tough day one

We headed out of Nouakchott after breakfast expecting some respite from sand and wind.  Sadly, the Sahara wasn't quite finished with us yet.  Our road surface was mostly potholed bitumen, but the ever present pastel-orange Saharan sand was washing across the road and at times almost obliterating the road entirely.  We had badly underestimated both fuel and water requirements, with two of us ending up quite dizzy and dehydrated, and decided to backtrack at one stage to ensure that we were carrying sufficient of both. 

James has recently completed an advanced off-road riding course in Wales with one of the Dakar riders, but will be asking for his money back when he returns to France. He had hoped that this extra training would have prevented the three tumbles that he took today.  All at relatively low speed and in heavy sand, so nothing injured except pride and a few bent components.  

Speaking of 'bent'; the Mauritanian border officials take top prize for the most avaricious that we have yet encountered.  The Mauri-Senegal border crossing required saintly patience and deep pockets to navigate successfully.   Matters were not helped by our bikes overstaying their welcome by twelve months in the country.  Eventually, money was passed, handshakes all round, and we were on our way.  

The environment changes almost immediately in Senegal, with darker skins and much more wildlife.  It feels like the 'real' Africa, with warthog families darting across the unsealed road and wide wetlands bordering either side of the road.  People are also markedly different in Senegal.  Many Mauritanians had warned us about the Senegalese, claiming that they were robbers and dangerous. So far, precisely the opposite seems to be true and the Senegalese that we have met being generally friendly and approachable.  We have settled into a hotel in St Louis for the night, with drinks on James this evening as recompense for today's handlebar gymnastics.  

Dakar tomorrow ...

welcome to Mauri

Last night’s flight from Casablanca creaked and rattled its was south before depositing us at Nouakchott, the world’s sandiest capital city.

We knew we had truly arrived in West Africa, as officialdom welcomed us with open arms.  A change of government policy required the purchase of a visa-on-arrival.  When the rest of the ECOWAS community is relinquishing visas to stimulate the tourism economy, Mauritania has elected to impose a 120 euro tax on all arrivals, payable in euros, and with no cash machine in the immigration area.  Ty had a luckier run initially, sailing through the immigration process with just a cursory inspection of his documents and no demand for a visa at all.

Having paid for visas using James’ cache of euros, we were then asked for our hotel address in Mauritania.  Explaining that we did not have one and would be transiting to Senegal was to no avail, and the immigration guard point blank refused to process our entry into Senegal. 

Whilst this argument was ensuing amidst pushing and shoving from others in the queue, a little chap appeared at our elbows to inform us that one of our bags had failed to arrive on the plane – the one carrying all of our repairs and spare parts.

We finally resolved the hotel issue by simply locating last year’s hotel name and quoting this to the immigration official, who responded by producing the magic stamp.  Wandering through into the main hall, we were also magically reunited with the missing bag that had apparently fallen off the conveyer belt and landed in an obscure corner of the terminal.

Ty in the meantime had been informed by one of the baggage chaps that the immigration official had incorrectly processed his application sans visa, mistaking last year’s Mauri visa for current.  Whilst this seemed like a 120 euro win, in reality it just represented future hassles at the Mauri/Senegal border and an excuse for harassment by every official asking for papers enroute.  Result: Ty has to go back through the entire cycle again. 

Our Mauri contact from the shipping yard was still waiting patiently on the other side of this debacle.   Who waits for 3 hours until 2am in the morning, and then still greets you with a big smile?  After throwing bags in the back, his truck rattled pleasantly through deserted streets to Hotel Halima where we were asleep within minutes of arrival.

uncrated and ready for repairs

AGS were as good as their word, and our motorcycles have been stored clean and dry inside specially made wooden crates.   A couple of willing yard workers had the crates disassembled in minutes.  

The bikes have fared reasonably well after a year in storage, with only minor niggles to address.  A flat tyre on James' bike and several flat batteries were quick fixes before we followed the AGS guy back to the hotel. 

It's 40+ degrees in the shade today, so the group is facing a hot and sweaty afternoon in the workshop conducting the major repairs on Ty and Gary's bike in order to depart tomorrow. 

a few hours to kill in Casablanca

An early arrival in Casablanca left us with five hours to kill before our connecting flight to Nouakchott. With the airport offering little amenity, we decided to taxi into the Old Medina for some Moroccan coffee.  A little bit of haggling reduced the return fare from 700 dirhams down to 400 and we set off with our new friend Luis. 

What Luis lacked in teeth, he more than made up for in enthusiasm.  A running tourist commentary was maintained, even as he wove maniacally through the traffic.  I'm sure he didn't really understand the question when I asked him how many pedestrians he killed each day, because his deadpan answer was "35". 

The Old Medina had not changed much since our last visit, but this is hardly surprising given that it has existed for more than a thousand years.   The rabbit warren of twisting old lanes are a quiet respite from the oily traffic, broken only by occasional men offering a friendly salaam in greeting.  

who moved Dubai?

It appears that rumours of Gary's competence may have been greatly exaggerated.  On arrival at Qatar's gleaming new international airport, Gary said to us "Well, it's good to be back..."

This was an interesting statement, because we've been travelling with Gary for the past two decades, and we were pretty sure that Gary had never visited Doha before.  

A little more enquiry had Gary insisting that we were currently in Dubai, the capital of United Arab Emirates.  

Quick reference to boarding passes soon set him straight, and he is now clear that we are departing shortly from Doha to Tasmania.  

why Africa?

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