Philip: Border Crossing and into Mauritania

Wow,
So I thought I was going to go into some kind of internetless void for a week or so because I was going to be too busy traveling and being tired. But then luck fell on me!
So last night it looked like I was going to end up paying 350 Dirham to get to Nouadhibou, which takes 7 hours of driving plus border time. Martin and I were debating whether or not to try and hitchhike or take the offer from the man we met at the bus stop in Dakhla.
We met a really friendly taxi driver who loved to practice his English and talked to me about his camels and his dream of one day going to Canada.
Anyways, get to Mousiffir Camping and tell the guy there to keep an eye out for other possible travellers going south that we might be able to catch a ride with.
Then we went for a swim in the sea, no one on the beach, really warm water. Picture Perfect.

Anyways, we get back to camp and our man tells us, "Oh, I think we might have something for you."

We meet this French guy who speaks no English (so all his quotations are translated into English, I have pretty good comprehension just no speaking skills) but seems friendly enough and is willing to do the trip for 250 Dirham, but just Martin and I compared to our other offer of 6 people in an old Mercades. He called it "Premier Class." His name was Philip and he drove a Renault, "wake me up a 7am"... Little did I know he would be my greatest adventure yet.

(have you noticed yet that this computer has an English keyboard option?)

We wake him up at 7:00 and 7:05. We decide to leave him alone because he is doing us a good favour. so at 8:30 we try again.
"huh, what, oui oui oui, lets go," he splashes water on his face, grabs his bag and goes straight to the trunk and grabs a bottle of something and chugs it down. Oh no, our driver is a drinker.
"What is that?" I ask.
"Lots of really fast incomphrensible French."
He hands it to me and I smell it, he is drinking straight olive oil, and I don't mean a little, but a lot! Better than whisky I suppose (though he does drink that we later learn, that is why it was difficult to wake him up.)

Anyways, we drive for awhile. I notice he has lots of pirate tattoos all over his arms. I ask about them, "oh, they are from when I was 13 years old." He just keeps getting more interesting, olive oil drinker, anchors and pirate ships on his arms...

We stop to have some tea 100km or so after leaving the camping.
A cat comes up to the car, and he says "you know how plants eat carbon and give back oxygen?"
"yes."
"Cats eat hangovers and give back health."
Well...ok.

And we continue...At 160km/hr. I guess it won't take 7 hours to travel the 500 or so kilometers.

He continues to randomly yell at us in French. Tells us about his travels. Well, he has been places. He drove his car from France to India and back via Eastern Europe and Georgia, Azerbijain, Iran, etc.
Then he drove it around Africa for the last three years...

Finally we get to the boarder. Morocco is straight forward. His and Martins passports are finished before mine, and when they go to serve the next person behind us because the passports don't exactly stay in order, he gets mad, scares the shit out of the border guards and suddenly my passport is back in my hands and the guards are appologizing to me!

He steamrolls through the nomansland (where there are apparently a couple thousand landmines a kilometer or so off the roadside). Dodges the citizens of nomansland (which is about 4km in distance) who are attempting to exchange money and other services (towing).

And we get to the boarder.
"Ok we should get our passports ready." he says.
"Well, here is mine," I say.
"haha, which one should I choose today!" as he looks flicks through a handfull of passports. SERIOUSLY, WHO IS THIS GUY?
The border guards want a bribe, I believe he roughly says, "Go fuck yourselves."
Then when they tell him he can't get a VISA at the border, he leans over the counter and says, "Yes you can." The two guards look at each other, and say "Ok, 300 Dirham can get you a transit VISA."
and poof. He got what he wants.

We cross into Mauritania and we hear, "PHILIP! HOW IS IT GOING MAN?"
"AHhhhhhhhh, NO WAY, MOOMOO!"
lots of hugging and laughing and really fast french.
"These are my friends Martin and Peter, can you get them a cheap place to stay tonight?"
"Oh yeah, I have a place for them."


On the road we go, we get waved through all the checkpoints and end up at a really nice family house with a few rooms available for the night. Free tea and coffee, and a huge fish meal for 500UM (1.3 euros or so).

We got to Nouadhibou in 5 hours including the border.

"So Philip, how many times have you been here?"
"20 times or so."

Ahh....Now it all makes sense.

Too good of a story for me not to write down the barebones before heading to bed tonight. We say goodbye to him tonight, and I am sure he is disappearing to somewhere probably never to be seen by me again. He was a great experience. Is his real name Philip? Where does he get his money? How is his car still alive? Why can he treat border guards like that and get away with it? Questions that I think will never be answered.

Tomorrow I am catching the Iron-Ore train from the coast to Choum and then taking a taxi to Atar. Then a couple days with a camel...Won't hear from me for a few days I think, pictures to follow.

---

Part of trip: Spain to Nigeria and Home Again

---