It was sparked by meeting our first ever ‘meteorite smuggler’ at Camping Baie des Levrier, and escalated through various weird and wonderful events since. Although there is basically nothing there, driving the stretch of coast we just have between Nouadhibou in Mauritania and Dakhla in the Western Sahara, one just gets the feeling that this is one of those places where (to phrase it nicely…), “the stuff goes down”!

Bushcamp in the Western Sahara. The armed royal marines came running down that track from their outpost at the telecomms tower…

Exit and entry on most country borders we’ve been through are little more than a couple of hundred meters apart. On leaving Mauritania, however, one is required to drive through a stretch of no less than 4km ‘no-mans land’ before arriving at the Moroccan border. Having being turned back from the Moroccan border on our first attempt, we’ve now passed through this bizarre stretch no less than three times, so we’ve had a chance to get a nice good look at all the weirdness.

First of all, since neither country administer this area, the nice tar road literally ends at the last police checkpoint of Mauritania, and only resumes as one enters the first military checkpoint in Morocco. In between lies a maze of barely discernable sandy tracks going off in all directions, not ideal when the last sign you read before entering the area reads something along the lines of “beware of the landmines”. You’ll pass a few burnt-out cars on their roof, as well as in one point a barricade of large rusty kitchen appliances like fridges and washing machines. Just as you’re wondering “but… how?!!” you’ll pass someone switching the registration plates on their car and a small group of Saharei locals extracting money from some poor tourist to help free their car from one of the many strategically-placed soft ‘sand-traps’ in the zone.

We hear that apparently there actually used to be a full-on car dealership in no-mans land for cars arriving from Europe, where after choosing your vehicle you’d be given a false set of registration plates for either Morocco or Mauritania, depending on which direction you were headed!

Needless to say, eventually you’ll arrive at the Moroccan border, where if you have any connection to South Africa you are likely to be treated as a hardened criminal… never mind all the really dubious-looking super-fancy European-registered S-class Benz’s passing South unstopped with their tinted windows. The West African drivers look like nice-enough guys… but don’t strike you as the type that picked up their ride at the Mercedes showroom in Paris!

Note: we are NOT AT ALL bitter with the simple-minded, arrogant Moroccan official who refused us entry first-time around, and then ordered a full strip-search of our car after reluctantly letting us through on our second attempt… bastard!

After eventually making it past the Western Sahara border, we stopped in at a few remote fishing villages rumoured to have perfect pointbreaks…

The pointbreak wasn’t working this day, or maybe the rumour was just that… a rumour. Either way the villages we passed were some of the most squalid and desperate we’ve passed yet…

Eventually you’ll make it past the stubborn official in late afternoon, which gives you little hope of making the 5 hour drive through the desert to Dakhla in the daylight. So when it starts getting dark you’ll risk the rusted “Attension Landmine” signs and follow some fresh tracks off the road toward the beach to set up camp. Then once all the gear is set-up, just as someone has made a comment like “gosh it feels like we are truly in the middle of no-where”, you will be alarmed to see a the outline of men with large rifles and dogs RUNNING toward your camp in the moonshine.

As if armed marines weren’t freaky enough, we found these fresh tracks through the camp in the morning… any ideas?!!

If you’re at all lucky, like we were, the Moroccan royal marines will be sympathetic and allow you to stay for the night after explaining that they are in fact just monitoring contraband coming in off the beach and not out to rob you of your wordly possesions at gunpoint.

Contraband coming in off the beach? Jeez. As we said… for some reason this just feels like the place where the stuff goes down.

While the crew dodge contraband and wait for their first swell on the fabled Western Sahara pointbreaks, Stone is reminiscing of warmer climes in Cote d’Ivoire…