Crossing the Sahara Desert, Part Two.
Nov 22nd, 2008 | By Rob | Category: ARTICLES, Travel StoriesWe had survived “No mans land” and the minefield that surrounds it, but our adventure was far from over. Our first night in the country we drove until the sun was about to set, pulled off onto the side of the road and camped behind a sand dune. This was one of the most peaceful places I have ever camped, until just before we ate dinner, a sandstorm started blowing. We ate our sandy pasta and went to bed, our tents flapping in the unrelenting wind. We woke up to a beautiful sunrise over the sand dunes in the distance, packed up our stuff and continued along the road to Nouakchott.
Mauritania was far from the safest country in the Sahara region, and as I mentioned in part one, it had just gone through a Military Coup two and a half months before our arrival. Fortunately for us, the country was more or less unaffected – at least on the surface - by this major event, although we did notice the increased military presence along the road between the border and Nouakchott (the capital). Our first checkpoint was probably the most hilarious as the guard came straight out and requested a gift for his wife or daughter, and one of the girls pulled out a Hello Kitty notepad. The officer gave it a quick look, approved and waved us through. Before nightfall, we arrived in the capital of Mauritania, Nouakchott.
- * To read a little bit about the 2008 coup, you can read about it here: href=”http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2008_Mauritanian_coup_d%27%C3%A9tat
Nouakchott quickly became one of my least favorite city’s that I’ve ever had the privilege of traveling to. Had I spent a day or maybe two here, our fate might have been a little bit more enjoyable. But the traveling gods figured that we had it too easy on our way here and for whatever reason decided to punish us. I wont bore you with the hundreds of hours we spend wasting days away, but I will explain why we were here so long. The bus, sometime after crossing the border into Mauritania, decided to once again start making loud noises from the back of the bus, and being as we had a very difficult drive ahead of us - along the “Road of hope” - there was no way we could take any chances. The bus went back into the mechanics, and after 6 days and 5 nights, our new rear axle arrived from Senegal, and we were able to begin the last stage of our Sahara journey: The Road of Hope.
The name sounds daunting, in both French and English: Route de l’Espoir, the Road of Hope. The road that cuts across the Sahara Desert to the east of Nouakchott used to be one of the most epic drives one could undertake in Africa. It used to be a dusty, sand and rock path that wove its way through the desert. Fortunately in the last 10 years it had been paved (or else attempting in a 2 wheel drive Ford Escort van would not have been feasible, let alone a good idea) and the journey could now be done in two or three days instead of the ten days it would have taken before. It is also infamous for the bandits that used to be a major problem, and in 2007, four French tourists were taken hostage and killed along the route we were about to undertake (this event was also the reason why the Dakar Rally has been canceled, at the request of the French government). This had the element of danger us adrenaline junkies craved, and just a hint of stupidity that makes for good stories and even greater adventures.
We left Nouakchott around 1pm, much later than we would have liked, but ‘This is Africa’ (as the saying goes) and we respected the fact that the van was returned to us in working order. The way we looked at it was it doesn’t matter if it was “on time”, as long as it works. The police checkpoints we had briefly experienced between the Moroccan border and Nouakchott had increased ten-fold, and in our short 4-hour drive we were stopped four times. It was obvious that the new military government wanted to have a strong presence in the area, and the old government’s lax approach to the “Terrorists” that live in the country (Mauritania is an Islamic Republic) was one of the reasons for the coup that had taken place two weeks prior. As a result we decided to break up the long journey (and with not enough sunlight to make it to our next destination) and spend the night in Boutlimit.
The town was no more than an overgrown herding village, sprouting out of the sandy landscape, its edges pushing hard against the limits of the desert. But the town had a very welcoming vibe to it, and we were happy to spend the night here. The back ‘garden’ of our hotel was the desert; the sands collecting along the outside edge of the concrete wall that separated the two different worlds. There was a doorway, a portal to the desert, which reminded us of a mythical ‘Gateway to Narnia’ of sorts. We spent a few hours wandering the dunes nearby returning to the hotel as the sun begin to set, followed by the many herds that call the town home, their internal clocks registering it was time to come in. It was a very peaceful and relaxing mood. We returned to the hotel for our dinner, Camel and Chips. I finished dinner, set up my tent under the stars and slipped off into the wonderful world of Larium dreams. We woke up early the next morning to the colorful sky as the sun began to rise and prepared for our long days drive ahead.
We set out shortly after sunrise. We had a lot of ground to cover - 662kms - and by this time, most of us were very eager to leave Mauritania. The desert passed by on either side of the bus, barely changing, as we sped across the eastern expanse of Mauritania. The military presence we had encountered the first day on the Road of Hope continued, pretty much alternating between just wanting to poke their heads in the window to gawk at the tourists, to full passport checks, sometimes taking upwards of 20-25 minutes as they punched all 11 of us into the computers. It was a long and tiring day, but maybe 45 minutes after sunset, we arrived in our destination; Ayoun.
Our last night in Mauritania was probably the worst. We arrived in Ayoun after 12 hours of straight driving, having only snacked on cookies and had the bare minimum of water to sustain us. This got a lot worse as our portable cooking stove ran out of gas halfway through our potatoes had boiled (not to mention we hadn’t even started cooking the rest of the veggies) and we went to bed, tired, dehydrated and hungry (we did eat a half loaf of baguette each, but that hardly counts as a meal, more a stomach filler). The wonderful Larium dreams I had enjoyed the night before were instead replaced by horrible Larium nightmares in which I spent the night witnessing loved ones die, followed by dreams in which I myself had died, spending the rest of my days in the purgatory known as Mauritania (I guess a lot has to do with you mood when it comes to these crazy pills).
The next morning we were back on the road and all to happy to be headed south now, en route to Bamako, Mali. Mauritania might have its redeeming parts, but it wasn’t found along the road of hope, and the country inherited the slogan “The Maur-I-tania the more-I-hate it”. From the moment our passports were stamped out of the country and we crossed the no mans land (without mines) into Mali our moods lifted, as if a dark cloud had lifted from above the bus. We had made it! Already the scenery was beginning to change and from the time the border guard on the Mali side of the border smiled at us and proclaimed “Bienvenue a Mali”, and while waiting for our stamps the - for lack of a better term - corner store attendants were joking with us, being very personable. We had defiantly entered a new realm: West Africa.
All told, during our two and a half day journey across the road of hope, we were stopped 32 times (23 passport checks, 8 “no passport” checks - although sometimes it was hard to tell between the two, we had some interesting discussions trying to decide which category to classify them into). We drove a few hours from the border to Nioro du Sahel, a small town in the corner of Mali. We had to repair our spare tire (which had popped on our drive to the border that day) as well as exchange money into local currency, and some of us hadn’t eaten the night before, so food was a priority. Fortunately someone in the town found us a Restaurant/Hotel/Bar (well, the bar was closed, but they found another one to grab take-away beers from) and after a few drinks it was pretty obvious we were staying the night, celebrating our long and sometimes trying journey across the Sahara Desert.
The end.
