Mauritania

I visited Mauritania on my trip across the Sahara Desert following the Atlantic route south from Morocco and Western Sahara in December 2004.

Arriving in Nouadhibou
The iron ore train
Atar
Chinguetti & Ouadane
Christmas at Terjit Oasis

Atar
Nouakchott

Nouadhibou
Chinguetti
Ouadane
Atar & Terjit

Map of Mauritania

Camel

Video Menu - 4 videos

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Travel notes from Nouakchott

Hi Everyone

Atar is the commercial centre of the northern region of Mauritania. This description is slightly misleading as this small town of 18,000 people is really just a place of dust, goats, camels and 4 wheel drives. It is the transport hub of the north, again the word hub is used poetically; it's not unknown to wait a couple of days or more for transport to one of the other towns on the Adrar plateau. Atar itself holds little interest for a visitor, it is a useful place to rest, refuel and stock up before heading out into the desert.

I planned to use Atar as my base to visit two of the most historic cities in the western Sahara, Chinguetti and Ouadane. I needed a day to recover from the train and bush taxi ride from Nouadhibou before continuing my journey out into the desert. I heard that on Boxing Day a train derailed, there are no trains running now and no one really knows when they will resume. It doesn't surprise me; I thought many times that the train I came up on was going to derail. Noa, Jeff, Josh and myself (we all met on the train from Nouadhibou) all stayed at an auberge in Atar, Bab Sahara, where we met Paul and Becky from the UK, whose Landrover was stuck in a garage for some major repairs, and David from France. We all planned on visiting Chinguetti and Ouadane, so between the seven of us we pooled our resources and hired a 4WD and driver for three days and two nights.

We set off east 120km to Chinguetti; the dirt road wound up a barren gorge through the Amogar Pass and crossed the endless barren, lunar like Adrar plateau. Along the way we stopped at some ancient rock paintings, which depicted various wildlife, giraffe, elephant, antelope, all long since gone from this now hostile landscape. By mid afternoon we arrived at Chinguetti, surrounded and slowly being engulfed by 20m high sand dunes. This city, today with a population of only 4,000, is the seventh holiest city in Islam. It once boasted eleven mosques and was the ancient capital of the Moors. It was also on the ancient caravan route across the desert where caravans of up to 30,000 camels laden with salt would pass through. In the Arab world Mauritania is still known as the Land of Chinguetti; Mauritania means land of the Moors.

A sandy wadi divides the new and old part of town where palm trees grow. Most of the buildings in the old part of town are made of stone, although half of them are no longer occupied and are falling into a state of disrepair. The main attraction is the 16th century mosque and the many libraries, which hold thousands of volumes of ancient Islamic texts dating back to the cities heyday under the Moors. Wandering around the old part of town it sometimes felt like a ghost town; some streets were almost blocked by sand dunes reaching up to the roofs. Other streets the only sign of life were a few goats munching on a pile of rubbish, cardboard appeared to be their staple diet. Now and again along the main street a man in billowing robes and turban would lead pass a few camels. A dust storm blew up that night so we abandoned our plans of sleeping out in the town.

The storm died down during the night so next morning we set off for Ouadane, 120km northeast of Chinguetti. There is no road; it is a case of driving through the dunes. Eventually a more defined track appeared, but it was no more than two tyre tracks in the sand. We stopped for lunch at an oasis, Tanouchert before continuing our journey across a sandy plain, which stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions. By mid afternoon we reached the top of a ridge where at last below us we saw an oasis and running along an escarpment, the ancient city of Ouadane.

Ouadane was founded by the Berbers in 1147 and prospered on the trans-Sahara caravan routes for 400 years and was a transit point for gold, dates and of course salt. The city went into decline during the 16th century when the Moors gained control of the trans-Sahara route and slowly diminished Ouadane's commercial role. Today the old city, clinging to the escarpment is mostly in ruins. It is a fascinating place to walk along the narrow streets and alleys and listen to the echoes of the past. The modern half of town now sits on top of the escarpment, but not many people live out here in this ancient outpost of civilisation deep in the desert.

We camped for the night out in the desert on the sandy, rocky plateau overlooking the oasis. It was cold, the temperature got down to 12'c when I woke at 03:30 in the morning; in comparison, when we left Atar it was 41'c. There weren't many happy campers when the sun finally rose and the first rays of morning sunshine began to warm us. We packed up camp and headed back to Atar, taking the less interesting route across the rocky plateau. It was Christmas Eve and I had Christmas dinner that night with the German ambassador and his wife; roast camel and all the trimmings, which made a change from the usual camel stew.

I had originally planned to do this trip out into the desert by 'public transport' and had planned quiet a few days for the trip. Now I had time on my hands, so I hitched a ride to the Terjit oasis, about 40km south of Atar. The oasis is beautiful, set in a steep gorge full of palm trees where a spring bubbles up from the rocks. I spent Christmas and Boxing day here relaxing under a palm tree and sleeping in a tent. I went walking in the mornings and evenings around the surrounding dramatic desert of mountains, plateaus and dunes. Leaving was more difficult, I had to hike 13km to the main road where I managed to flag down a passing truck heading to Atar and hitch a ride.

The following morning I started my last journey across the desert to the capital Nouakchott in a rather dodgy grand taxi. There were ten of us plus two babies and luggage in a Peugeot estate. The driver seemed to be in a world of his own and spent more time adjusting his turban than looking where he was going; we had to swerve a few times to avoid camels on the road. Nouakchott is a dusty, messy, modern city with nothing to really see or do. It was created out in the desert, 5km from the coast after independence in the 1960's when the former colonial capital, St Louis ended up over the border in Senegal. At least there is a variety of restaurants in this city, no more camel stew for me, inshallah.

So this is the end of the road for this desert trip. On Friday I begin a rather long-winded trip home via Casablanca and Frankfurt.

Safe travelling everyone, wherever the road may take you.

Regards

Geoff.

ps. Another iron ore train derailed two days ago.