Away Awhile Journal Entry 47

Journal Entry 47

April 12th, 2005

"Saharan Tribulations"

Lots to catch up on, but I'll try not to make it too long!

From Casablanca, I moved on to Marrakesh, en route seeing a bit of the Morocco I'd pictured: rolling red hills scattered with shepherds and goatherds and scrubby bushes. And Marrakesh itself was incredible. Not quite the Moroccon city I'd pictured growing up on Indiana Jones (isn't that where he is when the monkey eats the poisoned date in 'Raiders'?), but nevertheless, the main square, Djemma-el-Fne, is alive with snake charmers, leashed monkeys, herbalists (want to buy Berber lizards?), fresh OJ vendors, fortune tellers, and musicians. At night it comes alive as makeshift restaurants and tea and snack stands take over. The souqs (markets) are filled with narrow alleys, veiled women, donkey-pulled carts, and dirty children.

Next, off to Ait Benhaddou, en route crossing the snow-capped High Atlas mountains, the tallest in north Africa. This is a blocky red-dirt village built on the site of a big hill. It's been in many movies, most notably 'Gladiator.' A cool place away from the expected tourist hassles, as Hayden (a Hawaiaan) and I hiked up in some hills around, and ate lots of sardines and tomato paste on bread.

This was the beginning of a long spell in the desert for me. From there, I travelled four long days, for quite a run, heading south south south paralleling the Atlantic coast. Got stuck one day waiting for a ride, and spent part of one night camped behind some bushes off the road (those damn middle-of-the-night arrivals when everything's shut up!). Sand sand, hills hills, flat flat, the occasional blue-robed nomad leading his animals through, and to, the middle of nowhere...

Through Western Sahara, officially some kind of disputed territory that's been taken over by Morocco for the time being. There I met a French guy and hitched a ride to Mauritania. Only a couple years ago, you could only cross twice per week, led by a military convoy (due to the presence of landmines and a threat of bandits). We had no problems, though we did stop to held several vehicles who got stuck in the sand (did I mention there's no road here?).

At the border, I hopped another ride, this time with a Spanish businessman, ultimately ending up in Mauritania's northern city of Nouadhibou at dusk. Initial thoughts? 'My God, disaster!' Chaos and disorder. Goats chewing on cardboard. Most streets are dirt. People chew sticks.

A brief stopover and I was heading into the Sahara proper again. On a the world's longest train--the iron ore-train into the desert, some are 3 km long. So here's my options: pay four dollars for a seat for the twelve-hour journey, or for free you can ride in an empty ore-cart, where, as my guidebook states, 'the dust works its way into your soul.' As if I need hesitate! The ore cart was great, though I spent the whole ride on my back, in my sleeping bag (cold!), with my eyes closed (if you even peaked them open, the dust scatched your eyeballs). The train was six hours late. My soul emerged unscathed, and happily, my new backpack and guitar case have looked like an old backpack and guitar case ever since that ride.

Waiting for the train, I met 'MAC'--a Mauritanian hip-hop band going to do a concert in Atar, incidentally, my destination as well. I travelled with them, and stayed with them for 1.5 days while I awaited onward transport. It was great! Then, off to Oudane, an old Saharan trading town, now mostly in ruins. Cool location though, full of rocky hills and cliffs. En route it’s vaguely reminiscent of the Badlands of South Dakota, or western Tibet. Tried to learn some Mancala-like game that children were playing in the sand. Talked to a baker. Spun about there for a bit (...walked through the desert past straw huts to a small village where a woman gave me rock-like dried dates and I met a kid cooking a lizard...), then met some travellers, Omar and Mark, who’d hired a 4x4 truck and invited me to join them.

This was incredible, as we off-roaded through the desert (real desert, dunes and all!), past an oasis and camel caravans, and slept under the stars atop a dune. I accompanied them to Chinguetti, another old town, and to Terjit, an oasis (do NOT go there), before heading to Nouakchott, Mauritania’s capital, ahem, city. The only excitement here was the second annual ‘International Nomadic Music Festival”, the only concert I’ve been to in my life where there’s no drugs or alcohol, and where people don’t dance because they don’t really know what to do at a concert!

On this note, have I mentioned that Mauritania is a pretty strict Islamic state? Waiting at the train station, at dusk, 95 per cent of the passengers gathered to point east and pray together. One driver I had stopped to change a flat tire and pray. I got out my compass, but hadn’t the heart to tell him he was about 20 degrees off from Mecca.

South again. Crossing the Senegal River, exit Mauritania, enter Senegal, and proper black Africa. After a long and hot day on the road, I got to Saint-Louis, the old capital of French West Africa. It’s actually on an island, full of crumbling pastel buildings. Then to Kaolack, one of those random places where people don’t tend to visit, but which can be well worth the stop for the lack of hassling. En route I passed an amazing mosque in Touba. I couldn’t stop to see it, but encourage you to next time you’re here. It’s like a miraculous marble and turquiose palace rising out of nowhere.

I am now in Zuiginchor. On the map, Senegal looks like a whale’s head, with an open mouth. I’m in the lower jaw, but to get here, I had to cross the mouth, which is The Gambia (and yes ‘The’ is capitalized). You know how if you can’t say something nice, you’re not supposed to say it at all? Forget that: The Gambia sucks. Corrupt officials. The place is a swamp. The ferry, which I heard sometimes you have to wait up to THREE hours to board, took twelve. It’s hot.

By the time I emerged in this lower part of Senegal, I’d pretty much left desert behind, a long and slow transition to what’s just starting to look green and lush again.

================================================================

Now for the random thoughts section:

Food. Morocco's the most interesting: sweet peppermint tea, hunja (ginseng tea with cloves and cinnamon and other stuff), tajine (slow roasts of veggies and meat baked in a clay pot), couscous, harira (lentil soup), tkaout (spicy chocolate pasty dessert), and lots of breads, dates, olives, and other fruits. Mauritania is a bit duller, mostly just fish with rice. And tea. They take this very seriously...it’s drunk in rounds of three, several times per day, and the preparation is a meticulous, multistep process. Senegal is a bit more interesting: chepbujenne (I butchered that spelling but it’s basically the same fish and rice dish I had in Mauritania, usually eaten communally from a large bowl or platter, with your right hand), domodah (tomato-ey soupy mixture over rice), and mafe (like domodah, only browner and a bit peanutty).

Africa. Some places are doomed, especially desert ones. What do you do with a country with no resources? The world shuts down from eleven ‘till four. It’s, so far, a place of extremes...in the same day I can meet the friendliest people ever, and then some of the worst I’ve met, too. A bit coarser. Already, I’ve probably seen more confrontations than in my two years in Asia. But on another note, the people here are beautiful. More randomness...Lots of military checkpoints. This continent is absolutely the worst place to be if you’re in a hurry. I’m not, so I like it!

Breaking-In. Used to cold showers again, though they always piss me off a bit. Feet broken in so that I can wear flip-flops (also broken in to the exact shape of my feet) exclusively. I'm burnt, weathered, permanently dusty. So are all my possessions. Good call on bringing the tent and sleeping bag. It's saved me over twenty bucks already in one month's travel. Score! It's strange how quickly things become 'normal' again--having the only white face in a crowd, toting around a backpack, hassles (the most tiresome thing about these is their predictability), and discomfort. You notice what fruits are in season, you know what time of day it is without looking (not that it matters much), you break big bills whenever you have the chance, and you unconsciously control your hydration based on when you might next have an opportunity to piss.

Travellers. I've spent much time alone, but I have travelled with a variety of people for short periods: a Hawaiian guy, two French guys, the Mauritanian hip-hop band, a Californian, a Moroccan, and a Japanese girl. Also crossed paths with some people more than once, including some Canadian girls in Mauritania who'd been offered up to fifty-five camels for a hand in marriage. And I met a Kiwi who I'd travelled with last year in Montenegro--small world!!! But that said, so far it’s been quite solitary, much more so than much of my trip.

Guitar. I've left many a disappointed crowd hoping for a foreign musical superstar, but it continues to be a great way to both pass time, and to interact with people. Yesterday, I had a jam session in a small village under a mango tree: me strumming chords while 15 kids clapped vigorously and danced around. And today, a Senegalese guy tuned his guitar to mine and taught me a few little tunes which he played beautifully on his ancient beaten-up guitar.

My French isn’t coming along too well. I try though. Did you know that “Smurfs” are “Schtroumpfs”? That cracks me up!

Desert. I'm done with it. For now. It wears me out, probably pyschologically more than physically. I think in a previous life I was exhiled to a desert, and beaten and tortured. Severely. The haze, the monotony, the dry, and most of all the lack of color. Even the greens, the oases, are simply green in different shades of tiredness. I need springtime!

===============================================================

I’ve said enough. The last few days have been in the Casamance, this southern and mostly Christian bit of Senegal. But that’s another story. Tomorrow I cross another border. Hopefully.

' "Your father is worried, too," his mother went on. "He thinks you have lost your ambition, that you haven't got a definite aim in life. Charley Simmons, who is just your age, has a good job and is going to be married. The boys are settling down; they're determined to get somewhere; you can see that boys like Charley Simmons are on their way to being really a credit to the community." ' (-Ernest Hemingway)

Away Awhile is hosted by Josh Trutwin.