Off to the dunes! This was one of our major objectives and, though the Erg Chebbi dunes aren't considered to be the "proper" Sahara, it's close enough for the moment.We tried to make an early start from the campsite at Karla, but had to pay due attention to the ritual farewells and gift exchanging before we could make a polite exit. The route down to the south end of the dunes was on tarmac, but we left this as soon as we could and pulled into a gravel area where the ordinary surface met the sand. A Spanish couple had abandoned their hire car here to take a walk into the soft terrain, but reappeared in time to hear our deflators singing as the tyre pressures dropped.

The early stages of the drive we took very carefully. driving in soft sand is a bit like driving on new snow - very smooth and comfortable until you want to change direction. Turn the wheel and sometimes nothing much seems to happen. The car continues in the same direction, pretty much, until the front wheels get into a rut or otherwise get some grip, then the whole thing twists and bucks as the drive kicks in. Need to be careful or we'll rip the tyre off the rim.

We identified a place with fairly firm surface that we marked as a possible camping spot, but then went off towards the bigger dunes - carefully - to see what else might turn up. We soon came across an abandoned Berber camp complete with shower and loo in a somewhat parlous state. We had a look around and climbed the nearest big dune to check out the possibilities for good photos, particularly of the sunset and sunrise, and decided that we couldn't find a better spot without taking a lot of risks by going deeper into the dune system. Tranquility Base decided, we set ourselves up for a relaxing afternoon and a specacular light show later.

Mike got stuck into writing up the last few days of the blog, and some of what happened next you already know. We'd expected to be fairly well ignored as "just another tourist 4x4", assuming that anyone would come across us in the Emptiness of the Desert. A bit naive, perhaps, as this is just a bit of real estate to the locals and the track leading past our chosen camp turned into a regular transcontinental highway as the afternoon wore on. Several camel trains of precariously balanced trekkers gallumphed by, led by surly guides who took a dim view of being photographed. Or perhaps they wanted to negotiate a deal before allowing it. A regular convoy route for 4x4s out "dune bashing" was visible in the distance, and we could hear quite a few ATVs about as well, although none came close to us. As the sun went down, though, they all disappeared, leaving us in peace and quiet - no, peace and silence. No noise whatsoever. Bliss.

We climbed "our" dune at the requisite time to get ourselves set up. I struggled to the top using herringbone steps as the sand slipped away - two steps up, one step back, as my trainers filled with sand. Mike, of course, in his desert boots, had no such difficulty. Nobody likes a clever clogs...

Mike had left a camera at the truck on timelapse so we'd have a video record of the event, we had 3 still cameras with us and a mini-movie camera too, so we were pretty sure of getting some good images. As the sun began to slip towards the horizon the colours changed from orange to amber to mahogany, but having looked at the results of our efforts the images don't really do justice to the reality.

Maybe there'll be some PhotoShop work done when we get home to compensate for our ineptitude. Maybe Scotland 360 could help?

As we reached the Moment Critique, so to speak, our friend from earlier appeared and had obviously spotted us from some distance away. We were, after all, probably the only living things for quite a distance, or so we liked to think.

He climbed up to us, lay in the sand as we snapped away, including one portrait of him to be, as we thought, polite and "inclusive" in our work. Sunset complete, we went our separate ways, although he did promise to visit us again dans le matin.

We had a very pleasant evening, with a tagine cooked on our gas stove, as already related, and a comfortable sleep without being chilled to the core or raided by touaregs.

We were up at 0530 to catch the sunrise and, true to his promise, the Radio Rentals rep turned up at breakfast time. He was making a big show of "just ambling by" but made a lot of effort to make eye contact. We were busy but invited him into conversation again - it seemed rude not to. We discussed our plans for the rest of the day and made it clear that, much as we'd like to natter all morning, we had to get on with packing up. Then the Sting came. We had, apparently, put ourselves in debt to him by taking his photograph and he wanted "un petit cadeau de rien importance" as a reward for this service. Our intitial reaction wasn't negative, more astonishment, but which we tried to hide out of politeness. Here was the guy with whom we thought we'd developed some kind of rapport, some fellow feeling, acting like we had an obligation to him, to give him a tip, a present, for doing nothing except sharing our conversation with him. Mike isn't much impressed. We gave him a packet of shortbread biscuits -we've brought a lot of these for just these occasions - but the episode left us feeling a little disappointed that our new "neighbour" was just another passing chancer, like so many we were learning to dodge.

Off to Taouz now, and the start of another piste route from Chris Scott's tome.