Part 6 - Mauritania.

I ended up spending a couple of days in Nouadhibou. Far longer than it deserved, but was handy to get washing done, anbd just relax for a bit. The Norwegian Cyclist was concerned that the bike would become a hindrance. In particular there's an infamous train journey from Nouadhibou to the desert that could prove problematic. Not far from the 'Hotel Camping' was a shanty town, and after getting the puncture fixed we wheeled the bike around to the shanty and gave it to a woman doing washing outside her shack. Hopefully it will be useful to her or she can sell it on to someone. Anyway she seemed grateful, if only slightly suprised.

The train. Michael Palin's done the trip in his Sahara series, and there'e a lot of other accounts of the journey. Basically it's an iron ore train. A 2km long iron ore train. With a couple of carriages and other wagons on the back to serve the few communities out in the desert. The Norwegian Non-Cyclist and myself got to the patch of ground that is in lieu of a station rather late - we thought the train left a couple of hours later than it did - just as the endless stream of wagons was trunndling past. Suddenly there was a series of violent clankings and the train came to a halt, with the carriages bouncing back and forth slightly at the end of over a mile of wagons. The scrum began - we tried to get on the first of the two carriages, these are essentially metal boxes with odd porthole windows, but apparently these were for people who'd got there early and actually bought tickets before. We eventually managed to fight our way onto the last carriage. This looked like a relatively normal looking European coach that had the luxury fittings removed; such as the lights - it was 8pm and pitch black - heating, toilet doors, and a selection of windows. To compensate for these deficiancies, there was someone with a portable stove and food, a vast quantity of luggage, and a live goat. We managed to find just enough space on some seats and had an interesting journey. At frequent intervals people came around with Mautitanian tea (strong gunpowder green tea made into a syrup, served boiling hot in espresso quantities), macaroni, biscuits and other snacks. The other peope in the compartment were freindly - and it was actuallky an enjoyable experience. Although the violent lateral jolts and alarming rockin from side-to-side weren't so good. And being kicked out if the train at 6am in the dark at some desert outpost was also not so pleasant.

From this outpost, Choum, we and 18 other people and their luggage, and 3 vast and leaking canisters of diesel were ferried the two hours across the desert tracks and over a range of low mountains into Atar, the central town of the Adrar mountains and the main tourist region of Mauritania.

After a bit of hassle and being led to grotty auberges outside of town we managed to find a pleasant place run by a friendly Frenchman. I stayed there a couple of days and then spent a day in a small desert town about 100 km away called Chinguetti. Although famous for a number of ancient manuscripts held there, for me the best thing was the scenery. To the east of the town is the largest stretch of sand in the Sahara - while much of the desert is bare rock or huge tracts of gravel beds, this area was dune country. I went for a walk along the dried up river bed (wadi, or oued) climbed a few dunes and wandered through a pretty oasis village and back to the auberge. A fantastic walk, although rather hot and I did get a sunburnt nose. I blame this on the malarial prophylaxis that apparently can cause the skin to become sun-sensitive, but in reality it was just me being stupid.

The taxi-brousse (bush taxi, generally very old mercedes saloons that 7 passengers are squeezed into) had problems on the way back to Atar. A combination of the corrugated desert piste and the enthusiastic driver caused the gaiter holding the front shock absorber to split, so the top of the shock was trying to pound its way through the bonnet. It took numerous stops and attempts to tie the shock down wth rope to cope with the deadly road/driver combination, and just as I thought it was sorted we got a puncture. Fortunately a passing taxi had a jack so we were able to carry on to Atar. The following day I got a lift wih the auberge owner to the capital, Nouakchott. This was in a battered old van that had problems with its alternator and fuel feed. Luckily we were going in convoy with another ex-pat so after pushing the van into a field and paying a nomad to keep an eye on it, and after discreetly transferring the four cases of alcohol into the other car we continued on our way. Mauritania is almost a dry country, and it's illegal for most people to import or transport alcohol around the country. So I was slightly apprehensive about sitting in the back of the van on a foan mattress carefully positioned to hide the booze from the eyes of the policemen at the numerous checkpoints.

In Nouakchott (NKTT) I got dropped off at Auberge Menata, a pleasant place in the centre of the capital, with an enclosed courtyard for overland vehicles. Over the next couple of days an asortment of 'quatre-quatres' (4x4s), camper vans and the blue Unimog arrived. I spent one evening at the Port au Peche with the Unimog couple watching the fishing boats come ashore outside NKTT - there must have been a few hundred of the traditional boats on the beach - well, traditional with the addition of a substantial outboard fitted. The fish got carried ashore from each boat in plastic boxes to the market, where some were tipped out into the back of Peugeot pick-ups and the rest onto stalls in the market. I bought a kilo of filleted fish of some sort - possibly mullet - and then went back to the auberge where the German couple cooked it in butter and spices, and we ate that with some boiled potatoes and sour cream - apparently a very German thing, and I have to say it was very tasty. A young Belgian couple in a nicely kitted out Defender arrived the following day and I got shown around the car's various features - interesting stuff and it got e thinking about what to do with mine. On the last evening an Afrikaaner family arrived in a large Land Cruiser towing a trailer. Jean and Hannelie and their two young sons had driven from South Africa up the east sde of the continent and into Italy and onto Holland, and were now on their way back home via West Africa. The Norwegian Non-cyclist also arrived the last night after staying at a private house for a few days.

I left the auberge at bout 10am one morning, a bit later thn planned, and got a taxi to the Gare Routiere for Kiffa - a town about 600km (400 miles) east of NKTT. The Peugeot taxi-brousse eventually left at about midday, with only seven adults and two young children, but with the roof-rack loaded to about four feet high with boxes of fruit and luggage. We must have got at least 100km before the car broke down the first time, and it took the driver about half an hour to sort out the problem. There were further break-downs, and stops for various other reasons, and the car was not exactly fast even when working. At one o'clock in the morning we stopped to drop some passengers off and then had to enlist the help of locals to help push start the car again. Luckily it was full-moon, but even so I wasn't too happy about the driver driving without the lights off for much of the time. Especially, when he flashed them on at one point to see a donkey dolefully standing broadside on in the middle of the road. Somehow, we missed the donkey, and the edge of the road, and we didn't roll over, which I was quite pleased about. I looked back and te donkey was still standing there complety unpeturbed. Eventually at about 2am I was dropped off outside the 'Hotel Camping Phare de la Desert', where I managed to wake up one of the security guys and then fell asleep on a mattress in the communal area.

When I woke the following morning I discovered tht the German Unimog was there, along with a British motorcyclist. They left that morning, and I stayed there to catch up on some sleep and work out how to get into Mali.