Teepee For My Bunghole

To originally get to Oudane I had to wait a day in Atar till someone was going that way and paid for a ride in a crowded double cab bakkie. Since both Oudane and Chinguitii are small places, getting a ride between them was always going to be hard.

First I paid for a ride on the back of a bakkie going to Atar in amongst some goods. It wasn’t too bad except when they went over ditches in the gravel road and I got the wind knocked out of me. Mostly it was exhilirating. I even managed to catch some shut eye. Then they dropped me at the turn to Chinguitti.

Actually they dropped me just passed the turn and then made doubly sure I knew which to take back. To the right was 17 Kilometers over the mountain desert to Chinguitti and to the left was the way back to Oudane and death.

Anyway there was a couple of loose camels watching me and I was too proud to grab at the driver’s knees and plead: “Please don’t leave me here to die”, so I waved goodbye, grabbed my backpack and started walking down the road to Chinguitti.

To tell you the truth, walking through desert with a giant backpack on and 1,5 litres of water under a burning hot sun isn’t that much fun. It’s not that bad either. It’s only the part where you wonder if you’re going to die that gets to you.

Twenty minutes, two hours or two days later (I don’t know which), I was halfway through my water and nowhere near halfway there. I had passed 6 camels, 5 cars and one guy. I suppose I could have tried to jump on a camel but it’s not that easy to jump on a camel with your backpack on. The cars weren’t going in my direction and neither was the guy. He wasn’t that easy to jump onto either.

Then a car came in my direction. He stopped too. A French couple and their guide in a 4X4 truck. There was no place inside. That’s why I arrived in Chinguitti standing on rider board of a 4X4 holding onto a handle through the window wearing my backpack. I would have taken a picture too if losing my grip didn’t mean a harsh taste of gravel.

Seems like every guide and auberge in the country knows Zaida and her great personality. It’s a pity we didn’t have a common language so I could get the full value of her company but she’s a great woman nonetheless. Her auberge is just outside the old city of Oudane.

I did share my room with a wasp but we respected each other’s privacy. He only flew in and around one or twice a day and I made sure to give him his space when he did.

I would take a walk to the “new” city every afternoon to watch the kids play soccer. The younger kids would sometimes try to make conversation. Once I was talking to a kid and by the time I looked up I was surrounded by kids just staring at me. And I’m not even white! Freaked me a bit out but the kids were great, only openly curious. Not like some villages where the only sounds out of kids mouths is “Cadeux. Cadeaux.” [Cadeaux = Present]. Some adults too for that matter.

I went up to Atar in the Express bus which picks you up from your auberge (hostel) and drops you off at an auberge. The bra had a problem with his accellerator cable so we went 70Km the whole way. Luckily the drive is brilliant and the ecosystem changes about 5 or more times on the way up. Various types of semi-desert and desert till you get to Atar which is in the mountains.

There are loads of gendarme stops for reasons I couldn’t figure because whether or not we stopped or whether or not I got asked for my passport, seemed pretty random.

It might sound like I’m niks gewoonte [naive] but I got pretty excited each time I saw camels wondering around. The season for tourists hadn’t started yet so it was mostly me and the driver. He was from Ivory Coast and didn’t speak English but we managed to communicate when he was playing some good music from all over West Africa. Especially Salif Keita.

My cellphone number for Mauritania is:
+222 713 6304

For some reason I have to go the head office to get my SMS setup. Crazy. Apparently they don’t use much SMS locally. I will probably not have time to set it up before I start blazing around this country.

 

Pics of Mauritania are up! Mostly they are of the capital, Nouakchott. I’m still trying to get into the flow of decent photos but these should get us going.

Mauritania is a pretty great country. Very Sahara vibe and the place I’m staying at is pretty cool. Good people. The facilities and places are pretty modern but I think its because they’re pretty recently out of the desert. Like for instance you have to go to the internet cafe and it’s 1 block down and 2 blocks across and you decide to walk; take some water, make sure someone knows where you’re going and leave some emergency contact numbers because it’s kak far. The blocks are maaaassive. I think they still got desert mentality of quadrants and shit and “over the next dune” and such distances. Seriously, the first two times I walked to the internet cafe, I gave up. This time I took a taxi.

There’s some unexpected opportunities here. Like if you had that Kunte Kinte militant Roots kind of daydreams (like me) and wanted to free some slaves, this is a great place to do it. Yes, Mauritania is one of the few countries where slavery is still widespread. Apparently its a white Mauritanian black Mauritanian thing where the black Mauritanians work as slaves for food and lodge. I didn’t figure it out exactly and I can’t seem to spot slaves yet, but there’re definitely about. I was thinking that if the heat drains all the revolutionary life out of you (this is the desert remember), you could just own a couple of slaves for a while because that would fulfil some other dark daydreams. I could probably pass as a white Mauritanian because, let’s face it, they’re not that white to begin with. [I keep wondering if my humour crosses the sick border; sacred cows make the best burgers.]

It’s cool though. Real nice place for people looking for that Sahara experience. I’ve decided to wait till after Ramadaan before I do anything touristy because the heat is a killer. And will get some pics up once I remember to bring the cable for my camera. And if I’m really feeling energetic, I might just teach my brothers how to toyi toyi and we’ll do some Bob Marley Uprising on these motherfuckers. 

Now how do you ask ‘Are you a slave?’ in French?

Before I get onto my present bewegings, let me just bring y’all up to par. I last wrote just before the 3am train I was going to catch to Marrakesh. Well I took that train and ended up in Marrakesh at 9am. Then found that the bus at 3h30pm was not fully booked as per the mense up in Kenitra and so I had a few hours to kill in Marrakesh instead of the missioning finding a different bus like I expected.

Walked around trying to find a bookshop selling English guidebooks on West Africa – and I actually did. I’m now the proud owner of a 1985 edition of Africa on a Shoestring guidebook. Fat lot of good it’s going to do me. Apparently according to the book, I was about to travel through a war zone to a country no-one actually goes to. Seems like contrary to popular opinion, Africa has actually changed in the last 20 years.

Anyway, then I took the 24 hour bus ride from Marrakesh to Dakhla. (Mostly I just read one the novels I had bought). They had stops for breaking fast and mealtimes (midnight and before fajr). I used to think of Marrakesh as the South of Morocco but there’s a kak lot of country below and its gorgeous. Dakha itself is nice without being exotic but its location on a stukkie land out into the ocean is breathtaking. Finally a city in Morocco that opens itself to the beauty of the ocean rather than a weakness to defend (and litter).

I spent a night in Dakhla and left the next morning with another bra to Mauritania (for 250Dh). I met him at the police stop next to Dakhla (during the last 2 hours of the bus ride I had to get off 4 times to give my details to the police – and as the only foreigner had the whole bus waiting for me while they did their dutiful handwriting).

This Mexican nutjob also organised the same ride. I call him a nutjob because his method of travelling was ‘get to the country, kneel and proclaim it for Jesus Christ, buy a keychain, take a photo of the flag, gets some coins and then it’s off to the next country.’ I shit you not.

The ride from Dakhla to the border is a desert and ocean mix that was quite spectacular. Looked some nice beaches but I didn’t have a metal detector with so that I could check it out. I didn’t see any mines or loose limbs lying around.

…or are you happy to see me?

Yes, it’s time to skud [shake] again and I’m skudding with my digital camera in my pocket because it’s time for new places and new faces. Those of you tired of reading the inglorious subtitles of my life can rejoice because you can expect some pics. But not soon; I have like a gazillion miles of desert to cross first.

Now any travel wouldn’t be the same without a couple of things going wrong and true to form some things have gone wonky on me.

First off, my guidebook did not arrive by the 5-working-day-ridiculous-express-fee-dhl-mutherfscker-advertised time, despite me constantly contacting the DHL office for updates (or maybe because of it) and being told it would arrive on time.

Secondly, the bus from Marrakesh from to Dakhla (I was going to buy one ticket to take the train to Marrakesh and then onto the bus) is full for tomorrow so I’m going to have to mission in Marrakesh.

Anyway, I did a quick turnabout and I’m hopping on the 3am train 4 hours from now. Should give me enough time to find a bus to Dakhla tomorrow and maybe even find an English bookstore. Because without a guidebook, I’m going to have to rely on word-of-mouth for places to stay. And since word-of-mouth won’t be in English, I’m pretty much screwed.

So next post should be from Mauritania but I can’t say for certain. I’m kak excited though.

Well, it looks like I’ll be starting off on Tuesday since the train is at 9h40am and I still need to get to the post office on Monday. It’s going to be fucken hard to say goodbye and I’m getting tears in my eyes just thinking about it. I mean, I bought my surfboard 8 years ago just before I went to Bali with it. We’ve had some good times man and if there was any way I could justify keeping it, I would. But it’s just not feasible to travel with it any longer or to post it home. It’s going to break my heart to leave it here; I’m going to miss that surfboard.

Anyway, besides that I just have to do a couple of small things like change money and get the vaccines injected. And get another type of anti-malarial because the one the pharmacies have here is ineffective in West Africa (yep, it’s that stupid.) Apparently they have another one (doxycycline) but its not listed as an anti-malarial so I’ll try to get that. Then it’s off we go…

So today I got some shopping out of the way. Morocco’s got some cool stuff but as always I’m contrained by how much I can afford to carry or ship.

The medina’s are great places for shopping but I have a limit to the amount I can do. Here in Kenitra you don’t need to haggle too much for the actual price, so it’s less effort.

There’s almost anything you can buy including all the Chinese knockoffs of famous makes – Nike, Adidas, Diesel, etc…

Best thing for me is to be able to see all the tailors and carpenters and weavers and caftsmen in their tiny little shops doing their thing. I love this old school artisan shit.