October 22nd, 2006
Oh, this is going to be very short, and I do apologise – hoping for more in a couple of weeks when I have Sat coverage.
The currency here (Nouadhibou, Mauritania) is called Ougiya. For those who want to know what that means, here is an Australian approximation: Oh You-have Got-to-be-joking If You-think-I'm-paying-that, ARSEHOLE.
Yep. Out of civilised, dear old Morocco (NEVER thought I'd be saying that) and into mad, corrupt, completely off the wall Africa. Although there is a lot to be said for the instant drop insexual harrassment compared to the Northern neighbour, Mauritania certainly makes up for it in every other way.
After flying to marrakech with Dad and having a speedy trip up to Casa for the visas, I met with Habib and his sidekick, Abdul, and we took off at the speed of light down to the border. Three thousand kilometres and the customary family/friend stops on the way (including tea at a serviced palace with a friend of Habib's Dad, who gave me a letter to give to corrupt cops in the future – lovely man) we hit the border of Mauritania four days ago.
Since then it has been one mad whirl. The bloke habib had teed up on got authority to sort camels and guides suddenly got cold feet and didn't want to help us. We both suspect this had something to do with him realising that I wasn't about to pay someone ten euros a day to lead my camels whilst I did all the navigating, cooking, and walking; and that therefore he wouldn't get his cut. He also tried to charm us out in his tent with some fine looking camels; but here again price was just stupid. Unfortunately it turns out that he is a linch pin in the local mafia, so after we had a parting of ways, it seemed all doors were closing in our face.
Fortunately, it is never wise to hustle a hustler, and Habib is the ultimate hustler of them all. Through a combination of diplomacy, tact, bravado, and endless late night trawling of small nomad's houses, he knew the town inside out within 48 hours and had people coming to our door looking for him - which then allowed him to play the benevolent listener who may or may not allow a favour. A class act if ever there was one. The end reesult is that I am now the proud owner of three seriously fabulous camels (twice the size of my last ones), and am setting off tomorrow.
Dad gave me a last minute crash course in navigation in Casablanca. I was not remotely interested at the time, even though I knew I should be. Thank God I forced myself to listen, though, and take notes; because tomorrow, my friends, I am off with my GPS and Compass. I have a nomad who will be looking after the camels; but the hard bottom line here is, there is just nobody here who really knows the route to Atar. From Atar (or Chinguetti) down, there are guides and camels everywhere; but this is a tourist town, and they only do tours of the park. And the price they charge is ludicrous.
I have plotted the route and wells (don't worry Dad I will remember to add on the 11 degrees for this stretch to the compass) and spoken to nomads about the place, and it looks good. Frankly, I couldn't care less how bad it looks – anything to get the hell out of here. The one major bonus about corruption is that the authorities here really don't care – I went in to get papers stamped and to alert them of my presence, as was necessary in Morocco, and they pretty much laughed at me and told me good luck – and to look out for landmines, bandits, and four wheel drives (the latter, quite possibly, the most dangerous of all). I like that kind of attitude in police.
Before anyone panics, the bloke with me is a good nomad who knows how to recognise good grazing and water country, and since we agreed this morning that he would come with me, he has been talking around and feels comfortable that he will manage the route well. Both Habib and I feel he is on the level. He is also friends with the guy we bought camels from, and he is a seriously good man. (Mild funny story – we had to explain that even though we knew he wouldn't cheat us, we needed a paper written and witnessed by a Caed – local cleric – to prove that I own the camels, for any nosy police down the line. After a long, very serious and touchy conversation, during which he expressed his outrage that we would mess with a system that has worked perfectly for the last two millenium – a handshake – we trotted off and sat in a courtyard whilst a very detailed letter was drawn up. In Arabic, it is along the lines of "I, Mohammed Hassan Wasul, son of Mohammed Hassan Wasul, who was the son of Mohammed Hassan Wasul, born on the .." and goes on to detail camels, names, prices, location, birth dates, etc. I am going to frame it when this is done.)
I wanted some photos to put up here but taking pics out there is a very tricky business; it's not like Morocco, where people are leaping to get in front of the lens. I sat down in melekhva, subdudely behind Habib (who kept totally ruining my serene effect by making me laugh with comments in English tossed over his shoulder) and shut up whilst the MEN did their thing. The very important business of camel training, guide finding, and money exchanging is no place for a woman, after all. Particularly not a mad dumb tourist with a camera.
My current guide has sworn to help me find a guide in Atar of Chinguetti to Timbuktu. I have in turn offered him my old pair of Birkensocks that I trained in, if he gets me there and does the right thing. He can't take his eyes off them, fondling them covetously at every opportunity, so I reckon I am holding an ace.
I have to go and pack the last of the supplies. Will be out of range for most of the next month, unless the Sat coverage kicks in early, but will update the second it does, with pics.
Thanks for the Nav lesson Dad, and for the compass, Graeme. I'm sure both will serve me well. (And thanks for writing all that stuff on the map Dad).
A huge thankyou to Habib, who has worked tirelessly on my behalf, and without whom I could never have organised this. If you fancy a camel trek, get yourself to his Hotel Sahara in MHamid el Ghizlaine, and enjoy.
Cheers, see you on here soon, GPS points and all. How exciting.
October 14th, 2006
This is coming to you from – surprisingly sunny – London, where I have been for two days, with two to go before I fly back to the walk.
Dad is flying with me to Marrakech, and it is a real thrill to think that in a couple of days we will be enjoying a final wine on the terrace of the good old Palace, looking down over the mania of the Djemaa el Fna. I can’t wait. Dad is coming to be baggage handler and minder, as I have to do a runner up to Casablanca to get my Mauritanian visa. It will be great to have some company when I first make the transition.
I wish he’d been there on the trip back from Australia. The fact that Qantas even let me on the plane in the first place was a sheer miracle, given that I had about 20 kilos of excess baggage. Hauling that lot up the tube from Heathrow to Walthamstow was a true joy, let me tell you.
But now I am here, and back in the heavenly company of the Bromley Road crew again, being intravenously fed Cava and attempting to deal with the hulking mass of bags, cables, batteries and melekhvas littering Steve’s lounge room. I thought I was organised when I left Australia, but I have run around so much in the last 48 hours that my head has barely hit the pillow, with last minute booster vaccinations, shopping, and general organisation.
I wake up pinching myself every day at the moment. Whenever I think that in a week’s time, I will be lying in my fancy new swag, under the Saharan sky, listening to my camels chewing their cuds, I get a shiver of delight. I am just so thrilled that this next leg is actually going to happen; there were so many long weeks where I just couldn’t see how it was going to. I am more excited, prepared, and ready for this stage than I have been for any of the others, and give thanks every day to all the beings out there that made it possible.
No small thanks there goes to Graeme, who I wrote about in the last post, and who has been a godsend of practical advice and understanding, in the way that only someone who has done solo expeditions can be. I have taken hideous advantage of his good nature, bombarding his phone and inbox at every opportunity; I think his mobile shudders in terror when it sees my number.
The boys from www.feedtherat.com have also been great, kitting me out with walking tops and ratty paraphernalia. There will be a strong rat presence out there in the dunes…
My Mum, Bev, has been a tower of strength, organising my kit, putting up with my manic hours and never once complaining when her little flat resembled Beirut on a bad day, my endless pile of stuff haphazardly occupying every available space. I shall miss her very much.
After just loving being back in Australia, and rediscovering what a fabulous place it is, I have been equally overjoyed to come back to London. It has been great to be able to share the stories of the last few months with the crew here. It was my London friends who picked me up in the dark months where I had no income and could see no way forward in this walk; they fed me, housed me, and listened when I was down. That kind of support is something I will never forget, and it has been brilliant to be able to return with good news and a positive outcome. As I write this Steve is downstairs reconfiguring my laptop, and helping me set up my satellite connection; Maria making tea; and Steph….well, Steph is about to tempt me with another bottle of Cava. I must be strong. I refuse to give in until I address that hideously obscene pile of equipment clogging up the lounge room. Oh, what the hell. Go on then….
Nothing like a good bit of pre-expedition training.
My gratitude to many people knows no bounds, but some really stand out and need to be acknowledged. First and foremost, my heartfelt thanks to the folk at Dove Australia and Birkenstock Australia, who are making this walk happen. I could not be more fortunate in corporate partners – they are forward thinking, adventurous, and generous people to work with. I feel extremely lucky to have the support of them both, on a personal as well as practical level. The same is true of the girls at the National Breast Cancer Foundation. I met them all again last week when I flew up to Sydney for the Dove Star fundraising walk for Breast Cancer Research. It was a brilliant evening, a sea of pink walking proudly through the streets of Sydney (and what a stunning city that is – another place I had forgotten I loved), and a complete carnival atmosphere. My great new custom designed Birkenstocks got their first public outing, and worked like a dream on the five km stroll. I had a great time.
To Tom and Gabriel – thanks for the chats, beers, and support. I love what you are doing with the ratty thing – go for it. To the wonderful Ness, Elks, and Tania – you girls are beautiful and I have loved being back with you again. Loving the gorgeous babies! To Dylan – you have done a magnificent job of the website. Thanks for your support, and for putting this together so quickly. I love it. To Graeme – thanks for everything, and I’ll be back for that bottle.
To my Mum, Gary’s Mum, and all of our respective families, thankyou from the bottom of my heart for your endless support and ongoing enthusiasm. I love you all very much.
A final word for those who have been mapping the route. You may have noticed a gap between where I left off, just before Dakhla, and where I am picking up, down in Nouadhibou just on the Mauritanian border. I am missing a stretch of about 300km. This does not affect the West to East crossing – I kick off from the seafront on the Atlantic Coast – but it does mean that I cannot claim to have walked every step of the way from London. This was a very difficult decision for me. It came down to the fact that I am a/ now two months behind schedule, and b/ there are huge logistical problems involved in trying to get camels across the border from the Western Sahara into Mauritania, not to mention rather too many landmines for my liking. The success of the West to East crossing, in its entirety, has to be my priority now; and I felt that walking that 300km would have compromised my ability to succeed. A tough decision, but the right one, I think.
On this leg I will (or should I say Dylan will) be updating the map with satellite co-ordinates, so you should be able to follow the progress a bit more comprehensively. Any air drops gratefully accepted….
The next update will be a little while coming, unless I get one up in Nouadhibou. The satellite footprint doesn’t kick in until about 200km in from Nouadhibou, so the equipment isn’t relevant until then. It could take a couple of weeks until I have coverage.
But after that, I will be updating regularly, and although I may not see you all in the flesh until the other side of the Sahara, I will be here in cyberspace and carrying all of you in my hearts.
Thankyou to everyone, so very much.
I think I better give Steph a hand with that bottle 