Tunisia 2001: Motorcycling in the Desert

At last, off we go

Città di Castello, waking up to a beautiful day; the last preparations. A gathering for goodbyes and the ritual photo with family and friends. Departure for Genoa, a shakedown and training ride. All fine, arriving with time to spare to board the motor vessel Carthage, which will take us to Tunis in a day. One extra day to heighten the anticipation. Lots of relaxation and a first taste of the food. In Africa Landing in Africa and, having extricated ourselves from the chaotic traffic of the capital, heading south, crossing countryside that is untouched, humble and shy like its people, we reach the first stop of the trip, Kairouan, one of the four capitals of Islam. The Holy City welcomes us in the evening, with its 135 mosques and a characteristic musical backdrop through the streets and squares, a "little tune" that will accompany us in every village and city we visit.

We spend the night in a "spartan" little hotel pointed out to us by one of the many "voluntary guides" met in the city.

Towards the mountain oases

An early start, which will prove to be the first and only genuinely early one. Having left the busier roads, we head west, towards the border with Algeria, into the splendid mountain oases. As we cross the various villages we attract curiosity; the children run towards us to see the motorbikes and invite us to pull acrobatic wheelies. The landscape changes quickly, the first mountains begin to appear, and the road too becomes more lively, alternating stretches of asphalt with earth and sand. A mistake in interpreting the GPS, when in truth we can't wait to try the legendary sand, leads us to follow a track where we tackle our first bogging-downs and open the throttle to "ride the wave" over it. The track, unfortunately, is the wrong one and we're stopped at a police post at the border with Algeria.

A quick turn back and, once we find the track again, we reach Tamerza towards evening, set in a lush oasis surrounded by red mountains and canyons. To even the score with the previous evening, we stay in a splendid hotel, set like a terrace above the old oasis, which has become a centre of great archaeological interest. We deserve a refreshing bath and then, at a run, to enjoy a rich dinner with "couscous royal". After dinner, the usual briefing to set up the next day. Waking in the motionless, silent oasis and, after a substantial and rich breakfast (we won't eat again until the evening), we carry on climbing to reach Mides, a small village built on an oasis overhanging a canyon. A jewel of architecture, a fan of colours. Chott El Jerid Having left the oasis of Mides, the descent begins along a track that crosses canyons and red pinnacles (but we're not in Arizona).

Suddenly a natural balcony from which, on the horizon, appears the white expanse of Chott El Jerid, the salt lake that heralds the Sahara. Quickly we reach the plain, the landscape has changed abruptly, and the heat too begins to make itself felt. We start to skirt the expanse of salt and at the first opportunity we dive onto a track to cross it. A white, gleaming, compact track, with big "cracks" at the edges. On the horizon only white, blue and the heat that "stretches" the shape of the companion ahead. A great silence; even the motorbikes seem less thunderous than usual. After some forty km the track suddenly disappears; we carry on and find ourselves in the middle of what is like an immense "skating rink", we've reached the central zone of the salt lake! A few wheelspins, a widespread emotion, a shared feeling of pride and then, certainly, each of us talking to himself.

Vast spaces and emptiness surround us, the sun is there above us, relentless at over 40 degrees, the only true "Lord" to whom we must answer. The inevitable group photo distracts us from what is intimate and immense. It's late, we must set off again; we take up the salty track which we "eat up" at over 100 an hour. The magic moment continues! We spend the evening in Douz, at the gates of the Sahara. A "visit" to the dunes, a few "skids", but our heads are still there, at the immense "skating rink"! We round off the splendid day with a tasty open-air dinner at Ali Baba's, where we test the grill again, once more positively. After dinner we manage to find a petrol station that lets us give the motorbikes a thorough wash, completely covered in salt and sand. Somewhat reluctantly we watch the erasing of that "mud" we'd dreamed of for months!

Not your usual Paris-Dakar! The road we take to reach Matmata cuts across the desert; it's asphalt that in truth we only feel now and then, since constant gusts of wind-blown sand cover it and cross over it, stirring it up. Little piles of sand that we punch through, leaving behind the tyres an unforgettable trail of our passing. Along the way a few off-piste stretches, fast, intense, at times eager. A stop at a typical café, the Cafètouareg. The place will stay with us for the hospitality received, truly friendly, and for having turned down the invitation to stay for lunch to taste a typical legume soup. We set off again, the track begins to climb, we move away from the desert. Matmata, by now overrun by tourists and souvenir shops, reveals its characteristic pit dwellings.

A brief visit and, pressed by the heat, truly scorching, we take a track to the south-east that will lead us to a Berber mountain village. The road keeps climbing; after an initial dirt stretch the route becomes truly hard, a mule track with gullies and stones; the motorbikes, perhaps a little too loaded, allow no distractions, and it takes considerable effort to hold them. The landscape we cross repays us for the effort; the track is attached for long stretches to the mountain by an endless dry-stone wall, almost the Great Wall of China. We reach the pass, a stop to let the wind caress us and to enjoy the view that is lost in a boundless plateau. Even the sun, inseparable and silent travelling companion, stops with us; the water has run out and it's perhaps the first time we suffer thirst.

We take up the track again and, after a few minutes, a humble refreshment stop before the village welcomes us under its simple, cool tent. We refresh ourselves with the inevitable hot tea and enjoy from above the spectacular view of the village, a motionless nativity scene framed in an arid mesa. The wind brings us the voices of the inhabitants. We are amply repaid for the effort made. The pi...

Returning north

The day is devoted entirely to covering the return northwards, crossing endless olive groves that line the sea and chaotic towns that overlook it. When evening comes we decide to stop at El Jem, home also to a full-size replica of our Colosseum. It's Friday and, as is customary in Islamic countries, the city comes alive, strictly men only! Last night in Tunisia. Little more than 100 kilometres separate us from Tunis; at 12.00 tomorrow the boarding for Genoa is scheduled. The motor vessel Carthage is there waiting for us. The opera