We have entered a war zone. Well, not really. It just resembles one. Welcome to Nouadhibou! It’s hot, dusty, buildings are crumbling, and everyone looks like they want to kill us. It could easily double as the set for Black Hawk Down, with its post-apocalyptic feel. The city, if you can even call it that, is covered in shades of gray. Garbage fills the streets, animals are left to roam, and the cars, as well as people, look like they’ve seen better days, though, I’m not sure that’s true.
While driving in circles, looking for a place to stay, we witnessed a young boy going number two in the street. It wasn’t the act that shocked us, but the position he assumed. The tiny half-naked boy was practically upside down in what resembled the yoga position downward facing dog (thanks, Google). Not a pretty sight, as you might imagine. Squatting makes much more sense.
We finally settled on an Auberge off the main road. On a whim, we decided to exchange our Moroccan dirhams for Mauritanian ouguiya with our driver. Trust me, I already know how it sounds… and yes, we got totally screwed. To our defense, we didn’t know the exchange rate, had previously read that the banks would not accept dirhams, and we were suffering from exhaustion to top it off. I know –excuses, excuses.
