Ever since Alex texted us, that he had boarded this special Boeing 737 in Abidjan, Trevor and I had been tracking the plane on our mobile phones throughout the night. Trevor went to bed for a short nap, but got up again around 1 a.m., while I kept the watch and killed time by watching videos and drinking coffee.
Alex’ plane departed Dakar shortly before 2 a.m.. At that point Trevor and I decided to leave camp to be at the airport in time. Estimated travel time was around 35-40 minutes for the around 35 kilometres. At night the traffic must be lighter, we assumed.

We were proven wrong. Nouakchott is very much alive at night, especially on a Saturday night. We drove down one of the major streets in the city and got into a big traffic jam in front of kind of night club. Everyone was in their best dresses and was walking about chatting and not paying attention to the traffic at all. Taxis and other cars were gridlocking each other. With great difficulty, we managed to pass this place, that looked like a nest of ants.
Further down the street, it was also still quite busy for an early morning. Fast food restaurants were still serving, drug stores and grocery stores still open. It just looked like many Mauritanian people were living at night and sleeping during the day.
On the street it was now total anarchy. The stop lights, that were still in operation, were totally neglected, people were transported in all kind of ways, even in the boot of an old Merc or they were overtaking anywhere without paying much attention to their surroundings.
Because of all the traffic, it took us about an hour to get to the airport, where we arrived at three in the morning. What we saw at night was very impressive. The surroundings of the airport were very clean and well maintained. No sign of Alex yet, but many passengers had already exited. Together with many other people waiting for passengers, we were repeatedly reminded to stand behind an imaginary line by the gendarmerie present.
Looks like people live more during night hours and sleep during the day. With us waiting was also a group of Africans with a massive flag of Lagos state in Nigeria, awaiting some high official. More passengers exited and still no sign of Alex. Did he have problems with his visa or did his pink suitcase not make it to Nouakchott after all the trouble and stopovers?? All kinds of possible answers came to mind, why he hadn’t come through the glass doors yet. After quite a while waiting, Alex being relieved and tired, walked out. Finally, the eagle had landed. It was three thirty in the morning. Fifty-four hours delayed!! We wholeheartedly welcomed him to the expedition!

Quickly, we reached the car and drove back to camp, to at least catch a few hours of sleep. When we arrived at four in the morning, Alex decided to beat the possible queue in front of the showers a little later and went for a shower. Trevor and I went straight to bed and slept like a log until seven-thirty.
A quick breakfast and pack up of our tents and gear. We left the camp at nine in the morning. An hour ahead of schedule to beat the heat. Again, they had predicted hot strong desert winds.
First mission was to find some good diesel. We followed the route my navi had suggested. It was the quickest of town and also had at least two petrol stations, according to our Garmin, on the route. Both of them were absolute failures. The first hadn’t seen a customer in maybe forty years and the second one looked so dodgy that I feared for our fuel filters. We continued and the needle of my tank gauge was dropping further and further, almost hitting rock bottom. We drove through the industrial heart of Nouakchott. Then we came to the Route National 1 that was being rebuilt at the moment with a massive flyover at our junction. Due to all the construction, we tried everything but could not reach the Afriquia petrol station, we were all seeing. By the construction workers we were ushered to continue and at a certain point gave up to teach this station.
On the main street going south, we came across a petrol station that we couldn’t ignore and filled up our vehicles for the ride to the border.

The southern part of the West coast is much greener, littered with acacia trees and you swiftly see more human activity. Once in a while we saw a number of orangy sand dunes.
The road leads to Rosso, the main border crossing and crossing of the mighty river Senegal. Many overlanders fear this border crossing due to the high corruption and capriciousness of its rules. Furthermore, it is the only ferry able of carrying trucks. Then came our turn off point and we turned right towards the other crossing station, Diama.

We hobbled down the 45km track through the wetlands. The small embankment, sometimes less than 50cm above water level, that carries the track is made of earth and clay. When it rains, it turns into a mud pool and when it dries up deep tyre ruts harden up and remain until the next rains. It makes travelling across them very uncomfortable, bumpy and slow.

Left and right of the embankment is bog. First lots of reed and later open stretches of water with vegetation. All this is part of the delta of the river Senegal, that forms the border between Mauritania in the North and Senegal in the South. On the Mauritanian side they have created a National Park to protect the wetlands which is home to millions of birds and warthogs and other smaller animals, but you are allowed to drive through it, for a fee, to reach the border station. The temperature was varying between 33° and 37°C.
We reached the Mauritanian side of the border and processed the emigration quickly. The guy who sold me the car insurance on the northbound trip recognised me and greeted. The government has finally started to fix up the border and laid some first curb stones.

We crossed over the mighty Senegal river flowing very fast through the weir, we stood on top.
When we reached the Senegalese side of the border, we encountered 22 Moroccan motorcycles that were on their way north. Fortunately, they did not cause much of a delay to us. Our immigration was quickly sorted and on to customs. The custom officers were very friendly. Once I had my 10day passavant (temporary import permit) for Eeyore, Trevor only got one for five days. He will, therefore, have to go to the customs office to extend it. The atmosphere was all a very chilled and pleasant. Not too many people hanging about and a few kids asking for a pen or sweets. Then came the customs officer to inspect the vehicles in front of the building. His first question was if we had any crocodiles to declare. That broke the ice. We joked around on that theme.

On our way through the outskirts of Saint Louis, we encountered many busses full of people, happily singing, drumming and clapping. There must have been a massive wedding somewhere. We passed a Frenchman on a bicycle with a little trailer, cycling from Paris to Dakar.
Around four in the afternoon, we reached the famous Zebrabar, nestled in the National Park de la Langue de Barbarie. Welcomed by Ursula, the Swiss owner, and one of the Germans, who we met at the camping in Nouakchott. Our camping spot under the protective canopy of the acacia trees for the next two days was quickly found. The heat and humidity were almost unbearable. We were now used to drier desert climates and had quickly forgotten what the tropics feel like.

The temperature was in the low thirties, but the humidity was at a record high, hundred percent.
A lovely chat with some of our neighbours, more Germans we knew already from the previous camping and a new German lady who is on her way south. She was telling me that she had been into the desert of Mauritania, driving with her Toyota Landcruiser 80 some of the most difficult pistes known. Single-handed. Respect!
Knowing the good cuisine of Zebrabar, we opted for the dinner at the camp house and had a very delicious dinner while chatting to Ursula, updating her on our travels and hearing about the groups they expect next.
The past twenty-four hours had been hard on us. We were shattered and retreated early to our tents. I stayed up for a few extra minutes trying to write this blog but with only three hours of sleep and a day of driving, my eyelids were constantly falling shut. Time for me to go to bed too.