Budapest Bamako Rally Extra 2026 Edition - The Burgs

Epilogue - The Road Across Africa

Sixteen days ago we started this journey with a simple goal: drive from Budapest to Freetown and see what Africa would reveal along the way.

The numbers in the summary card tell part of the story:
13,431 kilometers, 8 countries, and 21 days on the road. But numbers alone cannot describe the experience of crossing a continent.

We drove through deserts where the wind erased our tracks within minutes. Along the Atlantic coast where the ocean and the dunes endlessly negotiate their border. Across the savannah under the watch of ancient baobabs, and through hills where roads sometimes seemed more like ideas than infrastructure.

There were moments of frustration — sand that swallowed wheels, borders that tested patience, and long nights when the road refused to cooperate.

But there were also moments that will remain long after the dust has settled:
a sunrise over the dunes after a sandstorm, children waving from villages in the middle of nowhere, strangers helping strangers simply because that is what the road demands.

The statistics in the card summarize the distance, the days, and the cost of the rally. What they cannot capture is the sense of scale, the unpredictability of the road, and the friendships formed along the way.

Our faithful Discovery carried us across an entire continent and, fittingly, stayed behind in Africa to continue its story.

The Burgs have reached the end of the rally.
But the road across Africa leaves a mark that travels home with you.

Africa does that.

Day 15 – The Final Stretch

After the brutal drive of the previous day, waking up in the comfort of the Radisson Blu in Conakry felt almost unreal. A proper breakfast, a moment to admire the hotel’s African art collection, and a few quiet minutes before diving back into the journey.

Outside, the calm ended immediately.

Conakry’s morning traffic is a form of organized chaos. Cars, motorcycles, taxis, and trucks all competing for space in what looks less like lanes and more like a negotiation. Relying on a well-practiced “aggressive Saudi driving style,” we zig-zagged through the traffic, avoided countless obstacles, and played a continuous game of chicken with the participants of the city’s daily Brownian commute.

Eventually the city released us, and we headed toward the Guinea–Sierra Leone border.

To our surprise, the crossing was remarkably smooth. After so many difficult borders earlier in the rally, this one felt almost improbable — stamps, a few checks, and we were through.

Our destination for the day was Bureh Beach, one of the iconic points before the rally’s finish. The roads on the Sierra Leone side were surprisingly good — almost European in quality — and we reached the beach earlier than expected.

We stopped there for a while and joined the informal celebrations of teams sensing that the end of the rally was finally near.

By nightfall we continued the short drive to Freetown and checked into the Radisson Blu. After the remarkable one in Conakry, this one felt a bit less impressive — but after everything the rally had thrown at us, comfort was still more than welcome.

The finish line was now within reach.

Day 14 – The Road from Hell Through the Hills

Today offered two route options. On paper they looked very different. In reality they turned out to be equally brutal.

Why? Because in Guinea, roads often seem to exist more as concepts than as actual infrastructure. In fact, the so-called “road” was often worse than the off-road tracks we had driven earlier in the rally.

The day began peacefully at the Natural Bridge, an almost idyllic place. A calm river flowed beneath the rock formation and a plunge pool reflected the morning light. It felt like a small oasis of serenity before the day’s challenge.

Leaving it was like stepping from purgatory into hell.

The drive that followed was relentless. The path ahead was easy to identify — every vehicle marked its passage with a towering cloud of orange dust. The Discovery was pushed to its limits as we navigated holes, ruts, and broken terrain.

By afternoon the road deteriorated further, tunneling into a narrow rocky track that seemed designed to stop cars rather than guide them. To make matters worse, Google Maps eventually sent us toward a “road” that was completely under water.

At that point the hotel we had booked felt like a bridge too far.

We changed plans and decided to push for the capital, Conakry, instead. The remaining 100 kilometers turned into a long and exhausting night drive over what can only be described as an obstacle course — broken pavement, deep holes, and massive trucks crawling through the darkness.

Hours later we finally reached the sprawling city. Traffic was light, but every few kilometers a police checkpoint appeared. By the time we arrived at the Radisson Blu, I had earned a new qualification: experienced negotiator.

It was nearly 2 AM. At that hour any bed would have felt like paradise.

But this was a brand-new Radisson — modern, quiet, and luxurious after the chaos of the road.

We slept like logs.

Day 13 – From Savannah to the Hill Country

We left the small hotel early and pointed the car toward the Senegal–Guinea border.

On the Senegalese side the numerous checkpoints were efficient and orderly. Documents were checked, stamps applied, and we moved through without difficulty.

Across the line, things initially looked equally well organized — until we reached the final control.

There, every single vehicle had to pass through a scanner. One scanner. Hundreds of cars.

Progress slowed to a crawl and soon turned into complete chaos. Drivers waiting, engines idling, people trying to understand when their turn would come. What should have been a routine crossing turned into the longest and most frustrating border experience of the rally so far.

Most of the day disappeared in that queue.

Eventually the barrier lifted and we were free to continue. With daylight already fading, we headed directly to the bivouac.

After the long wait at the border, a quiet evening and an early dinner felt like a reward.

The Burgs rest tonight at the gateway to Guinea’s hill country.

Day 12 – Saint-Louis to Tambacounda

We woke before sunrise, knowing what awaited us: more than twelve hours of off-road driving across Senegal.

Leaving Saint-Louis was easier than expected. As we passed through the city in the early morning light, one thing stood out immediately — the youthfulness of its population. It felt as if half the people we saw were of school age. A young country, with a young energy.

About an hour later the tarmac disappeared and we entered the savannah.

We had reached the empire of baobabs. These ancient trees rise from the plains like sculptures — massive trunks, improbable shapes, as if some long-forgotten artist had twisted and carved them centuries ago.

The track stretched across wide open plains. Occasionally a village appeared, then disappeared again in the dust behind us. People waved from places where you would never expect to meet anyone. Life scattered across the landscape in small, surprising pockets.

Around noon we paused briefly — a moment to stretch, drink water, and reset before continuing the long off-road stage.

Then back into the dust, the baobabs, and the endless tracks.

After more than twelve hours of driving, Tambacounda finally appeared. The small hotel waiting for us and a simple dinner felt like a luxury.

The Burgs had earned their rest.

Day 11 – The Long Off-Road

The alarm rang before sunrise.

We rolled quietly through a still-sleeping Saint Louis, the streets calmer than the evening before. Fuel topped up. Coffee secured. Forty kilometers of tarmac warmed the engine — and then the real day began.

Off-road.

Dust rising behind us in long drifting clouds. Sand tracks weaving between villages and open land. Baobab trees standing like ancient guardians across the horizon. Children waving as we passed. Goats scattering. Donkeys unmoved by rally urgency.

The terrain demanded attention — deep ruts ready to bend a wheel, hidden holes, uneven surfaces that punished inattention. Speed was not the objective. Endurance was.

We paused briefly in a small village for fuel and a snack. A simple stop, but enough to reset before diving back into the dust.

Then more off-road. More rhythm. More concentration.

By sundown we completed the dirt section. One final hour of tarmac separated us from the hotel.

Twelve hours on the road.

The kind of tired that settles deep — beyond discomfort, beyond complaint.

Dinner was short. Sleep came quickly.

The Burgs earned their rest.

Day 10 – From Mauritania to Senegal

The morning began with a small urban adventure in Nouakchott.

We were looking for a Carrefour grocery store. After asking for directions, a helpful local pointed confidently toward the nearest intersection.

Only then did we remember: carrefour in French simply means intersection.

Lesson learned.

From there, we made our way toward the border.

The crossing into Senegal was surprisingly smooth. Locals and rally handlers guided the process, paperwork flowed steadily, and the overall experience was far calmer than the chaos I remember from fifteen years ago. Africa changes. Systems improve. Patience still required — but no drama.

By late afternoon, we arrived in Saint Louis.

A city with layered colonial history, faded facades, narrow streets, and the kind of character that deserves proper exploration. Unfortunately, we reached it too late to wander much.

Our hotel was outside the historic center, so we stayed in for dinner. Unexpectedly, the meal was excellent. The chef — warm, proud, and generous — turned what could have been a quiet evening into a memorable one.

Maps were opened. Route discussed.

Tomorrow: a 12-hour off-road stage.

No half measures.

We called it an early night.

The Burgs prepare for another test.

Day 9 – The Beach Drive to Nouakchott

Fifteen years ago, the early morning drive from B2B beach to Nouakchott was the highlight of my first rally. Endless shoreline, golden light, and the feeling of carving a path between ocean and desert.

This time, the rhythm was different.

Low tide was at 3:04 PM, giving our English friends with the Discovery 2 a final opportunity to address their coolant leak. Tools out again. Patience tested again. The rally has its own schedule, but friendship sometimes overrides it.

Shortly before 1 PM, we set off onto the beach.

The sky was overcast — less glorious than the sun-drenched memory of fifteen years ago — but still powerful. The Atlantic to our left. The dunes to our right. Tires humming on compact wet sand.

For 45 kilometers, everything flowed.

Then the coast changed.

A rocky section appeared ahead, and a massive dune had collapsed over it. The passage was blocked. The shoreline route — the iconic beach drive — was no longer an option.

No heroics. No unnecessary risks.

We turned back to the road exit and rejoined asphalt toward Nouakchott.

The capital felt different from my first visit. Larger. More structured. More hotels. Better restaurants. Growth visible.

We closed the day with a generous buffet at the Sheraton — a small return to comfort after days of wind and sand.

From dunes and salt spray to air-conditioned dining halls in a single afternoon.

The rally evolves.
So do the places along its path.

The Burgs rest tonight in Nouakchott.

Daily encounters with animals

Safety first!