EarthKora

December 24, 2005

No wise men here....sorry

Is there room at the Inn ? I donâ€™t know, I'll find out when I get there. There is no Mary tonight, just me and the baby Ped.

I am on the road from Atar to Nouakchott and it's Christmas Eve. There is no opening of presents, there are no television specials, just my tiger and me in the middle of the desert.

Stopped outside a police check point I briefly slip off my shoes to feel the sand squish between my toes. There is a cloudless sky this night and heaven is above. I don't see Santa, but then again Muslim and Buddhist children are disqualified from receiving presents. There are only countless stars and stretching my arms skyward I am for a moment a conductor between the heaven and earth.

The sky here is always spectacular. Paul Bowles was right. Every other sky is a mere faint hearted effort in comparison.

The baby Ped and I are following a star in night sky. It's the one straight ahead. It is the glow of yet another Mauritanian police official demanding a bribe.

Note: Why you have to buy the book.
Mauritania yielded some of the richest stories yet including...
-Snak Shak Iraq, a restaurant ran by a former Iraqi P.O.W.
-Restaurant scams (a high art in Mauritania)

Posted by Julian Cook at 12:45 PM | Comments (5)

December 23, 2005

The night train to Choum

The iron ore train to Choum from Nouadhibou was supposed to leave at 4pm but didn't get going until 8pm. It's the longest train in the world clocking in at two kilometers in length. You have the option of buying a couchette, a regular sleeper seat or if you are clinically insane, you can ride in one of the open top boxcars that holds the iron ore for free.

I did not regret choosing the seat.

I wouldn't call it anarchy, but riot would come close to describing the scene as the train stopped to take passengers. Shoving my way on board with my backpack, I plopped down in my seat and watched as the compartment filled up. When the seats were all filled others tried to wedge themselves in between passengers and no one seated was going to have any of that nonsense.

They may have been filthy and smelly seats, but by golly they were filthy and smelly seats only meant for one person.

I dozed off to sleep and awoke at 5:00am in the middle of the nicest snapshot you could imagine. In the narrow passageway on the train there were about 10 people gathered, some sitting down and they had a gas ring fired up! They were making mint tea on the train! Laughing, smiling, and smoking cigarettes they sure were a happy bunch. The host shoved a small glass of the tea into my hand, I took a sip, stood up and was struck by the scene outside.

It was dimly lit and I could clearly see a sand dune about 60 feet tall. The whole out of doors was encased in a thick brown fog. We were quietly rolling through a sandstorm, a fact I confirmed by poking my face outside where I received an exfoliation worthy of a pricy salon.

I finished my tea, gave the glass back to the host who then eagerly started another pot of what they call Moroccan whiskey.

Posted by Julian Cook at 12:24 PM | Comments (0)

December 21, 2005

The banana's sharp edges

Nouadhibou is pretty much what you expect in an impoverished African city. None of the buildings are more than four stories high, they're made of cinderblock covered with a kind of stucco. Between the buildings and the road is a strip of about 8 feet of gray dirt, sand and assorted litter which is also an optional driving area. Pedestrians having the right of way isn't exactly a law, it's more of a rough guideline. Mules pulling carts plod alongside cars in various states of decay, many of them Mercedes.

Brendan Reade is the latest addition to my list of people I most admire. He has been constantly traveling since 1978. Here's the kind of guy Brendan is, he doesn't just visit South America, he continues to the British Antarctic Territory.

We decided to walk to the shore, but only managed to get semi lost in a shanty town and sensing some danger decided to beat a hasty retreat. All the while I was encouraged and amazed at his tales of adventure.

* * *
Some of the best fish in the world comes from Mauritanian waters. It's too bad they sold the fishing rights to the European Union though. Tony is a UK citizen motorcycling his way through Africa and he swears that the best fish he has ever had comes from here. I decided to test his endorsement and had the whole grilled corbine. Sure enough it was excellent. Unfortunately, in my enthusiasm, I managed to lodge a fish bone in my throat.

I stayed up the whole night worrying about the possible medical ramifications of this. The saddest part is that I was in an environment that was by most definitions very dreamy and romantic. I was outside, lying awake, looking at the stars, and the moon was directly overhead. Clouds were being quickly pulled across it's face like a veil, on then off. The wind was nice and gentle, begging me softly to succumb to the call of the sandman. Even with the vast resource of the Sahara, the sandman is sometimes fruitless in his mission.

* * *

For the record if you find yourself suffering a similar fish bone misadventure, here's how to solve it. Bite a chunk of banana, roll it around in your mouth to remove the sharp edges and swallow it whole. Assuming you don't asphyxiate on the banana, that should dispatch the bone to it's (your rear) end.

Posted by Julian Cook at 12:22 PM | Comments (0)

December 20, 2005

The most evil Kentuckian of all

I was a man without a country. Morocco stamped my passport "Sortie", french for "Exit". Next stop was Mauritania, but I was not officially inside the country yet. I officially was not inside ANY country. Going from Morocco's exit to Mauritania's entry requires that you travel five kilometers through hard rocky hamada. There is however one very important point to keep in mind: it's five kilometers of some of the most heavily land mined turf on the planet.

The guides routinely know how to navigate this no man's land and thankfully we got through with no problem.

The visa was no problem either. 30 Euros and it was stamped in my passport. The Mauritanians were happy to see us and we pushed through with a minimum of fuss.

Good thing too because in my pack was a prohibited item in the Islamic Republic of Mauritania: Jim Beam whiskey. Islam preaches that Jim Beam is evil and after some careful thought I agree, he must be killed. Preferably slowly with Coca Cola and lemon.

Posted by Julian Cook at 11:56 AM | Comments (0)