Mauritania - Salter's travels

Back to Morocco

Just south of Guelb er Richât is a massive area of sandy dunes. Sand as far as the eye can see. We wanted to experience this so we drove right out, deep into the sand and parked up. It was a bit like being on a giant beach. The sand was soft and golden. The sun was warm. I pottered around in bare feet for a while feeling the sand between my toes. Then I thought about scorpions and put my shoes back on. We had a very pleasant afternoon and evening just hanging out there and relaxing a bit after several days of continuous driving.

We are in the desert, the Sahara, largest and baddest of them all. You would expect it to be hot and dry. Indeed, during the day, it gets up to 32°C and some nights does not drop below 20°C. At times the relative humidity is in single figures. However, this is the middle of winter. This is as cold as it gets. We find it a bit too warm and dry but bearable. In the summer, the heat soars over 40°C every day, there is no air conditioning, little shade and water is hard to come by. To my mind, life must be close to intolerable for the Nomads and others that live out here.

Next day we passed through Ouadane. Approaching from a different angle, we managed to avoid the built up area and went straight to the checkpoint. Here we handed over another printout of our details. The same details we had given to the same officer three days earlier. He was happy though and waved us through to start down the long corrugated road to Atar.

On the way out to Ouadane a hand painted sign featuring a giraffe and an elephant had piqued our interest. When we passed this sign on the way back to Atar we decided to investigate. At the end of a track, was found a nomad’s tent, a man and a sign proclaiming the Cave Paintings of Agrour. For 100 UM (each), he removed the piece of string between two rocks and showed us to the edge of the cliff. From here, we had a great view of the valley and the old track down to the ruins of Fort Saganne. He gave us a terrific explanation of what we looking at but unfortunately, his Mauritanian French was completely beyond me. For another 100 UM (each), we were shown past another piece of string and taken to some rocks with water worn hollows in them. Here, at last, were the paintings of the giraffe and the elephant. I took a picture of the giraffe. It is there but you need to look very carefully. I wanted to imagine that ancient man made these paintings at a time when giraffes and elephants roamed these parts. In all honestly, I have no idea where they came from or how they were made. The man was very friendly and when, in my terrible French, I asked about parking up for the night, there was no problem at all. Just a modest 300 UM (for both of us). There were no facilities but it made for a quiet night because there was no way he was going to let any unpaid visitors past his piece of string. A pleasant view and some peace is all we really need for a perfect sleeping spot.

Next day we arrived back in Atar for some fuel and then set off on the long desert trek back to Morocco. Part way through the afternoon there was a hissing noise. We had left the road and were cutting NW back towards the train line. 500km of open desert, dunes and rocks lay in front of us and we had a puncture. We drive on Michelin XZL tyres. They are tough, ideally suited for the terrain and in 18 months of driving, we had never had a problem. But, a couple of months earlier, we had gouged a lump out of the sidewall of one of the tyres. The sidewall can be a bit vulnerable, especially when using deflated tyres off road. This one looked to have survived the damage up until now when, of all times, it finally let go. Find some level ground. Park up. Handbrake on (called a parking brake on a truck). Jack up the wheel (25t bottle jack). Changing a wheel on a truck is like doing one on a car except that everything is bigger, heavier and takes longer. Unicat had taken me through the procedure (thanks Valentin). All I needed to do was remember the instructions and not feel too intimidated about being so far out in the desert. It all went well. I even lifted the wheel onto the studs first time. Finally, just as the sun set, I tightened up the wheel nuts with the truly massive torque wrench. It is over a metre long. We were both tired, grubby, hot and sweaty but happy. By the time we had packed everything away darkness was falling so we cracked open a celebratory bottle of wine (technically illegal in Mauritania) and settled down for the evening.

Just after lunchtime the following day, we reached the railway line. It felt like an old friend here to show us the way home. Three or four trains a day rumbling past held out the possibility of rescue. I have no idea if it is really feasible but I imagined that if we got into trouble then somehow we could wave down a train and be saved. Because of this, the noise and vibration of the trains became a source of comfort, a friendly sound. We knew the way and what to expect. We waved at a few nomads and glimpsed some Polisario on the far side of the track. They beckoned to us but were clearly carrying rifles so we waved back but pressed on. Now that we had changed a wheel we no longer had a spare so it was vital we did not get another puncture. Careful, steady driving. Avoid the rubbish by the side of the rails especially the discarded suspension springs, bolts and the shards of steel that flake off the tracks.

The route steadily unwound before us. The Dunes of Azeffal were magnificent like before. We sneaked past the villages like locals and politely handed over our details at the checkpoints. Two days later, we were back on tarmac approaching Nouadibou and the Moroccan border. The crossing would be best tackled in the morning so we started looking for a parking spot. Just then, we bumped into Dwight and Lucy coming the other way in their Unicat. We knew they were in the region and it was great that our paths actually crossed. We stopped and chatted for an hour or so. They have a beautiful 4WD truck that they are driving to South Africa before shipping it to South America. An epic trip is ahead. We wish them a safe and enjoyable journey.

Next morning our Mauritanian fixer was on a mission. He literally ran between the various buildings to get our exit sorted. Half an hour later we picked our way through the ever-disconcerting no-man’s land to the Moroccan compound where we were directed to the scanner. A big x-ray machine designed to scan a whole truck. We queued. We drove into the shed and we were asked for papers that we did not have. So, the whole queue of trucks had to back up while they got us out and we set off in search of the correct papers. A couple of hours and much asking around later we were ready and back in scanner queue that was much longer now. Then entire border was closed for an hour while they had lunch but eventually, after about four hours, we were through and back into safe, friendly Morocco.

Guelb er Richât

The Guelb er Richât or Richat Structure is also known as the Eye of Africa. It is a circular geological structure some 40 km in diameter. Realistically it is only properly visible from space. However, it is still an interesting and remote desert location to visit. Also, because it is so obvious on a map, it makes a good place to point at when you want to talk about where you have travelled. Nominally, this was the purpose of the trip. Of course, like any trip, it is really about the journey and not the destination. From Atar the map showed a track to the village of Ouadane. From there we would need to find our own way.

The road between Atar and Ouadane is heavily corrugated. Little ridges across the road form on some types of unsurfaced track because of a particular combination of the type of sand or gravel and the way tyres and suspension work. Driving on a washboard surface can be a killer. We tried two strategies. The first, young man’s approach is to let a bit of air out of the tyres and then drive fast. The softer tyres provide a bit of cushioning and if you get the speed just right the vehicle will kind of float over the ridges. However, this is a high-risk approach. On occasions, you will hit a bump too fast and possibly launch into the air sending everything and everyone in the vehicle flying. Ultimately, you run the risk of damaging the vehicle or even losing control of it. The safer, old man’s technique that we adopted is to slow right down. Then you can let much more air out of the tyres to make them very soft. Soft tyres heat up quickly so you need to keep the speed down. Life is slower and less exciting but much more predictable. Top speed is maybe 30 kph so patience is required. The trip took us two days in each direction. We camped a few hundreds of metres off the side of the track in the open desert. There is very little traffic on this track. A handful of cars, mostly Toyota pickup trucks, during the day and nothing at night.

We left the village of Ouadane heading north. This is not the quickest way to the Guelb er Richât but we were pleased to be out of Ouadane. This was another village of tight packed buildings and low slung electricity cables. By the time we extricated ourselves we had attracted a crowd of about 20 people, mostly children. Fortunately, one man had the sense to show us a way out rather than just asking for gifts. We gave him a few ouguiya (the local currency) for his trouble and set off across the ubiquitous ‘just outside a town’ rubbish dump. The route north was very rocky. Nasty sharp stones that made me fear for our tyres. So, we were slow. Very slow and very careful. Eventually we reached the edge of the mesa and could see beyond the hills that form the outer edge of the Richat structure. A strong wind was making visibility poor. The wind picks up the sand and dust obscuring the distance like a misty day. We could only see a few kilometres and there was no sense of the structure at all. However, even on a clear day, it is not possibly to see the circular formation. From the plateau edge we could descend via a series of dunes into a sand filled valley. Then we were picking our way across more rocks and then we were out onto a wide-open, flat, smooth plain.

Following a combination of vehicle tracks on the ground and odd tracks marked on the map, we eventually picked up the main route into the centre of the structure. For mapping, we have a couple of paper maps and some digital maps. The paper maps are good for understanding the overall context of the route but nowhere near detailed enough to show tracks. The digital maps are all derived from the OSM (Open Street Map) project. These have proven to be remarkably detailed and accurate for Morocco and Mauritania. We use one set on the Garmin Dezl sat nav. This sits on the dashboard and is used for most day-to-day navigation in Baloo. Another set is used with the OsmAndMaps App that runs on an iPad. When Baloo was first delivered, the sat nav would barely work at all. This is because the windscreen has small heating wires embedded in it. Very useful for removing ice when we travel in the Arctic but, in combination with the sheet metal roof rack, very effective at blocking GPS signals. Unicat installed an external GPS receiver with a relay inside the cab. This is very effective and always gives us a good fix (low dilution of precision) on the sat nav and the iPad. It also ensures they tell a consistent story and never show different locations.

The route crossed several areas that, if seen from high enough, make the circular shape. We crossed the plain, climbed over some shallow hills and then drove out onto a small chott. Then some more hills and finally a winding track to the very centre of the Guelb er Richât. There were a couple of unused simple buildings there. We could not really see anything of the greater structure even when I clambered up a small hill. None the less, for one night, we were the mote in the Eye of Africa. It was very satisfying and made a great purpose to our trip.

Atar

People live and work by the railway track. Not very many and it appears a bit of a fraught existence. There are a few rail workers maintaining the track. There are also some scattered nomads pitched up near the track. From time to time we saw some groups of huts and fenced off areas. Old steel sleepers are commonly used for construction. Rubbish abounds and many, if not most, of the buildings we saw looked to be deserted.

Not far off the railway track, to the North, is Ben Amera. This is a monolith. A single lump of rock that is 633m high. It is the world’s second largest monolith after Uluru in Australia. Conventional wisdom has it that travellers should stay to the south side of the railway track to avoid the danger of landmines. I have read accounts to the contrary and certainly, the nomads and camels appear to wander freely. Some land mines are only intended to damage larger vehicles like tanks. These will not be set off by the weight of a camel but Baloo, which weighs in at nearly twenty tonnes, might well do the trick. I am not a fan of land mines at the best of times so we chose, without much discussion, to stay south of line and content ourselves with a few photos of Ben Amera in the distance.

The next day we reached the road that runs north from Atar. This is in pretty good condition. Some of it looks quite new. For the first time in many days, we could re-inflate the tyres to their full road pressure. The route follows a broad, flat, open valley with an imposing wall along the eastern side. East was where we wanted to go but the wall is an impassable barrier so instead we needed to go south first to Atar. From Atar a track runs east over the pass to Ouadane.

The run down to Atar was relatively quick and easy. There were three police checkpoints along the way. We were waved through the first one and at the second only needed to hand over a fiche. This is from the French “Fiche d’identité “. It is a sheet of paper with our passport details, visa details and vehicle details. Checkpoints in Morocco and Mauritania often require these so we keep a small stock of them in the dashboard. The third checkpoint required a “petit cadeau”, literally a little present. In Morocco, there is a distinct begging culture. Children in particular appear to expect travellers to dish out pens, sweets and money. In Mauritania, this culture rises to a completely higher level. Everyone we encountered expected a handout. Adults politely asked for petite cadeau, women showed us their babies and the gangs of children just shouted “donnez moi” (give me) at us. We did our best to resist this but; in this case, the officer wanted some headache tablets and seemed quite prepared to prevent us passing for as long as necessary.

Atar is a dusty, desert town where the sand drifts down the streets and goats wander around freely. Most of the town was very poor. We saw one hotel with a clean, smart front door. The building was tightly enclosed by a wall topped with razor wire. Everywhere else was decidedly run down, poorly maintained and faded in the desert heat. Atar boasts several petrol stations. We stopped at the largest looking one in the centre and were promptly accosted by moneychangers. Everyone wanted euros. Eventually the owner of the garage appeared and we did a deal of diesel for euros. It had taken over a tank full of diesel to drive from Guerguarate so we needed to spend a few hundred euros. This got us quite a good deal.

The market in Atar was a bit of an ordeal. The pestering level was high and we had a small posse of children following us. Lumps of raw chicken were stacked next to peppers and potatoes. Everything was buzzing with flies. It was hot and smelly and we felt uncomfortable. We picked a few mixed vegetables, some fruit and what turned out to be the hottest chillies I have ever encountered. Everything got thrown into a single bowl and we paid for the combined weight. Shopping done we slipped out of Atar and started on the final leg to Guelb er Richât.

Following the trainline

We were heading for Atar, Mauritania. Initially south from Dakhlar. Mostly sticking to the coast road but with a short excursion out to Cap Barbas. Here, on the beach, we found a little clutch of motorhomes. As best I could tell the occupants were generally retired French couples doing a little fishing, running into town on their quad bikes and generally overwintering in a cheap, warm and pleasant place.

Next day we arrived at Guerguarat and the border crossing to Mauritania. Getting out of Morocco was tedious but relatively painless. Crossing no-man’s land was a bit disturbing. Several kilometres of rubbish, abandoned and stripped cars, parked trucks and a surprisingly large number of people apparently living there. The road begins with tarmac but then becomes a rocky and very uneven track.

Arriving in the Mauritanian border compound the first thing that happened was that we were mobbed by fixers all vying to assist us. We chose the one that spoke the best English. He dragged us around various dingy, grubby offices where we had to queue with our passports and hand over money. €110 for a 30-day visa, €150 for a vehicle permit and insurance, €50 in fixer’s fees and a couple of bribes. The tedium level became elevated to a completely new height but fortunately, we avoided having Baloo searched. That really could have taken a long time.

Four hours after leaving Morocco, we were in Mauritania and driving along the road from Nouadhibou to Nouakchott. We only followed this a short way before turning off east to follow a track from the village of Bou Lanouar. Getting past the village was not straightforward. First and second attempts ended in narrow, sand filled streets. Possibly, just about wide enough for Baloo if the street had been flat and level. However, there was a metre of two of soft sand drifted unevenly between houses so we could easily have ended up bouncing off the mud walls or worse. Next attempt was stopped by a street that was wide enough but spanned by many electricity cables, which hung down to just a couple of metres off the ground. We have a pole we could have used to try to lift each cable up but this would have been very time consuming and we would have run the risk of damaging a cable or getting the truck entangled in a web of live power lines. Penultimate attempt, to the south of the village, found us in the rubbish dump. Most villages seem to do this. All the rubbish gets thrown in an area just away from the houses. Here it blows around and not only looks unsightly but also attracts flies. So far as driving is concerned the big danger is all the broken glass. Beyond the dump was some impassably uneven ground, the cab was filling with seriously irritating flies and some children had invented the very dangerous game of swinging off the motorcycle rack while we were trying to manoeuvre.

Eventually we found a narrow route between the village and the train line. The sand here was deep and we bogged down in it. I am getting to be a dab hand at changing the tyre pressures now. First, go round and remove the tyre pressure sensors that are also the valve caps and open the two little compartments between the back wheels. Then set the correct pressure on the gauges in the left hand compartment and take out the two air lines for the front wheels. The air lines for the rear wheels are already connected in the compartments so next I attach the front air lines to connectors near the front wheels and then go round connecting up the air lines to the tyres. Then I sit and wait. We exchanged waves with the driver of a passing train. If we are inflating the tyres the engine needs to be running. Either way, I just wait until the hissing stops and the tyres are inflated to whatever I set on the gauges initially. Pack all the lines away, replace the valve caps and we are good to go. With the tyres down to two bar, soft sand is just not a problem. Select low range on the transfer box, lock up most of the differentials, engage the off-road gearbox and we are off. Slow but steady.

The train is accompanied by a lot of dust

From here, we were going to follow the train line for about 400km. There is no road, just vague piste running parallel to the track. In places just a few metres away, elsewhere, several kilometres distant. The line links the iron-mining centre of Zouerate, deep in the desert, with the port of Nouadhibou. Trains on the railway are up to 2.5 km long, some of the longest and heaviest in the world. Three or four trains run each day. A few kilometres from Bou Lanouar there were no people, no signs of people and no flies. Just desert and the train line. Good place to stop for the night.

In the morning, we began our desert trek in earnest. The first day was a steady plod. Following the railway line means there are no great navigation problems. The ground was mostly hard packed sand and rocks with the occasional drift of soft sand. Usually the track was quite visible. Next day, we arrived at the dunes of Azeffal. Here the shifting sands rapidly obliterate vehicle tracks so we needed to pick our own path. Tyres deflated and drive to all wheels make Baloo good in soft sand. We still had to choose a route carefully to avoid falling off the steep side of a dune. It all made for interesting driving and fortunately did not prove to be too difficult. By the evening we arrived by some small rocky hills which provided a properly desert backdrop to a great campsite.