Return from Timbukto

Well, what a time we had in Timbukto. It's a striking place, the people there are deeply proud of their heritage and, especially the Tuareg, are incredibly elegant. Where Eric left off, we had arrived in this historic, tumbledown place after our splendid boatride. The town is dusty and crumbly and, away from tourist hotspots, the people are interested and interesting. Right behind our hotel the desert begins. We are fortunate to be here during the brief time during which the desert is in bloom, so it is not the exactly the arid image that is conjured by the name 'Sahara'. Nevertheless, it is quite clearly the desert across which salt caravans of camels led by the Tuareg have travelled for centuries.
We arranged for a camel safari to a Tuareg camp for a night with some of the people we met on the way here.
After a day meeting people and chatting about the history and make up of the place with our splendid guide Abdul, we met up with the camels at about 4pm. We each selected a camel, heaved ourselves into the wooden saddles and with a terrifying groan each camel lifted itself. Each camel was attended to by a Tuareg in their devastating royal blue outfits. Away we went. Of course, I had to pick the one feisty camel in the group. After only one hour of butt crunching walking, my camel had attempted to eject me three times. On the fourth attempt the beast succeeded. I flew through the air, my left leg got caught in the rein nearly ripping the poor beasts jaw off, and I was dangling upside down for a few seconds before tumbling unceremoniously to the sand at which point I scrambled away as if my pants were on fire, much to the amusement of the assembled group. Shaken but not stirred, I got back on the beast, cursing it quietly under my breath for the rest of the ride. Decency prevents me from expressing my feelings too clearly here, but I was fully prepared to punch that b......d in the mouth if anything else happened. I am pleased to report that I escaped the incident with everything but my dignity intact.
Ahmed the Tuareg guide had brought us to his family camp. In a few weeks they, the two wives in full burkahs, the children, goats, and camels would be moving deeper into the desert. All the guides talked of their love of the stress free life they lead, only leaving for four weeks a year to bring salt to sell in Timbukto, how they can't sleep in the towns because of the light. They made us tea, some gritty rice, sold us trinkets, then we all slept on the top of the dune. We had a wonderful time, but the following morning the tourists had managed a total of two hours sleep between them due to an overnight sandstorm that had us all huddled up and sucking sand. Ahmed thought it had been an excellent night for sleeping 'not too hot not too cold'. Their beautiful clothes become effective sleeping bags, too. We never got to meet either the women or the children.
The return to Timbukto was uneventful- I took the feisty one again, but his mood was much improved - he only tried to chuck me twice. This time I hung on as if the flames of Satan were beneath me - not twice you expletive deleted.
Back in Timbukto, our luxury 4 wheel drive vehicle turned into a toyota without the 'toy', and 8 people turned into 15 (but we had the front seats.)
This ride turned into our most exciting and classic African journey so far.
Back to the port on the Niger and waiting for a two car ferry, then away and for 100km everything was merely beautiful and bouncy. Then, from the left a huge storm loomed blackly. Like a wall, the sand hit and we thought 'thank god it's not rain'. Then the rain started, bucketing down in torrents, the roads quickly became literally teeming orange rivers the vehicle had to cross. One was deep enough it filled the car with water. Five times we had to push start the car in the pouring rain, barefoot in the thick orange mud and puddles. 'Everybody out'. At one point the vehicle tipped almost on it's side, and as we clambered out, we fell into a foot of water and another of mud. Night fell. Lightning crashed across the sky. It was a brilliant experience, especially when, by 9 we finally crossed our last river and hit the tarmac for the 3 hour ride back to Mopti.
We took today off to rest up a bit. Tomorrow we're off to Bamako about 8 to 10 hours away. This is actually the real start of our journey home. Our next and final target will be the beaches of Senegal, then hometime.
Thanks for the messages as ever.
We'll be writing and talking to everyone soon enough.
luv
mike and eric

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