Twin statues of ostriches in a roundabout signaled the end of Morocco (and of supermarket parking lots) and the beginning of Western Sahara. Technically not a country since Spain decolonized in the 70s, Western Sahara was alternately claimed by both Morocco and Mauritania and is now undergoing a referendum to choose whether to become independent or part of Morocco. Humming along the endless, dusty, desert road, one can see why Spain left. Aside from sand dunes (and iron ore, evidently) there’s not much here. Still, the beaches where we stopped were stunning and our campfires under the night sky were lit up by the stars. The few hills in the distance would shimmer like mirages and at times appeared to be floating freely in the sky. Somehow we still ended up having lunch on a beachside cliff overlooking garbage heaps: a credit to Farron’s uncanny ability to always serve a cake with icing… made out of trash. Mmm yum!
I kept thinking that if Tia wanted me knocked off this would be the place to do it— no international laws and I doubted the U.N. peacekeepers would intervene. If my family ever reads this entry please send help (and water) soon.
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