Tarfaya – on the edge of Morocco and Western Sahara

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The story
Travel to Morocco

The story

Here, on the edge of the Sahara Desert, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry wrote his novel "Southern Mail." It was also here where the idea for his masterpiece — "The Little Prince" — was born. The French writer's connection to this place, along with its mysterious absence from most travel guides, drew me to visit. This small, dusty town sits near the undefined border between Morocco and Western Sahara, roughly 700 kilometers from Marrakech in the Kingdom's far southwest corner.

The road stretched empty before me. The sea flanked one side, the desert the other — nothing remarkable, yet somehow surreal. Occasional cars and trucks passed on the single-lane road, their rare appearances punctuating my solitude. When vehicles did appear, they often came uncomfortably close, sending my heart racing. At a seemingly pointless roundabout in the middle of nowhere, I missed a stop sign and was promptly fined. I hadn't spotted the police car until the officer handed me a pink receipt in Arabic and waved me on.

I drifted into Sidi Akhfennir, another dusty desert settlement with modest amenities — a few restaurants and a hotel. A military patrol methodically copied my ID details into a worn notebook. Western Sahara's well-known wariness of journalists and photographers led me to hide my camera, though I was neither by profession.

They wished me "good luck" and let me go. I pondered why I needed luck. The last security incident in the region had occurred in November 2011, when three European aid workers were kidnapped from a refugee camp near Tindouf in western Algeria. I reassured myself that nothing similar would happen to me.

The Salt Fields of Khenifiss National Park emerged, with its Naïla Lagoon and pink flamingos. I made frequent stops to savor the desert and ocean views. The sea shimmered with a bluish tint while the landscape took on gentle pastel hues. I half-expected to see the Little Prince appear, perched on a roadside stone.

"Please draw me a sheep," he would say.

"I cannot draw," I would reply. "But I promise to send you a photo of a sheep since I have a nice camera and love taking pictures."

This whimsical dialogue kept me alert during the monotonous drive until I finally reached Tarfaya.

I wandered the dusty streets of this desolate place, picturing Antoine de Saint-Exupéry in the small post office room where he worked in the 1920s. In such isolation, I could understand how writing might flourish.

Near the post office, I envisioned the small planes landing. In those days, aircraft needed frequent refueling stops, so post offices dotted West Africa's landscape. These outposts served as havens where crews could rest, refuel, and find sustenance. Stories circulated of planes crashing in the desert and crews falling prey to hostile nomadic tribes. Perhaps this was why the great writer dubbed this place "the pure idea of nothingness"—a sentiment I shared deeply. As if to underscore this feeling of emptiness and isolation, I found the Antoine de Saint-Exupéry museum closed, much to my disappointment.

The endless beaches and ocean surrounding the city deepened the sense of boundlessness and isolation. Not even the children playing football and surfing on the beach could dispel this feeling. The semi-submerged Casa Mar (House in the Sea) rises from the landscape like something from a surreal film. This striking structure was built by Scottish trader Donald Mackenzie in the late 19th century.

I felt uneasy about the people loitering nearby, imagining they might snatch my camera and run down the beach. Though I knew these fears were unfounded, the atmosphere still left me feeling vulnerable.

While walking on the outskirts of town, I encountered the wreck of the "Assalam," a ship owned by the Spanish company Naviera Armas. It had operated regular routes between Puerto del Rosario in Fuerteventura (Canary Islands) and Tarfaya. Though adverse weather was considered the primary cause of the shipwreck, experts remained uncertain whether other factors contributed.

The "Assalam," a 42-year-old Panamanian-flagged vessel with a Cuban crew, left behind a troubling story. Its passengers were stranded for 24 hours on the desolate African coast without assistance, money, or food. In their hasty evacuation, they had taken nothing with them, and without funds, they couldn't even make phone calls. The incident sparked a major scandal.

I sat on a small pile of sand before the wreck. A line from Exupéry's Little Prince echoed in my mind: "People start out in express trains, but they no longer know what they're looking for. Then they get all excited and rush around in circles..." Perhaps my journey to Tarfaya was just such a circular pursuit.

Tarfaya