It took us several hours to drive south to Tan Tan Plage, also known as El Ouatia, a fishing port 25 km away from the inland town of Tan Tan. The road was a newly built dual carriageway with very little traffic, no parking bays for comfort breaks and absolutely no fuel stations. Fuel, stored in jerrycans or re-purposed plastic water containers, could be purchased from roadside shacks. Otherwise it was mile after mile of empty road with the occasional glimpse of herds of camels. There were roadside signs warning of “ensablement” where the desert winds blew sand over the carriageway. It had been extremely windy and the bulldozers were out clearing the sand – if the sand was soft it could cause a vehicle to skid; if the sand was compacted it could be like hitting concrete.
The Atlantic beaches were huge and wide but the sea was much too rough for bathing. The camp sites were very busy, it was warm in the sunshine in spite of the wind. A large proportion of the guests were French, the rest a mixture of other Europeans. We were the only English apart from a diminutive elderly English lady who was travelling in a small van in tandem with a younger Dutchman in his own camper van.
A man on a bicycle came round each day selling fresh fish.
Tan Tan would be the furthest south we would travel, time to start heading north.
