several people were feeling quite poorly from really overdoing it the night before. A few even had to stop to throw up. Apparently last night there had been unprecedented revelry in the springs but I had gone to bed before the fun started. Shame!

We stopped at a restaurant in the town of Jos for a meal together. They had some African specialties which I had to try. It didn't really appetize me but I figured I had to at least try some regional dishes. I ate tripe soup and Ox tongue steak. Big fucking mistake!!! The soup reminded me of warm snot and the tongue had the same texture as one's own tongue, which I found repulsive. Well, at least I tried it.

Jos seemed like a smaller version of Kano but I really didn't see enough of it to get a true picture. Drove south towards Cameroon all afternoon.

DEC. 27
Uneventful driving all day driving over crummy roads. At night we couldn't find a place along the road to pull off and camp so we went into a village with very friendly people who let us stay in the middle of their town. The place reminded me of a movie scene in a rural village filled with simple farmers. They didn't really ask anything of us. They were just fascinated to watch us go about the business of setting up camp.

I felt like hell all day and had a fever and a terrific headache at night. I thought I might have come down with malaria because I had the classic symptoms, only a weaker version.

DEC. 28
The drive today was over some pretty miserable roads and I was again feeling sickly. So I road in the dogbox by myself all day as it was too cold for anyone else to want to be up there. We stopped for shopping in the town of Ogoja and poor Colin had a run in with the law. Apparently he was taking a picture in the market and a crazed policeman saw him. He accosted Colin, yelled at him for taking pictures of "the poor parts of Nigeria so he could show all his friends back home how backwards Africa is", then took his camera. Colin said the man also told him if he had a gun, he would have shot Colin. I think that's carrying things a little too far but I'm more or less a pacifist. We went to the police station where they agreed to give him back his camera after they had confiscated the film and made him pay a fine for "photographing without a license".

In the afternoon as we neared the Cameroon border I had a pants-soiling scare. We had gone through a routine police checkpoint so I had my valuables pouch out with me in a pocket of my coat in the dogbox. I was warm so I took the coat off and it fell off the dogbox when we stopped at a store for some refreshments. I put it back on the dogbox and thought nothing of it. Twenty minutes later and two miles down the road, I looked in my coat pocket and the pouch was gone! I lost it right on the spot because I was sure it had fallen out of my coat when the coat fell off the truck at the shop. I still had my passport but I was sure I'd lost all my money. I went through lots of moping with a sickly feeling.

After we backtracked to the store someone opened up my locker and found the valuables pouch. I didn't remember putting it away at all but I was sure as hell glad I had. Anyway after that episode I became absolutely fanatical about putting my passport and money away IMMEDIATELY after I had taken them out of my locker for any reason.

We arrived at the border at about 4:30 and were told there was quite a backup at customs. After two hours of trying to get, we were told the border was closed for the night. So we slept on the road along with a hundred or so other people - not the most comfortable night I've spent. The border guards' children were selling cold beer out of plastic pails so those of us who had spare Naira left (Nigeria's currency). I had an interesting night drinking and chatting with the guards. The area around the checkpoint was very hilly so there wasn't really a place to go off into the woods for toilet purposes and at one point I remember bumping into a poor man in the pitch-black who was squatting to shit. What an embarrassing moment.

DEC. 29
We crossed both borders in short order and were soon entering the African jungle in Cameroon. According to Roger, the roads from this point on would be dirt only, until we reached East Africa. Once in the jungle, the weather immediately turned very, very humid to the point where breathing was laborious. Some of the British people on the trip had never been in such a warm and humid climate and complained to no end.

The trees also changed once into the jungle. We drove past stands of bamboo, banana trees, palms, umbrella trees which have long straight trunks and an abundance of foliage only at the top. Also saw many cotton trees which are incredibly tall and have massive root systems which stick out of the ground. They must grow very fast because a strong wind would surely topple them and in fact we saw many such trees on their sides. The visible wildlife consisted only of birds and lizards, with an occasional unseen monkey screaming from the trees somewhere.

We passed through a the non-descript village of Mamfe, picking up what little fresh food was available before we made a rough camp in the town of Bakebe. The villagers surrounded us as we set up camp and ate. I met a man named Agbor Pius who spoke halting English (Cameroon is a former French colony) and got into quite a conversation with him about life in Cameroon and how bleak were the prospects of ever finding meaningful work. Apparently, people are taught trades in the schools in Cameroon, but once they graduate, there are no jobs available, so they return to their villages where they eke out an existence by harvesting bananas and cassava plants, sell firewood and monkeys and occasionally do odd jobs. He said only a lucky few ever get to apply what they learn in the schools. We exchanged addresses and promised to correspond.

In the town of Mamfe I saw one of the most heart-wrenching scenes I've ever witnessed. There were many to be seen throughout this trip but today's was perhaps the worst for me. I saw a boy, perhaps ten or eleven who was walking on all fours like some kind of bizarre primate because his kneecaps literally bent both ways. He had obviously been stricken with polio and it really saddened me to think this person would suffer his whole life because he lived in a country that could not afford to supply him with the most fundamental vaccination against a disease that all but didn't exist anymore in the western world. It's things like this that made me ashamed to come from a rich country, spending money on leisure touring through such poor areas of the world.

DEC. 30
Drove on poor roads all day. The roads are dusty dirt and are very poorly graded so they tend to be unbearably bumpy. Some of the bridges we crossed were barely wide enough for our truck.

In the early afternoon we stopped at a stream for bathing and laundry. It was nice to wash the dust off but we were all afraid of catching Bilharzia, a microscopic organism that stays with you forever and can be debilitating. We had been warned to only step into rapidly moving water and since this was our first experience bathing in streams, everyone was apprehensive.

Later in the afternoon, we stopped at a bar for refreshments and I was befriended by a truck driver. He was very drunk and insisted on buying Roger and I beers. Beer is very cheap to us but I couldn't help wonder at his generosity buying rounds for comparatively rich tourists. It was a fun experience having a beer with locals and I hoped I would have the experience more often.

DEC. 31
We drove into Cameroon's second largest city, Douala, where we were to pick up a new passenger, Gary Mobsby, just arrived from England. We got into town early in the morning and I immediately bought a lot of fresh fruit - pineapples, strawberries and melons. My group's turn to cook tonight so I fully explored the market and was impressed by it's selection of fresh vegetables.

Douala is a relatively modern city geared towards French ex-patriots. They have restaurants serving western style food and I took advantage of one - I had a hamburger and a coke with ice in it - the first ice I had seen since we left Europe. It wasn't a terrific meal tastewise, but it was a nice change of pace.

Gary joined us in late afternoon, complaining that he'd been waiting several days for us to show up and had almost given up on us. That's the problem with trying to meet an overland truck - the schedule is almost impossible to adhere to. Gary is about 27 years old, married, and works as a carpenter. I thought he was a little stuffy at first but he was a welcome change aboard the truck - someone new to talk to.

We drove to the beach near Limbe on the Atlantic ocean to camp. The beach was weird because the sand was completely black and very course. But the water was delightfully warm and I knew the evening would be perfectly relaxing for celebrating New Year's Eve.

Bryan, Carole and I cooked, then everyone relaxed around our campfire, drinking beers we had purchased from God knows where - Roger took the truck and came back with a couple of crates of beer. Most everyone went to sleep before midnight but I stayed up enjoying the warm ocean breezes and listening to music on the truck tape player along with Simon, Roger, Maria and a few others. At midnight many of the sleepers woke up long enough to take a midnight dip in the ocean celebrate the New Year.

[sidebar - there are some very short entries in the journal from here on because I was losing interest in writing it]

JAN. 1
A glorious relaxing day hanging around the beach all day. Did laundry, swam, played soccer and chess, wrote letters and basked in the sunshine. I wish we had more uneventful, head clearing days like today.

JAN. 2
We drove the short distance back to Douala for shopping but because of the holiday, most everything was shut. Big surprise! Spent the afternoon driving towards Yaounde, the capitol of Cameroon.

JAN. 3
Spent all day in Yaounde getting C.A.R. visas for those who didn't already have them (I did). Yaounde is quite bustling - a true city. There is plenty to buy here and I spent too many CFA's. I found stores that sold imported food and bought some cans of pork and beans for an anticipated bad evening's meal in food shy Zaire. I went to the American embassy to get some additional blank pages added to my passport. I was afraid I wouldn't have enough left to finish the trip and didn't want some border official too refuse me entry because he couldn't find a blank page to stamp. The embassy was very quick, polite and efficient about it and they promptly added a new section. I was in and out of the office in fifteen minutes.

I was also able to find the local VOA (Voice Of America) broadcasting station and took a free guide to VOA broadcasts. I thought this might prove helpful in figuring out where I should tune to listen to on my piece-of-shit short-wave radio. The most exciting find of the day for me was a four-star hotel that had a modern, sit-down toilet. I was so used to (and sick of) using squat toilets