Love and attention

Next morning, just after leaving Dakhla, we stopped for petrol and Sean discovered a problem with his chain’s split link.  We had carried a spare but despite taking all our gear apart it wasn't to be found so he did a repair, held his breath and off we went.  Terrain began to change to white sand with flat top dunes.  Came over a crest to the stunning scene of a white sand beach with turquoise and aquamarine water that stretched out forever.  As we rode along I was busy pinching myself to believe the beauty of it all when I heard something slam under the bike and then a dragging sound. Pulled over to discover that unbelievably my fucking chain had snapped – problems with both chains in one day – WTF - it’s the middle of NOWHERE.

Rush hour!

We dragged everything out again but still couldn't find the god damn spare split link. Only option was to tow, we’d never done it before, had heard it was tricky and I was shitting it. Tied the cord from Sean’s right passenger peg to left foot rest of mine and gingerly took off - leaving a trail of bricks behind me……..  All went well for about 15km until Seanie changed gear causing his girl to temporarily slow, the incessant wind whipped by the tie around his wheel and into his chain, jerking me forward into him.  I had two choices, steer left and take us both out, or right and it'd be just me, so right I went and off I came.  The brain bounce was bloody painful, I felt a sharp pain in my left ankle (??went down on my right??) and sand went everywhere, up my nose, into my mouth, eyes, etc. Having being bounced forward from the impact of me hitting him Sean was fighting to control his bike and trying to stop in a panic to get to me - I was trying to shout over the howling wind I that I was ok but he could hear me. Thankfully he was ok, and apart from not being able to put weight on my left foot I was too. However my lovely tall screen was in bits. All the luggage was off but again luck was on our side as my girl was fine.

Given that we were a) in the middle of the desert and b) only a hand full of vehicles passed us each hour, our only option was to pick ourselves up and continue. This time however we put the rope on the right-hand grab of Seanie’s girl to the pull rope on my forks - far away from the wheels!  We came to learn that the trick is in the stopping, the front bike is the power but the back bike should do all the braking, very tricky though – we crawled in 3^rd gear for the next VERY LONG 20km and finally reached a petrol station.

The magic garage

Most stations out here are lucky if they have a tiny shop and extra luckily if there’s a loo.  The gods must have liked us today as unbelievably this one had a hotel, hairdressers,tour op, garage and great shop as well as
 as petrol and a loo – what were the fucking odds?  Approached one of the (v. easy on the eye!!) mechanics to ask if he could fix it so he worked away on the chain for a bit then disappeared.  About an hour later he pulled up in a car (we hadn’t spotted him leave) with a very rust old chain of the

The wonderful mechanic

correct pitch and worked away until it was fixed.  We were beyond thrilled and he was happy to pose for a pic!  It was now well past 7pm and getting dusk so we needed to grab a spot to pitch up. Drove a couple of miles and then went off road for a bit near a place called Moualine El Ghaba (don't blink or you will miss it). We were knackered after the day's adventures but there was not a drop of beer in sight to toast the fact we crossed the Tropic of Cancer today, suppose you can't have everything!

 

Next morning went back to the same petrol station to spend the last of our Dirham before the border.  Having MD2.50 left after water and petrol I gave it to the young shop guy and asked for chocolate bars expecting 3 or 4 - I kid you not he filled half a plastic bag!!!  As I was finishing Sean came in to the shop with a sense of urgency.  The cop who’d tried to extract the bribe from us in Boujdour just turned up – we thought shit, if he wanted to he could have a go for something again and this time his colleagues weren’t around to stop him.  We had planned on sitting down and enjoying some

Not a bent cop in sight.

of the snacks before the ride but we got our arses to the bikes and got the fuck out of there sharpish.  Have to admit to nervously glancing in my mirrors for the first 20 mins to see if anyone was following us. Was having flashes of all those movies I've seen with people trapped in a vast wilderness with a bent cop chasing them and there’s nowhere to escape to!  Far too much time in the desert with nothing to distract me I think – your imagination goes a bit wild. Found out later the same thoughts were running through Sean's head - you can't make this shit up!

Snack break

Got to the border by midday, after completing police and customs paperwork we spoke with a guard who told me (in perfect English) ‘sorry I don’t speak English, I only speak French so won’t be able to help you’- a really nice guy, he gave us loads of useful info.  After the last passport control section you are free to enter ‘no man’s land’ about a mile of disputed land between the borders and is a mix of broken rock and very soft sand. WOW - we were all over the place, it was very very hard work on top of which it was baking hot.  The

Next stop Mauritania.

area is like a car graveyard – it’s full of abandoned ones.  Going through a really deep patch of soft sand my back wheel completely bogged down and the bike got stuck.  Sean was having the same problems so got off his and  ran her out of the sand.  Two guys in a car had pulled over when they saw us, they came over and offered to help me, when I said ‘ok’ they responded ‘You Pay’.  I thought you must think I’m an idiot, but curious as to their ‘fee’ I asked how much – MAD 100 (£10 to help pull the bike 15 foot, must be good shit they’re smoking).  I laughed and said no, to which one guy shouted at me ‘I am Mauritian’ (which I'm guessing was supposed to explain something but what that was was lost on me I'm afraid) he then said 'MAD 50', again I said no so he signalled his friend and both tried to pull the bike forward obviously thinking they could then force me to pay.  That’s the funny thing about a bike who’s back wheel is two feet deep in soft sand, no matter how much you pull she won’t move when her front brake is on!  When the bike didn’t shift he demanded ‘how much Dirham do you have’ – does that question ever actually elicit an answer?  At this point Sean returned and  got my girl out for me, leaving Tweedledum and Tweedledee behind looking a bit lost. 

Finally go to Mauritian border with the sweat pouring off of us in litres.  At the police office we were accosted by an army officer insisting that we had to get insurance from the guy accompanying him.  I said we’d talk about it later, he responded ‘No do it now', took Sean’s exit paper off of him and gave it to Mr Insurance, I thought bugger that so took it back. The army guy then demanded to know how many days we needed insurance for – we said we don’t know, and he got really pushy but as I wouldn’t budge he finally

Mauritania

skulked off.  When we went outside again I asked another officer if it was mandatory to get insurance here and he said no! Next step was to ride 20 foot to the customs office where we were descended upon by ‘helpers’, we were polite but firm in refusing assistance.  Despite this one ‘helper’ decided to take charge and ‘guide’ us, we thanked him and informed him that he wasn’t required. We went up to customs where the still present helper ushered us in.  The officer asked for our carnets and  a smartly dressed guy (not in uniform)  informed us that we should use the ‘helper’, we told him we were fine on our own, he then said ‘now you must pay the guard €20' suspicions raised I asked why and he replied ‘for the stamp on the carnet, it is the same for everyone’.  I had not seen money exchange hands and there no cash or cash box on the desk so we looked at each other and knew that unless the official directly requested money none would be offered. Our papers were finalised and we were told we were free to go, no request for cash was made - neat trick, I can imagine they get quite a bit of 'extra' cash with it.   Finally got out batting off more extremely dodgy looking bodies acting as ‘helpers’ and exited the border area leaving some very disappointed denziens behind us with pockets no fuller than before we arrived.

Out side the 'motel'

Rode for a bit through yet more desert. Saw the occasional tiny wooden shack and white Berber tent but bugger all else.  Our plan had been to head west then down through the centre to Nouckchott but after a bit we started to question this idea.  At our first police check point an extremely sweet officer (who offered to fill the empty water bottles we were carrying from the yard tap!) told us the nearest town was 17km and it had everything we’d need including nice restaurants.   We actually missed it the first time as we rode passed it thinking it was just a bunch of ruined shacks, there was NOTHING there that would help you to recognise it as a 'town'.  There was, however, a motel further up the road where we got insurance and changed money.

We needed fuel and found a ‘petrol station’ which only had 2 diesel pumps. Sean asked for gasoline, the young guy nodded and went to put fuel from one of the pumps in, stopping him Sean asked if it was gasoline

Second fill up.

and got ‘Oui’, I was dubious so Sean smelled it – diesel!!!   We shook our heads saying no ‘Essense’ (trying to find the right word for each country becomes confusing!), so the guy fetched a large orange drum, we asked ‘sans plomb’ and got the same 'Oui', at this stage we twigged that he didn’t understand us and ‘Oui’ was his default response.  Deciding it might be safer to try elsewhere we thanked him and went back to ‘town’.  An army guy in a 4x4 stopped so we asked for petrol - next garage 80km!!  Returned to the 'station' and this time a French speaking older guy was there who produced a blue barrel ......... and that’s when we made the fatal age old mistake of not agreeing a price beforehand.  He filled up both bikes (unmeasured from the barrel) and said OYG12,000 which worked out at €2.40 p/l for an approx 12 litres – we nearly choked – we argued but of course he wasn’t budging.  We were gutted at letting ourselves be had, but it was our own stupid fault - now repeat after me 'Always agree the price first, always agree the price first, always...........'.

Camel bones by night..

A willing model.

Decided to head straight for Nouchchott and 40km down the road we hit another little station (with a ‘Boutique’ - a shop) that sold petrol in fixed amounts of 10L for OYG5000, hoo hum, you live and learn.  Topped both girls up plus four 1.5L water bottles, again from a large plastic barrel but this time it was measured.  An elderly man came across the ‘forecourt’ in traditional robes and when I asked if I could take a photo he was surprised but delighted to pose.  Off again through hours of endless flat desert tundra. Eventually, knackered, we left the road, took off across the vast expanse of nothing but flat sand for half a mile

and in morning sun

and pitched up.  Whilst inside the tent setting up I heard Sean yell

Desert dawn

‘wow Logan come look at this, it’s an amazing pic’ got out of the tent but all I could see was sand and Sean said ‘I think it’s a sand storm’ – it hit us like a brick.  I had to wrap my scarf around my head over my cap and glasses to grab the rest of the gear from the bikes and then dashed into tent for protection. It turned really warm with the wind wailing and battering the tent.  Sand was pouring in from every conceivable angle, it was literally snowing the stuff. After an hour with no let-up we tried to do some food - I could only get half way through though as all I was eating was sand.  The storm raged on buckling the tent and flaying our skin as was too hot to wear

Morning after

anything.  Worryingly Seanie was feeling

Sunrise and wind still blowing

really unwell –this is the first time on the trip I actually felt scared - we were in the middle of a desert, in the middle of nowhere, no one knows we are here and a sand storm is howling – if we needed help we were fucked.  There was so much sand coming in on top of us we had to soak our scarves and wrap them around our faces just so we could breath.  

 

Next morning after a shit night’s sleep due the windstorm and its accompanying sand based exfoliating

Clean Up!!

treatment had continued through the night) we woke to discover that

Windswept and interesting?

EVERYTHING was coated or filled with sand - twas in our eyes, noses, ears, our skin was covered in it, and every time we closed our teeth it crunched, blaaaccchhh.   Packing up was a nightmare - had to try to clean all the gear before putting it away.  To add insult to injury the door zip of our lovely tent has given up the ghost – the constant wind for the last week had buggered it so its zip no longer closed.  

 

Sean had to give the bikes a check over and clean the air filters before we could set off, even that required having our scarves wrapped round our faces and nothing could be put down as it blew away instantly.  The flat scrub desert terrain remained unchanging for hours on end which meant no sneaky pee opportunities, was having to get my timing right behind my bike between passing cars - nettles are no longer a problem, the hazard now is desert thorns, shan’t complain about nettles again!! 

The Berber tents are everywhere, small white square structures with pointy tops.  The only other structures are small wooden shacks – bunches of which make up a township – though unless you’re told and start to look really closely you wouldn’t know – the give-away is the boxes of mineral water stacked up inside the entrance.  The stocks in the ‘shops’ are very basic, lots of water, juices and soft drinks, and bread, pasta, biscuits and sponge cakes, and very little else.  There are endless police stops and they take all your details each time but all very friendly.

Passed one township and the kids ran out to wave at us and run after the bikes, delighted with the game of chasing us.  At one check point the children came out of the shacks and waved at us for ages, then one brave little girl came across the road and said ‘caudex Madame’, we took out some fruity chews and suddenly the group shyness mysteriously disappeared -we were surrounded!!  It was brilliant, and when we headed off we got very enthusiastic waves goodbye.  

'City' centre

Hit Nouckchott and it had all the seeming madness and mayhem of a typical African town and the traffic system seemed like every person for themselves.  Being the capital we had expected some familiarity with shops and banks etc., we’d met a guy several days ago who said we’d be surprised by how modern the city is – HAH, how stupid are we, we idiotically took that to mean modern by our standards.  We didn’t understand at the time that what he was alluding to was ‘modern’ by comparison to the rest of Mauritania which is mostly tents and shacks.  We didn’t see banks, insurance companies, ATMs, etc. all of which are everywhere in Morocco.  We knew that ATMs were scarce in Africa but in a capital city??   The buildings were fairly roughly put together and most business took place from the multiple street stalls. 

Seanie  rode through the city for a bit but finally pulled up in front of a little store at a junction corner.  We got cokes and sat to decide what we’d do next.  We needed money but were exhausted and couldn’t really face the idea of trawling through the city for banks, food, a spot to camp, etc.  We had passed one camping sign coming into the city but had no idea if this would be fruitful as had passed several just over the border and they were an interesting take on the concept of camping, certainly not something we’d have paid money for. 

As we were chewing over these conundrums a woman and man started to set up a stall beside where we were sitting.  We asked the woman about an ATM, she called the man over and between them they (patiently, given our poor grasp of French) explained that as it was 5pm the bank was shut and it wouldn’t open tomorrow.  We asked about a Bureau de Change and after a discussion amongst themselves the woman said that the man would take us to one in a taxi if we wanted him to.  She said we could leave the bikes and she’d make sure they were ok.  With typical western thinking we immediately thought ‘shit will they be safe’ but our gut said the offer of help was genuine - so we said ok. The woman took our lids and again assured us she’d watch the girls. 

Mr & Ms S.

We took off through a maze of streets, carts, animals, countless hoards of people, stalls and chaos.  There was no way on this green (or sandy?) earth we’d have found our way through it, it’s questionable whether we’d have even survived with the style of driving!!!!  Arrived at a Western Union and our ‘saviour’ (hereafter dubbed Mr S) actually went to pay the taxi fare – we were gobsmacked.  I quickly showed him that I’d some cash, it had been at least a 10 -15 mins ride cost OYG300 (OYG360 is ~€1).  Queued in the WU office for a bit to be told B de C section was closed.   So Mr S took us through a labyrinth of market stalls and a guy came over offering exchange, there was much debate before Mr S indicated we speak with him. We were a bit dubious but decided we’d say no if we weren’t happy and told him we wanted to change €100 - his offer (via calculator) was 30000 a rubbish amount so said no way, handing us the calculator he asked how much. We indicated 40000 (got that yesterday though had forgotten it was for €120!!!) but he protested, we were insistent until he said his top offer was 36,000 – by now having twigged our mistake we realised this was a better deal than yesterday so agreed.  He went off to get the cash and we sat in a little market stall selling tee shirts and kids clothes.  The stall owner was lovely and a couple of guys came to talk to us and we’d a really nice time chatting to them, a
couple of them had some English which was great.  Mr Exchange returned and handed me cash but there

Baguettes from heaven.

was only 30000, I ask for the rest and he was hesitant but  I insisted until he finally gave me another bundle, handed him the euro and I counted the additional cash which was only 5,000.  He started giving out and it took some translation to establish that he wanted a single €100 note, we’d given five €20s.  We launched into a passionate debate until I took the euro back and gave back the 35,000.  At this stage the others realised that I wasn’t budging and some animated conversation took place, I think they told him to give me what was agreed as he stopped demanding a €100 note and reluctantly handed me 36,000 . When we got back we thanked Mr S and asked how much it was for his time, surprised, he said ‘For me, nothing, it’s free’.  The girls, of course, were right where we left them completely untouched.  Unfortunately we didn’t get Mr & Ms S’s names, we did get photos, Mr S seem amazed to be asked but was more than happy to pose. 

Ms S was selling huge baguettes, about 1.5 foot long, stuffed with some sort of meat stew, lettuce, egg, some fried thing and loads of mayo and tomato sauce and it smelled bloody delicious.  Sean was starving so we got one, it cost OGY300, feed both of us, and was fucking delicious.
 

Beautiful end to long day

Headed to the camp site which was on a beach and had a gorgeous bar/dining area that looked over the sea.  On enquiring were told it was OYG2000 for 2 people for a night with our own tent, showers extra!!  At €7.50 we said yes, suddenly there was another calculation and the price shot to OYG6000  – we debated but he obviously thought he was dealing with two idiots, so we left.   This has happened a couple of times, we’d be given a good price but once we say yes the price is suddenly upped – we really must get those idiot tattoos removed from our foreheads, they are becoming a bother.  Riding back down the track we noticed a route off to the left so took it,

The wildlife

spotted a large protected clearing and decided to set up there. It was only 5km to town so easy to get plenty of supplies (and water to have a good wash) and would cost us a hell of a lot less than €17 a night!  Apart from the campsite there was nothing but an abandoned building nearby and with at least a mile to the road we found ourselves a very peaceful spot to re-coup for a couple of nights.