Morroco and an ancient Renault 4
Back in 1986, the nearly Mrs Nimrodihnio (the American model, pre the present Mrs N) and I decided on the spur of the moment to fly from Paris to Marrakech on a romantic whim and see the delights of the souk, the Atlas and the Sahara.
Our hire car was an old grey Renault 4 which barely had room for my small rucksack and TAM's 5 large pieces of Louis Vitton trunk and luggage (inc one simply for her makeup) Unfortunately TAM did not know how to drive a ‘stick shift’, I could drive but I hadn't the courage to tell her I hadn't passed my test yet.
So we set off and had a marvellous adventure being hassled by the scurrilous locals, catching amoebic dysentery by possibly eating cat tagine identified by French vetenary student we were dining with (although they might have been winding us up) an attempted rape (not by me you understand) but balanced by the little Renault chugging through scenes of biblical beauty, wheezingly ascending the Atlas mountains, past vast fields Morocco’s best export and taking in the edge of the Sahara in Zagora.
But I decided to take what appeared to be a 50 km short cut on the map to go to Agadir and after the road gradually petered out and ended up following a goat track, woefully unprepared, looking at wild camels in the distance in the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere with only a litre bottle of water and some dates, I was seriously shitting myself as I hadn’t checked oil, water or any basic equipment in case something went wrong. TAM was thankfully oblivious to the situation and just past the middle of nowhere we picked up two Berber tribesmen who somehow squeezed in and just kept pointing toward the horizon. In the back of my mind I kept thinking my throat would be cut and TAM sold into white slavery in my overactive imagination.
Thankfully the Renault managed the extra load on a track better suited to an expedition Land Rover and we made it to a metalled road where we took pictures, shook hands and they departed, after pointing us in the right direction and set off into the desert on the other side of the road.
After a few hours’ drive we were stopped by the local gendarme straight out of central casting and I was now convinced midnight express was going to be my way of life for the next 30 years due to my illegal driving and provisional license. A stunning show of naive tourist flattery from TAM, picture taking with and by the TAM in her low cut top and shorts changed the mood of Khalid somewhat. The mirror shaded, overweight, unshaven and gun toting cop read the license with a great show of gravity and authority which was somewhat undermined by it being upside down.
I realised I might just get away with it as long as he didn’t find the 4 oz lump of fresh black 00 in the glove compartment, a souvenir from some kindly villagers which I had assured TAM was completely legal in Arabic countries.
He insisted on having a little look into car and due to the ramshackle state of the interior, the Kif thankfully went unnoticed amongst the detritus. The pressing of a large denomination of dirham into his hands earned the undying effusions of eternal fraternity between our three countries and we drove off into the sunset with the TAM completely unaware at how close my heart had been to giving out on many occasions that day.
The rest of the tour was uneventful and still have very fond memories of the sturdy and steady little French grey tin box that was the Renault 4.
(nimrodihnio making gravy for one., Tue 27 Apr 2010, 23:03, 1 reply)

What a fantastic read
You wont be forgetting that adventure any time soon :)
(mpaz52, Wed 28 Apr 2010, 15:25, closed)