12/05/2023 Bikepacking Mauritania Day 119 : The Pugilistic Private

“Quelle est votre nationalité?”

“Je suis américain; je viens des États-Unis,” I replied.

“États-Unis? Je ne comprends pas!” the soldier replied, starting to look aggressive. How could he not understand “United States?”

“États-Unis,” I said again. Saying I’m from the United States always worked in Morocco. Usually getting a big smile, a heart bump, a bro-hug, or at least a handshake with a “Welcome to Morocco.” Now I was getting physical contact, but the guy in fatigues was lightly punching me backwards - like he wanted to start a fight. He put is face 2 inches from mine. I could see the blackened roots of his teeth - he looked like a sick horse in there.

“États-Unis de quoi? Je ne comprends pas!” Now he really looked like he was going to fight me. How could he not understand what I was saying? Was I the first American to pass through here? He began to flail his arms around repeating “United States of what? I don’t understand!!”

Luckily, a younger guy in a headscarf came to my rescue. He put his hand on the shoulder of the angrily dancing soldier. They spoke in Arabic, but from the body language, I read him saying, “cool it man, give this guy a break!”

This gave me time to think about what was going on. Even though I understood his words, I’m still a little insecure in my French. Especially when a guy with charbroiled gums is looking to fight me. Then I remembered the joke from Latin America. “The United States” is the only country in the world without a name. America refers to the “Americas” (North America; South America). This bully really wanted to inculcate that point. With the help of the calm assistant, I managed to hand him one of my fiche cards and move past the barriers.

He forgot to say it, but: Welcome to Mauritania.

That didn’t even happen at the border; it occurred about 20 miles into one of the many security check points where I am handing out those little fiche cards I made in Morocco like a good little boy. A fiches is a copy of my itinerary, job title (Biologist), passport, entry and exit dates, etc.

The border crossing was fairly smooth. Stamping out of Morocco was a breeze with the typical patient and helpful people. After 33 days in Morocco, I felt I could do no wrong. No matter how stupid the question or how bad my language skills, people would always help. I have fear - even in my own country sometimes - of just walking up to a stranger to ask for help. In Morocco, the only fear in approaching someone is that you are going to probably get invited to your 5th tea of the day. If Janet and I are ever in Spain again, I will try and talk her into going to Morocco. One month is the minimum; 3 months wandering there would be good.

I had heard that there would be “fixers” swarming you on the Mauritanian border - people who (for a fee) will guide you through all the entry steps. As a result, I was a little tentative when people approached me, hustling me into this room and that… but in the end, each of these guys was official, and although there were many steps to entry, it went as professionally as it could have in the little rooms filled with non-smiling sweaty people, flies, and sand.

Notable issues were the thing attached to my eyeglasses - which they wanted to confiscate for being a camera - until they discovered it was a mirror. The other issue was my bicycle. He kept saying I needed some sort of permit, and I kept saying it was a “Un vélo; une bicyclette”. Just to make sure, he sent another guy outside to make sure it didn’t have a motor.

Unlike Morocco, which is free entry, Mauritania requires the purchase of a visa for €55, so about $2 per day if I stay the fully granted 30 days.

There is supposedly a 3 mile “no man’s land” in that disputed area right at the end of Morocco. People make a big deal of this section online. They show photos of blown up cars and detritus. They talk about the land mines flanking the route and say things like “I hope I can find the way across.” But the reality of it is that there is a road that trucks can drive; one mile is rocky and unpaved. They must have cleaned this place up, or the travelers were exaggerating, because it was not anywhere near as extreme as I had anticipated.

Getting money is the next project. I had a lot of Moroccan money and had a medium-fun time negotiating with the money changers. They weren’t as jovial as the ones in Latin America. But like Latin America, once you pause and start dealing with one changer, a few others come swarming. It is interesting, as they seem to be competing with each other (hey, this is MY guy!). The swarmers like to participate too, and if you start asking for a better rate, they pull out their calculators. Oddly, after a rate is agreed upon, the other guys in the circle will pitch in a few small bills that the main guy doesn’t have. They don’t seem to do an accounting of this either.

I was a little dismayed to find that GoogleFi doesn’t work in Mauritania (they promise it does). I let it try and connect for a while during my ride to see if it would activate - but it didn’t. This meant the adventure of buying a SIM card. I had a MOOV store on my map and went there. It was a little slot in between buildings - wide enough to accommodate a portly and enshrouded woman on a folding chair - and nothing else. Compared to the trash strewn road, it felt safe enough to enter; It seemed like they might have a card in there - there were 3 carelessly strewn across the cardboard “desk.” She couldn’t help and pointed behind me. The swaddled mad had already walked around the dead animal heads to solicit my business. He turned out to be pretty nice; I trusted him to sell me a black market SIM card. I couldn’t buy from the lady in the store because I don’t live here with a residence card. The black-market cards have pen marks all over them, are faded and scratched; I have no idea where they come from, but it did work unlike GoogleFi.

That is enough for now; I got what I need to give you a post!

After a brief and enjoyable lull, I think that Mauritania will at least be rich in stories. Hopefully good ones. Inshallah.