martes, 16 de marzo de 2010

The Big Beach



The Sahara is a big beach. A really big one. I met few old Saharan people who spoke Spanish. It is like an echo from the past. They helped me a lot and they made complaints about the Spanish politics. They have betrayed the Agreement of 5 June 1969 about Spanish citizenship. In the Moroccan side, the police and military are everywhere. They do not want witnesses.

About the motorcycle. Every day there is at least one problem. When I was thinking the bike is Ok, I crashed and broke the pannier. It was typical of me. I met a Greek guy in the camping. He rides a GS 1200 ADV and this was his first trip. I wanted to show off riding the gravel road, but slipped on the sand and fell off. Funny, but I broke the suit case. I had to go to to fix it.



The main problem was in Mauritania. You know, there is Al Qaeda kidnapping western citizens. So it is not a good place to have mechanical problems. Ok, in the worst place, 200 km north to Nuakchot I run out of petrol. I arrived to the only gas station on the way and they said: no more gas till tomorrow.



There were three Mali guys. I felt them very hostile to me. They were 3 good for nothing, not really Al Qaeda terrorist, but the problem is one white guy means 5 millions dollars here because they knew our Government paid that for other hostages. So those stupid bastards started to think about. The worst thing in life can be kidnapped by amateurs.



Nobody wanted to help. Nobody wanted me there. I was going to have night at the fill station when Uncle Sam appeared. A big truck of Coca Cola driven by 4 black guys. I asked them if they can put my motorbike on and take me to the city. They asked 15.000 guias, about 60 euros, and here I am. In Nouakchott.





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