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Wandering North

Chronicling my travel adventures since 2007

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Tag: solo travel

Posted inAsia Iraq Iraqi Kurdistan/Albania trip 2022

Amazing day trip to Akre and Lalish

On my second full day in Iraqi Kurdistan, I left Erbil for the day with the help of a local guide and driver. I don’t like organized stuff and generally do not like group things, but here and there, a guide for a day (if the guide is good, and preferably if I am not with a group) elevates the whole trip. This was such a day.

I had wanted to visit the town of Akre and the religious site of Lalish. Erbil has tons of appealing day trips that are possible, but I narrowed it down to these places. Akre looked pretty and Lalish, fascinating. It is possible to visit these places from Erbil on your own with shared taxis, but it would be very difficult to visit both places in one day. So, I googled and found a guide: Haval Qaraman. I later found out that he is THE guide in the area, having done it the longest and with the best reputation. Most importantly he was tremendous company.

Haval picked me up in the morning and we started on the drive. The scenery was pleasant, if not beautiful. As we approached the mountains it became more lovely. We passed flocks of sheep and Syrian refugee camps, small shrines and rural areas.

The great thing was that Haval gave me all the information I wanted about Iraqi Kurdistan.  He told me about the history, the economy, politics, and about the various wars and invasions and how that affected people like him who live there. He also told me his story about how he grew up in Northern Iraq and how he learned English and set up his tourism business in an area exactly not known for tourism. It is a really good and interesting story, but it is not mine to tell.  Suffice it to say that I learned a lot from him and he answered all of my questions about life in Northern Iraq. And he was great company and had a sense of humour that meshed well with mine. Lots of laughs…and learning. Seriously, what else could I want? (No, he is not paying me to say these nice things.)

Akre

We visited the pretty town of Akre. It is nestled in the mountains north of Erbil and has great views over the valley. If you visit during the new year festival in March, it is the place to be, with people climbing the mountains with torches to celebrate.

Akre

The town was nice to visit. Small. No tourists that I saw.  We walked around the main square and the market. We had tea with locals at a tea shop on the square.

Akre town centre

I insisted on taking my picture with the “I [heart] Akre” sign, even though I hate those signs. I would love someone to tell me where they started. There was a time when I never saw them, and now it seems that I can’t visit a city without a tacky “I [heart] ____” sign. I’m shocked Vancouver doesn’t have one yet. That said….it was Valentine’s Day, so what better time to pose with one of these eyesores? 

I heart Akre on Valentine’s Day

Also in Akre, we visited s shrine of a notable Sufi figure, Sheikh Abdul Aziz Gailani, the son of a founder of an order of Sufism. It was not in the Lonely Planet or the Bradt guides and I would never have found it on my own. Tucked away at the top of a dead-end street, is a building of no note. We left the car and I slipped into a tasteful black Abaya, walked shoeless through glittering gold doors and into a shimmering room of mirrors and colorful Arabic verses, with the casket in the middle.  It was very pretty and came with a lesson on the basics of Sufism. Haval assured me it was ok to take photos.

Sufi Shrine in Akre (that’s me with Haval top left)

From Akre we journeyed West to Lalish.

Me in Akre

Lalish

Lalish is a temple, not a town, and is the holiest site for the people of the Yazidi faith. Not familiar with Yadizism? Neither was I before this trip.

So the Yazidi people practice a religion that is very old, like pre-Zoroastrian old. And it is very specific to people from the region in and around Iraqi Kurdistan. There is some question about to what extent it is just a religion and to what extent it is just an ethnicity. (I am already questioning my use of ‘just.’) Anyway, it is a very niche and ancient religion. Sometimes it is described as an offshoot of Islam, which is totally wrong. It is its own thing and has been persecuted by people of many other faiths for being heathenistic. In short, the Yazidis are monotheistic, but believe that god is in everything, including fire, which has left to some referring to the Yazidis as fire or devil worshippers, which isn’t right either. But they do have some interesting beliefs, like that black snakes are sacred because they saved Noah’s ark from sinking because a black snake plugged a hole. And there is a whole thing about peacocks that is fascinating. Haval told me a lot about the faith and their rituals. It was all so interesting – in fact, I kept exclaiming it – but I don’t want to write all the details of what I learned because I don’t want to deprive someone else of the discovering of learning in the moment, as I did. 

Lalish, Kurdistan

One thing I will say is that in the 2010s, the Yazidi people were the victims of a genocide at the hands of ISIS. The details are horrific, and the community is still grappling with the effects. It is certainly worth reading about. It is incredible that it is as awful as it is, and I was totally unaware. One of the greatest lessons history has taught me is that people are continuously awful to one another, and yet, we can also be kind; and the two truths will carry on.

Apparently there has been a Yazidi temple on the site for over 4000 years, though the buildings that are there are not that old. To enter the site you must remove your shoes. Not just to enter the temples, but the whole site. So, plan accordingly if you visit in winter. The site itself is a collection of shrines and holy places. No one really lives there, but there will always be a few key people on site.  I was lucky enough to meet the woman who carries out all the baptisms and a holy man who carries out the exorcisms. (They don’t use that word, but it is the same idea, and they have a specific room/building where that takes place.) We met him and had tea with his wife. (No, they had not seen the classic horror film.)

Me with various Yadizi people at Lalish. The man on my left is an important member of faith and the woman performs baptisms. Maybe that’s why they were allowed to wear shoes and I wasn’t.

The tombs of the Yazidi are interesting, conical, stone structures that dot the landscape.

Yadizi tomb marker

Inside one of the buildings, which reached far underground, was a series of also very unusual and interesting holy places.  Stone jars of water or oil, bits of colored fabric knotted for wishes and good luck, a stone structure onto which a piece of colored fabric is thrown for good luck, and utter disrespect of you trod on a threshold. Unconnected to the religion, some of these dark, underground rooms had walls covered with ghostly handprints, which made me immediately think of the end of the Blair Witch. A reference understood by no one.

Yadizi religious buildings. (And me with a symbolic black snake.)

I loved the visit.

Back to Erbil and a Detour

On the drive back to Erbil, we stopped at a restaurant for a feast of vegetables, bread, soup, and rice (there was meat too, but I don’t partake). It was quite satisfying. Thankfully, I was allowed to eat in the main room with Haval and the other man, and not relegated to the ‘women and family room’.  Women are forbidden or discouraged from eating in the main room of restaurants, and there is generally a room at the back, sectioned off for women and their families. The back rooms are fine, but they are often windowless and tucked away. Not appealing.

After lunch, we were on a straight shot for Erbil, but made a stop at a trailer parked on the side of the highway with a little tent out front. The trailer is a coffee house operated by a Syrian refugee.  He spends 6 days a week living and selling coffee out of this trailer and one day a week he goes back to the refugee camp to be with his family.  Haval told me he has been doing this for about 8 years while he waits to be able to return to Syria. I found that quite moving. What a lonely and frustrating existence, but what an incredible entrepreneurial spirit; to make the best out of a bad situation.

Roadside coffee in Iraqi Kurdistan

I had Kurdish coffee, which is not coffee at all, but something closer to chicory, but made from roasted terebinth fruits (similar to pistachios?). It was sprinkled with a little chocolate and was excellent.

I was dropped off back at my hotel just as it got dark. It was a thoroughly satisfying day. I felt like a learned so much and experienced and saw things that few do. And none of that would have been possible if I was on my own.

I did pop out that evening for a street falafel and a spin around the square, but then to bed. The next day I had hoped to visit Mosul, but that was not possible, which turned out to be for the best, as the next day was consumed with work. But my final day in Erbil was filled with more city exploration and experience. 

Me at Lalish
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Posted on 14 February 22
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Posted inAsia Iraq Iraqi Kurdistan/Albania trip 2022

Citadel to Shisha: Exploring Erbil in Iraqi Kurdistan

I woke up early my second day in Erbil, in the Kurdistan region of Iraq. I had arrived the evening prior and, while I went out, I hadn’t seen much or seen anything in the light of day. But first, breakfast. I was pleased to see that the hotel buffet breakfast had returned during these pandemic times. Even better, it was a middle eastern buffet breakfast. There were tons of fruits, nuts, yogurt, local salty cheeses, lentil soup, foul, fluffy pita breads amongst other delights. Best of all, was the view from the breakfast room on the top floor of the Erbil View Hotel.

View over Erbil
View over Erbil

Sufficiently fuelled, I walked back to the Citadel in the centre of Erbil, where I had been the night before. In the daylight, my assessment was still that it is not a beautiful city; not even really a charming one, but there is a lot to like, not least of which is that it all seems entirely authentic. There is very little that seems geared towards tourists. I liked this about it.

The Citadel is a high mound in the middle of the city with various structures and buildings on it. Apparently it has been occupied as far back at 5,000 BCE. It is an impressive sight from the ground and walking up to the top gives you postcard perfect views of the square, but there isn’t much to see of the Citadel structures themselves. They are (and have been for several years) undergoing a UNESCO restoration and so for now, much of the site is off limits. 

View of the citadel behind a shisha café
The Citadel
View of Erbil from the Citadel
View of the Square from the Citadel

That said, there are still some interesting buildings to see and there is a Kurdish textile museum, which is one of the few museums in Erbil. It is small and interesting and the entrance fee is negligible. Plus, there is an unflattering and candid photo of Steven Segal pinned to the wall from when he visited.

I snapped a selfie against one of the hanging carpets and decided to don my sunglasses as my eyes were still a bit haggard looking from the long flight the day before, resulting in my own ridiculous photo.

I take my Kurdish Textiles very seriously

I walked around the square, which was full of local people sitting and strolling; vendors selling nuts and fruit, cigarettes and phone cards.

The Square
Shops near the Citadel

I walked to the Qaysari Bazaar, which is just at the foot of the citadel. Qaysari Is the Kurdish word for market, so it might be redundant to call it the Qaysari Bazaar (like saying chai tea), but I’m sticking with it because that what it was called on my map. The Qaysari Bazaar is a covered bazaar, just like a smaller version of the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. It was established in the 13th century and was a delight to wander in. It has the usual, colourful stall selling fruits, sweets, tea, and clothing, but with some unusual twists. It also has a renowned tea shop, but I wouldn’t stumble onto that until day four.

Inside the Qaysari Bazaar
Inside the Qaysari Bazaar

Around the perimeter of the bazaar were money changers with blocks of foreign currency sitting in or on top of clear, plastic boxes. A lot of the Iraqi Dinars still had Saddam Hussein’s face on them, which was not surprising, but I still did a double take.

I stopped at a cute little coffee shop on the edge of the bazaar and ordered a Turkish coffee, which came served to me on a purple velvet cushion, covered with two gilded, metal domes, like Russian nesting dolls.  It was so elaborate. It seemed like something made for tourists, for Instagram, but the other people in the shop were unenthusiastic local men smoking cigarettes and seemingly blasé about their pretty coffee service. I was delighted.

fancy Turkish coffee

I walked around a lot more that day. A bit aimlessly, but then as I started to see all there was to see in the centre, I decided to walk to Dream City for a coffee and to visit a cigar shop.

Dream City is a new development a bit out of the city centre. It was a long walk, but it is walkable. I stopped for more Turkish coffee and a couple of baklava at Ashtar Sweets. 

Dream City is gated and very much geared towards drivers. In most parts there were not even sidewalks. The homes were huge and garish (and, I found out later, very expensive, like $10M expensive); but they all really looked like nouveau riche “McMansions”.

If you want international food, or a sports bar, or a steakhouse, the area around Dream City is for you. They even have a “Central Perk” cafe that is themed after the TV show friends. Honestly, I hated the area and both the cigar shop and the book-themed café I went there to see had recently closed, but I was happy for the walk and it was interesting to see the newer, richer areas.

On the plus side, as I excited the Dream City gates and turned to walk back down a different street, I realized I was near another cigar shop: H&H Cigars. I was thrilled. It was a proper cigar shop and, despite it not having any Cubans, it had a great selection. I bought a My Father cigar and settled into one of the comfy leather wing backed chairs and smoked and read my book (Wuthering Heights – my second go at it and I still couldn’t get into it) until dark. It was heaven after all my walking.

I opted to take a taxi back, which was a bit of a hassle. There are beige taxis everywhere and they may or may not use meters. This one did, but the driver ‘got lost’ several times on his way back to the Citadel, which is literally the most famous and visible and easiest to find sites in the city. The fare was still very cheap but I was annoyed at being taken advantage of – not that I could express my irritation easily when I knew only about four words in Kurdish and he knew about the same in English.

I ate my dinner from the same street-side falafel cart as the previous night. The proprietor seemed to remember me, smiled, and refused to take any payment for my meal.

I stopped for some shisha at a hole-in-the-wall type of place where I attracted a bit of attention from the all male clientele, as they looked up from their backgammon, cards, dominos, and mahjong, but I contentedly puffed away, watching the smoke drift off into the night sky before walking back to my hotel. 

I should say that each of the five nights I was in Erbil I stayed out reasonably late and was always by myself. It felt completely safe. Most of the streets were busy with people and even the ones that weren’t did not seem menacing. The whole city seemed completely safe. (Of course, as I am writing this it is about a month after the fact and missiles have landed in the city from Iran, so it is impossible to know what to expect I guess, but my experience was a great one and without worry.)

The next day I had a trip organized to Lalish and Akre.

Read More about Citadel to Shisha: Exploring Erbil in Iraqi Kurdistan
Posted on 13 February 22
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Citadel in Erbil
Posted inAsia Iraq Iraqi Kurdistan/Albania trip 2022 Kurdistan

Arrival in Iraqi Kurdistan

I decided to go to Iraqi Kurdistan in Northern Iraq. As with so many of my trips, I didn’t really have a good reason; just an interest and a winnowing down of alternative destinations based on weather, or covid restrictions, or where I went last. So I booked myself a flight to Erbil (also spelled Irbil or called Hawler).

Let’s get this out of the way right off the top: Iraq / Kurdistan / Iraqi Kurdistan? What I am I talking about? Iraq, as we all know, is a country. A high profile one. The capital is Baghdad. It is famous for, amongst other things, Saddam Hussein and Aladdin. That’s straightforward. Where things get murky is the Northern bit, which is where I went. I’m not going o attempt to break down the history of the Kurds or Iraq or the Middle East generally, but suffice it to say that the northern part of the country of Iraq is under control of the Kurds, which is why it is often called Kurdistan. Though Kurdistan also broadly refers to lands in several countries, like Iran and Turkey, where many Kurdish people live.

Map of Kuridstan – where the Kurdish people traditionally and predominantly live

The northern, Kurdish part of Iraq has its own government, flag, laws, visa system, etc…but it isn’t technically its own country.(At least not in the narrow, UN-defined definition of country.)This is always a treacherous topic and places like Scotland, Palestine, Tibet, Taiwan, and Kurdistan are amongst those places where statehood is…a matter of some debate.  I’m not going to go down that path. According to the map and the stamp in my passport, the currency in my wallet, and the address of my hotel, etc, I was in Iraq, but I know that merely calling it Iraq is not entirely accurate and is also disrespectful to the Kurdish people, who have fought for their independence, so I have been saying I was in Iraqi Kurdistan or Northern Iraq, depending on my audience and how comfortable they are with geography and history.

Flag of Kurdistan

Erbil is the capital of Iraqi Kurdistan and one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world. (You will see it on the map above near Mosul.) As far as human civilization, it dates back to about 5,000 BCE. Over the centuries it has been a part of a long list of empires from the Assyrians to the Ottomans. It is all very interesting, but this isn’t ‘Wandering Encyclopedia Britannica’, so for a proper history, you should probably read a book, but it is worth looking into, even if all you is read the history section of an Iraq travel book.

People speak Kurdish there, but may also speak Arabic. It is a Muslim part of the world. It is in a mountainous region and in fact the month before I arrived, they had snow. So this is not the rolling desert terrain you might be imaging. I was there in February. It was cool in the evening and pleasantly warm in the day. A lot of the trees were still waiting for their spring greenery and there was not a lot of flowers, but there was some evergreen plants and grasses around. It would probably be more pretty in the Summer, but also brutally hot. I thought it was perfect.

I learned a few words and phrases in Kurdish, which proved to be mostly helpful in impressing people with my efforts. Those that spoke English were happy to do so, and with those that did not, I relied on my excellent combination of charades and smiling.

I landed at the airport, flashed my PCR test and vaccination status (the former was required the latter was not, which was different from what was on the government website) and got a visa on arrival, which is available to people from many countries, including Canada. The visa required no paperwork, but does demand a fee of $70 or $75 US (it seems to fluctuate). No questions asked, I breezed through. I changed some money to Iraqi Dinars. And I was in Iraqi Kurdistan.

The sun was just setting as I took a taxi into the city. It wasn’t immediately impressive, but nor was it off-putting. 

I was staying at the Erbil View Hotel. Not a bargain, but one of the better options available. Erbil does not have hostels. It does have some budget hotels in the centre, but you can’t book them online and even in walking around, none of them were immediately apparent. So I guess if you are really on a budget, the thing to do would be to book a first night at a pricier hotel and then look for a cheaper option.  I stayed put. The reception staff (who were lovely) upgraded me to a suite that was easily twice the size of my apartment and very comfortable.  And…smoking was allowed! 

Erbil View Hotel
Erbil View Hotel suite

But I didn’t have time to lounge in my room. I set out for the centre. It was dark but I had figured out my walking route ahead of time. (Time studying maps ahead of time always pays off.) In about 10 minutes I was at the centre, in between the citadel and the bazaar, surrounded by tons of people enjoying the evening in the square.

Everything was bustling. Families and friends out, drinking tea, people walked around selling nuts and fruits and cotton candy and balloons. It had a festive air. Not what you think of when you imagine Iraq – even Iraqi Kurdistan – after dark.

I love Hawler sign in the square
Erbil after dark
Erbil after dark

I did sort of a loop around, dazzled by how bright and colorful everything seemed. (Admittedly I was probably delirious from that cocktail of jet lag and excitement.)

I was starving but realized pretty quickly that none of the restaurants had vegetarian food. One man said he could barbeque me some tomatoes, but I passed. Fortunately, the streets radiating out from the bazaar were lined with street food vendors. Most of it was meat, but there was also falafel. Joy! Perfectly fresh falafel made for throngs of hungry people who crowded around. It was served in soft, pointy pita-style bread and covered with pickled vegetables and spicy yellow sauce. And it was about 60 cents. Canadian.

street falafel

Satiated, and not ready to return to my room, I walked to the most appealing place: a 2nd floor patio decked out with Christmas lights and producing plumes of fruity smoke. Shisha and falafel, the perfect combination.

It was packed, but I found a seat and puffed away on a lemon mint shisha combo, while sipping on lemonade and snacking on pistachios and cashews. It was mostly young, local people. I didn’t see any other tourists (nor did I for the rest of the trip.) I was content. I had made it and it was off to a good start.

shisha cafe

I walked a slightly different path back to my hotel and slept, excited for the next day when I could really explore. (There will be more photos on the next post. Most of the ones on this first night came out dark and blurry. What can I say? It was dark and I was excited.)

Read More about Arrival in Iraqi Kurdistan
Posted on 12 February 22
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Posted inAfrica Mauritania Senegal Trip 2021 Senegal

A Final Day in Dakar

My final day in Dakar, Senegal was a good one. There is something nice about when you have done the things on your list for a city and then can just freely explore with no expectations and see where it takes you. That was my day. (Truthfully, I did spent about half of the next day in Dakar before flying out, but I didn’t do anything noteworthy.)

I went out before breakfast to get a covid test. It was cheap and relatively efficient, but I got to the clinic very early before there was a big queue. 

Nose freshly swabbed, I had breakfast at the hotel and hit the market. I browsed around and haggled over some west African wax print fabric with the ‘speed bird’ print on it, which was destined to be cushion covers in my office back home. A lot of fabric prints have meanings in different countries in West Africa. The ‘speed bird’ print means various things in different countries, including ‘money comes and money goes’ or something like ‘when the hunter learns to shoot straight, the bird learns to fly without stopping’. That was fun. So many interesting patterns to browse through.

I also bought a painting. I haven’t been buying much in my travels recently. (My home décor is minimalist, and my office is already bursting with odds and ends from my travels.) But in Dakar they had these paintings that are done on the underside of glass and I thought they were quite unique, so I bought a portrait of a regal-looking, older African woman in orange clothes.

I decided I hadn’t had enough markets apparently, so I left the arts and crafts market and went headlong into the more local market, past the shops and stalls selling clothing, fabric, and household items, past the colorful buses, until the market became more of a labyrinth of tarps and tents, with outdoor cooking, and, well, really just a lot more poverty. I didn’t take pictures of that part of the market, because, while very interesting, I really stuck out and didn’t want to seem like a gawker.

Around the edge of that part of the market was the Dakar Grand Mosque, which is quite attractive and has a 67 m tall minaret. I might have been more taken with it, but it is very much in the style of the mosque I had just visited in Casablanca days earlier, but smaller, so appreciated was diminished a little.

From there I walked to the Musée des Civilisations Noires, which is a very modern museum (opened in 2018) designed to celebrate Africa’s contributions to the world. It is pretty great.  There are some detailed displays on the origin of man and African technical and scientific achievements, but the best part was on the upper floors where there was an excellent mix of (primarily west) African traditional masks and works of art with modern art. It was so good. All they are lacking is a café.

Musée des Civilisations Noires

After that I walked rather aimlessly, stopping for a bite to eat and a cigar at a rather posh Lebanese restaurant, and then discovered that there was a decently stocked Cuban cigar store just around the corner from my hotel. I was not out of cigars, but still picked up a few. (I can’t visit a cigar store and not get something.)

On my way back to the hotel for what I felt was a well-deserved nap, I say that there was a concert happening that night at the Institut Français. I bought a ticket. It was the Medicine Man Orchestra. The concert took place at a great outdoor stage – a proper stage and seating, but outside, under the stars with bats and birds overhead.  The Medicine Man Orchestra was a little difficult to describe. On their website they say: “Medicine Man Orchestra (MMO) is a time adventure, swinging between ages, dimensions, cognitive or cartographic geographies. It is a show that takes you to the limits of multiple realities. Advanced audio-visual technologies provide the gift to carry you away as in West Africa, beside venerable griots, as in the fancy european clubs of avant-garde electronic music.” That is kind of apt, actually. There was electronic music, mixed with more traditional music, particularly percussion. There was dance. There were video projections of computer-created landscapes and designs. It was cool. And well attended.

I had a cigar and a juice at the café there and then headed back to my hotel. It was late – for me anyway. I had plans to go to bed.  I was leaving the next day.  On my way back though, I walked past a doorway that had excellent jazz pouring out. Live jazz. I paid cover charge of about $2 and went in. An unremarkable room, but with a jazz quartet playing, people, eating, drinking, and smoking.  Everyone was a bit dressed up and having a good time.  I stayed for a while and had a small cigar and a couple of virgin mojitos.

What else could you want for your last day? It was wonderful, and wrapping it up with a couple of spontaneous concerts was perfect.  It was a great end to a great trip that took me to Mauritania and Senegal (two new to me countries) with short stays in Paris and Casablanca. I flew out, already day dreaming about where I would go next.

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Posted on 8 November 21
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Posted inAfrica Mauritania Senegal Trip 2021 Senegal

A Day on the Île de Gorée

On my second day in Dakar, I took a day trip to the Île de Gorée, or Goree Island, a tiny island off of the coast of Dakar, just a short ferry ride. (I am going to stick with the English spelling just so I don’t have to keep adding the accents.). Goree Island is small – just over 45 acres – and with a population of less than 2,000 people. It is notable for two things: it’s postcard perfect beauty and its history as a slave trading post. Like the ‘castles’ of Ghana’s Cape Coast, it is another beautiful setting with a grim history. Both are reasons to visit, even if they are uncomfortable bedfellows.

I walked from my hotel to the ferry terminal past some grand buildings from the colonial era.

It is an easy trip to Goree. You might get pressured to take a guide and while that will certainly give you more historical context, it really isn’t necessary. The ferry terminal in Dakar is easy to find and you can buy a ticket there. The ferries leave every 1 -2 hours and the ride back is free.

Goree Island

The harbour of Goree Island

Goree Island was colonized in or about the mid 1400s by the Portuguese, then passed to the Dutch, the Portuguese again, the British, and then the French. It became a trading post for different items, but most notoriously was used as a place to detain enslaved peoples before loading them on to ships and … exporting them.  Today there is a ‘slave house’, which contains the cells used to imprison people before leading them out through a door of no return to an uncertain future.

The ‘slave house’

This is similar to the sights I saw in Ghana in 2019.  And like the trip to the Cape Coast, I found myself struck by how a place with so much horror in its past can be so beautiful. It seems that places with this history should be forever bleak or barren, but it is the opposite. Lush and green, with all of the buildings painted in bright colors. Flowers spilling over the walls, the sea lapping up on the shore, the sky perfectly blue.

It was a delight to wander around, visiting small art galleries and browsing the crafts for sale at the local market. 

It is a real tourist spot. Restaurants full and people splashing in the water. Local women walking around selling pretty fans and jewelry.

My view during lunch

As beautiful as it is, there isn’t too much to do there, but enough to keep one occupied for the day. A fort, a few small museums.

As the afternoon wound up I caught a ferry back to the mainland.

Back in Dakar, I walked around a little more before settling back into the restaurant at the Institut Français for a cigar and dinner.  (The vegetarian offerings there are dismal, but it is such a pleasant environment, having a cigar with my meal in the garden patio, that I could overlook the ‘vegetarian burger’, which was lettuce, tomato, and onions in a bun.)

An evening wander again proved that the streets of Dakar at night are lively, but I was content to spend a little time on the patio of my room before bed.

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Posted on 7 November 21
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Touching Down in Dakar, Senegal

I arrived in Dakar, Senegal in the middle of the night from Casablanca. Not my favourite thing. Arriving at night is so disorienting and robs me of any ability to get a sense of my surroundings. This uneasiness was compounded by the fact that the new international airport for Dakar is about 50 km from the City through complete darkness. During my taxi ride with the two young men who agreed to drive me for a reasonable price I wondered if I was being abducted until my sleepy brain remembered that I have maps.me on my phone and saw that we were indeed on the right path. They were nice guys who played music videos on a screen mounted on the dash and smoked cigarettes.

I got to my hotel sometime around 1am. I was staying at the Hôtel Ganalé; a small hotel in the absolute centre of the city of Dakar (the area called the Dakar-Plateau). As it turned out, I had been upgraded from my regular room to a suite on the roof, complete with my own rooftop patio. It was great, though I didn’t really appreciate it until the light of day.

my little suite and private patio

Senegal was my 70th country, I believe (country counting being an imprecise endeavor). I picked it because it is close to Mauritania and, after my week there, which was amazing, but a bit rough, I thought it would be nice to hang out in relatively urban and modern Dakar. Senegal is in West Africa, bordered by Mali, Mauritania, Guinea, and Guinea-Bissau, with the sliver country of The Gambia entirely within its borders. Senegal is quite frequented by tourists and is known for its music scene, surfing, and, once upon a time, the Paris-Dakar rally. It is a poor country, but in Dakar there is a lot of wealth on display, with the true poverty a bit hidden in certain areas. The official language is French, but most people also (or instead) speak Wolof or one of the other common local languages. 

There was no particular sight that I went to see in Dakar, I just picked it more for the vibe and proximity to Mauritania. It proved to be a good choice.

On my first full day, after a filling breakfast at the hotel, I set off walking. I meandered around the streets. The area around my hotel had a lot going on: cafes, shops, mosques, and the Institut Français. I walked a few blocks to the Musée Théodore-Monod d’art Africain IFAN. Dakar has a lot of museums and galleries, but I picked this one for a start as it was manageable in size and had a good selection of West African traditional art and artifacts. It was great and nice to see West African museum pieces on display in West Africa as opposed to in the museums of the once upon a time colonizing countries. 

IFAN Museum (Musee de l’Ifan)
artifacts at the IFAN

From there I walked the city with less intention, soaking up the lively atmosphere and appealing architecture.

It was hot and humid. I went from a clean and freshly made-up human to a sweaty beast within minutes. Putting on a covid mask whenever I went indoors did not help. But the weather felt good. Healthy. 

Our Lady of Victories Cathedral

I walked down to the sprawling market area where arts and crafts, textiles, clothing, and household wares are sold. I didn’t buy anything that day but enjoyed my browsing and dialogues with the vendors.

I spent some time relaxing with a cigar and bissap juice at the Institut Français, which is just an oasis in the city.

the cafe at the Institut français

The people I met in Dakar were friendly and outgoing. Before I went, most of what I heard from others and read suggested that I would be endlessly hassled while walking around; that I would be bothered by beggars and hounded by touts. It wasn’t quite like that. I don’t recall seeing beggars – or at least none that approached me. I did have men come up to me and speak to me out of curiosity or offering their services as guides, but it wasn’t a hassle. I never felt bothered by it. I certainly never felt unsafe, which was another thing I had been told to expect – that especially at night one should not walk about the city. It seemed fine, with the usual precautions I employ of awareness, confident walking, and sobriety. With all of the restaurants and music venues, what a shame it would be to not go out at night.

That said, my first night, I did spend mostly inside, apart from a dinner out at a Korean restaurant, where my “vegetarian soup” had octopus tentacles lurking in it (particularly disconcerting as I was reading HP Lovecraft at the time).

It was a great first day.

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Posted on 6 November 21
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Casablanca Layover

I love a long layover. Enough time to get out of the airport and see something, walk around, and return to the airport exhausted but satisfied. Casablanca is one of those places, like Amsterdam, Istanbul, or Seoul that is a common long layover place, and where it is easy to do a lot in a short time. I had 18 hours in Casablanca on my flight from Nouakchott, Mauritania to Dakar, Senegal and I was delighted.  

The last time I had a Casablanca layover I had only 7 hours; this time I could more and at a less frantic pace. Admittedly, I was a bit nervous about covid and whether it would slow down the airport process, but it didn’t really; they just glanced at my vaccination papers and ignored my negative test results. I hopped on the train and a short ride later I was in central Casablanca at the Casa Port Station. It was about 7am at that point and, because the airport in Casablanca does not have luggage storage, I booked a hotel room at a modestly priced hotel across the street from the train station and used it to stash my bag for the day and have a shower.

Arriving in Casablanca

It felt great to be in Casablanca. It was a little bit cool, which felt great after the heat of Mauritania. And it felt great to be in a city that felt, well, more like a bustling North African/European city than Nouakchott. 

The city was just waking up. I walked past the fruit vendors and sellers of fresh pomegranate juice and found my way to a Parisian style café for an americano and croissant; chairs facing street side and everyone smoking.

Breakfast

I walked over to the fish market and chatted with the men arranging their creatures for sale. I nearly tripped over some giant swordfish, their bellies slit open and their eyes wide and black.

Lobsterman
Goodnight, Swordfish

I spent a couple of hours walking around the city and then went into the medina area; the labyrinth of narrow streets that are the oldest part of the city.

Walking around Casablanca

I had been to these places before, but I was more leisurely this time and it was delightful. Snacking of fresh fruit, drinking tiny coffees, stopping for some shisha and a conversation.

Medina shadows
Fresh fruit in the Medina
Colourful Alleys

I came out of the medina near the sea and went to the Hassan II Mosque. Built in 1993, it is one of the largest mosques in the world and sits gleaming white right on the edge of the sea, with waves crashing alongside

Hassan II Mosque
Hassan II Mosque

It certainly looks like a new mosque, so it doesn’t have the charm or patina of a historic building, but it is quite impressive. Visiting it requires taking a tour, which I found very slow, but it did impart some interesting tidbits – like that the roof is retractable or that it is so big that you could fit the Notre Dame inside.

After that, I walked along the corniche and talked with a man who worked at my hotel and was heading home, and then I just wandered a bit more, poking around in shops and looking at some street art before having diner and heading back to the airport.

Street Art near the Corniche

Honestly, by that point I was exhausted. After all, I had landed at about 6am and had been on the go ever since and had only slept maybe two hours the previous night. My next flight was also a short one to Dakar, so I didn’t get much sleep the next night either and the whole thing left me arriving in Senegal exhausted. But it was so worth it. Who needs sleep when you can you can spend the day in a new city? 

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Posted on 5 November 21
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Return to Nouakchott

From Nouadhibou to Nouakchott

It was the morning after my adventure on the Iron Ore Train. I awoke in my hotel in Nouadhibou with no great urgency. I needed to travel to Nouakchott that day and I didn’t know what time the bus left for the ~8 hour journey, but I just couldn’t be bothered to rush. By the time I showered and got downstairs I confirmed the bus had left. Secretly, I was happy. I didn’t feel like crowding into a hot minibus. I wanted comfort, likely as a direct reaction to the rigours of the train and pre train experience (after all, before the ride on the iron ore train I spent one night sleeping rough and two nights sleeping outside without running water or bathing). Desirous of speed and comfort, I inquired as to whether it would be possible to hire a car and driver and by the time I finished my breakfast, there was a car waiting.

The drive was great. My driver took the time to point out the sights. There weren’t many, but we saw the sea and the border crossing to the quasi country of the Western Sahara and a few small towns. Mostly though it was just sand and camels and I had seen a lot of that the day before, so when sleep got the better of me, I let it.

Scenes from the road

About half way into the journey, the driver asked if we could make a stop at his friend’s house in a small town by the roadside. Of course.

We exited the highway into a small town of newish but modest houses, sandy streets, and herds of free roaming goats. We entered a house and were greeted by four guys about to have lunch. We sat on the mats on the floor in an otherwise empty room and out came the tea. Tiny sugary tea cups were passed around and cigarettes were smoked as we chatted. Two of them spoke English, which was a treat for me as I could take a break from struggling with my very basic French.

A large platter of rice covered with pieces of meat and a smaller platter of rice with potatoes and carrots appeared. The driver had called ahead and told them I was a vegetarian. They also gave me water and a yogurt drink to take with me. Another example of startling hospitality to add to those I have experienced over the years in unlikely places.

A surreptitious lunch photo

After lunch we returned to the road and, about 7 hours after we left, we were in Nouakchott.

My remaining days in Nouakchott

I stayed somewhere different this time: the Maison de Jaloua. It is a lovely bed and breakfast in a white two level house on a sandy residential street just off a main road.

My room was a huge private room with my own bathroom and, gloriously, a big bathtub. This was a real bonus as I was still finding iron ore residue from the train on my body.

Maison de Jaloua

The hotel had a pretty garden seating area for meals and, as it turned out, housed one of the better restaurants in the city.

I had it for four nights.

Usually I write about my travel experiences on a day by day basis, but I don’t think this is necessary for my remaining three days in Nouakchott. They were pleasant, but primarily relaxing, days. I had seen ‘the sights’ of Nouakchott on my first visit. This round I just explored nothing in particular by foot and at a leisurely pace.

Lesser scenes from Nouakchott

Each day I went for a long walk in a different direction, seeing what I could find. I had coffee and cigars at local cafés, lingered in air conditioned markets, revisited the main outdoor market, and sought out local artists.

On the art front, that took a bit of digging. There is a gallery/café Gallerie Zeinart, which looks amazing, but it was closed the days I was there. I did find a smaller place, Art Gallé, which was opened and is run by Amy Sow, a local painter and sculptor. It’s small but very cool, with an exhibition space and a café. I chatted for a long time with a young photographer and met Ms Sow. A pleasant respite from the heat and aimless walking.

Art Gallé

I had a covid PCR test, which was required not for my next destination, but to leave the country. The process was simple. At a health centre you arrive before it opens and write your name on a piece of paper found under a rock on the sidewalk outside the gate. When they open they administer the tests in the order of names. It was fast, I got my results in 24 hours, and it was free. This is astonishing as in Canada, where I live, these tests start at $200.

That’s basically what I did in those last days. I was really taken with how peaceful Nouakchott is for a capital city. I can’t say that it is overly interesting or beautiful, but it is calm and pleasant; it feels very safe and the people are great. No hassles. no problems.

street art in Nouakchott

I loved my time in Mauritania. I can’t say that I would recommend it for a casual traveller or a first time trip to West Africa, but for off the beaten path travels, untouched desert vistas, hospitality, and once in a lifetime train travel, it ranks highly.

I left Mauritania with a flight to Dakar, via a day in Casablanca.

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Posted on 4 November 21
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Riding on Mauritania’s Iron Ore Train

Planning

Mauritania is worth visiting if you like desert sands and far flung, seldom visited countries that lack ‘must see’ sights, but the reason I decided to go was because of one train. As long as I can remember I have wanted to ride, hobo style, on top of a train, illicitly and with a bit of danger. Not so much that I would lose an important limb, but enough to get the heart going. To see the sky change from atop of moving train in the countryside. To sit by the tracks waiting for the next ride. I had wanted to do it for so long that I figured I might never do it, when I read about Mauritania’s Iron Ore Train.

The Iron Ore Train (or the Train du Désert) is, on many days, the longest train in the world, at about 3km long. Every day it leaves a mining town in the Sahara, filled with iron ore, and heads to the sea, where it deposits its cargo and heads back, empty, to make the journey again. And because there are no roads that cover this route so directly, locals will ride on top of the ore to the coast, or in the empty cars into the desert. There are no tickets, as it is not officially allowed. I had found my next adventure.

But I thought, I can’t do this alone. It would be better with a buddy, for reasons of security and convenience. So for about three years I tried to find someone to do it with. And then I realized no one was in, so I had to do it solo.

And that is what led to me sitting by the tracks outside of Choum, Mauritania, alone and waiting for a train.

Waiting

I took a truck to Choum from Âtar. It is only about two hours and there is a minibus that goes in the afternoon, but I was paranoid about finding the right place to wait, so I arranged a driver. We made the two-hour drive, got to Choum, where I stocked up on water, and they drove me to the tracks and told me this is where I would wait. They left and I was alone.

waiting

Let’s be clear: there is nothing there. No trees, no station, just a flat expanse of rocky ground next to the train tracks and a barely legible danger sign. (Just as well that I couldn’t read it.) There was a small mud brick shed of sorts, with holes in the walls that provided some shelter, but it was dark and smelled like shit, so I sat outside of it, taking advantage of the bit of shade it provided.

waiting

The train is meant to come at about 6pm, but there is no fixed schedule and it may come earlier or later. I was not going to risk missing it, so I arrived at 11:30am, prepared to wait. And wait I did.

I sat there for hours, alone, reading, and smoking cigars. So many flies buzzed around me that I started to wonder if I was dying. It was very hot and I was thankful I had bought so much water.

A pack of children showed at one point, from where I know not other than it was towards the border with the Western Sahara. They just appeared over the horizon as dots and ran towards me. Upon reaching me, they stared and poked at me, sang and danced, asking me for photos and then laughing at their images on my camera. We couldn’t communicate verbally, but I understood well enough when they made up teasing songs about me or mimicked my smoking with little sticks. At first it was fun, but then it felt like a nightmare. Surrounded by children. I’m not sure children are reasonable at the best of times, but when you can’t even speak to them, how do you explain that you appreciate their exuberance and curiosity but that you would rather be left alone with your thoughts? I was happy when they tired of me and left.

A few of my visitors

After six hours, a van of about 14 people arrived and got off, also waiting for the train. This filled me with optimism. Surely the train was coming soon, and there was comfort in knowing I was not waiting alone.

They seemed like nice people. They invited me to sit on their blankets with them as they scavenged bits of wood and lit fires to boil water. They produced bags of mint, tea, and sugar and boiled it up in metal tea pots and passed around the tiny cups. A couple of the guys spoke some French, so I was able to answer some basic questions (resulting in some disapproval or pity at being unmarried, childless, and atheistic) and I explained that I was going to ride on top of the train. They were going to be riding in the passenger car at the end of the train.

The train didn’t come, and so we all laid down on the rocky soil and went to sleep. The train could have come at any time, so I did not sleep soundly – or maybe that was because I was lying on the ground without a blanket in the cold night air. I had not expected this. Somehow though it wasn’t so bad. The time seemed to pass quickly. I had my books, my thoughts, my new cohorts, and entertainment like comparing various rocks to one another, deciding which was the most lovely. (In case you are wondering: I had no cell service. There was obviously no wifi and I didn’t want to risk running down the battery on my phone with music or podcasts.)

The next morning came and still no train. I started to feel a bit down like I was in some Godot situation. Just then, one of the guys yelled and pointed.  Off in the distance, the train was coming into view.

I felt a surge of adrenaline. Finally! Three years of planning and 22 hours of waiting and it was here. I picked up my pack and blanket and stood in amazement as this incredibly long train roared by. It took a while to stop, being that it is so long. I saw a couple of people riding on top of the ore around the middle of the train.

Finally!

Finally the train came to a stop and I realized that I was about 300 feet or so from the ore cars. It stopped so that the passenger car (the last car) was right in front of us. In front of it were about 3 or 4 flat-bed wagons with cars on them, and in front of that were countless wagons with iron ore.

I had no idea how long the train would be there, so I bolted towards the cars with the ore. I didn’t have time to be choosy, so I just made it to the last one and climbed the ladder up into the car. (Honestly, that was slightly less easy than I imagined, with the heavy backpack, all the water, and the fact that the ladder was high off the ground and missing a rung. But I did it.)

Riding the Rails

A few minutes later, with a shudder and series of clangs that ran down the length of the train, we were in motion. And just like that, I felt elated. I was actually doing it. And it felt great.

On a train bound for nowhere
looking ahead

The iron ore – fine black dust that you instantly start breathing in – was piled into two round humps in each car and was very comfortable. I spread out my blanket and settled in. I sat on top of the humps for great forward views. I laid in between the humps, head and feet elevated, for reading and naps. I sat in the middle with my back against the car and looked out the sides. I expected it to be uncomfortable, but that was not an issue.

I took selfies. I mean, how could you not? (My camera was utterly ruined by the iron ore which got inside of it despite my best efforts to protect it with bags and duct tape and I had to throw it out soon after.)

Sitting there, having a cigar and watching the gloriously empty scenery go by was awesome. Sand. Occasionally some dry grasses or rocks. A camel. A few buildings strung together as a small village or encampment. Some discarded train parts. It looked like a beautiful post-apocalyptic scene.

Sky & Sand

It was hot so I stayed covered up. When it got really windy, I wore goggles to cover my eyes or pulled a bandana over my mouth to protect myself from the dust, but that didn’t last long because you can’t smoke with a mask on.  (Shortly after getting on top, I used a garbage bag and duct tape to wrap up my backpack to protect it and just kept my essential items accessible.)

A few times we made stops – not that I got off. There was nowhere to go and the thought of being left behind was concerning. At one point we stopped in a small village, and I watched 5 or 6 angry and restrained camels get piled on top of the flat bed car with the vehicles. The sound of angry camels in distress is a sound I will never forget. 

Every time we stopped, men would climb up the side of my wagon and peer in at me. Sometimes we could communicate a little and sometimes not. What I gathered though was that they were curious about the crazy woman riding alone on the ore. Some of them told me it was not safe (I told them if that was the case then they better get off). And some of them just asked me where I was from or if I was ok. Towards the end, one guy just popped up to make sure I had enough to eat. I never felt like I was in any danger, but I was always much happier when the train started to roll again and I was again alone and free. There might be some benefit to sharing a car with others, but I just felt much more comfortable being alone. No need to be vigilant that way.

A better view of the length of the train

The night came. A pretty decent sunset over the Sahara. Then it was dark. Dark. No light anywhere except for the incredible stars. Like a planetarium display. Lying there and looking up was peaceful and magical – which is good because there was nothing else to do or look at. I did have a head lamp, but I was out of books.

The peace and magic didn’t last the whole time though. The dark part seemed to last for a long time. It got fairly cold, and I was thankful for my extra clothes and blanket. I slept a little bit, but after a while of the darkness, I was keen to get to the end. These last few hours seemed to take forever. I could see on my phone using maps.me how far we were from Nouadhibou (the city on the coast where the train deposits its ore) and I was delighted when I realized we were nearing the station.

Except there isn’t a station. The train just stops on the side of the tracks maybe 9 km from the city. (The train does make a final stop, just past the city where it unloads its ore.) There was nothing there. Not even lights. But there was a group of cars waiting to pick up the passengers, so I knew I had to get one of those cars to drive me to the city. The train rolled to a stop and I threw my backpack over the side and pulled myself over the edge of the wagon, groping around for the ladder. I landed (fell) on the ground and started running the about 300 feet or so in the blackness to the cars, waving my headlamp over my head and yelling “Taxi!” I was tired. At this point I had waited 22 hours and ridden on top of the train for 16 hours. It was after midnight, and I was exhausted. I was not going to be left behind.

There weren’t any empty taxis there just waiting for rides, but I did convince one guy (through my crazy insistence and, likely, my pathetic appearance) to drive me to my hotel, even though he was just there to pick up his friend.

Epilogue

I got to my hotel around 1am, many many hours later than I expected. I was staying at the Hotel Free Zone. Kind of a splurge. It was new and well-appointed and without charm, but it was spotlessly clean and had laundry facilities.

I was not spotlessly clean. I was black from face to feet. Comically so. I had been wearing two pairs of trousers and three shirts and still I was black underneath. It was glorious though. I felt so happy to be in my room. I washed my face and walked to a little store that was open and bought yogurt, water, bananas, and chips, returned to my room, ate and had the greatest shower of my life. (Dear Hotel Free Zone, I am so sorry about all of your lovely white towels.)

A final, blurry selfie before the sun went down.

Being on the train was one of the greatest experiences of my life, but the feeling of it being over, being dirty and exhausted and suddenly comfortable, was pretty fantastic too.

I am so glad I did it and glad I did it alone. I am only maybe a little sad that it is over because I don’t know what I can do now that can compare. 

Anyway, the next day I returned to Nouakchott, but that is for another post.

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Posted on 30 October 21
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Posted inAfrica Mauritania Mauritania Senegal Trip 2021

Chinguetti, Mauritania

I had arranged for a driver to take me to Chinguetti from Atar for the day. There is a mini bus that goes each morning, but nothing is guaranteed to return to Atar later in the day, so a driver seemed prudent. I mean, worst case scenario, you get stuck in Chingeutti overnight, which would be ok, but I had plans to hop a train and I wasn’t going to risk missing that.

We left after I had breakfast at my accommodations (Nescafé and a baguette – I was like 4 days into the trip at this point and already sick of baguettes). My driver seemed pleasant, but he didn’t speak English or French (and I could not speak his language), so who knows. Despite knowing we could not communicate, he would, from time to time, try to talk with me, which inevitably just ended in an awkward moment of smiling and silence.

The drive to Chinguetti was about two hours into the desert; we went over some small, vegetation-free mountains, and then we were very much in the Sahara. The sands formed dunes and blew across the road, sometimes covering it completely. Camels wandered by.

Views from the road. The bottom one was the road for a time.

Four times each way we were stopped by the police and I provided my fiche (passport photocopy and other information). Unlike on the drive to Atar, no bribes were required.

We reached Chinguetti, which is a proper and cute small town, but the reason for visiting it is the historic part.

Chinguetti dates back to about the 1200s, founded as a trading stop on routes across the Sahara, and is the holiest place in Mauritania and, overall, an important holy place for Islam generally, as it was used by people who were unable to complete the journey to Mecca. There is a mosque  from the 13th or 14th century that is pictured everywhere, including on the currency.

(Oh, just a digression about Mauritanian money: the currency is called Ouguiya and is abbreviated as UM or MRU [though prior to 2018 it was MRO]. Fine. But what makes it very confusing is that in 2018 they changed the value of the money so what was previously 1000 UM is now 100 UM. The problem is, about half of the time that you ask for the price of something, you are given the old money price. After a few days it becomes apparent when someone is speaking in terms of old money or new money, but initially, when you aren’t sure what anything costs, it is a problem. Like, I took a taxi and it was 500. That’s like $16 CDN. That didn’t seem right, but also the alternative of it being 50 UM (or about $1.70 CDN) didn’t seem right either. It was the cheaper one. When in doubt, just had over the lesser amount.)

1000 UM note

The old part of Chinguetti is a pretty labyrinth of one story stone buildings and winding pathways, all filled with sand. There are no paved or even dirt roads. Just sand. In fact, one of the reasons for which Chinguetti has been in the media in recent years is that, apparently it risks being lost to the encroaching sands of the Sahara, as the result of climate change (natural or man made).

Not only would the historical sites be lost, but also of concern are the five (or so) libraries that are in Chinguetti, each of which houses (in one of these ancient mud or stone brick structures) fragile old texts, often religious. Each of these bibliotheques has a keeper to watch over them and also show them to tourists, if there are any around. I was lucky to be able visit one the day I was there. In pre-pandemic times, I probably could have visited more.

Library photos. One shows me holding the key to the library door.

Fortunately, there was a young guy around who could translate between me and the librarian, which was good for learning about what I was looking at, but also because the librarian liked to make jokes, which I would have otherwise missed out on.

Views of Chinguetti

I went for a bit of a walk around the town, taking pictures of the endlessly appealing simple buildings resisting the sandy drifts. Around Chinguetti was just…nothing, just expanses of empty desert.

Before heading back to Atar, we stopped at a pretty little guest house operated by a French woman and Mauritanian man. The woman brought us coffee and water, gave me wifi access, and sat and talked with me about Chinguetti and Mauritania, where she had lived for almost 20 years. She refused to accept any money.

Guest house

If you have more time or are keen, you can go farther into the desert from Chinguetti to a beautiful oasis or take long camel treks. I did neither of these things, however, and headed back to Atar.

I had dinner in the town, where I was already known on the streets as Dale from Canada. Word travels fast. Apparently it had been a week or two since they had seen another traveller. At one point I went into a shop looking for batteries and they had  none, but ten minutes later, a guy (not the guy from the shop) ran up to me in the street with the batteries I needed. Anonymity was impossible, but everyone I countered was really nice and I didn’t feel like I was being scammed or hassled.

Market photos in Atar

Dinner was what would prove to be a typical vegetarian meal in Mauritania: salad of lettuce and tomato, baguette, and French fries. If you eat meat, that meal would come with a fried whole fish or piece of grilled chicken. Camel and goat meat may also be options. That night I bought a cucumber, oranges, and bananas from the market, just for a little variety. 

Back at Inimi, the electricity had been restored, though the water was hit and miss. This marked two days I went without bathing. I slept well inside my cabin this time, as the AC was working. I was excited for the next day, which would be the whole reason I came to Mauritania in the first place: my journey on the Iron Ore Train.

Me in Chinguetti
Read More about Chinguetti, Mauritania
Posted on 28 October 21
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About Wandering North

Welcome to Wandering North, where I have been blogging about my travels since 2007.

Dale Raven North

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