Sunday 14 Jan (mileage 5 piste, 327 roads, total 2647)
I had thought about trying to make Keur Massene Lodge near the Sengal border in one day. The Mauritanian border opens at 8am, so I will need to be up at 7am to get there at the head of the queue. I don’t wake until 8am, so already it’s looking doubtful. Then the border formalities on the Moroccan side are endless. I go through the (slow) police check, then the customs check, then the ‘have you done the police/customs check’ and I thought I was through, but it appears not.
Almost through the Moroccan side
Now I have to wait patiently to be called by a clerk who is very slowly entering everyone’s details in a large ledger, so I decide to pass the time playing with the guard dog. The dog had obviously not had much company and was delighted to play fetch the plastic bottle.
The minefield
Finally I am through the Moroccan border and into no-man’s land, a five-mile stretch of track surrounded by a mine field. ‘Keep to the left’ was the advice I had read on HUBB and although there are a couple of sandy bits I am soon through to the Mauritanian side.
At last, the Mauri border
As expected I have to pay €10 for a three-day transit visa. The police ask for another €10 for completing an ‘honour’ form in which I promise not to sell the bike. I suspect this is a scam but pay anyway. Then I have to get border insurance, but surprise, surprise, the office doesn’t accept euros and I first have to buy ouguiyas at an exchange rate of 300:€1. I know I can get around 350:1 elsewhere, and in any case can pay for things in euros so I only exchange a minimal amount.
The clerk in the insurance shack is having a stand-up argument with his boss and this goes on for ages. An extremely fierce-looking Mauri in a turban winks at me as if to say not to worry. After more than 45 minutes the boss guy calls me outside and says there is a problem and I should buy insurance further down the road. I only wish he had said this earlier as by then I had spent a collective three hours negotiating the two sets of police, customs and assorted officialdom.
I head off into Mauritania and immediately notice a difference in the scenery. More sand, and some stunted trees, the first for 300 or so miles. There are many garden sheds dotted around and eventually I realise these are habitations. The nearest town in Nouadhibou, but it’s on another peninsular and going there entails a detour of 60 miles, so I carry along the iron ore railway featured in Michael Palin’s Sahara documentary, then head south on an excellent new tarmac road to Nouackchott, the capital of Mauritania, which is another 280 miles south.
Great tar, pity about the scenery
Some excitement, a bit of a hill
The tarmac road is monotonous and in places you can see the old piste running alongside the tarmac. Being a mug I venture onto the piste, do a u-turn for a photo opportunity and almost immediately bed down in the fine ‘fesh fesh’ sand beside the road. As any keen gardener will know, stones and other bigger objects tend to float to the surface, even through clay, and in this case the fine talcum-like sand had been covered with ancient sea shell fragments that looked exactly like the surface of the piste. By now it’s 28c with an extremely hot sun, and I struggle to get the bike out. I have a drink, lay the bike down on its side, fill the hole dug by the rear wheel with stones, lift the bike up onto the stones and try again. No use. After taking off the luggage I can drag the rear of the bike onto the old piste but the crash bars at the front at too high for me to use to lift. Bad design, make a note to write to BMW.
First collect some stones…
I need help. I wave at the first car and the driver waves back. OK, my wave could have been mistaken for ‘I’m fine,’ so the next car I cross my arms and wave, jumping up and down. Success. The driver and his wife come and help, and before long I’m zooming off again.
I fill up at a petrol station and can’t get my head around the ouguiya (UM) exchange rate. The attendant wants 6500 UM for 22.5 litres. I give him €22 and he gives me 900 UM back.
I eventually arrive at the Auberge Sahara on the northern outskirts of Nouakchott to find 28 English bikers in residence. I have caught up with Nick Sanders’ group who are taking what seems a fairly leisurely route to Timbuctou. There’s a mix of bikes from fully equipped BMWs, lighter and more suitable XTs, Nick’s R1 and someone on a scooter. As is usual with Nick’s groups there is a lot of discontent–not happy with the hotels, group too big, riding too fast/too slow, not enough food, etc. Two of the guys turned back before the Mauritanian border. It’s a funny sort of person who goes on these trips–not confident enough to tackle strange places alone, but happy enough to go with someone who has a reputation for leading tough tours.
Not exactly unsupported then
The exchange rate at Auberge Sahara is 340:1, still not as good as the 370:1 someone claimed to have got elsewhere, but still more than 10 per cent better than the border. The place is full and I take up the offer of a tent in the ‘garden’ for UM 1,700.
Tim
There and Back Again 