Nouabidou didnt seem as friendly as back over the border, people didn't smile when you greeted them, no one waved from the road side, maybe we had just been spoilt with the overwhelming hospitality of Morocco. Even the police and army used Tu rather than Vous.
We'd been told breakfast at auberg Abba was possible but in the morning were given directions to a cafe up the road instead, the owner Brahm offered to show us the way and we ended up Robin, myself, Torsten and Brahm eating pastries and drinking coffee in the dark Belgian owned patisserie. Brahm certainly liked a good story and didn't let lack of one stand in the way of telling it, we'll certainly have to check out the Mauritanian lions! On the way back he suggested sorting our insurance for Senegal in an office there rather than amidst the chaos of Noukashott, a great idea at a fraction of the cost, even better when Robin twigged and bought it directly with the agent and not through Brahms help :) It wasn't in any way malicious though in our culture it might be construed as such, it just seems to be the north African way, as we were learning. Any encounter is an opportunity to make money or a way to create an opportunity to make money. The guys we'd bought the cigarettes off for example had be helpful enough for real but it was a hustle (when we found out how cheap cigarettes are in Mauritania). It seemed it was just the way things were.
We said our good-byes to Torsten and wished each other luck. The news had just arrived about Bin Laden's death in Pakistan and Maria and my folks back home were really worried about us being in Mauritania. The road ahead was listed in the foreign office information as 'high risk' so we had formulated a number of strategies for dealing with situations even though it was a fairly straight forward drive down to Nouakshott, stopping once for fuel and once to eat, ironically pulling off the road beside the giant skeleton of a camel.
Just outside Nouabidou we met the first check point, it was a bit odd this time. An older officer dressed a little different wearing sunglasses and a beret asked us for petrol, petrol for the police bikes! We were only 5kms from the last petrol station so it was pretty odd and we needed the fuel he could now see strapped to the back of Robin's bike to get to Nouakchott in case the half way station was dry. He starting slapping Robin on the head and made some joke to me and the other officer, laughing and shaking my hand, we tried to explain the fuel so I asked a little about the bikes. He wrapped his fingers in to my hand and lead me to a quad, proudly showing me the brake pedal before taking my hand again to lead me back, then stroking my face with then back of his hand like brushing off imaginary dirt. In the distance my imagination could hear banjos and a pig squealing.
'No essence?'
'Nous ave souffe seulement pour notre motos, excuse moi'
'Bon. Allee'.
And that was that!
The desert was really dry and barren round the Total petrol station when we got there. AlJazira was playing loudly on a tv above tables outside the restaurant at the forecourt, '...Bin Laden... America... Al Quaida...' blasted out to the half a dozen focused men below.
One man in blue approached Robin to tell him the attendant was away for lunch, just a few minutes so he filled Robin in on the 'sad' news reported on the Tv. Bin Laden was a good person he said, Mauritanian people liked him.
Checkpoints became less frequent along the near empty road which was just as well as the heat was building, the fresh blacktop radiated like a solar oven and riding over it was like swimming through a suffocating duvet, I found myself standing up just to escape from behind the screen into more airflow. Eventually the road dropped towards the coast and bits of green began to appear, the white sand and dust was sprinkled with lime green grass in places and trees and bushes more frequent. Mercifully the temperature also dropped maybe five degrees or so.
The dog/horse aroma of camel announced the approach of Nouakchott along what had just upgraded to an empty carriageway. Square breezeblock houses sat at all angles in the sand down both sides of the road, running off in to the distance and suddenly there were people, donkeys and patiently waiting camel trains.
There had been no lorries outside the town what so ever and only a few cars but following the road in the traffic seemed to be making up for lost time!
We had a business card from David and Hana for Auberge Sahara right on the main road and what a great place it was! The small courtyard was calm and friendly, the receptionist had a wide welcoming smile and enthusiastic handshake and the interior was cool and filed with traditional musical instruments, furniture, paintings and a happy little three year old called Anna. In fact it was quite a family vibe as staff came and went bringing Anna playmates, people drank tea or snoozed in the tent and the cats greeted visitors. Maybe too great a place; it was hard to get up the will to leave in the morning!
After getting another stack of fiches photocopied (we'd given out over forty so far!) we tried to follow the N1 marked as a line on the gps though the centre if Nouakchott. Eventually the Tarmac just came to two earth mounds and a hole blocking the road so we wove through the sand filled side streets, tricky riding as it wasn't possible to get enough speed up to deal with the deeper parts properly. Finding petrol was a challenge too, it took half a dozen stations before we could fill up with the dark yellow waxy smelling leaded 'essence'; using the nose was more reliable than reading the label on the pump!
At last we were back up to speed and the air felt good drying off the sweat of the city. It was a busy place and everywhere were trucks and vans, battered white vans with tiny barred windows and no back doors putted their last puts hauling huge loads of people hanging on where ever they could. Nouakshott defiantly had a different vibe to Nouabidou, things were getting friendlier and more relaxed in the streets. Out of town it continued and we had some waves and smiles. This was becoming west Africa suddenly, it showed in the people, the dress and the landscape. In the space of a few kilometres the sandy soil changed from white to orange/red with hollows of white and then suddenly we were in the orange and green landscape of television documentaries, half expecting real lions!
South of Nouakshott the road surface was more variable and any stop meant dropping in to deep sand at the side of the road, but people here offered directions even if a little nervous at first. We passed through villages of tumble down wood and corrugated iron spread out amongst the dry trees and as the green increased the camel population thinned and the cows took over. In one village a corrugated iron counter was labeled "Boucherie", tied to it were two sleepy and peacefully unaware goats.
Another check point, but a customs sign this far from the border? We slowed up and a man without uniform emerged from a small building with blue and white checks painted down the sides. He greeted us and asked for our papers, er no we thought. He wanted our insurance for Senegal, in Mauritania, why we asked, he didn't believe we had it, and then the crunch, he pulled out paperwork to sell us it! 'insurance sales man?' I said and pointed, he nodded, posing as customs! We were off, lesson learned to be even more selective who we stopped for, remembering the rule of thumb we'd read; if he's not got a gun or proper uniform ignore him!
150kms from Nouakchott we turned up to the right and onto the start of the famous Diama Piste, a group of kids were waiting to hassle visitors and we had to defend the water bottles bungied to the bikes until an older chap with a long beard in blue robes gave us directions and chased the kids away.
Staying straight it climbed from the main road becoming softer and sandier, I dropped tyre pressures and it became a roller coaster of ups and downs and camel and donkey dodging through the orange and green landscape. We were aiming for Kuir Macene, we had a business card for the 'Encampment', it was somewhere to stay but we weren't quite sure what!
When we met anyone we asked directions to be sure until arriving at an industrial site where the business card we had seemed to confuse the three men again in blue robes. Kuir Macene was had no hotel, auberge or camping but there was one up near the main road. At this point the national guard posted at the site became interested our little group and despite initial suspicion he actually called all the numbers on the card for us, even if unfortunately without luck.
The sun was low in the sky and turning orange by now and a dark blue gendarmerie pickup arrived, cab and back full of men. The driver spoke with the guard and offered to lead us to Kuir Macene but it was short lived; 30 yards later he stopped, got out and started arguing with an old man on a donkey cart taking a worried looking mother and child the other way. If our national guard friend hadn't been there saying I was ok we'd have been off as it turned in to a bit of a shoving match in the street and one of the men in blue had to restrain the driver! After a few minutes the old man jumped aboard and whacked the poor donkey, it took off as fast as it's little stick legs could hobble it and the driver continued to argue with the others, the pick up drove off and eventually the driver stormed away, leaving us just our original group standing in the dusty road, somewhat perplexed!
The village of Kuir Macene was bigger than expected. There were several shops to ask directions in which all lead us back towards the main road and the auberge the others had talked about. The sun was setting but it was a great ride back up a few kms of the piste before turning north, crossing a new road under construction and riding over the lumpy earth in to the setting sun. Everyone here was dressed traditionally and walking home or out for a stroll and seemed happy to greet and confirm our direction as we bounced through the tangle of tracks.
Out of the darkness a wall appeared then a man, we asked him and he opened a gate in then wall. With no moon it was inky black when a lady arrived to discuss room prices, Robin as even getting a bit of a discount for what we later found out was doing without the generators! The encampment was a walled set of buildings, a main dinning room surrounded by small thatched round huts with one side bordering the wetlands. The following day we found the apparently abandoned car park and swimming pools, faded glory from days of greater security and visitor numbers in the country, it quite sad to see. After settling in we cooked on the camping stove as the only guests in the complex, sitting in the middle of the main path, surrounded by stars, shadows of empty buildings and a full orchestra of birds, distant donkeys and amphibians.
We'd been told breakfast at auberg Abba was possible but in the morning were given directions to a cafe up the road instead, the owner Brahm offered to show us the way and we ended up Robin, myself, Torsten and Brahm eating pastries and drinking coffee in the dark Belgian owned patisserie. Brahm certainly liked a good story and didn't let lack of one stand in the way of telling it, we'll certainly have to check out the Mauritanian lions! On the way back he suggested sorting our insurance for Senegal in an office there rather than amidst the chaos of Noukashott, a great idea at a fraction of the cost, even better when Robin twigged and bought it directly with the agent and not through Brahms help :) It wasn't in any way malicious though in our culture it might be construed as such, it just seems to be the north African way, as we were learning. Any encounter is an opportunity to make money or a way to create an opportunity to make money. The guys we'd bought the cigarettes off for example had be helpful enough for real but it was a hustle (when we found out how cheap cigarettes are in Mauritania). It seemed it was just the way things were.
We said our good-byes to Torsten and wished each other luck. The news had just arrived about Bin Laden's death in Pakistan and Maria and my folks back home were really worried about us being in Mauritania. The road ahead was listed in the foreign office information as 'high risk' so we had formulated a number of strategies for dealing with situations even though it was a fairly straight forward drive down to Nouakshott, stopping once for fuel and once to eat, ironically pulling off the road beside the giant skeleton of a camel.
Just outside Nouabidou we met the first check point, it was a bit odd this time. An older officer dressed a little different wearing sunglasses and a beret asked us for petrol, petrol for the police bikes! We were only 5kms from the last petrol station so it was pretty odd and we needed the fuel he could now see strapped to the back of Robin's bike to get to Nouakchott in case the half way station was dry. He starting slapping Robin on the head and made some joke to me and the other officer, laughing and shaking my hand, we tried to explain the fuel so I asked a little about the bikes. He wrapped his fingers in to my hand and lead me to a quad, proudly showing me the brake pedal before taking my hand again to lead me back, then stroking my face with then back of his hand like brushing off imaginary dirt. In the distance my imagination could hear banjos and a pig squealing.
'No essence?'
'Nous ave souffe seulement pour notre motos, excuse moi'
'Bon. Allee'.
And that was that!
The desert was really dry and barren round the Total petrol station when we got there. AlJazira was playing loudly on a tv above tables outside the restaurant at the forecourt, '...Bin Laden... America... Al Quaida...' blasted out to the half a dozen focused men below.
One man in blue approached Robin to tell him the attendant was away for lunch, just a few minutes so he filled Robin in on the 'sad' news reported on the Tv. Bin Laden was a good person he said, Mauritanian people liked him.
Checkpoints became less frequent along the near empty road which was just as well as the heat was building, the fresh blacktop radiated like a solar oven and riding over it was like swimming through a suffocating duvet, I found myself standing up just to escape from behind the screen into more airflow. Eventually the road dropped towards the coast and bits of green began to appear, the white sand and dust was sprinkled with lime green grass in places and trees and bushes more frequent. Mercifully the temperature also dropped maybe five degrees or so.
The dog/horse aroma of camel announced the approach of Nouakchott along what had just upgraded to an empty carriageway. Square breezeblock houses sat at all angles in the sand down both sides of the road, running off in to the distance and suddenly there were people, donkeys and patiently waiting camel trains.
There had been no lorries outside the town what so ever and only a few cars but following the road in the traffic seemed to be making up for lost time!
We had a business card from David and Hana for Auberge Sahara right on the main road and what a great place it was! The small courtyard was calm and friendly, the receptionist had a wide welcoming smile and enthusiastic handshake and the interior was cool and filed with traditional musical instruments, furniture, paintings and a happy little three year old called Anna. In fact it was quite a family vibe as staff came and went bringing Anna playmates, people drank tea or snoozed in the tent and the cats greeted visitors. Maybe too great a place; it was hard to get up the will to leave in the morning!
After getting another stack of fiches photocopied (we'd given out over forty so far!) we tried to follow the N1 marked as a line on the gps though the centre if Nouakchott. Eventually the Tarmac just came to two earth mounds and a hole blocking the road so we wove through the sand filled side streets, tricky riding as it wasn't possible to get enough speed up to deal with the deeper parts properly. Finding petrol was a challenge too, it took half a dozen stations before we could fill up with the dark yellow waxy smelling leaded 'essence'; using the nose was more reliable than reading the label on the pump!
At last we were back up to speed and the air felt good drying off the sweat of the city. It was a busy place and everywhere were trucks and vans, battered white vans with tiny barred windows and no back doors putted their last puts hauling huge loads of people hanging on where ever they could. Nouakshott defiantly had a different vibe to Nouabidou, things were getting friendlier and more relaxed in the streets. Out of town it continued and we had some waves and smiles. This was becoming west Africa suddenly, it showed in the people, the dress and the landscape. In the space of a few kilometres the sandy soil changed from white to orange/red with hollows of white and then suddenly we were in the orange and green landscape of television documentaries, half expecting real lions!
South of Nouakshott the road surface was more variable and any stop meant dropping in to deep sand at the side of the road, but people here offered directions even if a little nervous at first. We passed through villages of tumble down wood and corrugated iron spread out amongst the dry trees and as the green increased the camel population thinned and the cows took over. In one village a corrugated iron counter was labeled "Boucherie", tied to it were two sleepy and peacefully unaware goats.
Another check point, but a customs sign this far from the border? We slowed up and a man without uniform emerged from a small building with blue and white checks painted down the sides. He greeted us and asked for our papers, er no we thought. He wanted our insurance for Senegal, in Mauritania, why we asked, he didn't believe we had it, and then the crunch, he pulled out paperwork to sell us it! 'insurance sales man?' I said and pointed, he nodded, posing as customs! We were off, lesson learned to be even more selective who we stopped for, remembering the rule of thumb we'd read; if he's not got a gun or proper uniform ignore him!
150kms from Nouakchott we turned up to the right and onto the start of the famous Diama Piste, a group of kids were waiting to hassle visitors and we had to defend the water bottles bungied to the bikes until an older chap with a long beard in blue robes gave us directions and chased the kids away.
Staying straight it climbed from the main road becoming softer and sandier, I dropped tyre pressures and it became a roller coaster of ups and downs and camel and donkey dodging through the orange and green landscape. We were aiming for Kuir Macene, we had a business card for the 'Encampment', it was somewhere to stay but we weren't quite sure what!
When we met anyone we asked directions to be sure until arriving at an industrial site where the business card we had seemed to confuse the three men again in blue robes. Kuir Macene was had no hotel, auberge or camping but there was one up near the main road. At this point the national guard posted at the site became interested our little group and despite initial suspicion he actually called all the numbers on the card for us, even if unfortunately without luck.
The sun was low in the sky and turning orange by now and a dark blue gendarmerie pickup arrived, cab and back full of men. The driver spoke with the guard and offered to lead us to Kuir Macene but it was short lived; 30 yards later he stopped, got out and started arguing with an old man on a donkey cart taking a worried looking mother and child the other way. If our national guard friend hadn't been there saying I was ok we'd have been off as it turned in to a bit of a shoving match in the street and one of the men in blue had to restrain the driver! After a few minutes the old man jumped aboard and whacked the poor donkey, it took off as fast as it's little stick legs could hobble it and the driver continued to argue with the others, the pick up drove off and eventually the driver stormed away, leaving us just our original group standing in the dusty road, somewhat perplexed!
The village of Kuir Macene was bigger than expected. There were several shops to ask directions in which all lead us back towards the main road and the auberge the others had talked about. The sun was setting but it was a great ride back up a few kms of the piste before turning north, crossing a new road under construction and riding over the lumpy earth in to the setting sun. Everyone here was dressed traditionally and walking home or out for a stroll and seemed happy to greet and confirm our direction as we bounced through the tangle of tracks.
Out of the darkness a wall appeared then a man, we asked him and he opened a gate in then wall. With no moon it was inky black when a lady arrived to discuss room prices, Robin as even getting a bit of a discount for what we later found out was doing without the generators! The encampment was a walled set of buildings, a main dinning room surrounded by small thatched round huts with one side bordering the wetlands. The following day we found the apparently abandoned car park and swimming pools, faded glory from days of greater security and visitor numbers in the country, it quite sad to see. After settling in we cooked on the camping stove as the only guests in the complex, sitting in the middle of the main path, surrounded by stars, shadows of empty buildings and a full orchestra of birds, distant donkeys and amphibians.
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