I decided to go to Mauritania. It had been on my radar for a few years. I was drawn to it because I knew nothing about it, it has a vast expanse underpopulated Sahara desert (which seems mysterious and adventurous), and it has the Iron Ore Train (about which I will say more in a future post). After my other pandemic travels were to more conventional destinations, I was ready for some proper adventure.
Getting to Mauritania involved a 22 hour layover in Paris, which was a bonus for me, since I hadn’t been to Paris since 2009. I arrived in Paris at around 5pm. Between the covid checks, the super huge queues at the airport, and train station construction, it took me almost two hours to get from tarmac to the Gare du Nord train station. It was just starting to get dusky as I walked 10 minutes to my hostel.
I booked a private room at the Le Regent Montmartre ‘Hip Hop’ hostel, just on the edge of Montmartre. It was simple, cute, and comfortable…and I spent as little time there as possible before getting out to see something of Paris.
I took myself on a walk through the area around Pigalle, with its sex shops, burlesques historic and modern, and vintage cabarets. I took a series of failed photos. I was just too impatient and wanted to keep moving, so I ended up with a lot of blurry snaps of neon.
I started to meander up to Montmartre, delighted that the cafes and restaurants were full, live music flowing out of open doors, crepe shops cooking up tasty treats. I wandered past the usual, notable sights in the area and enjoyed the busy squares and the Sacre Couer, but it was also wonderful when I found myself on an empty street so picturesque, perfectly French, and atmospheric.
I finally settled at a outdoor cafe just off the Place du Tertre where I enjoyed a glass of wine and a Partagas Series D No.4 (that’s a cigar). I think 3 people invited me to join them or asked to join me for a drink. I don’t know if people are just extra social now that the covid restrictions have been lifted or what, but that sort of open, hospitality to strangers would be very out of place in Vancouver and I appreciated the invitations, but I preferred to remain on my own.
I had the shortest of sleeps and got up early to see a bit more of the city before heading back to the airport. Still dark out, i took the metro to the Seine and walked along it, watching the sky change and the lights reflect in the water. I looped past the Louvre and into an area with cafes and boulangeries. I could smell the freshly baked breads in the cool air.
I settled in to one of the few open cafes and had a proper (carb heavy) French breakfast.
By the time I was finished the sky was light and I strolled back to the metro through the Tuileries Gardens.
I rode back to Pigalle, where the streets were filled with what I assume is a weekly flea market and people were already busy shopping for fur coats, old typewriters, and ephemera.
One last look at the Sacre Coeur, this time in the light of day, and I trained back to the airport for my flight to Nouakchott. It is a long journey and I have enjoyed it, but I am ready to just get to where I am going. Now the new arrivals are boarding. I find myself looking at them, trying to find clues about what to expect in Mauritania. A lot more traditional and religious dress. A group of young French speaking girls who I have overheard say they are on vacation for 5 days. My immediate reaction to that was, “who goes on vacation to Mauritania?” …right. Me. Well, there is some comfort in knowing I am not the only one. A couple more hours and my curiosity about my chosen destination will all be put to rest. Departure is imminent.