The trip down from Morocco through to the Western Sahara was quick, but dramatic in terms of scenery. Scattered between randomly empty new towns and tent villages, there are 'Mines' signs and sand dunes. We camped about 30km outside of Dakhla - there is a free camp area just after the turn off from the main road - and the campsite was full off French mobile homes (aka Plastic Boxes). It's a wind and kite surfer’s paradise. We ended up staying for two days, just to have some beach time and tinker with the bikes.
Met up again with a lovely Belgian couple called Gaston and Hilde who are retired and travel around in their heavy duty, all conquering Mercedes-Paris-Dakar-esque van. Had dinner with them in the evening and it was all home cooked with cold cold beer. Bliss.
From Dakhla to the border is fairly straight forwards, just a few check points and an overnight in the random Hotel Barabas which is about 80km from the border. The border crossing was easy enough, no real stress and only about 2km's of easy piste between the two. Once over the border, the world changed dramatically and it felt like the journey was starting proper. Morocco felt like it was just another easy to get around European country in comparison; remote dusty villages and tribal happenings were now the order of the day. Stayed the first night in Nouadhibou in a little campsite - Chez Aba - used a lot by overlanders; after a few hours we realised that the guys who ran the campsite could get you whatever you wanted whether it was girls, beer or currency. There is a Chinese restaurant next door which caters for both beer and birds too.