Motorcycle transport from Africa. Senegal, Mauritania and Morocco


An email. A call for help. A new order. Someone had an accident in Senegal. Would I have a few weeks to bring his motorcycle home? You have already been to Africa in your lecture. You know yourself there. Of course. I always take time for important things. A few minutes later I booked the flights.
The ADAC would fly home to the patient after he proved that he was still in Germany at the start of the insurance. A nasty pitfall. Many people use the cheap 45-day insurance first before they start long-term insurance.
The next morning I made my way to the airport. So fast I came back to Africa, although I have just been there. About Portugal we went to Dakar, where Jörg picked me up at 3 in the morning from the airport. A visa was not necessary. The entry stamp I received free upon arrival.

The taxi driver in his totally rickety BMW wanted 50,000 CFA for the ride into town. We agreed on 10,000.
When he had finally managed to start his engine, it went 20 km to the beach Popenguine. Here was already reserved in a hotel for me a room. The bed was the same as the injured patient had left before.
I refused a welcome beer. I was more in the summer heat for cold water and a shower. However, the same only worked in squat because of lack of water pressure. At least the cell phone charger fitted into the socket.
The next day we went for a walk on the beach. Over the weekend, the customs had closed anyway and I also wanted to see something of the country.
Everywhere, the flood had scooped up garbage. The whole beach was colorful. Also along the streets and on fallen meadows lies colorful plastic garbage. Chickens, pigs and goats look for food in between. I have not seen such a dirty country except India.
However, the people were very friendly and not intrusive. Greetings in French Bonjour and went on without begging. Only at the gas stations, where you always get too little change as a white, always came some begging children run. Parents who have money send their children to a private school where they learn something sensible. Children who have no money go to the Islamic school and are sent by this to beg. It is really scary that some parents get more children than they can afford. Only then do they slip into the poverty trap. At the same time, overpopulation continues to increase without increasing the food supply.
In the evening sudden loud drumming. We followed the music and suddenly found ourselves in the middle of a wedding party.
Drumming beneath the ears of deafening people danced and did not bother us at all.
We walked on through the narrow streets, looking for beer for Jörg. Finding alcohol is not easy in a Muslim country.
Again and again, horse-drawn carriages and carriages came to meet us, but also many cars and buses with people on their roofs
No policeman was bothered or gambled away under the pretext of security. Here you can still live in freedom. Also we tourists were waved at every check through. Unfortunately, people hardly appreciate that. You do not know it differently.
Later, a friend whom we met in a bar (alcohol consumption was a good thing) drove us to customs in the capital, Dakar.
With the medical certificate, the length of stay of our vehicles was extended by 10 days and my authorization stamped and personally signed by the boss. Without a Carned de Passage customs document, vehicles may otherwise only spend 5 days in the country for transit purposes to the Gambia or Mali.
It took a lot of time, but it went without corruption. 5,000 CFA seemed to be a normal fee, for which we even received a receipt.
Instead, the hotel employee tried in vain to charge Jörg for hotel rooms more than the previously agreed 10,000 CFA per day. Not with me.
Outside, the colorful life was shivering. There were delicious food stalls, fruits and pizza to go everywhere on the street. Not to be confused with the country Togo. Later, the secret of Senegalese cuisine was revealed: Maggi.
We were allowed to spend the night in the center of the big city Dakar Haus of a local biker, who helped Gerhard and Jörg selflessly after the accident and invited both to their home, although nobody spoke the language of the other.
Since we Europeans are not used to such selfless behavior, Jörg initially thought that the man was just trying to sell them something.
After the accident, hundreds of onlookers stood around the two white tourists around and were happy that Gerhard was only hit by the bus but not driven dead. The positive mentality of Senegalese is impressive.
Although the Swiss-based operator of the overpriced campsite in St. Louis had also seen the accident, he preferred not to help the only two whites except him within a thousand kilometers of their accident, though he knew his way around and even the language spoke French. Thanks for nothing.
One day later, we drove together on a completely overloaded Africa Twin CRF 1000 260 km to St. Louis.
I was shocked at how uncomfortable it is traveling as a passenger on a motorcycle and decided to mount a backrest for my girlfriend.
With a backpack and without a back I had to be fully tense the whole time. The footpegs of the Honda CRF 1000 were much too high.
After many small villages with colorful bustle and numerous dead-driven donkeys on the roadside, we finally reached the island of St. Louis.
Here we repaired the crashed Honda Africa Twin 750 and greased the choke valves because the box had no power and consumed too much fuel.
We even put on a rivet plier and blind rivets to fix the battered Touratech side case. Unfortunately he was not waterproof anymore.
Jörg drank the annual ration of alcohol from St. Louis in just three days. At some point, no gas station had more beer in stock.
In normal stores, there is no such thing anyway. Even that drink already alone the visible wearing in public is prohibited. Of this one could still learn much in Germany.
But the shouting of the loudspeakers of various muezine or their tapes from the towers of numerous mosques annoying. You can never sleep. This would make me a terrorist in the long term. After all, Muslims here may have up to 4 women, if they treat all the same See also ZDF Zoom "marriage without love" from 29.03.2018.
Finally, both motorcycles ran like new again. As a test drive, it went through the sandy streets of the old town.
For the transport of the superfluous spare tires, which I would have liked to have sold, Jörg let the locksmith weld a tail extension.
For the tires there would certainly have been interested parties. Big motorcycles stolen in Europe can be bought very cheaply in Senegal. New tires in this size but not.
The garage owner watched his staff vigilantly, but did not touch a finger himself.
Also, we drove an old oil canister for gasoline transport for 400 CFA. Everything in Senegal has its price.
A diligent harvesting assistant earns in the field on the day between 3 and 5 euros told us the Italian employee of a huge, artificially irrigated vegetable farm with 36 modern tractors, the daily 7 trucks, for example, with beans for Lidl sent to Europe.
In addition, there are again so many containers per ship and urgent goods by plane. His profit is about 2 cents per kilo.
His own farm, he unfortunately had to close because of the massive corruption of officials. Africa is the only continent that can not feed itself but relies on imports. However, the Italian company is so big that it no longer captivates civil servants but the responsible ministers themselves.
For example, the trucks are allowed to drive over the border without stopping, while the trucks of companies that do not bribe have to wait for weeks in front of the borders in the heat.
Fuel here costs about 1 Euro per liter, in the desert of Mauritania from some filthy barrels but much more.
The plight of the tourists is gladly used. Petrol stations in Mauritania otherwise only run diesel.
In the evening we found the tastiest grilled meat with fries in a totally filthy street restaurant at the end of the world for only 2000 CFA GPS N16 ° 1'0 "W016 ° 29'25".
Otherwise, Senegal is amazingly expensive. For 1 euro you get the money changer 650 CFA.
We too had to bargain for all prices. If we did not ask for an order after the price, we were promptly charged as white 10 times the usual.
Clothes make people. Especially with such a big, new bike like the Honda Africa Twin CRF 1000 and the right clothes you look and get treated like money on legs.
Even the gas station attendant shines at us when he finds out that we are Germans. Angela Merkel. He, too, wants to come to Germany, where "refugees", in contrast to Hartz4 recipients, receive money without measures or sanctions, that they can then send to their families in the safe home. Why work here?
In Germany, migrants do not even have to clean their own bathroom. Many visit only in bad weather, the offered German courses. Due to bad experiences, migrants in Denmark have to be active for at least 30 hours in order to receive money, see ZDF Zoom "Integrationswirrwar" from 26.02.2016.
Suddenly a big mess. Gasoline spurted on my shoes and pulled me out of my thoughts.
Already on arrival, the fuel pump of the old Africa Twin had failed and, since the spare part of Ebay brought was also defective, in a small electrical workshop repaired. A known weak point.
The hose may have been damaged during assembly. At any rate, the precious wet shot out of the bike inexorably.
We quickly put a bit into the hole to provisionally seal the tube. Jörg went alone on the search for a new 9mm gasoline hose.
While I was taking care of the motorbike, a truck driver came, saw the dilemma and brought me a suitable hose, even before Jörg was back. Some people are really super friendly :)
It should not, however, be the last repair on this soon to be 30 years old motorcycle because it was not in its original state.
Already on the arrival of gasoline consumption was up to 9 liters per 100 kilometers. The reason was not the wind in the Western Sahara but the assembly of a Dynojet carburetor kit to increase performance.
On long journeys, however, low spark consumption and thus higher range and lower costs are much more important than higher performance.
With luggage, the tires have less slippage and you drive much more evenly. As a result, the tires wear off much slower, so that can be dispensed with the takeover of spare tires when using durable Mitas E07 or Heidenau Scout tires.
To compensate for the dyno set, we disassembled half of the motorcycle, opened the carburettor and hung the carburettor pins as tiff as possible in the highest notch.
In addition, we greased the choke valves (also a known problem that leads to high fuel consumption) and turned the idle mixture adjustment screws, which are accessible from the outside of the carburettor and are normally 2.5 turns outside, a day later completely into it.
Finally, the spark plug image was no longer Russ Black and the old AfricaTwin consumed at the same driving style with 5.5 liters a little less than the new CRF 1000 with 6 liters. My conclusion on the question of how it drives now: Due to the lower weight (we had not re-mounted two washers on the carburetor needle), the bike was much more agile and got through the lower-hanging carburetor needles a better focus. ";)
A propo spark plugs: Two of the specially built before the trip, sau expensive Iridium spark plugs on the road suddenly stopped their service, with the result that the bike ran only on a cylinder.
An exchange of the two easily accessible candles (double ignition) provided for improvement. Now the twin had no double ignition anymore, but I was able to continue driving.
Also, the changed footpegs had to be sanded off, as their sharp teeth destroyed the expensive, waterproof motorcycle boots. Rather leave everything original, especially before a trip!
It was not far to the border to Mauritania. Since Rosso is the most corrupt, expensive and difficult border in Africa, I had avoided it when I rounded Africa.
Already 100 kilometers before we were stopped by police and told us with the transition Diama, with which you can drive around Rosso, is closed.
The police were of course part of the corrupt system. We ignored their instructions to drive directly to Rosso and turned off nevertheless in the direction of the border crossing Diama.
The pothole track got even worse. Finally the aspalt completely stopped. You have to pay for the drive through the national park.
About a sandy corrugated piste it went 60km to the border. Also for the driving of the border dam a fee of approx. 5 euro was wrongly demanded on both sides.
However, the corrupt system works so well here that after I drove through without paying when the barrier was opened for a car, I was sent back by a police officer.
Another policeman wanted to see our driver's license when leaving. Then we should each pay 10 euros in cash without a bill to get them back. Locals who also crossed the border did not have to pay anything here. Of course, blacks do not have Euros.
Only at the customs one wanted to have no money. The medical atest and the signature of the customs officer on our extension were accepted.
Our visas for Mauritania were issued at the border for 55 euros per person. This required the removal of the fingerprints.
Also in the neighboring building our fingerprints were taken again. Unfortunately, the disgustingly filthy scanner did not work right here, so a long queue formed in front of the building.
Finally, that was done. Again 2 Euro for the dam then we were in Mauritania. It was not far to Nuakschott.
Towards evening we reached the capital. From my Africa rounding I still had the coordinates of the European ghetto GPS N18 ° 08'47.2 "W016 ° 01'42.6".
In Dönie's unfinished hotel, working Europeans meet here for the weekend to grill delicious CFA per person and drink alcohol forbidden to locals, smuggled into the country by embassy officials.
When we arrived, no one was there. Only a huge coach parked in front of the unfinished hotel rouiene.
Two Frenchmen spent winter here with their mobile home.
The mid-engined bus had all the amenities: power, water, a washing machine, kitchen, shower, bed, a 1500 liter tank for cheap diesel from Western Sahara and even a rear garage that could fit a CanAm Bucky Quad.
We were welcomed friendly. Jörg did not pay attention for a moment and stuck with his motorcycle in the soft sand.
When trying to pry it out over the side stand to get it back afloat, this bent.
By joining forces, we finally managed to pull the Twin out of the sand.
Totally sweaty Jörg was so happy about the beer that I had smuggled to Mauritania for him.
The owner of the Döni property was called. He gave us the permission to open our tents wind protected in the hotel rouiene overlooking the sea.
The next day we are cordially invited to barbecue with the other Europeans. A feast.
As night fell, we heard the typical rustle of a rattlesnake under a bush. So be careful here.
I would like to have something left but Jörg wanted to continue. That's just the difference between holidays and a job. Here the boss determines the rules.
I prefer to travel alone on vacation, so you do not have to compromise.
Traveling for the day is much cheaper if you travel slower. Wild camping is always free and the visa and fuel costs for crossing a country are not more expensive. But you can see much more.
Every few miles we were stopped by policemen asking for a so-called fish.
A Fich is a copy of our passport with the data of our vehicle. Otherwise you have to write all these data by hand, cumbersome and very time consuming in a large book.
Many policemen also abused their power and asked for cigarettes or gifts. They all belong to the wall!
We drove and drove. Every now and then a short camel photo and on we went. We had to concentrate very much: the road was full of potholes.
In the evening we set up our tents on the coast hidden behind rocks. I only went to the sea to have a quick wash. It was freezing cold.
In the distance we saw fishermen on tiny boats at work.
Finally we reached the border to Morocco. The departure was again a huge bureaucratic act, which was topped only by the cumbersome entry procedure to Morocco.
Again and again some dubious figures wanted our papers. We did not even know who was a civil servant and who was just a "helper", who then wants money. Whether we wanted to change money? No thanks.
Police, immigration and customs. Fortunately, the officials hurried. In one hour, the border should close.
Through a sandstorm we drove the few miles through the no-man's-land. Everywhere cars stood around, which probably could not cross the border or were disposed of for customs reasons here.
After all, Morocco had meanwhile paved half of the route in no-man's land.
We drove as usual on many waiting trucks to the very front. Then we were sent from one house to another and back again.
On the first trip to Morocco you get an individual number stamped in the passport.
Unfortunately, the officials could not read this number or find it in their computer system.
Finally we had to fill out a form with name, fictitious address "Hotel Bou Cherif" and invented profession etc. The visa stamp was free for Germans.
Then our luggage was ransacked by a greasy customs officer and sniffed by his dog.
Would we have a drone with us? Since a drone has flown over the king's palace, drones are banned in Morocco.
When the customs was finished we had to drive our motorcycles into a huge x-ray machine, in which also trucks fit.
Other poor travelers had to unload their overloaded vehicles completely. And in 10 minutes the border is closing.
A couple from Italy has just been sent back. Behind us the gate was closed. We were in Morocco.
Suddenly everything was quiet. Apparently, the intrusive money changers also work after the clock.
Suddenly nobody was there anymore. Even the gas station attendant of the border gas station we had to search first.
In Moroccan Western Sahara the fuel is tax-subsidized with 8 dirhams per liter (11 dirhams = 1 euro) particularly favorable. We filled all our reserves.
In the dark, we drove on a few miles and hid our tent hidden behind a house rouiene in the desert.
The night was clear. The north we came, the colder it got.
Unpack in the morning and continue.
Breakfast was available in Nouadhibou. We were surprised how clean it was here.
A friendly man grilled chicken with chips for us. If he will pull us over the table like many a host before?
We had forgotten because of sheer anticipation once again to ask in advance for the price. The man, however, was very friendly and only wanted the usual about 30 dirhams per serving. 11 dirhams are 1 euro.
In the city we also found a copy shop, in which Jörg could create more fiches. There were more police checks than he expected. You need at least 33 copies per route.
In a small coffee there was delicious Cafe ole or Moroccan tea. In addition, football on TV and wifi to upload this report. Perfect.
We drove and drove, hundreds of kilometers along the cliffs.
Again and again, the speed of the only wide and straight straight road has been reduced to a ridiculous 20 km / h. There was never a repeal.
Often highwaymen waited tens of kilometers away, if you have forgotten this much too low speed limit long ago with their laser guns and pull you then out with 100 km / h too much.
The Moroccan police know how to take away their money under the pretext of security.
Luckily we were alerted by oncoming vehicles always in time by fading their headlights.
At least we were at the many checkpoints, where you have to wait at the sign until you get a hand signal, the Royal Police after submitting a passport copy with the Moroccan police no longer bothered or begged.
That was different a few years ago. The king has probably made the highwaymen clear that they should not behave worse than the police in Europe, otherwise the tourists would not come.
Travelers in Europe are also happy to be under some pretext, whether security, environmental protection, noise protection or anything else.
But all have one reason in common: they cause that it rings vigorously in the community cash 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.

It's never really about safety and it also does not help the environment, for example scrapping a working vehicle to buy a new one, or riding a parade in a new SUV instead of an old, frugal motorcycle. Nevertheless, the latter was banned.
At GPS N27 ° 54'54.3 "W012 ° 57'41.6" we discovered the shipwreck of a ferry from Armas, which is just off the coast.
The night before we had met Joki from Japan, who was on his way to South Africa and camped with him in the pouring rain. I always thought Morocco was warm ...
In Tarfaya there was a super tasty chickpea soup with flatbread for only 4 dirhams. The soup was so good that we ate a second serving. That pleased the old man who sold them.
I already knew Guelmim from previous trips. Here I was last active as a tour guide for the BMW GS Club and had worked out some nice tours.
Together with Jörg I drove to the hot spring at Fask GPS N28 ° 55'14.5 "W009 ° 50'40.1" to take a nice shower.
The spring has been bubbling since the government once drilled water for agriculture there. However, for the cultivation of crops, the water is too sulfurous.
We pitched our tents a bit sheltered in the riverbed. Around the source were the camping vehicles of other tourists.
We quickly got in contact with the others and spent a few relaxing days.
On Saturdays we drove to some small waterfalls GPS N29 ° 1'30 "W009 ° 49'1" and past the supermarket to Guelmim to the camel market GPS N28 ° 58'47 "W010 ° 4'26". Here you can also buy hay, sheep, goats and lots of fruits and vegetables.
We wanted to cook together in the evening with one of the mobile homes present.
Later there was delicious coffee and bitter lemon in a cafe with wifi. Jörg did not let it rag
After a long search Jörg finally found an app that said nice weather before and booked a ferry directly to Italy.
He was in a hurry. He had an appointment. Friday there will be a battle bowl in the village pub. He definitely did not want to miss it.
In the cafe we ??met Katja and her father, who traveled together in a VW bus through Morocco. Since the two were cool, we showed them the way to the hot spring.
Before that, Jörg bought a warm blanket and made it into a sleeping bag, since it was so cold at night.
Now it paid off that I was traveling with ski pants and down jacket and not with cold motorcycle clothes, in which you can not sleep comfortably because of the protectors.
During the night thick clouds started to rise and it started to rain heavily.
As a Frenchman who had warned me with a frying fat driven Land Rover on the way, I got up immediately and drove my motorcycle up the bush.
Jörg was too tired and would rather continue to sleep. In the middle of the night some Moroccans woke us up.
The river would rise after the rain and bring a lot of water from the mountains. We should urgently bring our motorcycles and tents up.
I quickly grabbed my tent and tried to save his AfricaTwin together with Jörg. However, we did not succeed in bringing the heavy machine up the mountain, despite a common effort.
The muddy ground was now soggy and extremely slippery. When we gave up and went to sleep again, I was covered in mud from top to bottom.
The next morning everything was wet. The roof of the single-walled tent had not withstood the rain, but the ground was already there.
So my mattress and the sleeping bag swam in the muddy water. Quickly I washed my things in the hot spring and hung them in the sun to dry.
Then we watched a herd of camels slowly approaching to drink from the hot spring. A majestic sight.
Just when everything was dry, the Moroccans came back and said we should disappear as soon as possible.
In the next few days it would continue to rain, then you would not get away with the vehicles here again.
We did as advised and packed our things.
The Moroccans were right: Already now the road had turned into a bad mud track.
A miracle that we and the VW buses without four-wheel came there at all.
To make matters worse, the mud stuck to the tire and gathered under the mudguard from the front wheel until the wheel blocked.
It took us an eternity until we finally made the 7 kilometers back to the asphalt road.
Then we drove together to a nearby campsite, where you can pitch a tent for 40 dirhams or rent a large tent for 50 dirhams.
Due to loud snore sounds, I fled at night, however, and looked for another place to sleep.
The next few days we avoided the highway but drove north along the coast.
Unfortunately we skipped the Todra Gorge and Merzouga. The battle-bowl called and the weather was rainy and cold. In Tafraut it had even snowed.
Nevertheless, the track was nice. The rain spared us most of the time.
One evening we met other travelers who made a stylish Mercedes 400bus vacation in Morocco. The two even had a real wood stove on board.
The city of Tangier has changed a lot since I was there 10 years ago.
From a small African town with many intrusive beggars has become a modern city with skyscrapers and chic beach promenade.
We pitched our tents at Miramonte campsite, which has come down a lot in recent years.
No showers or electricity work, let alone Internet.
Jörg found a small workshop where he could fix the bent sidestand of his overweight AfricaTwin.
In addition, the working boy was able to glue my shoes there, where the sole had loosened.
In the supermarket Carfour there was free internet and at the warm bar delicious food as desired.
We destroyed many pizza pieces with sweet cola. Alcohol could only be purchased in the Bottle Store next door.
As more travelers arrived at the campsite, we made our first campfire on this trip.
On time at 12 we found ourselves after a delicious pizza at the port in Tangier Med, 60 kilometers from the city of Tangier away.
The exit formalities went quite quickly at the drive through counter. Only on the vehicle X-ray machine form a long line.
We rode the x-ray cheekily and lashed our vehicles on the ferry.
For all the luxury Jörg had booked an outdoor cabin with two separate beds. If you do not have a cabin, you will otherwise have to sleep in the hallway. What we were most happy about was the shower.
In the cabin piled up our food supplies, which we had brought from the supermarket.
Fortunately, the tap water on board was drinkable and not too heavily chlorinated.
During the 48-hour crossing, we enjoyed a well deserved break with a book and typed our travelogues.
If you already wrote them then why not publish immediately? Maybe someone is interested.
Whenever we approached the Spanish mainland, there was a brief cell phone reception, internet, the ability to update this report and call our friends home via Skype.
Really great, what is possible these days. In this way, the hours spent in the port of Barcelona like in flight.
After our arrival in Italy, we left the harbor in the dark on the clean, toll motorway and pitched our tents 100 kilometers on a field.
Just minutes later, the police appeared. Luckily she did not scare us off. Goodnight.
The next day it snowed as we crossed the Alps in Switzerland via the Saint Bernardino Pass at walking pace. Everything was white and extremely slippery.
In a good mood, Jörg donated the most expensive chicken of all time in Switzerland and a hotel with dinner and breakfast in Bregenz at 13 euros.


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