Sugar in cargo car
In Mauritania, there is one-only railway branch, which runs one-only train. This cargo composition delivers iron ore from the field somewhere in the heart of the Sahara on the coast – to the port of Nouadib. There are no roads in this part of Sugar, so the locals use this route in the absence of other options to get to several remote settlements. The train is the longest railway station in the world – about 3 km of trolleys. The only passenger car in which I decided to ride.
Getting to the station from Nouadhibu was not so simple – she was kilometers in ten from the city. The taxi driver on the murdered "Merce" reluctantly volunteered to deliver me to the place, landed from someone lonely building in the midst of sullen rocky plains and gave on gases. Around i didn’t see a soul. Everything was closed, and the wind literally piled down. Sand for counting seconds scored in all the folds of clothes and already creaked on the teeth when I walking around the building, I saw a one-sided door. Inside the station right on the floor slept an elderly caretaker. "The train is delayed today, son. You yourself see what the weather is, the old man, straightening Chalm. – Maybe it will not come at all. But you come, wait. "Suddenly rolled out a sullen mood:" Damn, where I came and where I’m going on? Some kind of killed Mauritania, some silent desert, cargo train to nowhere. Even normal locals and then do not go on it. What the hell am I came here?"
With these thoughts, I wandered along the railway paths back in the direction of the city – there was no car on the track. Already through a few minutes later, the station was practically disappeared from the view for the veil sandstone. After half an hour, from nowhere, either taking a quad bike on the horizon, quickly approaching in my direction: "Military police. Present documents. What are you doing here? Do you have permission to shoot?"It turns out that the territory according to which I walked, since the time of the Western-Sahara war was not fully cleaned and walk there simply unsafe.
In the end, I was lucky to stop some kind of jeep on the track. And jeep with a our speaking driver. Mauritania continued to present surprises. "I used to work on a steamer with our sailors. And now work on the company in Nouadib ». The story interrupted the call on the mobile. After a short conversation in Arabic, the guy uttered a sacral phrase: "bl&^ b! Za # * l This boss is already!»About the Great and Mighty our! Meet an African somewhere in the Moorish desert that utters this in our is like a balm on the soul, I tell you! 🙂
Neither taking a penny and wishing good luck, the guy landed me at the crossroads, from where the taxi was sent to the border. However, the case was already to the sunset, the border soon closed. The people advised to get out there tomorrow morning. So I almost went back to Morocco. And correctly did that he did not leave. Because the next day the wind verse, the sun shone, and I finally slept normally. The mood was just wonderful. "No. I still go on this train in spite of everything. Adventures continue!"
Train in Sakhara. Attempt number 2
On the railway station on this day was lively. When buying a ticket, buying a ticket, I met an African boyfriend named Aziz. There was no $ 8 to the aziz train, so he was going to go without a ticket in an empty trolley.
The crowd formed on the platform. The train is about to arrive. I immediately noticed the police with the camera in my hands and stated that it was forbidden to take pictures on the platform, on the train, as well as his passengers without special permission forbidden. But you understand that the temptation was great. Therefore, when the train finally appeared on the horizon, I, putting an aziz on a shukhra, began to quickly photograph what was happening around. Next, events developed rapidly.
First, after a locomotive, hundreds of empty trolleys were rushed after the locomotive. In the tail of the train finally appeared the only shabby, without windows without doors, trailed carriage. The train was not even stopped to the end, and the crowd had already rushed at his assault. People fled after the carriage, jumping on the go. In the open windows immediately began to transmit some bales, suitcases. I managed to make only a few frames reigned around the turmoil, how suddenly someone grabbed me behind the sleeve. It was the very policeman. With angrily in his eyes He began to shout something and gesticulate. He slightly released the sleeve, apparently solving what to do with me. Taking advantage of the moment, I immediately lost in the crowd. Aziz, who was all this time nearby, grabbed my hand, and we ran somewhere for the car. The guy screamed in the first trolley and shouted so that I handed him my backpack. After a few seconds, I myself was inside. Aziz showed a gesture to be squeezed. All this happened, as it seemed to me, for some shares of seconds. Passed for another five minutes. The remaining crowd eventually squeezed into a "rubber" car, and the composition finally moved. Now it was possible to rise in full growth, see and translate the spirit. Not gonna get us! 🙂
Trolley going to nowhere
In the trolley, besides me and Aziza, another African and two Berbers in Buba and Chalma. I was even glad that everything went out, – from my previous travels in India and Bangladesh, I clearly imagined myself what it means to go in a crowded car for 12 hours. Therefore, the journey in the trolley seemed to me even more comfortable alternative 🙂
First really everything went well. Light breeze softened the roast sun of the desert, and it was possible to photograph all 360 °. However, the situation has changed soon. The train scored speed. In empty trolleys, such coal dust clubs began to rise, which was simply impossible to breathe.
Sank the night, and with her just an unreal cold. Sugar night temperature drops to zero. I have shown all the warm things in which I came from Moscow. But it helped it a little – I am a corrosion to the brain of bones. The cooled iron trolley rushed along the rails. Aziz spread the larger sheet on the floor, the other African pulled the blanket from his cold bag. Sailing on a sheet and looked into the blanket, we sat silently and listened to how how towhel the busty wind. It’s time to survive. From the dusty bag, I took out a couple of baguettes purchased on the eve. The rest of the food did not have. I divided the bread at all. That night I experienced some kind of indescribable feeling. It seems to me that in such situations in people manifests itself the most important thing that every one of us is – humanity. And all the differences between us are erased and do not matter. And at such moments you understand that your problems do not go to any comparison with what these people experience. This is for me such a trip – just another adventure. And for them it is a harsh prose of life. Just someone lucky more, and he was born in a normal country, but no one. But this is not at all reason not to respect these people, isn’t it? On the contrary, they can only learn durability and optimism.
And then I saw what I would not forget, probably never. This is an incredible endless starry sky over sugar. Whether we are watching the stars, go to bed in our comfortable apartments? But it is so incredibly beautiful! That night, lying on the floor of the trolleys, I counted as many as five falling 🙂
Unable to warm up, I thought only about one thing – I would soon be my noise station. The train stayed on it among the night for only a few minutes. Rare stations were not covered in any way. No ad, naturally, no one will not do too, and I was afraid to sleep. Therefore, every time I had to wake a fellow worker: "Is it no noise?"Jumping asked as crazy, Aziz jumped out of the trolley and fled to the car to find out where we stopped. He himself, by the way, drove further. So without his help, I would definitely drive my station.
Finally, at three o’clock in the morning, the train arrived in noise. Goodbye, Starina Aziz! We hugged the farewell, praps each other. Jumping from the train, when the stars light, I saw the only car that was standing at the rails. The final destination was another 200 km on the primer. On my question "Atar?»Driver, old Arab, nodded affirmative. In addition to me in the car from a train, only one African. Driving a few minutes to the nearest village, the car stopped at some shed. I could not understand for a long time, what’s the matter, but then I finally explained to me that no one would go to Atar. "Go to bed on the floor, there, in the corner," an old man said in the light of the light. In the morning we will go on the road. Other options, as you understand, I did not have.
I woke up because at six in the morning someone lashes open the door of the barn and from the street blowing the cold wind. So started another day of my trip. But about it – in the next series.