In and around Atar
Having secured lodgings, we had business to get on with. Our first days in Atar were spent on a mix of looking for a suitable guide, trying to find where we could buy some camels and poring excitedly over our maps looking at possible routes.
Len marking our maps with possible routes up on Hakim’s roof.
It was quite different to the usual backpacking holidays I had been on, where the first move might be to explore the local market or take a photo of a temple.
It felt like we had come with a real purpose.
Mauritania doesn’t receive many visitors and there were hardly any other tourists in Atar.
We attracted a lot of attention as we walked around and had several entertaining conversations with the locals. Our plans to cross the country inevitably surfaced and everyone had some advice to offer us.
Tourism, commerce and sport…
One shopkeeper was particularly enthusiastic about our plans and succinctly summarised the trip:
“Excellent! So you have to come to Mauritania for le tourisme, le commerce et le sport.”
Between the banter and suggestions, there was some useful information. We learned that there were camels available for purchase in a nearby village called Azougi and one generous old man even offered to take us there.
We also learned that there was a camel market in Atar on Wednesday mornings. We made a note to check out both of these.
Meal times
We ate most of our meals at Hakim’s house, sitting on the floor with the family around a huge bowl of home cooked stew. Everyone ate using only their right hand.
Our initial attempts to follow this custom were complete failures and we ended up with rice smothered all over our mouths.
Later, we were shown how to form a small ball of food in the palm of our hands and then use our thumb to flick it into our mouths.
The meat was mostly goat but occasionally there was camel, which was more expensive. They both had a gamy taste but we knew when it was a camel day because the bones were much bigger.
It was interesting to try the local cuisine but we always struggled to separate meat from bone using only one hand.
Guide offers
Fancying a change one day, we looked for a place to eat lunch in Atar. There only seemed to be one restaurant but it was more than adequate.
It was called Sidi Oualata and there was no menu, the owner just told us what he was cooking that day. There was, however, a large map of Mauritania painted on the wall.
Seeing us tracing possible routes across the country, a few of the locals sitting on another table came over to talk to us. We asked them how long it would take to walk to Tidjikja.
“Fourteen days”, said one.
“No, sixteen”, said another.
“I’ve done it in twelve.”
“Impossible!”
“No, I went this way, it’s a better route”, he claimed.
At this they all started arguing with each other in Hassaniya and we couldn’t follow what they were talking about. Personal honour appeared to be at stake.
A few minutes later they emerged from their discussion and began offering themselves as guides, competing with each other for our custom. We weren’t ready to pick a guide just yet but it was good to know we wouldn’t be short of options.
Rally party…
The famous Paris-Dakar rally was passing through Atar the day after we arrived and everyone we spoke to mentioned it. It was clearly a big event.
Having watched the cars and bikes race through the outskirts of Atar during the day, we were excited to learn from the locals of a “rally party” being held that evening at the airport. They said that they weren’t allowed in but we, being westerners, could go.
Imagining TV cameras, grid girls, stories of battling through the sand and heat, we enthusiastically showered and donned our smartest outfits.
An occasion such as this merited the ties. Len went one better with a cravat, perhaps to match his scout belt, although none of us knew how to tie it.
One for the road. Heading out to the rally party
Concerned we weren’t smart enough, we knocked back a shot of sweet mint tea and hit the road out to the airport, confident our camel trek plans would generate plenty of interesting conversation.
…Disappointment
What we found could not have been further from our expectations.
It was a disappointingly sedate, all male affair. In fact it was doubtful whether there was actually any sort of party happening at all.
Entry wasn’t controlled and we walked straight in. The drivers just seemed to be sitting around in the near darkness chatting with their teams and preparing for the following day.
Everyone was dressed casually and we looked ridiculous in our ties. The individual teams were fenced off and as we wandered around looking lost we attracted some suspicious looks.
Still hopeful of salvaging something from the night, we engaged in conversation with a guy sitting by an aeroplane, drinking by himself.
He was a Polish journalist, covering the whole rally, and was friendly enough. His English was limited though and the conversation became tedious.
To be fair to him he probably wasn’t particularly interested in talking to us either. We gave up on the night and headed home.
After first losing our room key down a well and then this disappointment, the holiday had not started particularly smoothly. We could only hope for more luck with the bigger tasks ahead like finding camels for the trip.