12/06/2023 Bikepacking Mauritania Day 120 : Nouhadhibou Exploring.

Today I decided to prepare for the Iron Ore train from Nouadhibou to Choum. There are only 3 long paved roads in Mauritania, so I plan to take this train due East so I can then begin riding South again - on one of the other roads. I made a map of the 3 possible roads and labeled them A, B, and C. Route A is the more commonly used route by cyclists. I imagine “A” would be straightforward? Route B is used by cyclists who are willing to tolerate the train (more on that in a bit). Route C, I can find NO evidence of anyone cycling. There is at least a 200 mile stretch of no civilization along this route…. But maybe I’ll find discarded water bottles? Anyway, it is “supposed” to be paved (but partly covered with sand). At the border yesterday each agent asked my itinerary, and said that this plan is impossible. But, giving me hope is the fact that I have communicated with some people on Facebook two of whom said they drove it in the last two months. I may have to push through some sand, but they didn’t make it sound like much. Fingers crossed. This route appeals to me because it has more topography, and I am interested in seeing some of the places in the middle of the country. If it doesn’t work out, I can always turn back and do route B.

Anyway, about the train: it’s designed for carrying iron ore from the heart of Mauritania out to the shipping port where I am now. It is not designed for travelers in any way, BUT, they let you ride on top for free. You can go 300 or even 400 miles into the desert if you can endure sitting on iron ore (in the opposite direction of me) or inside the empty carriage (like I plan to do on the train’s return trip to the mine). There is no real schedule, so it has the potential to be a long day of waiting and discomfort. It is supposed to be extremely dirty, sandy, windy… so I went to buy some throw-away clothes. I need to get a blanket still - because it gets really cold at night. A number of people have done this as tourists, and there are at least a couple dozen YouTube videos about “hitching a ride on the most dangerous train in the world”. In almost all cases, they make it sound like a grueling trip. My only hope is that they are exaggerating the strife - like the thing about the “no man’s land” that I went through yesterday. Maybe I have a higher tolerance for dirt and dust being a cyclist? We will see. I don’t really want to do it, but I DO want to go to Atar and the surrounding area. There is a single passenger car on some trains. Someone sent me a photo of the lone toilet in the passenger car where they cram in dozens of people who sleep on top of each other.. I think sitting inside the dirty bin for 13 hours sounds better.

Every day in Morocco, I woke excited about the day, and I was happy 10 percent of the time, and extremely happy the other 90 percent. Today upon waking, I had a bit of that new energy, and decided to go face the city again. I washed my clothes, went to town and after visiting 5 stationary stores, managed to get some new binder clips (for hanging clothes). I had lost two in the sand at camp the other day.

Next job was to get money. I went to ATM after ATM… most had been sand blasted (and thus blank screens). But some were working and accepted my card - but did not dispense money. I was getting a little desperate, as you might imagine, so when I saw a “Guichet automatique” (ATM) sign - but no ATM, I looked inside the accompanying bank. I told the guy what I was looking for, and he handed me off to another guy. I kept getting passed off until someone took me down corridors to a cluttered and dim fluorescent-lit back room. There was a man dressed like he was some president from the UN sitting behind a desk with little flags on it. The rest of the room, people were slouching on cardboard boxes. A tray of tea was coming out with foamy sugar bubbles in each little cup. The men took their glasses, and one of them offered a glass to me.

“Um… is there an ATM here?” I asked in French. The president guy pointed to his left and said a bunch. Since I was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to go explore more corridors to his left, I said thanks and went outside, assuming he meant left: Down the street.

In general, people here have been nice enough; I think that coming from Morocco, it is a more dramatic change than if I had come from Spain or US where people are more reserved. I did meet a guy named Mamoudou at a street corner. For some reason, he had a good vibe, and best of all - he spoke Spanish… well! This meant we could have a meaningful conversation. He told me he was actually from Senegal (making me have hope for the next country). He explained that he was “working” on this street corner for his kid. As we talked, people came by and stuffed small coins in his hand. He was fully engaged in our conversation, meaning that the people passing by were grabbing his hand, putting in small amounts of money, and walking away. I guess they knew him? He didn’t ask me for money, but we ended up talking about diabetes. His arm had been amputated; he revealed the stub. I asked him if he was type 1 or 2. He said that he didn’t know. He doesn’t take insulin - so I pronounced him type 2. I showed him my meter and he says he wants to get one. I don’t usually give people money on the street, but when I got the $80 USD excess donations for the puppies, I decided to tabulate the overage in my spending sheet and distribute it judiciously amongst people I like and feel need/deserve help. He very much appreciated the small gift. For sure this is a drop in the bucket, but I thought I’d let you know where the funds are going. Honestly, I would have preferred to buy him a glucose meter or food than hand over cash. Unlike giving in the US, though, I think it is a safe bet that he won’t be buying something self-destructive like alcohol. We exchanged WhatsApp numbers and tonight he made the effort to send me a voice message saying thanks. Good guy!

Next job was to buy clothes. I found a used clothing seller and asked about the prices. It is tricky here because the currency got revalued in 2018 due to massive inflation. They basically removed a zero. So, i got a bunch of 500 Ouguiya notes at the ATM. Each 500 is worth about $13.75 USD. The problem is, many places you go, they quote prices in the old currency. So, the guy told me 1500 for a used T-shirt. That’s like $40! Just to be clear, I showed him some money and he said that 150 (minus one zero) is ok. You gotta make sure, though! My hotel is quoted in the new currency at 1200 (so the tshirt would have been more than a hotel room). He had to go down the street with my 500 Ouguiya bill to get change. He finally came back, and as is often the procedure here, you are handed a single bill for change. Nowhere near the amount of change you’re expecting. A long-feeling wait ensues (with my hand still out). Then another bill is added to the pile. We wait again. I look at him with my hand out. Eventually, another bill. Then a coin. Now I have my change. But as an experiment, i linger. He starts to put another bill in my hand. Before I can smile and refuse it, he snaps it back. Was he trying to cheat me, or just reaaaaaaly slow at math? Maybe he was slow at math, because I lingered in front of the store to record my spending, and his kid came out to say, “Bonjour”. Then he came out to talk to my phone app “May God bless you again (in Arabic)”.

I went to find the train station, but instead found a dirt lot where people were scraping the ground. Goats were meandering. Some people sat scraping stuff in front of little shanties. I saw two fit and sporty looking young men picking bits of rusted metal out of trash. I saw a guy peeing on another pile of trash. I saw a car run over a tire in the road - and it got stuck in front of his car as he pushed it along making a small burning rubber cloud. I went to snap a photo, and then he stopped. A guy from another car stopped too - and pulled the tire out for him. So, there is a smattering of humanity here too.

The day was a mixture of good and bad. It exhausted me talking to all these people, and by 1:30PM , I retreated to my room to eat my $3.00 US cans of tuna and try and figure out where this train station is.