The Ramrod Rally part I: It all started in a bar...
Preparations...
Britain 1-0 Europe...
Fu*ked by the long arm of Africa...
Sandy...
Still sandy...
Mauritania. There's very little to say other than Nouakchott is perhaps the most laughable capital city we've ever visited. A smattering of tarmac to let you know you're in the big smoke, but otherwise a oversized camel ranch. One day. We only spent one night here before pressing on for Senegal as although the Desert is beautiful, it does get a little.....samey. The transition from desert to lush tropical paradise is incredibly quick. Over the course of about 10 miles it went from completely barren to vivid green, and then straight into the border crossing.
Into the real deal...
Borders are always interesting. Luckily for us, a policeman had called ahead to his friend David who would help make sure we had a smooth run through the border. When will we learn? 3 hours later, having coughed up about $200 for the privilege of entering his country we literally had to kick David out of our car as he demanded even more. We had the last laugh though as he overtook us on his scooter and we squirted him with screenwash. Ha! #smallvictories. We might have been being mugged off at every corner, but that can only have been a sign of something we had been longing for. The people were dark skinned and smiling, there was a contagious passion in the air. People had natural rythm and the subtle yet ever present scent of human faeces blended with the woodsmoke in the air could only mean one thing that both of us have come to love over the years.....we were in real Africa!
A nice seafood dinner...
Dakar, sweet sweet Dakar. After about 4 laps of the Dakar Peninsula we found a suitably cheap hotel, and faced with plenty of beer and a fresh fish supper on a beach to the soundtrack of lapping waves, we decided we might hole up here for a few days. (Bear in mind we were about 2 weeks in to a diet of ASDA price tinned tuna and pasta - particularly following the after effects of the local cuisine in Morocco)
The tranny...
Vehicle paranoia had set in on the way through the desert, so in a moment of panic we agreed to change the transfer box as per Arthur, the French mechanic's instructions. Hindsight is a cruel mistress and as ever tells us that this was a terrible decision. However, we think Arthur was legit, and no doubt being $300 lighter kept us out of mischief later on. As changing a transfer box is perhaps the most arduous task that can be performed on a vehicle, we had plenty of time to soak up the sights of Dakar - mostly involving a statue of a big African fella and his bird, and the Guinean embassy.
They think it's all over...
Onward to Guinea. After a couple of days we crossed the border and almost immediately the road turned to shit. To the point where we were averaging 3mph with one person walking in front of the car! And then it happened....the dreaded squealing from the front wheel that surely meant something was irreparably damaged. No chance of a mechanic out here so we quite simply threw in the towel. About 20 miles back or 80 miles forward to a mechanic, we'd have to try and crawl back with our tail between our legs and that would probably be the end of that. Nothing to it but to break open the
remainder of our beers from the coolbox (luckily still quite well stocked) and take a tour of the local chief's 3 villages, 6 wives and god knows how many children. Poor bastard.
It's not yet...
Just as we turned the car around to limp back to Senegal, Putnam noticed a tiny little stone in the brake disc and flicked it out.....no squealing! Hearts pounding, almost literally shitting ourselves at the prospect of breaking down 50 miles from any form of mechanical aid or a tow, we pressed on....
Absolute Pikeys...
...and succeeded. Two days later we popped out back on to the main roads. Bar a little run in with a drunk police 'capitain' and a mix up at a waterfall resulting in us haggling over 20p for half an hour, all was smooth running to the Sierra Leonean border!
Colonial nostalgia...
How glorious to be back in an English speaking country. Being welcomed across the border by a magnificent old pro who simultaneously apologised for the state of the roads and blamed their condition on our colonial forefathers, but then treated us like long lost children when we apologised for said pillaging forefathers! The highlight was when he described the inappropriately small ferry we would have to use: "eeemaagine the ferry. Eet is toooo tineeeee" That one line probably kept us entertained for a good week.
West African wildlife reserve...
On we plodded to supposedly the jewel in Sierra Leone's naturalistic crown - the Outamba Kilimi national park. Finally finding the entrance as night fell we were the only punters in a well and truly deserted campsite. Then the boss turned up with a torch and offered us a cabin. What a dream...once again we shared a double bed, this time with some sort of "I love you" themed sheets. Very nice! In the morning we took a stroll in the park, having by this point decided not to try and get beyond Sierra Leone as Putters' stolen passport would mean visas were impossible. No danger of seeing anything in the thick grass sadly. Due to the high river and the "tineeee ferreee" we had to stay another night anyway before finally crossing and making our way to Freetown.
The white man...
Freetown is in fact a very friendly spot, we now know. However, coming into it for the first time as night fell was a nerve wracking experience. The highlight being sitting in traffic with the window open as a fella walked straight past and simply said in a soft, but serious tone.... "white man" Oh God! Doors locked. In all seriousness, it was pretty scary seeing people in their teens missing limbs - a very stark reminder of how recently this place was a horrible warzone. We were blown away by how open, happy and friendly everyone was all things considered.
Have some decency...
Having found a hotel (if we'd call it that) we headed for a beach side restaurant for some delicious chicken and beer. Running low on funds, we stepped out to the cash point only to be accosted by a fairly big girl, dolled up to the nines. No, messing around, she came straight out with it: "I want you to fu*k me in the ar*e" Frankly it wasn't a tempting proposition whatever the price, but we couldn't help ask what the going rate was. Now bear in mind we're in a country where you always come in with at least double if no quadruple your final price.....$20.
An early bath...
The last few days of the Ramrod Rally part I were pleasingly relaxed. Chimpanzees tossing rocks at us and eating their own shit, coffee and burgers, a variation on meths called "Africa Gin" and of course the obligatory hooker motorbike chases regardless of how many times we told them we weren't interested. Our only remaining problem was a place for Rodders to lay low until we could get back to retrieve him. Fortunately the grapevine led us to Rocco Falconer who runs Planting Promise. He was delighted to have a 4x4 to get to the more remote villages and we were delighted that we might not find a shell on bricks when we get back.
But we'll be back...
We didn't get to Nigeria, but that just means we'll have to come back! Stay classy San Diego.
...in Soho of course. Alfie's never said he's gay, but then none of us have ever seen his girlfriend either. In a rash turn of events Alf had recently decided to quit his job of getting paid a fortune to browse Google and not make any trades all day for BarCap, in order to live in the sweatbox of Abuja, Nigeria working on government consulting contracts. It only occurs to me now (I'm usually about 2 years behind Alfie's mind anyway) but he clearly saw a future paved in gold with all the bribes he could extort. When in Rome!
In a lull in conversation, Alfie casually dropped in that he fancied getting an old Landrover Defender out there. That was the moment. Daisy and my eyes locked together, in the not-quite-but-nearly romantic fashion that we would soon become all too accustomed to and we knew what we had to do. We would bring Alfie his Landrover.
So we bought a Landrover. Due to some unforeseen vocational circumstances we decided to leave in August rather than January. The recommended preparation period for African overland trips is c.12 months....if you use extra heavy flow tampons. No sir, not for us. 2 months after the fateful night in Soho and we were away (shout out to Ross Bartlet here - the Landrover Guru without whom we would have been driving a broken box of bits down through Africa)
Britain 1-0 Europe...
Europe was a dream. Although at 75mph Rodders is certainly not a Greenpeace preferred member cardholder. A couple of nights at Putnam's Uncle Tim's place waiting for the Carnet de Passage to arrive (thanks to some administrative weapon at First Direct) were gratefully received, despite almost being drowned by 3 children before we'd got properly started! Then an early doors start to get the ferry across to Morocco - the port revealing our major failing if we were to carry any kudos in North Africa....we'd forgotten to pack the entire contents of a house on the roof of the car.
Fu*ked by the long arm of Africa...
Morocco was not kind to us. The aloof yet corrupt police, the way talking is replaced with angrily spitting in your face, and even the complete lack of beer we could have dealt with*....but the triple whammy of a broken halfshaft, all our valuables being nicked (including Putters' passport) and both having one of the most severe bouts of the shits man has ever experienced mean we probably won't be back. *Just a thought....a few beers and people might chill the fuck out!
Sandy...
Southern Morocco was better. Possibly because there were less people but more likely because we only rarely had to stop at the side of the road to eject the contents of our bowels by this stage! Beautiful wilderness of the desert to our left and cliffs down to the Atlantic on our right. A slightly dodgy camping moment however when a young soldier, presumably from the nearby coast guard post, tried to persuade us to let him into our tent. We politely declined.
Still sandy...
Mauritania. There's very little to say other than Nouakchott is perhaps the most laughable capital city we've ever visited. A smattering of tarmac to let you know you're in the big smoke, but otherwise a oversized camel ranch. One day. We only spent one night here before pressing on for Senegal as although the Desert is beautiful, it does get a little.....samey. The transition from desert to lush tropical paradise is incredibly quick. Over the course of about 10 miles it went from completely barren to vivid green, and then straight into the border crossing.Into the real deal...
Borders are always interesting. Luckily for us, a policeman had called ahead to his friend David who would help make sure we had a smooth run through the border. When will we learn? 3 hours later, having coughed up about $200 for the privilege of entering his country we literally had to kick David out of our car as he demanded even more. We had the last laugh though as he overtook us on his scooter and we squirted him with screenwash. Ha! #smallvictories. We might have been being mugged off at every corner, but that can only have been a sign of something we had been longing for. The people were dark skinned and smiling, there was a contagious passion in the air. People had natural rythm and the subtle yet ever present scent of human faeces blended with the woodsmoke in the air could only mean one thing that both of us have come to love over the years.....we were in real Africa!
A nice seafood dinner...
Dakar, sweet sweet Dakar. After about 4 laps of the Dakar Peninsula we found a suitably cheap hotel, and faced with plenty of beer and a fresh fish supper on a beach to the soundtrack of lapping waves, we decided we might hole up here for a few days. (Bear in mind we were about 2 weeks in to a diet of ASDA price tinned tuna and pasta - particularly following the after effects of the local cuisine in Morocco)
Vehicle paranoia had set in on the way through the desert, so in a moment of panic we agreed to change the transfer box as per Arthur, the French mechanic's instructions. Hindsight is a cruel mistress and as ever tells us that this was a terrible decision. However, we think Arthur was legit, and no doubt being $300 lighter kept us out of mischief later on. As changing a transfer box is perhaps the most arduous task that can be performed on a vehicle, we had plenty of time to soak up the sights of Dakar - mostly involving a statue of a big African fella and his bird, and the Guinean embassy.
They think it's all over...
It's not yet...Just as we turned the car around to limp back to Senegal, Putnam noticed a tiny little stone in the brake disc and flicked it out.....no squealing! Hearts pounding, almost literally shitting ourselves at the prospect of breaking down 50 miles from any form of mechanical aid or a tow, we pressed on....
Absolute Pikeys... ...and succeeded. Two days later we popped out back on to the main roads. Bar a little run in with a drunk police 'capitain' and a mix up at a waterfall resulting in us haggling over 20p for half an hour, all was smooth running to the Sierra Leonean border!
Colonial nostalgia...
How glorious to be back in an English speaking country. Being welcomed across the border by a magnificent old pro who simultaneously apologised for the state of the roads and blamed their condition on our colonial forefathers, but then treated us like long lost children when we apologised for said pillaging forefathers! The highlight was when he described the inappropriately small ferry we would have to use: "eeemaagine the ferry. Eet is toooo tineeeee" That one line probably kept us entertained for a good week.West African wildlife reserve...
On we plodded to supposedly the jewel in Sierra Leone's naturalistic crown - the Outamba Kilimi national park. Finally finding the entrance as night fell we were the only punters in a well and truly deserted campsite. Then the boss turned up with a torch and offered us a cabin. What a dream...once again we shared a double bed, this time with some sort of "I love you" themed sheets. Very nice! In the morning we took a stroll in the park, having by this point decided not to try and get beyond Sierra Leone as Putters' stolen passport would mean visas were impossible. No danger of seeing anything in the thick grass sadly. Due to the high river and the "tineeee ferreee" we had to stay another night anyway before finally crossing and making our way to Freetown.
Freetown is in fact a very friendly spot, we now know. However, coming into it for the first time as night fell was a nerve wracking experience. The highlight being sitting in traffic with the window open as a fella walked straight past and simply said in a soft, but serious tone.... "white man" Oh God! Doors locked. In all seriousness, it was pretty scary seeing people in their teens missing limbs - a very stark reminder of how recently this place was a horrible warzone. We were blown away by how open, happy and friendly everyone was all things considered.
Have some decency...
Having found a hotel (if we'd call it that) we headed for a beach side restaurant for some delicious chicken and beer. Running low on funds, we stepped out to the cash point only to be accosted by a fairly big girl, dolled up to the nines. No, messing around, she came straight out with it: "I want you to fu*k me in the ar*e" Frankly it wasn't a tempting proposition whatever the price, but we couldn't help ask what the going rate was. Now bear in mind we're in a country where you always come in with at least double if no quadruple your final price.....$20.
An early bath...The last few days of the Ramrod Rally part I were pleasingly relaxed. Chimpanzees tossing rocks at us and eating their own shit, coffee and burgers, a variation on meths called "Africa Gin" and of course the obligatory hooker motorbike chases regardless of how many times we told them we weren't interested. Our only remaining problem was a place for Rodders to lay low until we could get back to retrieve him. Fortunately the grapevine led us to Rocco Falconer who runs Planting Promise. He was delighted to have a 4x4 to get to the more remote villages and we were delighted that we might not find a shell on bricks when we get back.
But we'll be back...
We didn't get to Nigeria, but that just means we'll have to come back! Stay classy San Diego.
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