Again, no sooner does
the sun emerge from behind the dunes, than we are the centre of an
instant market; have they been following us?
Again we start later
than planned, make a detour to pick up water from a village well
(apparently despite his interminable footering in Chinguetti, Mamou
had not brought enough to last the journey) and then stop for an
extended lunch. By now we are beginning to get into the swing
of it and, although not adopting the lethargic, fatalistic approach
to life that Mamou exhibits, we are probably enjoying our holiday
rather more and stressing less. However, I am glad we allowed
a couple of extra days because we are not covering much ground!
We were definitely
over-equipped, but today at last we actually got to use the tow-rope
for the first and only time when Mamou uncharacteristically
hesitated at the crest of a dune and was stranded like a beached
whale. It becomes increasingly clear that he is completely
unable to navigate in the sense that we understand. He cannot
read the maps, indeed it is questionable if he can read at all, nor
can he use a compass or GPS. He finds his way because he has
been this way before and when he is forced to realign his route to
avoid the ever-shifting sand dunes, he sometimes has to zigzag
around until he finds a familiar landmark. I later discover
that Mike, despite having the latest sat-nav is also having
navigation problems, so I feel less embarrassed about plotting my
way manually on the IGN printouts from the co-ordinates on my
hand-held GPS.
I am beginning to
look forward to the campfire at the end of the day, Mauritanian tea
and Tesco noodles and soup! On looking back, I realise we have
spent the day crossing several dune fields stretching tens of miles.
Although, not quite in the Geoffrey Moorhouse league, that had been
my fear; becoming lost in an endless sandy waste where no-one would
ever find you. In reality it was actually rather fun at times,
not at all scary and distinctly more comfortable than driving along
a rocky piste. |