Disclaimer: This post contains strong language, radical political opinions and some socially unacceptable comments. It is to be considered PG-MA and not read if you're a bleeding heart tree-hugging liberal that thinks everyone is equal, a nice person and that we should have more trees, and war is always a bad thing.
And now... OH MY GOD WHAT A FUCKING DUMP.
Let me start with the border crossing. We arrived at the Moroccan side where we had our passports stamped, our car sent through customs - whose only interest was "You have cigarette and pen for me?" (this took two hours by the way), had our insurance checked, and then...
Then we entered a gated part of the border, where we had to go stand in another line where a Gendarme put our names into a big leather-covered book, along with the car details. It all looked very final.
(In the movie version of this: CUE OMNIOUS MUSIC)
The gates of hell opened, and we drove into the 7km stretch of "UN Supervised" (for values where supervised means "not give a fuck") No Mans Land buffer zone between Morocco and Mauritnia. There is no law here, just hordes of people (stuck, or there on purpose), more cars in various states of repair than I have ever seen, dead donkeys and looted car chassis, landmines and no road.
There are tire tracks over rock and sand that one really should follow, as the whole place is mined to hell. We - fortunately - got across without a problem, but Team RoadHogg got stuck in the sand and had to be pulled out by the residents of this place for the small sum of 40 EUR.
No matter, that's a fair price to pay to get out of there.
It's... Bad. As Obi-Wan put it in Star Wars 4, it is a "wretched hive of scum and villainy." What it needs is a nice low-altitude airburst from a fuel-air bomb. Preferably two, followed by some Chlorine gas just to be sure.
The Mauritanian border was rather easy (the Rally had an official "expediter", so we only needed 2 more hours to get in. A swift 100km drive through nothing at all, and we were at the camp, where 8 Mauiritanian army jeeps with 50.cal machineguns and about 50 troops were already waiting.
It wa actually rather good - everyone was having fun and certain liquid substances which are technically not allowed in Mauritania were mysteriously found to have been stowed away in most of the cars by some unknown force (right next to the plastic bags, which are also illegal). Well, at least we had a reasonable nap until 4am, when the wind decided that it would be nifty to see if he can blow away the camp.
Fortunately, his plan was foiled by us waking up and packing the parachutes, excuse me, tents, and learning at the morning briefing that "return visa solved, will be at next border, but have to pay extra" - to the sound of general complaint and some sighs of resignation.
And then, we dropped off the face of the planet and entered the African rendition of the post-apocalyptic world of Mad Max.
There is NOTHING in the country of Mauritania. Nothing. As in totally, utterly fucking nothing. There's sand, there are a few donkeys and camels, and the odd checkpoint or dozen, but nothing else that would enable me to understand how people would even manage sustenance farming, much less what else they could do, except export sand and... um, no, that's it. So, here we are, 5th poorest country in the world.
And once you get into the city, you decide that the desert is actually a lovely place to be in, full of opportunity and joy, and that you need to get back to it as quickly as humany possible.
Imagine a herd (flock? tribe? gaggle?) of nomadic arab-black-peoples decided that they're going to put up permanent brick-tents in a random spot in the middle of the desert and then proceeded to invite their closest million relatives to join them and just randomly put up tents, buildings, junkyards, garbage dumps, cemeteries and a few dozen mosques.
What they missed were a few little details, for instance, a power grid or a sewer system, and any form of public utilities that don't involve a shady guy in the street. Or that the desert might actually not like this idea all that much and will do her best to drown everyone in sand (if the garbage doesn't get them first).
It's surreal. Surreal to the point where my boots now smell like rotting fish, we had 6 people in a Mitsubishi Carisma and we drove around the random collection of shacks while people tried to kill us with their cars. Hotel 1 was... well, a shithole, Hotel 2 was occupied by some Hungarians that got there before us, so now we're in Hotel 3, which is *cough* a 4* hotel (read: 1.75 on a good day)... It does have bright points - it's within a swift dash to the embassy compound and a short drive to the French Embassy fort, it has hot running water and sheets that were washed this side of the birth of Jesus, and, most importantly, it smells like bleach! That would normally be suboptimal, but out here, it is the sweet smell of disinfection. (I also have a spare bottle of bleach with me, just in case they run out BTW.)
In short (stretching the Star Wars analogy), it's a super sized Mos Eisley, to the point where all it's missing is the Mos Eisley Cantina. I have high hopes of finding it tomorrow, and by god, I will shoot first too. The city is basically an extension of the No Mans Land... Or at least that's my impression. I can't make any sense of how things work here, and laws and regulations seem to be "do what ever the f*ck you want".
So, tomorrow, we go with the the taxi driver/policeman around to see of there are any souvenirs worth looking at, and then we will go back and barricade ourselves in the room until it's time to leave this shi*ho...sorry, magnificent country that would probably do best if it asks France (if needed, on their knees) if they pretty please with sand on top would accept them back as an overseas Protectorate, and assign the Foreign Legion to just shoot the hell out of a large chunk of the population.
Following the current bright example of Mali, that might not be a bad idea, to be honest. It can't be worse. If France says no, ask Italy. hell, beg Greece. Turkey. Kosovo.
ANYONE.
Wait until you see the pictures.
And now... OH MY GOD WHAT A FUCKING DUMP.
Let me start with the border crossing. We arrived at the Moroccan side where we had our passports stamped, our car sent through customs - whose only interest was "You have cigarette and pen for me?" (this took two hours by the way), had our insurance checked, and then...
Then we entered a gated part of the border, where we had to go stand in another line where a Gendarme put our names into a big leather-covered book, along with the car details. It all looked very final.
(In the movie version of this: CUE OMNIOUS MUSIC)
The gates of hell opened, and we drove into the 7km stretch of "UN Supervised" (for values where supervised means "not give a fuck") No Mans Land buffer zone between Morocco and Mauritnia. There is no law here, just hordes of people (stuck, or there on purpose), more cars in various states of repair than I have ever seen, dead donkeys and looted car chassis, landmines and no road.
There are tire tracks over rock and sand that one really should follow, as the whole place is mined to hell. We - fortunately - got across without a problem, but Team RoadHogg got stuck in the sand and had to be pulled out by the residents of this place for the small sum of 40 EUR.
No matter, that's a fair price to pay to get out of there.
It's... Bad. As Obi-Wan put it in Star Wars 4, it is a "wretched hive of scum and villainy." What it needs is a nice low-altitude airburst from a fuel-air bomb. Preferably two, followed by some Chlorine gas just to be sure.
The Mauritanian border was rather easy (the Rally had an official "expediter", so we only needed 2 more hours to get in. A swift 100km drive through nothing at all, and we were at the camp, where 8 Mauiritanian army jeeps with 50.cal machineguns and about 50 troops were already waiting.
It wa actually rather good - everyone was having fun and certain liquid substances which are technically not allowed in Mauritania were mysteriously found to have been stowed away in most of the cars by some unknown force (right next to the plastic bags, which are also illegal). Well, at least we had a reasonable nap until 4am, when the wind decided that it would be nifty to see if he can blow away the camp.
Fortunately, his plan was foiled by us waking up and packing the parachutes, excuse me, tents, and learning at the morning briefing that "return visa solved, will be at next border, but have to pay extra" - to the sound of general complaint and some sighs of resignation.
And then, we dropped off the face of the planet and entered the African rendition of the post-apocalyptic world of Mad Max.
There is NOTHING in the country of Mauritania. Nothing. As in totally, utterly fucking nothing. There's sand, there are a few donkeys and camels, and the odd checkpoint or dozen, but nothing else that would enable me to understand how people would even manage sustenance farming, much less what else they could do, except export sand and... um, no, that's it. So, here we are, 5th poorest country in the world.
And once you get into the city, you decide that the desert is actually a lovely place to be in, full of opportunity and joy, and that you need to get back to it as quickly as humany possible.
Imagine a herd (flock? tribe? gaggle?) of nomadic arab-black-peoples decided that they're going to put up permanent brick-tents in a random spot in the middle of the desert and then proceeded to invite their closest million relatives to join them and just randomly put up tents, buildings, junkyards, garbage dumps, cemeteries and a few dozen mosques.
What they missed were a few little details, for instance, a power grid or a sewer system, and any form of public utilities that don't involve a shady guy in the street. Or that the desert might actually not like this idea all that much and will do her best to drown everyone in sand (if the garbage doesn't get them first).
It's surreal. Surreal to the point where my boots now smell like rotting fish, we had 6 people in a Mitsubishi Carisma and we drove around the random collection of shacks while people tried to kill us with their cars. Hotel 1 was... well, a shithole, Hotel 2 was occupied by some Hungarians that got there before us, so now we're in Hotel 3, which is *cough* a 4* hotel (read: 1.75 on a good day)... It does have bright points - it's within a swift dash to the embassy compound and a short drive to the French Embassy fort, it has hot running water and sheets that were washed this side of the birth of Jesus, and, most importantly, it smells like bleach! That would normally be suboptimal, but out here, it is the sweet smell of disinfection. (I also have a spare bottle of bleach with me, just in case they run out BTW.)
In short (stretching the Star Wars analogy), it's a super sized Mos Eisley, to the point where all it's missing is the Mos Eisley Cantina. I have high hopes of finding it tomorrow, and by god, I will shoot first too. The city is basically an extension of the No Mans Land... Or at least that's my impression. I can't make any sense of how things work here, and laws and regulations seem to be "do what ever the f*ck you want".
So, tomorrow, we go with the the taxi driver/policeman around to see of there are any souvenirs worth looking at, and then we will go back and barricade ourselves in the room until it's time to leave this shi*ho...sorry, magnificent country that would probably do best if it asks France (if needed, on their knees) if they pretty please with sand on top would accept them back as an overseas Protectorate, and assign the Foreign Legion to just shoot the hell out of a large chunk of the population.
Following the current bright example of Mali, that might not be a bad idea, to be honest. It can't be worse. If France says no, ask Italy. hell, beg Greece. Turkey. Kosovo.
ANYONE.
Wait until you see the pictures.
Hi, been following the blog and its been quite interesting, however I think you are missing the point of the experience you are having. We did the B2B last year (loved it) and my views of Mauritania were quite different. Relax and enjoy what's around you - if 4* hotels are your choice then you're on the wrong trip.
ReplyDeleteAnyway - keep up the blog, fun to read.
On the spot, Jeff! I've been itching to say those very same words. D probably thought it's actually an all-you-can spend Oslo-Stockholm race where you also need to visit all the golf courses, spa resorts and 5 star hotels on the way.
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