The river road from Canjufa eventually deposited us on what would be a not-too-well maintained country road (A motorway for local interpretations) which lead to Bissau. One of the teams in front of us had some donations left, but after the experiences of the night before, their way of donating them was:
1) Park on opposite side of road from village.
2) Run to the back of the car, get donation bag.
3) Run across road to deposit bag.
4) Run back to car before the fight starts.
5) Drive away as quickly as possible.
It was both incredibly sad and horrifyingly fascinating. There might be a video of it somewhere, we'll see.
From there on, we had spectacular scenery, friendly people (a total opposite of the day before), and a reasonable traveling speed that got us to the point about 30km from Bissau where the convoy to enter the city was forming.
Only, see, we didn't want to go into Bissau - it's carnival season, and we were told that the city shuts down for the carnival at 3pm - until next Wednesday. With us having to be in Dakar by 11th in the am, we didn't much fancy being stuck there, as we had 600km and the Bissau-Senegal, Senegal-Gambia and Gambia-Senegal borders before us. But, we weren't allowed to turn around.
Huh. Okay.
With me not taking "have to go to Bissau" for an answer, I got escorted to the local Chief of Police, with whom I had a lovely conversation in... Czech. He studied in Prague back in the bad old days.
"You have to go that way, but turn around at the next roundabout and come back" was the final outcome of the chat, and having done that, we reached the Guinea-Bissau/Senegal border in about two hours. (About 12.30 local time).
It all went downhill from there. We shall pick up from this point in time in the next post.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
The wrong turn
Friday, 8th Feb
I realized I'm actually further along than I thought - we covered the "Highway to hell" and the nature park stops from Tamba, which means it's now time to address the crossing into Banana Republic, excuse me, Guinea Bissau - and the local rendition of the Hunger Games (if you didn't read the books, go see the movie).
Leaving Tambacounda on a reasonable road to start with (and a "not too bad a road by African standards" road just before the border), we came to the Senegal Guinea Bissau border, where the little verm... damn it, adorable little darlings, whose only words of French are "Petit Cadeau" (*Little Gift, normally a pen or small flashlight/box of cigarettes, but can go up to your watch/shoes/car), were out in force. The one, and only one Gendarme manning the exit point spoke magnificent American (as we're moving to the UK, I am no longer allowed to call it English), and we got past his Cadeaux requirements - though he was nice enough he'd get one anyway - with a flashlight.
(Movie note: Cue fast, terror inducing music, like the one just before the zombies attack)
Guinea Bissau.
We first started thinking that it might be an issue when the biggest "Maman" I have seen so far was sitting in the "Police" shack with an "El Paso, Texas PD" hat was shouting at the top of her lungs "Cadeau, cadeau, cadeau" every 30 seconds. She took down the car details, one of her cronies copied the information from the passports into a book, and crony 3 checked the passport - and did't return it until he got a gift. One of the guys had to give him the sun glasses he was wearing, because, that seems to be the going tax rate for entering Guinea Bissau this week. A quick stop at the other shack, and 5000 CFA later you had an import permit for Q1 2013 done (this will be relevant later).
So, in about 2h on average, we were on the way to the village of Canjufa over what can be best described as a dry riverbed that someone decided to call a road, because that's just the kind of twisted person he is. The feral children lining bits of the "road" next to their villages tried to jump under the car to make you stop, swarmed at every opportunity, threw rocks if you didn't stop, and pounded on the windows. It was wonderful, and if I ever meet the whitey who first started giving out gifts for no apparent reason in Africa, he's not going to have a good time.
So, Canjufa. Where we offloaded the donations we brought onto the waiting pick-up truck, guarded by boys with sticks in orange shirts. And a goodly pile of donations it was. The fact that it had to be guarded should have gotten my alarm bells ringing.
Apparently, the pile was found lacking. Things started disappearing from camp. Then a scuffle broke out when one of the bags fell off of a pickup truck. A few folks started demanding that we share dinner (uhhh, David doesn't share his food), give them more gifts / our watches / shoes, etc. - in short, it wasn't pleasant. We locked up the car and crawled into the tent with Hungarian pop music as the lullaby - for the Hungarians: Hungo techno pop, accompanied on the drums live by Pako Fekete.
Yeah. ;)
And that was just the evening. As we were packing up the next morning, more things vanished (none of our stuff), and the Hunger Games-like fights over the empty plastic bottles started. They only got worse as some of the teams that came in late tried to give out their donations on their own, and one of the Slovenian teams that was leaving among the last had to stand guard over their camping kit with a machete while they were packing up.
In short, the rally should give Canjufa a wide berth next year. Like about a country away.
I realized I'm actually further along than I thought - we covered the "Highway to hell" and the nature park stops from Tamba, which means it's now time to address the crossing into Banana Republic, excuse me, Guinea Bissau - and the local rendition of the Hunger Games (if you didn't read the books, go see the movie).
Leaving Tambacounda on a reasonable road to start with (and a "not too bad a road by African standards" road just before the border), we came to the Senegal Guinea Bissau border, where the little verm... damn it, adorable little darlings, whose only words of French are "Petit Cadeau" (*Little Gift, normally a pen or small flashlight/box of cigarettes, but can go up to your watch/shoes/car), were out in force. The one, and only one Gendarme manning the exit point spoke magnificent American (as we're moving to the UK, I am no longer allowed to call it English), and we got past his Cadeaux requirements - though he was nice enough he'd get one anyway - with a flashlight.
(Movie note: Cue fast, terror inducing music, like the one just before the zombies attack)
Guinea Bissau.
We first started thinking that it might be an issue when the biggest "Maman" I have seen so far was sitting in the "Police" shack with an "El Paso, Texas PD" hat was shouting at the top of her lungs "Cadeau, cadeau, cadeau" every 30 seconds. She took down the car details, one of her cronies copied the information from the passports into a book, and crony 3 checked the passport - and did't return it until he got a gift. One of the guys had to give him the sun glasses he was wearing, because, that seems to be the going tax rate for entering Guinea Bissau this week. A quick stop at the other shack, and 5000 CFA later you had an import permit for Q1 2013 done (this will be relevant later).
So, in about 2h on average, we were on the way to the village of Canjufa over what can be best described as a dry riverbed that someone decided to call a road, because that's just the kind of twisted person he is. The feral children lining bits of the "road" next to their villages tried to jump under the car to make you stop, swarmed at every opportunity, threw rocks if you didn't stop, and pounded on the windows. It was wonderful, and if I ever meet the whitey who first started giving out gifts for no apparent reason in Africa, he's not going to have a good time.
So, Canjufa. Where we offloaded the donations we brought onto the waiting pick-up truck, guarded by boys with sticks in orange shirts. And a goodly pile of donations it was. The fact that it had to be guarded should have gotten my alarm bells ringing.
Apparently, the pile was found lacking. Things started disappearing from camp. Then a scuffle broke out when one of the bags fell off of a pickup truck. A few folks started demanding that we share dinner (uhhh, David doesn't share his food), give them more gifts / our watches / shoes, etc. - in short, it wasn't pleasant. We locked up the car and crawled into the tent with Hungarian pop music as the lullaby - for the Hungarians: Hungo techno pop, accompanied on the drums live by Pako Fekete.
Yeah. ;)
And that was just the evening. As we were packing up the next morning, more things vanished (none of our stuff), and the Hunger Games-like fights over the empty plastic bottles started. They only got worse as some of the teams that came in late tried to give out their donations on their own, and one of the Slovenian teams that was leaving among the last had to stand guard over their camping kit with a machete while they were packing up.
In short, the rally should give Canjufa a wide berth next year. Like about a country away.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Hello again!
Quick update - with day-by-day ones to come later:
1) We, Landy 2 and Landy 1 are out of Guinea Bissau and in Dakar, arranging to get the cars shipped,
2) As of this morning, about 50 cars are still impounded and under military guard in Bissau for failure to pay some half-invented quasi-tax no one ever even heard of until the 9th of February - and we have no idea if the convoy back was allowed to leave,
3) We spent a day on an empty border (where we caused a medium-sized international incident), spent the night in some Gendarmes back yard at the same border after going through a mine field, spent another night in "The Vomit boat", aka the Ziguinchor to Dakar ferry, and were spectators in what can only be the West African version of the "Hunger games", which is, let me tell you, no fun at all.
So, watch this space for the next chapter in the exciting saga of "The Budapest Bamako rally by two people who should really stick to 5* hotels that are NOT in West Africa", to be titled "The Road to Hell", which shall then be followed by "Rhinos, Monkeys and Cocks", then by "Did I take a wrong turn by the Baobab and entered the Hunger Games", and also "Border of infinity, or how I spent 1000 EUR on calling my government", "Deliverance and the Boat that Rocked" and finally, "OH-MY-GOD-WE'RE-IN-DAKAR-THANK-YOU-JESUS-BUDDHA-AND-ALLAH".
At least one of those should be up later today. I think. If I manage to repack the car fast enough. ;)
1) We, Landy 2 and Landy 1 are out of Guinea Bissau and in Dakar, arranging to get the cars shipped,
2) As of this morning, about 50 cars are still impounded and under military guard in Bissau for failure to pay some half-invented quasi-tax no one ever even heard of until the 9th of February - and we have no idea if the convoy back was allowed to leave,
3) We spent a day on an empty border (where we caused a medium-sized international incident), spent the night in some Gendarmes back yard at the same border after going through a mine field, spent another night in "The Vomit boat", aka the Ziguinchor to Dakar ferry, and were spectators in what can only be the West African version of the "Hunger games", which is, let me tell you, no fun at all.
So, watch this space for the next chapter in the exciting saga of "The Budapest Bamako rally by two people who should really stick to 5* hotels that are NOT in West Africa", to be titled "The Road to Hell", which shall then be followed by "Rhinos, Monkeys and Cocks", then by "Did I take a wrong turn by the Baobab and entered the Hunger Games", and also "Border of infinity, or how I spent 1000 EUR on calling my government", "Deliverance and the Boat that Rocked" and finally, "OH-MY-GOD-WE'RE-IN-DAKAR-THANK-YOU-JESUS-BUDDHA-AND-ALLAH".
At least one of those should be up later today. I think. If I manage to repack the car fast enough. ;)
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Internet again!
Dear reader.
As you left the protagonists of this story, we had just entered Senegal over what I can only hope is the worst border crossing in the world. First, you wait for hours to do the Mauritanian paperwork, then you wait for the ferry (FERRY! What's wrong with bridges!!!), and then... then you get caught in the space with no time (especially if you're the guy sorting the car import papers) - but that appears to be most of Senegal.
Having gotten out (we left Nouakchott at 8am, and arrived at Richard Toll at 9pm, having hit the border at 12.30 :S) of Richard Toll yesterday, we entered Senegal. Which is - amazing. It's pretty, it's friendly and it's a generaly nice place to be in.
If they would only spend ever so slightly less money on Mosques, and put some of that into roads, THEN it would be incredible. I refer specifically to the "N1" Motorway (if you're looking at a map, that's the one from the Mauritanian border down to Mali) - and I use motorway in the broadest possible sense, meaning: road on which motor vehicles may travel.
Of course, goats, cows, locals on top of trucks, donkey carts and assorted other modes of transport may use it as well, at any time, without any indication. But that's OK, we're in Africa. The only slight problem is that... well, the first 30cm deep and 2m wide pothole you see, you go "meh, so what". The second one gets you worried, and by the 192nd, you just don't care anymore. Average movnig speed according to the GPS? 45.2kph. It gave us plenty of time to see the country, and enjoy a night on the savannah though - we didn't dare drive after 7pm anymore. If we'd have missed a cavern, sorry, hole... ouch. So, we spent a night surrounded by cows and goats, in the car. We weren't... happy with the defensibility of the tent, just in case a wild stampede suddenly occurred! ;)
After a reasonable (for Economy class airplane levels of reasonable) nap, we started off at 7.30 in the direction of Tambacunda, and about 50km on from our overnight camp... The Heavens opened up and a proper tarmac road with only the occasional deviation and pothole appeared. It was... magnificent. Baobab trees everywhere, the savannah as far as the eye could see... It's a pretty place.
Having decided not to go to the official camp tonight (along with about 50% of the other teams), what we did instead is go to the national park and took a little ride on the river Gambia - and let me tell you, Hippos are huge scary ba*tards.
Tonight, Tambacunda. Tomorrow, the last village for donations (though we plan to find a random place on the road and give them some of our stuff as well), the evening party - and then, Bissau, where we stay for one night before turning around and going up to Dakar.
You see, I just can't take 9000 more kilometers, so the car is going for a cruise on the 15th (arriving in Genoa, 10th March or so), and we are flying home!
More to come.
P.S.: If I don't manage to do it here - anyone know if there's anywhere in Budapest where I could exchange Moroccan Dhirams and Mauritanian Puffins (real name unpronounceable) for a more generally accepted currency?
P.P.S.: This is what the Senegalese roads do to you - TeamMalta had a major "sudden cessation of forward movement" - they're mostly OK, scrapes, bruises and a broken arm, but... Well, see for yourself:
As you left the protagonists of this story, we had just entered Senegal over what I can only hope is the worst border crossing in the world. First, you wait for hours to do the Mauritanian paperwork, then you wait for the ferry (FERRY! What's wrong with bridges!!!), and then... then you get caught in the space with no time (especially if you're the guy sorting the car import papers) - but that appears to be most of Senegal.
Having gotten out (we left Nouakchott at 8am, and arrived at Richard Toll at 9pm, having hit the border at 12.30 :S) of Richard Toll yesterday, we entered Senegal. Which is - amazing. It's pretty, it's friendly and it's a generaly nice place to be in.
If they would only spend ever so slightly less money on Mosques, and put some of that into roads, THEN it would be incredible. I refer specifically to the "N1" Motorway (if you're looking at a map, that's the one from the Mauritanian border down to Mali) - and I use motorway in the broadest possible sense, meaning: road on which motor vehicles may travel.
Of course, goats, cows, locals on top of trucks, donkey carts and assorted other modes of transport may use it as well, at any time, without any indication. But that's OK, we're in Africa. The only slight problem is that... well, the first 30cm deep and 2m wide pothole you see, you go "meh, so what". The second one gets you worried, and by the 192nd, you just don't care anymore. Average movnig speed according to the GPS? 45.2kph. It gave us plenty of time to see the country, and enjoy a night on the savannah though - we didn't dare drive after 7pm anymore. If we'd have missed a cavern, sorry, hole... ouch. So, we spent a night surrounded by cows and goats, in the car. We weren't... happy with the defensibility of the tent, just in case a wild stampede suddenly occurred! ;)
After a reasonable (for Economy class airplane levels of reasonable) nap, we started off at 7.30 in the direction of Tambacunda, and about 50km on from our overnight camp... The Heavens opened up and a proper tarmac road with only the occasional deviation and pothole appeared. It was... magnificent. Baobab trees everywhere, the savannah as far as the eye could see... It's a pretty place.
Having decided not to go to the official camp tonight (along with about 50% of the other teams), what we did instead is go to the national park and took a little ride on the river Gambia - and let me tell you, Hippos are huge scary ba*tards.
Tonight, Tambacunda. Tomorrow, the last village for donations (though we plan to find a random place on the road and give them some of our stuff as well), the evening party - and then, Bissau, where we stay for one night before turning around and going up to Dakar.
You see, I just can't take 9000 more kilometers, so the car is going for a cruise on the 15th (arriving in Genoa, 10th March or so), and we are flying home!
More to come.
P.S.: If I don't manage to do it here - anyone know if there's anywhere in Budapest where I could exchange Moroccan Dhirams and Mauritanian Puffins (real name unpronounceable) for a more generally accepted currency?
P.P.S.: This is what the Senegalese roads do to you - TeamMalta had a major "sudden cessation of forward movement" - they're mostly OK, scrapes, bruises and a broken arm, but... Well, see for yourself:
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Senegal time!
Senegaaaaal!
Oh. My. God.
Can I go BACK to the Morocco-Mauritanian border? I knew Rosso crossing between Mauritania and Senegal was a problem, but, 8 hours? Really?
On the bright side, we did get a return visa to Mauritania for 60 EUR (Andrew G. Szabo, I expect a refund, BTW), took 4 hours to get to the Senegal side, and then... Then confusion broke out. The car wasn't on the list, the Vermin were out in force, and the customs officers last gave a damn around the time Mohammad (PBUH) walked the earth. It was, if that's possible, even more surreal that the No Mans Land.
So, we're now in Richard Toll, Senegal, just had a nice dinner and are about to enjoy a bed in a mosquito-infested hotel - but at least there are showers :) More to come. Be nice.
And they have beer. Finally.
Oh. My. God.
Can I go BACK to the Morocco-Mauritanian border? I knew Rosso crossing between Mauritania and Senegal was a problem, but, 8 hours? Really?
On the bright side, we did get a return visa to Mauritania for 60 EUR (Andrew G. Szabo, I expect a refund, BTW), took 4 hours to get to the Senegal side, and then... Then confusion broke out. The car wasn't on the list, the Vermin were out in force, and the customs officers last gave a damn around the time Mohammad (PBUH) walked the earth. It was, if that's possible, even more surreal that the No Mans Land.
So, we're now in Richard Toll, Senegal, just had a nice dinner and are about to enjoy a bed in a mosquito-infested hotel - but at least there are showers :) More to come. Be nice.
And they have beer. Finally.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Monday
So, while I ranted about the city yesterday, that didn't stop us from taking our driver/bodyguard out today for a trip around town to try an buy some souvenirs. Needless to say, we found a painting we liked in the 2nd shop, and then promptly requested an extraction from the location, due to the fact that the entire street picked up on the fact that some tourists were in town.
Then, we went off in search of the Mos Eisley Cantine, and I am happy to say we found it, and are going there for dinner. We shall of course provide photos once we're out of the country.
Tomorrow, the whole caravan has only one mission - get into Senegal. We (and a few others) have an extra set of hiccups though - we need a return visa to Mauritania (the one that is "taken care of"), and to figure a way around Senegalese customs that will allow us to "temporarily import" a car older than 5 years.
Having seen some of the death traps that drive around here, I kind of understand where that requirement came from. I hope that the whole "Oh, it's a white man" thing that served us well this far will continue to work :)
Ah well, nap time. It's great having a day where you can just sit (well, lie) back and do nothing.
Then, we went off in search of the Mos Eisley Cantine, and I am happy to say we found it, and are going there for dinner. We shall of course provide photos once we're out of the country.
Tomorrow, the whole caravan has only one mission - get into Senegal. We (and a few others) have an extra set of hiccups though - we need a return visa to Mauritania (the one that is "taken care of"), and to figure a way around Senegalese customs that will allow us to "temporarily import" a car older than 5 years.
Having seen some of the death traps that drive around here, I kind of understand where that requirement came from. I hope that the whole "Oh, it's a white man" thing that served us well this far will continue to work :)
Ah well, nap time. It's great having a day where you can just sit (well, lie) back and do nothing.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Shabbath + Day of the Lord:
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.
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