An airport is a potent place, a point of reunions and departures. For the traveler, it's a crossroads at the moment of decision, a flashpoint that separates intention from retreat. - Ginger Bensman

16 February 2020, Tiguend to Auberge Amach, 78.2km
Auberge Amach UM400 (R160)

We were up early, hoping to make it to Nouakchott, but did not by a good 30km, mainly because of the wind, partially because Charl was feeling a little blah.
Today’s highlight: A man seated outside his home on a covered patio with his family, called out to Charl cycling in front of me, and leapt to his feet brandishing a Coke bottle. He loped across the lumpy sand to the road, and there offered Charl and me ice cold Coke in a plastic glass brought by one of is sons. “Koue Coke is darem lekker, Gailie” (Cold Coke is so nice, Gail).
We are in a different world. Fewer black Africans, more lighter-skinned people. Almost all men in billowing robes, women in pastel or brights fabrics worn a little like saris, patterned or plain. The men sometimes look like yachts floating across the sand, robes billowing in the wind, or in full flight on an autocycle. Fluid pricing, bargaining lighthearted. Thin mattresses on carpeted floors, seating either on floors or on couches banked against walls, squat loos. Food eaten without utensils, right hands only. Sand and dust integral to life, more so in this, the windy season.
Today, the villages fell into poverty and ugliness under a partially-cloudy sky. As we have come now to expect, the sand was often peppered with sea shells. And we saw up close a flock of camels, the females wearing bras. Yes, “flock” is one of several collective nouns associated with camels, the others being caravan, herd and train. And yes, “bras”, or at least some sort of udder container, presumably to prevent youngsters from imbibing.
We stopped shy of Nouakchott not only because we were tired, but because an attractive auberge, well-priced and offering dinner, lured us from the road. Our room is a square cottage with a pointed roof, shaped like a nomad tent. The ceiling is covered in fabric, the floor carpeted. Along one wall is a long couch; on the floor, several mattresses, billowing dust if you move them. Windows on two walls and a door in a third allow plenty of light and air. The pit toilet is shared and squat and unattractive, but clean enough with water for a bucket bath.
Charl took a couch-nap while I cycled an additional km to a “boutique” in search of soft drinks. I cycled there against the wind to find one of the men in prayer. Usually one waits out the brief prayer period, but the second man was willing to serve me and help pack the many small cans I selected. Cycling back with the wind was so much easier and faster, it was extraordinary. In fact, it felt almost as if there was no wind at all, the bike and I moving with the wind, at the speed of the wind, as one does in a hot-air balloon.
Later, clean and rested, we were served a simple but tasty meal of spaghetti and tender chicken, as delicious as the sunset.
We met another cyclist today headed south, Allesandro from Italy. He is travelling without a phone or other means of communication, so Charl made a brief video of him saying hi and sent it later to Allesandro’s wife.

For today's route see below photos
For overview route, click on ROUTE tab above…