Mali (3)

	In 3-5 years time, I am convinced that there will be tarmac road from Burleydam, Cheshire to Timbuktu, Mali. At present, the only non-metalled road is 2km at the border of Western Sahara, 70km from Diema to Didjeni and the last 200km from Douentza to Timbuktu. In fact, and I think unfortunately so, Timbuktu is easily reachable in any standard saloon car or even a Rav 4. When I was growing up, Timbuktu was a place talked about as being a million miles from anywhere, and if there was an end to the earth then it was somewhere round there. So our merry band of 5 were in agreement that to take the direct, easy route was out of the question, and instead we would navigate across the Niger Delta and put some adventure into it.


	We camped the first night just off the main tarmac outside Konna, a wonderful night in which we started to get to know Manuel and Ivan better. It was soon clear that they were going to be wonderful travelling companions and we shared such similar sense of humour. Manuel played Spanish guitar and we ate roasted marshmallows around the fire, accompanied with our French-made, sloe gin.

	As we travelled the next day, it soon became clear that our £3.50-a-day guide wasn’t really worth the cash we were paying him, as he clearly had never taken this route to Timbuktu before. But he was still good value to have along for the crack. As we reached each new village along the riverbank he had a ten minute conversation before pronouncing ‘on y va, là-bas, tout droit’ (lets go, over there, straight on). The tracks became smaller and sandier and the scenery was fantastic. Everyone took turns riding on the roof rack, being baked by the sun and swamped in the dust, but with fantastic views of the delta.

						Some of the villages gave us the kind of reception you rarely see on the tourist main drag, notably no appeals for ‘stylo, cadeaux, argent’ and a relaxed attitude to being photographed. It actually felt for a change that we could just possibly be one of the few ‘blanches’ to ever reach these places. After a long and stunning day's driving we managed to reach the first of two river crossings on the Michelin map and Omar assured us that the village was Saraféré and we were on course to reach Timbuktu the same day. Five hours later we arrived at another river crossing and the real town of Saraféré. I was determined that the ferry was unnecessary and having waded across, was keen to have a go but Jools wasn’t keen on getting the truck stuck in the deep mud, and since we had already had major discussions over the price of the ferry with the crew, I didn’t relish the same over the cost of a salvage mission. The sun was dipping low now and it soon became clear that we certainly were going have a second night in the bush, much to all our excitement, except Omar, who would surely have preferred that we stop in an Auberge so that he could collect some well-earned commission.

	Next morning we were soon back on a main route, on good dirt roads, speeding past giant termite mounds taller than the truck, to the next ferry crossing at Niafounke, (birth place of Ali Farka Toure). The ferry stops gave a nice break from driving and a chance to get out and marvel at life on the river. Topless women washing clothes in the river and wee naked boys running around gave a real feel of African freedom. After Niafounke the roads further improved and soon we were speeding along at 80kph to the sheer delight of Ivan sitting on the roof rack. Our only hic-up was hitting a huge speed bump at 70kph, everyone was in agreement that the truck was fully airborne for a moment but thankfully the landing was remarkably smooth.

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	The last 100km into Timbuktu had milestones marking the way, giving the effect of a countdown to arrival, and finally we rolled into the sandy streets of Miles from Nowhere. The town was sleepy-tired and we lead our guide to a nice restaurant mentioned in the Lonely Planet, celebrating with a cold beer whilst they tried to locate a cook for our lunch.

	Whilst we waited, I decided that it would be fantastic to call friends at home from Timbuktu, and after several frustrating answer-phone messages I finally got through to D.B. and Katie in the Lakes. The food was worth waiting for as we were served with a fantastic local dish, which resembled a giant dumpling in a meat stew.

	After lunch we sourced supplies for the next night’s camping and as a celebration planned for a bit of a barbeque. The last meat we bought in Mauritania was a bit of chew fest so we were a little more prepared. You see butchery in Africa is not really the same here as you find in Clulow’s of Nantwich, in fact I’m sure even Harry just might go for the veggie option in Mali. Instead of choice cuts with fancy names like, sirloin, rump, t-bone etc, you just get a kilo of the next bit of animal to be hacked off.

			So when we spied a fresh side of beef without too many flies on it we managed to convince the vender to trim out a length of fillet for us, which we paid about £1/kg. Our next problem was that we didn’t have a grill to cook it on so we used the top of the gas cooker and a tyre lever to fashion a grill (you don’t get that kind of ingenuity on Ray Mears!)

	In most of the rough and lonely guides Timbuktu is often described as a bit of a disappointment, and once on the main road back to Douenza we soon realised why. The piste is long, straight, boring and of the worst corrugations we have found anywhere so far. Due to massive potholes it was not possible to travel quick enough to neutralise the effect of corrugations and the alternative side tracks were like a crazy roller-coaster.


			On the second day we had bust another suspension bolt and split a shock absorber. If we had driven this road to Timbuktu and back it would have been a frustrating disappointment for sure (but this was Omar’s recommendation all along). If your planning on visiting Timbuktu, may I suggest the long road.