This is an authorized translation in English of a post in French by @terresco: D'Abidjan à Carcassonne : La Mauritanie

^{As my primary language is not English, there are probably some mistakes in my translation.}

Remember that the person who speaks here is NOT me, Vincent Celier (@vcelier), but @terresco, a French guy.

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In this trip between Abidjan and France, Mauritania was the country we knew least. A desert, the western limit of the ultimate desert, the Sahara. The dream was born long ago rocked by the stories of adventurous writers, Frison Roche, Theodore Monod and many others.

The reception of the authorities was not the warmest that I met, however it is with great pleasure that we drove on an excellent road that the sand covered in places like the snow pushed by the wind. Direction Nouakchott, the discreet capital of Mauritania.

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Nouakchott

You had to know that it was a capital at that time. There was almost nothing in Nouakchott. An overpriced hotel for businessmen, a small establishment that suited us, at least for the prices, an indescribable cafeteria with pale neon signs and sticky tablecloths where you could not die of hunger.

On Friday the big distraction was the nearby beach. The families arrived with their big 4x4, coolers, friends. Many were trying to get from the parking lot to the beach by car through a rather soft sand pass. These adventurers on Friday had not all read the notice of their car and sank to the delight of our neighbors and ours. Girls in bikini were not legion, the attraction was mechanical. How strong we felt about these amateurs from the top of our status of those who would face the real desert! Amazing insurance for events not yet experienced.

The real reason for our presence in Nouakchott was to seek contacts that would help us to move to Morocco. The two countries probably had problems between themselves because the said border was closed, just in the sense that interested us. It took a lot to discourage us, I wonder even if these prohibitions did not motivate us. The general idea was to approach the area, to go far enough into the desert, to smuggle and to be a prisoner in Morocco, claiming that one had lost one's self. GPS was not available to individuals at that time, the story was plausible.

Needless to say, the search for contact is a journey fraught with pitfalls. Fortune favors the brave and bravery, we had plenty. A varnish of unconsciousness on top and here we go with a name and a road map. First go north, carefully avoid Nouadhibou not to be spotted, meet the name that would guide us to the best place to pass and would abandon us not far from a Moroccan post.

All this did not worry us, for now it was necessary to cross the desert. There was no road, only a sand track with a bad reputation. We reiterated Senegal's strategy, watching the tides, listening only to our lucky star, we embarked on a narrow beach for 200 kilometers. Delighted with our nice shot, exhausted from the stress mounted at the same time as the awareness, we arrived on the Banc d'Arguin. Discreetly, quickly and easily. It goes or it breaks, this time it went fine.

Banc d'Arguin

Wedged between the Sahara and the Atlantic Ocean, the Banc d'Arguin, a theater of tragic scenarios, stretches across a broad band from north to south. It was one of the most fishy places in the world. On Wednesdays of my childhood, my grandfather, at the cost of immense efforts on his old age, had transmitted to me his knowledge in the matter. The occasion of a small personal tribute to my grandfather was presented.

The Imraguen live on the territory of Banc d'Arguin. Installed for centuries they live in harmony with their environment especially with regard to fishing techniques. They are known for the reasoned sampling and were popularized by Cousteau, it seems to me, for the help that their fishing companions bring to them: the dolphins.

The Banc d'Arguin is a national park, with the regulations that go with it. I went to the village of Iwik, asked to see the chief to plead my case. He was sensitive to my remorse of repentant selfish youngster who wanted to thank his ancestor. Appointed temporarily assistant to the chief fisherman, I was going to put my art at the disposal of the village. Appointment was taken for the next day, at dawn of course.

My boss was very friendly and not very tyrannical. In reality he was chief of himself, I was his first apprentice. Barely older than me he was in great shape, I will have to hang on. We started to tease beautiful specimens at the bottom of a bay, I was delighted but the best was yet to come. When we filled two bags of frying fish, larger than I had ever caught, we got down to business. The leader had me put down my fishing rod, which I was quite proud of, not solid enough according to him.

From a cape, armed with long threads, sharing a pair of gloves, we launched a piece of metal equipped with a big trident, making it spin over our heads like the cowboys with their lassos. At each pitch we had tunas or bonitos I am not sure, who were trying to haul us to the water, sure of their power. We had to force and ensconce ourselves on the rocks. The fishing was miraculous, forty huge fish to feed the village. Since that day I stopped fishing, like a sportsman stopping at the height of his career.

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It was necessary to get back on the road, to sand down many times to get back into the sands. It is said that one must pay to learn, it is true, but under the heat of the sun, with the sand stuck to the skin by the perspiration, was born a passion of the desert which never failed. Difficult learning that will be so useful to me years later when I fully live this passion.

For the time being we were in Mauritania, serious things were starting. While crossing the main track we had to meet the contact in which we will have to trust. If he is at the rendezvous?

-- @terresco

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01: From Abidjan to Carcassonne, the first crossing, by @terresco
02: From Abidjan to Carcassonne: Guinea
03: From Abidjan to Carcassonne: A break in Dakar, by @terresco
04: From Abidjan to Carcassonne: North Senegal, by @terresco

Encounters with Africa series:

01: Encounters with Africa: Ivory Coast, by @terresco
02: Encounters with Africa: Abidjan, a daily pleasure, by @terresco
03: Encounters with Africa: The Tuaregs of Agadez, by @terresco
04: Encounters with Africa: The Tuaregs of Agadez, part 2, by @terresco
05: Encounters with Africa: On the way to the Dogon country, by @terresco
06: Encounters with Africa: Among the Dogon of Bandiagara, by @terresco
07: Encounters with Africa: The Gold Coast, by @terresco
08: Encounters with Africa: Where was born a desire to go elsewhere, by @terresco
09: Encounters with Africa: The time of failures, by @terresco
10: Encounters with Africa: The Promised Land, by @terresco
11: Encounters with Africa: The Land of the Upright Man, by @terresco
12: Encounters with Africa: From Bobo to Ouagadougou, by @terresco
13: Encounters with Africa: In the Voodoo country,

From Cape Town to Mombasa series:

01: Africa, the long crossing
02: From Cape Town to Mombasa: South Africa
03: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Namibia
04: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Botswana
05: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Zimbabwe
06: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Zimbabwe, part 2, by @terresco
07: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Zimbabwe, part 3, by @terresco
08: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Zambia, by @terresco
09: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Malawi, by @terresco
10: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Tanzania #1, by @terresco
11: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Tanzania #2, by @terresco
12: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Tanzania #3, by @terresco
13: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Tanzania #4, by @terresco
14: From Cape Town to Mombasa: Kenya, by @terresco

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