Day 2: Crossing the frontière and eating Pad Thai in Rosso

The border (frontière in French) between Mauritania and Senegal closes every day from 12 to 3 for the patrol to take their long lunch, pray, and drink tea. I've heard rumors--unconfirmed of course--that it's one of the only borders in the world that closes in the middle of the day for an extended period of time, but after knowing both of these countries it jives pretty accurately with the culture and the mentality (i.e. eating, taking tea, and praying are utmost).

After messaging with my peace corps friend Dan who was meeting us at the border and after fullfilling his request "to buy the cheapest bottle of vodka u can find" because alcohol is non-existent and illegal in Mauritania, we took an early lunch, gathered our bags, and headed to the gare to find a sept place to the border. We found a car that was going to Rosso, but it only had one spot left. Thankfully, everyone moved over and we successfully stuffed nine people into our our sept place (meaning seven spots), including a little girl on her mother's lap. And we we're off... well not quite... We stopped to fill gas, air the tires, and then when the driver forgot his change from the gas station man we had to turn around and go back all packed one on top of the other in the rising temp of the afternoon heat. Welcome to transport in Senegal.

Our neuf place to the border and the back of Tsilat's head.

Getting off at the river we made our way through the usual hassle of men trying to help us, "My sister, let me show you the way. You have to change your money here." They often think up schemes to get the frazzled and unknowing traveler to part with money or possessions. A Senegalese friend even told me of the first time he crossed the border and he believed the guys telling him it was already closed and that he needed to stay in their house. He found out later he could have crossed the river with a pirogue and stayed for free on the other side until morning. Even when you know where you're going and tell them you don't need help, they still swarm and if you utter any unkind word, they accuse you of being racist or not a nice person.

On the ferry.

Anyway, we hopped on the ferry and once on the other side, we were met by Dan and Zach, both in the peace corps. They helped us negotiate getting our passports stamped and getting through the Mauritania border control. We changed money dollars for the Mauritanian currency, ouigya, then Dan proposed dinner, "Do you want Chinese stir fry or pad thai for dinner? I make the best Asian food in all of West Africa." These are two foods not normally found in my diet in Senegal so it was funny to come all the way to Mauritania to be faced with the challenge of deciding between these two dishes.

Dan cooking pancakes the next morning.

We bought our ingredients at the market near Dan's house hearing the evidence of our border crossing as French, Wolof, Pulaar, and Hassinya words were thrown out to accomplish the task of buying the kilos of vegetables, peanuts, and fruit needed for our dinner. The faces were still largely Senegalese, but we were starting to see the occasional Mauritanian boubou (traditional men's dress) and most of the women were slightly more veiled than those in Senegal. We still had many more miles to travel and much more to learn about this new country, but it was good to refresh and relax before we continued our journey.

The Rosso market.

Public transporation in Rosso: A chariot. It costs less than ten cents.