Mauritania. A country we hadn't even heard of just a year ago. But after a month of warm smiles, men in blue suits, women on donkey carts, iPhones in hand, traditional music, windswept desert landscapes, golden sunsets, raw and authentic living conditions, we have fallen completely in love with this desert country on the edge of the Sahara. It is not a country for the faint of heart, but for the adventurous who make an extra effort. In return, the reward is a thousandfold in experiences, surprises and warmth.
We were 4 cyclists waiting for the train in Nouadhibou. Gustavo from Mexico, Aymeric from Belgium, and the two of us from Denmark. Four souls who had all had the same idea: to ride deep into the Mauritanian desert, with the 2.5km long freight train, which transports 30-40,000 tons of iron ore from the mine in Zouérat to the port of Nouadhibou every day.
There is a daily departure at 2 pm, and we were there exactly on time, knowing full well that we could have to wait half a day or more. Because even though the train has a single passenger car, the priority is clearly the mining operation, and therefore the train runs when it suits them.
Before we were even ready to hop on the freight train, we had a few days to prepare ourselves in Mauritania's second largest city, Nouadhibou. The city is located close to the border with Western Sahara. It was a huge contrast for us to arrive here after almost 1,000km of cycling through the silent, desolate desert landscapes of Western Sahara, where the wind was our companion and we only spoke to people when there was a kiosk in a small town every now and then.
When we arrived in Nouadhibou, the noise from the car horns was infernal. On the other hand, there was no other electronics that worked on the battered old Mercedes. You couldn't count on indicators and brake lights. We soon discovered that the traffic was the Wild West, where whoever drives first wins the right of way. Often a donkey cart would swerve directly into our lane, from a side road, and we would have to slam on the brakes and pull the bike to the side, between garbage and goats, to avoid a collision. But it was fun and intense. Even Gustavo from Mexico City found it chaotic to navigate around between people and cattle and old cars.
In Nouadhibou we stayed at Villa Maguela. A lovely place a little outside the city, where especially the overlanders in their four-wheel drive vehicles like to stop by for a few days of relaxation.
We spent the time getting ready for the train ride, which we knew would be tough. About 12 hours in an empty freight car, under the open sky, with sand and iron dust flying everywhere, requires some “special equipment”.
The days at Villa Maguela were well spent, because a sandstorm was raging, so we couldn't cycle anywhere anyway. We checked the weather forecast and timed it to take the train on the penultimate day of the sandstorm. So it just so happened that when we were going to get on the bikes again, the weather would be better.
Tish who works at Villa Maguela had a box of discarded gear from others who had done the trip. So without having to go to the market ourselves, we were equipped with ski goggles, old discarded jackets, sleeping bags, blankets and sleeping mats. We looked like we were lying, but it would turn out to be crucial for a moderately successful train trip.
At 6pm, after only 4 hours of waiting, the rails started to sing, and the locals jumped off the tracks and got ready. So did we. A gigantic diesel locomotive pulled the endlessly long train towards us, and we could start loading our things. We teamed up with a couple of young backpackers to make a chain, and it didn't take long to lift the bikes aboard the iron container that would be our home for the night.
We managed to take a few pictures in the carriage before the diesel engines kicked into gear again and with impressive power and a proper jolt, got the 2.5km long train set in motion.
Smiles were wide as we rolled out of Nouadhibou as the sun set. We thought of the train tramps of old and had romantic ideas about the impending journey through the Sahara and the night.
Shortly after leaving the city, we were already in the desolate desert. We tried to take some pictures, but the sandstorm whipped sand into the camera and destroyed the shutter. The camera had to stay in its pocket for the rest of the trip. Just as well, because night fell quickly. With the night came the cold.
We laid down on our sleeping mat. Marie with a sleeping bag, Kenneth with a warm blanket. What we hadn't figured out was that when the sandstorm is raging, a blanket isn't worth much, because the wind blows right through. We ended up lying in a heap all night, trying to spread the sleeping bag over both of us, while having to shout through the wind and the noise of the train when we had to turn around. Our teeth chattered from the cold, while trying to get a reasonable position on the hard iron floor. The romantic thoughts about the trip were replaced by thoughts about how we should position ourselves so that we wouldn't be thrown head first off the iron wall if the train slowed down hard. Kenneth had been given some slightly worn ski goggles, where the sand whistled right into his eyes, so only at night did he take his scarf and put it inside the ski mask, so that he couldn't see a stick, but in return avoided sand in his eyes.
The first time the train stopped, we thought we were going to die. An ear-splitting sound, like a bullet train coming screaming towards us, announced that all the carriages in the long train were banging against each other and we barely managed to get ready for our own carriage to slam into the one in front with a huge bang, so that we lifted 10cm off the iron floor. It happened more than once that night. Let's just say that we didn't get much sleep, and were probably a bit sore when we got off the next morning, after a 13-hour train adventure and 490km through the desert, in the small village of Choum. We crawled out of our filthy clothes, brushed sand out of our hair, ears, bicycles and bags.
From here we were happy to continue on our beloved bicycles, which miraculously survived the wild night train journey in the sandstorm.
This is how our time in Mauritania started and it could hardly be more adventurous. From Choum we cycled to the small town of Atar. The landscape was already raw and beautiful, now that we were really in the Sahara. But even though we thought the Sahara was one big sandbox, it turned out that the desert is so much more than that. In fact, only 20% of the Sahara's area is covered by sand. And only 9% of actual sand dunes, like the ones we know from the classic Sahara pictures. On the other hand, the Sahara is the size of the USA, so those 20% of sand are still something.
Mauritania is only a small corner of the Sahara. Here from Atar, in the middle of the country, there was about 550km of asphalt road back to the coast. The same distance is to the border with Mali. But here there are practically no roads or cities, just desert.
While the temperature slowly approached 40 degrees during the day, and the sand gnawed at our bikes, destroyed our zippers and crunched between our teeth when we ate, Christmas Eve was also approaching. We agreed with Aymeric and Gustavo to spend Christmas together. In Atar we found Bab Sahara, another cozy place where the overlanders live, and we stayed here over Christmas. On Christmas Eve, the neighbor came dragging a goat into the square, between tents and parked four-wheel drive vehicles. He exchanged a few words with the owner Just, and we understood that the next time we saw the goat, it would be served on our Christmas plate.
Atar was a nice town to spend a few days in. Much smaller than Nouadhibou, but just as lively. We often went to the market to buy fruit and vegetables, as well as bread. Or to the town's sidewalk restaurant to get a quarter of a chicken with fries as a change from the simple food that we cyclists can cook on our stove. We also found camel milk for our oatmeal, and small deep-fried buns, which are a bit like apple slices. A really good and high-calorie snack. Otherwise, we have mostly lived on rice and canned sardines for dinner. There is not much fresh food on the shelves at the grocery store, as most of it is imported and has to be transported into the desert. Only 0.5% of Mauritania's area is cultivated as agriculture, which only covers about 30% of the need in a productive year.
It's always fun to browse around the city market. People are generally nice and welcoming and it takes a long time to buy a few things because many people want to say hello and talk. In that way, it's a good thing that we don't know French or Arabic, because then we would still be standing there talking.
On Christmas Day we split up with the other cyclists. We headed alone towards Chinguetti, a small village with small private libraries where ancient Arabic writings have been passed down and preserved for many generations.
The road there took us further into the Sahara, and we rode long stretches of unbearable washboards on the gravel road. At the same time, the bikes were loaded with a lot of water, because there are no towns before Chinguetti. Therefore, Kenneth was very happy to accept a liter of water from a nice driver who stopped.
“The water is from Nouakchott, the capital!”
He said with a big smile before driving on. That same evening Kenneth got stomach cramps and the third day of illness of the trip due to water was approaching.
The next day, we barely had the energy to see the beautiful old writings. We walked through the city, where all the roads are sand, so we couldn't cycle. An older man let us into the family library. With white gloves, he reverently took out one book after another and showed us interpretations of the Koran, mathematics, poetry, written by hand, on goatskin, hundreds of years ago. It was super beautiful and exciting. Even though the entire city almost revolves around this tourist attraction, it was worth it.
The rest of the day, Kenneth curled up in the fetal position at home in the small Auberge.
As Kenneth regained his strength, old longings came to the fore. Just as the train ride was one of the few things we knew about Mauritania from home, there was also something else that beckoned. Even further out along the bumpy, sandy, difficult gravel road lies Oudane. A village on the edge of the desert. In Oudane the road stops, and you can't go any further. Unless you have a four-wheel drive and know how to navigate the desert sand. 50km outside Oudane lies the Richat Structure. A geological phenomenon so large that it was only discovered when it was photographed from space. It looks like a gigantic meteor crater, 40km in diameter. But in reality it is a kind of volcanic explosion, where the entire earth's crust has lifted, and finally the 'plug' has been blown off, which has landed again and closed the volcano. One would think so. The fact is that no one knows exactly what happened 100 million years ago when the Richat Structure was formed. What we do know is that it was one of the first to be included in the list of the 100 most amazing geological phenomena on Earth. A list that can best be compared to the UNESCO World Heritage List.
Oudane itself, the small village, is also included on the UNESCO World Heritage List, due to their beautifully restored ksar, which is the old town. The town was one of the important hubs for the camel caravans that traveled through the Sahara in the old days, carrying goods between north and south. We had a great guided tour of the old ksar.
But our hearts burned to see the Richat Structure.
After the grueling bike ride, 2 more days on the sand road to Oudane, we stayed with Zaida. She is a woman with a big smile and a bone in her nose. We immediately felt comfortable in her company and asked her for advice on arranging a guided trip into the desert to see Richat. Over a cup of tea we negotiated a price with her and waited for the guide with the four-wheel drive. When the tea was finished, Zaida asked if we were ready. We said yes. And then Zaida jumped into her own car and waved us in. We hadn't realized that it was she herself who was in charge of the trip. But we couldn't have wished for a better guide and driver. With Mauritanian music on the radio and Zaida behind the wheel, we milled through the desert sand at full speed and low tire pressure. It clearly takes good driving skills to read the desert landscape, handle the four-wheel drive, adjust the speed and avoid getting stuck in the deep soft sand. Zaida mastered it all to perfection, while smiling broadly and singing along to the beautiful songs on the radio. We could hardly contain ourselves with sheer excitement. The drive alone into the desert, a place we could not possibly cycle, was a huge experience.
After an hour's drive we stopped and could now see the first outlines of the gigantic Richat. When you stand on land, it is difficult to understand the scale. You see a 40m high hill of sand and stone, but you cannot see that the outermost ring is curved. We drove through the outermost ring, and could now sense that the next ring, which is smaller in diameter, was curved. We drove over it, and from the top we could see the third and final ring. In the center of the entire gigantic structure, we drove up to the top and parked the car. We got out into the beautiful evening light and a completely enchanting view. It was a completely unreal feeling to stand right here in the center of such a special place without being able to fully understand what exactly had happened. All around us were huge stones, which upon closer inspection were lumps of smaller stones that had been pressed together. You can hardly imagine the forces needed to press stones together into a mass that most of all resembled nougat.
A truly magical place – BUT, you have to google the place to see a satellite photo. Otherwise it is impossible to understand the grandeur!!!
On the way back through the desert, Zaida made a final stop at a large sand dune, where we could take some photos in the sun's last golden light, while she brewed evening tea over a fire in the desert sand. A beautiful end to a truly fantastic experience.
Most people cycle back to the capital Nouakchott via Atar, with a tailwind on asphalt. But we had seen the chance to spend even longer in the desert, by riding towards Tidjikja in southern Mauritania. A rather desolate route with lots of desert wind.
There are quite a few villages along the way. Two of the most charming and memorable are M'hareth and the small oasis Terjit. It is places like this that we must remember to close our eyes, try to forget that what we see has already become everyday life for us, and then open our eyes again.
Children play in the sandy main street, among goats and chickens. Huts built in palm branches. Tiny houses built in clay. A donkey cart with a young boy beating the donkey with a stick while he drives large chunks of raw meat down to the sales stall. An oasis with running water and shade from the palm crowns, in the middle of the dry desert.
But also the modern contrasts, where young people have mobile phones and cannot detach themselves from TikTok.
About 10-15 families live in Terjit. It's completely quiet here. There are no modern machines that make noise. The cars are parked on the outskirts of the city.
M'hareth is located by a dried-up river, where boys play football in their bare feet. We stay in a hut with Ahmedkori, who treats us to lots of dates and nuts. We take pictures of him in his fine blue suit, and his kitchen as it now looks.
The scenery is amazing on the deserted route. It is difficult to describe the beautiful rawness of the desert. The sunsets are absolutely amazing. The golden light beautifully wraps itself over the sand and our little tent in the desolate desert. When the day breaks, we can once again see the endless distances in nothingness. When there is a little vegetation, it always stands as a beautiful green contrast to the red sand. When there are rocks, they rise dramatically from the flat sand. It is so infinitely beautiful.
But it is also such a harsh landscape that it is difficult to understand how people survived out here in the old days. The sand penetrates everywhere. There is no water here, except in the few oases that are located at great intervals. And there is almost nothing edible here, which means that people have largely lived only on their livestock. But the nomads, of whom there are still a few left, have refined their survival methods over the centuries.
For us, it was about planning our route so that we had enough food and water between the very few towns there are. Water is especially critical now that the temperature has reached 45 degrees. We hate buying water in plastic bottles because we can see where the plastic ends up. There are no systems for handling garbage here. There are no trash cans here. Everything is thrown into the desert. This means that outside every small town, there are piles of plastic and garbage, destroying the fragile nature. It is a huge hope for us that a system for handling garbage can be implemented in Africa, because we guess the problem will not get any less in the near future.
But until then, we would like to avoid buying bottled water. So when we were offered water from the well in Aujeft after a few days in the desert, instead of buying water, we said yes. And BAM, Kenneth got sick again. Lesson learned now. There are bacteria in the water that we are not used to. Marie didn't get to drink the water, so she was released again. We have now ordered good water filters, so we can drink the water that the locals drink, and avoid having to buy bottled water.
Another problem with the garbage, besides the fact that it takes 50 years for a plastic bottle to decompose, is that the animals also cannot distinguish between good and bad garbage. In most places, the animals eat food waste, which is good. But they also eat cardboard boxes, plastic, old shoes and whatever else they can find in the landfills outside the city, or even on the city streets. The goats, who eat the most, are before us in the food chain, so all that garbage is transformed into humans via milk and meat. We don't know what that really means, but we doubt it's a good thing.
Actually, there are enough problems to describe in Mauritania. It is a country with large natural resources, but a very poor population. This is seen in many places in Africa. Extensive corruption and lack of creditworthiness quickly put an end to the economy that is attached to natural resources, benefiting the people. We have cycled through villages where people live in huts built of clay and dried palm branches, and relief organizations have extensive projects here, but still there is great prosperity among a few people in the big city. There is a lack of a sensible distribution of goods in the country, which is one of the poorest countries in the world.
Another problem that many will point out is that Mauritania still has slaves. Slavery was effectively outlawed in 1981, but it still exists. Some sources estimate that as many as 10-20% of the population actually live as slaves. The reality, as is often the case, is a little more nuanced. Slavery can perhaps be compared to a caste system to some extent, in that you are born into a certain social class in society. The reality is that for many slaves, even if they are freed, they have very few opportunities to change their lives. They cannot necessarily get a job. They cannot move out of their social class.
Mauritania is located in the borderland between Arab North Africa and black West Africa, and you can clearly see that there is a ruling class consisting of Arab descent, and a working class consisting of blacks. It is of course a bit of a square setup, but it is the reality both at the government level and clearly in everyday life.
But, as we have experienced in so many other places in the world, kindness and hospitality are not dependent on one's own financial wealth or social status.
After spending some fantastic days in the beautiful desert, we approached southern Mauritania. In the dusty town of Sangrave, we drove straight to the grocery store with the biggest fridge, as usual. While we stocked up on cold water, cola and yoghurt, a guy spoke to us in English. It was the first time in a long time that anyone had been able to speak anything other than French and Arabic, so we quickly got into conversation. The guy was very talkative, and we were a bit suspicious of his intentions, but he kept inviting us home, saying: “It will be a good experience for you, which you can remember when you get home”. And he was right. As our cycling friend Aymeric says: “You have to see with your heart” and with our heart we could see that Mafugi was good enough, so we went home with him.
He just wanted to make us a quick lunch “now-now” and then we could drive on. It was almost three in the afternoon. It gets dark at 7 pm, so we thought that was fine.
At home, the gas stove didn't work, so the food dragged on, and lunch ended up being a late dinner instead. In the meantime, we had pitched our tent in his garden and enjoyed talking to him about life in Mauritania. He himself was from Gambia, but has worked here for 7 years. When Mafugi talked about Gambia, his eyes lit up. When he talked about his wife, about the food, about Gambia being the land of smiles in Africa, he made us look forward to starting a new chapter in Africa. When we roll over the border to Senegal in a moment, we know that the upheaval will be great. We are leaving the Arab world. We are arriving in black Africa. We hardly know what that means yet, but we can feel positive currents carried to us from Senegal.
Mafugi said he had to be at work at 8 the next morning, so we set the alarm for 7. But the house was quiet. When we poked our heads inside, he and his colleagues were sleeping on the floor in the small room. They slowly regained their sleep. His colleagues immediately went to work, but Mafugi stayed and made us breakfast. Gambian coffee, as he called it. A large bowl of hot water, 3 sachets of Nescafé, 2 tea bags, a large handful of sugar, 2 cans of condensed milk. That's it! A power drink to start the day with. We each got a drinking trough with half a liter to start the day with.
We thanked Mafugi for his warmth and hospitality before setting off into Sangrave's morning chaos of goats, people, buses and trucks. But with big smiles on our faces.
Now we are in Aleg. A town close to the border with Senegal. Here we have found a small hotel for 140kr a day. We are almost out of the desert, so we have cleaned and cared for all our equipment. It was really needed. The bikes are sparkling, the tent has been washed, and we are mentally cleaning up.
Mauritania has been filled with amazing experiences. We didn't have much of an idea of what to expect. But the raw nature, the authentic everyday life, and the many nice people have made Mauritania a country that we want to return to and experience more of.
We don't see many tourists here. Only people who want to drive four-wheel drives in the desert, and quite a few cyclists who, like ourselves, are heading south. Why aren't there more tourists here, you might ask? Maybe it's because it's rough here. There's no luxury here. You have to be willing to make an effort yourself to travel here. But maybe there's something else at play too.
In 2007 in Aleg, the town we are in now, a French family of 5 was shot dead. Only one survived. The story among the travelers we met is that some locals had seen the family withdraw money, had followed them to rob them, but ended up shooting them. In other words, a robbery that turned catastrophic.
The international media, and Mauritanian media, are reporting that it was a sleeper cell, or at least that several of the killers were trained by Al Qaeda. Three of the killers have been sentenced to death.
We don't know which is more true. Probably both. But the consequence for Mauritania was that the Paris-Dakar route was changed and the foreign ministries of Western countries have colored most of Mauritania red. 15 years later, travel guides are still marked by this incident.
It is not our place to advise on travel for others. But we can say that we have met fantastic people in this country. We have never felt disadvantaged. We feel that people are honest and treat us well, and that people are basically helpful, without being pushy. As always, we have the very best experiences outside the obvious tourist areas.
We hope for the people who live here that they will experience sustainable progress.
The hotel we are staying at now is run by two brothers. Last night they invited us to a tea ceremony under the tent in the front garden. As they said: “Mauritanian tea takes a long time to make, because in the old days there was nothing else to do. You couldn’t read, you couldn’t watch TV, you could only talk and make tea.”
As we sat in the warm evening, drinking one shot glass after another of frothy sweet tea, the two brothers said: “Our parents were born and raised in the desert. They lived a hard life. But we grew up and studied in the capital. We want to live the modern life. It is easier and more comfortable.”
◦