I had gotten sick in the Casablanca airport just before leaving, and was still suffering from a bad headache. I think it was caffeine withdrawal, because I had failed to drink a coffee until late in the afternoon. Then, foolishly, I had drank two, including one at almost 19:00, so I went to bed feeling pain from lack of caffeine, and had difficulty sleeping because of too much caffeine. Go figure. Moreover, it was extremely windy, so noisy, and on top of this I was stressed because of my plans today, and then it looked like Trump actually had a chance of winning the election as I turned in, so it was a fitful night (then it did not help to wake up and, sure enough, see Trump had won).
In any case, I woke up around 8:00 feeling lousy, but gave up sleeping. I left my room and found the top floor of the Dar Rio Oro, where breakfast was served.
I had an unfortunately small appetite, and did not really enjoy what I did eat. I did, however, manage to communicate well enough with Phil to confirm my plans (I think). I suppose there could still be some confusion remaining, but I managed to leave this morning with Phil and his wife Fati's car.
It is a manual (Dacia Sandero), which I assumed it would be, and if you remember my trip in November 2015, when I ended up with a manual rental car in Europe, you will know I have a sketchy history with manual vehicles. I was super nervous pulling out of the driveway (I even watched a how-to YouTube video first), but did it without a problem, and so far, after 200 kilometres of driving around, I am doing just fine (the Dakhla peninsula is almost pancake flat, so that helps).
I wanted a chance to get comfortable with the car, so I immediately headed north out of the city, then west to the road along the Atlantic coast. Here I had lots of space, little traffic, and incredible views. There is an old lighthouse over here, and I had read of tourists climbing it.
Unfortunately, though, the compound was locked and I could not figure out another way inside.
I headed back north along the main highway (which runs along the lagoon) to check into my accommodation for tonight, a tent on the northern end of the peninsula at a kite surfing camp called Dakhla Spirit.
On the way to the camp I was stopped at a police/military checkpoint, which apparently are all along the highway in Western Sahara. The man spoke some English and methodically asked for various documentation for the car and myself. One by one I handed over my passport, driver's license, four or five or even six pieces of paper out of the glove compartment and, finally, the "triangle"--presumably the reflective fold-out sign must be an obligatory piece of equipment. Eventually he handed it all back and waved me by.
At the camp I am on the northern end of the peninsula, where kite surfing, Dakhla's main tourist attraction, is especially prevalent.
It looks like an incredibly fun sport, but certainly a very elitist one.
Once I had checked in, I drove a bit further north, then turned back once the highway began heading east towards the main highway that runs north-south along the northwestern Africa coast.
By now I was getting hungry, so I drove south back towards Dakhla, stopping at oyster farms still many kilometres north of the city.
It was difficult to photograph the operations effectively, but below you can see the racks with mesh sack lying on them.
These contain the oysters, and from watching it all I gather these sacks are moved around, in and out of the water, as well as to varying depths of water. Whether this is on a rotation of some sort, or has to do with the age of the oysters, or what, I do not know.
I asked one of the workers if I could go in and look, and he gestured that I could, so I waded in to take a closer look.
One of these farms has a nice terrace set up to serve meals.
I sat down and ordered a tagine of mixed seafood. The boy serving said the oysters are "malade," so he would not let me order just oysters. I am not sure if he meant they are in fact sick or something else, but in any case, what he recommended I order was great.
After I lunch I went back to the Atlantic to wade in there and walk a long the beach for a bit.
The beach itself was nice, but there is lots of garbage further up the shore, and I guess it must have come in at high tide. It is quite sad. The water was much, much colder than I expected, so I did not stay at the beach long, instead continuing south to the end of the peninsula. There is a fishing village down here, which was an incredible place.
I felt uncomfortable taking pictures here, and actually turned around as soon as I could because I realized quickly this is not a spot for tourists. The houses are shacks pieced together of various things, a board here, a tarpaulin there, a piece of cardboard. It seems the possessions that are of far greater value than the homes are tractors. It was not obvious to me what the tractors are for, but it looked like there were at least as many tractors as houses.
From the fishing village, now much more confident with the car, I drove into Dakhla.
I stopped at the airport to get some cash, because I knew there was a bank machine there, and the parking was easy.
Then I wanted to find a postcard. I actually was not optimistic about finding one in Dakhla, but eventually I went to the main hotel, the Sahara Regency, and asked at the front desk.
I think they assumed I was a guest, because not only did they have postcards, but they gave me the one I picked out for free!
The first post office I stopped in turned out to be a Moroccan navy post office, much to my surprise. One of the men who seemed especially confident in French told me where to go, and even offered to ride with me to show me where to go.
I politely declined the offer and found it without difficulty. Interestingly, I have now been charged 25 (Fes), 15 (Casablanca), and 9 (Dakhla) dirham for postage to Canada. I think Morocco might subsidize postage in Western Sahara, because apparently they subsidize lots of things, but I have no explanation for the other discrepancy. The stamps state the amounts on them, too, so I know they are charging me the actual value.
Next I went to get gas. The car had around 3/4 of a tank when I left the dar this morning, so I figured I would just fill it today, thereby saving the trouble of having to guess the amount of gas. Also, this way I did not have to try to communicate a partial amount to the gas station attendant, and could just ask him to fill it. I had read that gas is heavily subsidized in Western Sahara, so I was surprised to pay 250 dirham for about half a tank!
Finally, I finished my afternoon in Dakhla with a lagoon-side coffee.
On the way back to camp for the night I passed a family herding camels.
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