15 November – Dakhla , Western Sahara to Nouadhibou, Mauritania. 21,356 km
Our last night in Western Sahara after two months in Morocco and WS - we thought we ought to mark the occasion so we went into Dakhla with Jean and Mick, our English friends, for a slap up meal... hmm... Perhaps the term ‘slap up meal’ shouldn’t be used to describe the culinary experience but it was a very enjoyable evening – just don’t think that Moroccan produced white wine will be that palatable! Why did I think a nation of tee-totallers could produce an appetizing wine?!!
We left the campsite the following morning after the large French and Dutch groups had departed; we thought we would run to the border and camp there for the night before rising early and crossing first thing, thus allowing the groups to clear the border that day. The 370km of boring scenery quietly trundled passed the windows as we both put on headphones and listened to an assortment of rock music from around Europe played at stupidly loud volumes! The most exciting thing during this drive was crossing the Tropic of Cancer... Oz didn’t even see the hand-painted sign and, as neither of us felt any different for the experience, we drove on!
We arrived at the border at around 4pm and suddenly decided to go for it and cross that evening. The border closes at 6pm so a very quick tidy up in the back, ensuring that any bottles of alcohol were well hidden (I had deeply hidden my litre bottle of gin a few days before in readiness) as it is illegal to import alcohol into the Islamic country of Mauritania, grabbed our passports and carnet and off we went. We went to the Moroccan passport desk, completed the departure forms and handed in our passports. They were deposited onto a table and sat there – not looking good for getting though this evening we thought. However, only 25 minutes later our names were called. On presenting ourselves at a small window, we received a smile and our passports back. Clearing the Mog was even easier as the man took the paperwork and completed it immediately, handing it back with a “Bon voyage”. A cursory check by customs and a quick stop to have our details entered into an army ledger and we were spat out into no-man’s land less than an hour later. The following evening we spoke to someone who waited over 3 hours that morning just to get their passports back and another couple that took 8 hours in total - this was when we had planned to cross, so we made the right decision to cross that evening.
| The no-man’s land between Morocco and Mauritania is supposed to have a large quantity of landmines planted and it is ‘recommended’ that you have a guide take you through... however, we found the piste was clearly defined. We followed a local white van (at a suitable explosive distance!!) and as they weren’t blown up we assumed it was safe for us to follow!! |  |
| There were a large number of vehicles abandoned in the area and one Frenchman I later spoke to said that they had these vehicles were there as they’d driven over the mines – this was clearly not true, none of the vehicles looked like they were damaged in an explosion and most had been stripped for parts. I don’t doubt that there are landmines in the region but imagine the international outcry if a European was killed in the strip between effectively what is Morocco and Mauritania! And, surely the cars would not have been stripped for parts if the scavengers had to wander about an area with landmines? Urban myths abound in Africa! | |
We arrived at the Mauritanian border to find the large French rally group still there! They had been sitting about all day waiting to cross into Mauritania having arrived before lunchtime. We joined the queue and expected a long wait. After about 20 minutes we were called forward to present our passports. I had leant the Arabic greeting of Salaam Al Laikoum (peace upon you) which is the polite way of greeting people. Using this greeting with a big smile had a great affect and the head border official offered me a seat and a glass of mint tea! Unfortunately, our passports were behind the 60 or so French people who all needed visas too! We politely waited and about half-way through the French passports, the guard handed us back ours and we were on our way!
Oz deals with customs and the guy climbed into the mog and immediately picked up a camera we had stupidly overlooked in our earlier tidy-up.
“What is this?” he asked.
“A camera” Oz replied.
The man in fatigues then asked... “It is for me?”
“No, it’s not!” came the curt reply from Oz!!
He wanted something that he couldn’t get in Mauritania and told Oz so.... Oz tried to give him cigarettes or green tea (bought especially for the occasion) but he was having none of these meagre ‘gifts’. We had a jar of coffee we had been re-filling since France so Oz offered him that and he went on his way!!
In the meantime I had been dealing with the other side of customs – getting our carnet stamped. Paul at the RAC knows his stuff and everything was in order, so it was a simple matter of handing over 10 Euros for the privilege of obtaining a stamp. We shot out of the border area and didn’t look back ... just in case we were being called back for some obscure reason or perhaps to ‘donate’ something else to the guards' tea tray!
We drove into Nouadhibou after dark – something we said we wouldn’t do in Africa – and got hopelessly lost, ending up at the port! Having turned round we found Camping Abba which is one of the main campsites but it was so packed and noisy we drove on despite being tired and fractious! We found Camping Baie du Lévrier (no GPS but it’s on Médian Boulevard opposite the police station and next to UPS in the corner) manoeuvred into a space and promptly went to bed as we were exhausted! Call to prayer woke us up at 4.30am but I immediately returned to sleep – I think I’m getting quite used to this!
More on this amazing country very soon...