On Transport

If you are at all concerned about my safety here in Mauritania, perhaps you should skip this entry :)

Traveling is always an experience in country, and it looks like I'll be doing my fair share of it over the next two years. Every three or four weeks I travel into Atar, my regional capital, to check e-mail, get mail, post on my blog, and re-stock foodstuffs not available in Chinguetti. This trip is marked by gorgeous scenery (see pictures above), but it still makes me a little nervous every time I hop into the back of a pickup truck (called a “taxi brousse” or “bush taxi”) already crammed full to begin the two-hour ride. Yes, I could sit in the cab, but I save $3 each way by sitting in the back. Totally worth it. Plus, there's more head room.

The first and last thirds of the journey we travel at full speed through sandy Saharan plains. I'm sure I've ingested gallons of sand already, but as a friend said, “At least [my] skin gets exfoliated.” The middle third of the journey though is my favorite. Chinguetti is on a huge plateau, so to go from Atar to Chinguetti I travel up the side of some gorgeous mountains. Precariously perched in the back of the truck, which slows down to about 10 mph for this leg of the trek, I sit and soak up the beautiful scenery. This is another reason I love sitting in the back of the truck: the rock ledges feel close enough to reach out and touch (sometimes they are), the steep cliff to my right gives me a slight sense of vertigo, and the multi-colored rocks are different than anything I've ever seen before.

Mauritanians look at me a little weird when I hop in the truck's bed. That's the budget way of traveling; as an American they tell me I surely have tons of money. It provides a good chance to explain Peace Corps and dispel rumors about Americans all driving around in Hummers and owning mansions. Even after explaining Peace Corps I still receive many confused glances. “Who is this kid?” They seem to be wondering. Sometimes they follow with questions that circumnavigate the question, “Are you a spy?” (“The United Stated government pays for you to come and live here, they purchase all your food, they pay for your language instruction, and you really expect to be called a 'volunteer'?” [Touché.] )

At the end of the day I arrive at my destination safe and sound, though typically quite dirty. It's fun! C'est la vie dans la Mauritanie... especially when all you've got is “bush taxi.”