A pure and raw adventure
After driving an electric car to Australia and taking the train all the way to Asia, I set my sights on a new challenge: travelling to Africa without ever boarding a plane.
So, I stumbled upon the Mauritanian Iron Ore Train, aka the Sahara Express. A 17-hour wild ride on a cargo wagon, like you’re auditioning for Mad Max: Sahara Edition. Naturally, I thought, ‘That sounds like my kind of holiday.’
I was captivated by its raw, unfiltered adventure. The idea of traversing one of the harshest landscapes on Earth in an open-air iron ore wagon was irresistible. I did my research and found out getting there was surprisingly easy, or maybe that’s just my low standards talking.
The route
Starting in Amsterdam, I took the Eurostar to Paris, followed by a TGV that transported me to Barcelona, where I stayed overnight.
On the second day, two more trains carried me south to Tarifa, where I caught a ferry to Tangier. Within 24 hours, I found myself stepping onto African soil.
From Marrakech, I ventured deeper into the heart of Mauritania, navigating the desert by buses and minivans, before finally reaching the starting point of my glamorous iron ore train adventure.
The journey
From the Netherlands to Mauritania by public transport
Morocco
Just 36 hours after leaving Amsterdam, I found myself in Morocco, a whole new world waiting to be discovered. My first stop was Tangier, where the city’s irresistible charm lies in its labyrinth of alleys. Getting lost there felt more like a requirement than an accident.
From Tangier, I hopped on a super-fast French TGV to Casablanca. Booking tickets online was easy, and the modern train stations took me by surprise. Traveling by train in Morocco turned out to be really smooth and efficient. From Casablanca, I boarded a local train to Marrakech. They’re even building a new high-speed line but the current five-hour ride is already pretty great.
The Western Sahara
Or Sahara Maroccain, as I was firmly corrected by an angry taxi driver. It’s a disputed area, after all. This surreal landscape felt like stepping into another dimension, endless stretches of rugged desert, only occasionally interrupted by glimpses of civilization: a modest tent, a dilapidated police checkpoint, or a herd of wild camels.
I’d heard all kinds of warnings about this region: “It’s dangerous!” they said. Reality? The only danger I faced was being blinded by the sheer beauty of the dunes.
The border crossing? Let’s just say it was a test of patience and resilience.
Mauritania
Mauritania doesn’t ease you in. I arrived in Nouakchott, a city that feels more like a dust storm with traffic. It’s chaotic, raw, and oddly captivating.
From there, I travelled inland to Terjit, a hidden oasis where palm trees and cool springs appear like a desert mirage. Pure magic after days of heat and dust.
Further on stood Ben Amera, one of the world’s largest monoliths, rising from the sand like it crash-landed from another planet.
Mauritania was harsh, beautiful, and completely unforgettable.
The Iron Ore Train
After buses, trains, and a whirlwind of new experiences, it was time for the main event: hitching a ride on the Mauritanian Iron Ore Train. 3km long, it’s one of the longest and heaviest trains in the world and anyone can hop on for free, locals use it to transport themselves, goods and even camels.
Climbing aboard the open-air wagon, I found myself surrounded by massive mounds of ore. No seats, no shelter, just you, the iron, and the endless horizon. As the train rattled through the Sahara, the scenery was both mesmerizing and brutal. Sandstorms would whip across the desert, occasionally turning the landscape into an impenetrable blur. At other times, the view stretched on forever.
End of the line
After 17 hours and 800km, I reached Nouadhibou. The end of the line, where the iron ore is loaded onto ships for its next journey.
In the taxi to the hotel, I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I was completely black and covered in ore. In my ears, nose, hair, and everywhere else. A new look that I call ‘industrial chic.’
Exhausted? Absolutely. Dirty? For sure. Happy? Weirdly, yes. I wish the ride had lasted longer. Of the 17 hours, only 4.5 hours were in daylight. It’s like buying a ticket for a blockbuster and then spending most of it with your eyes closed.
Why did I do it this way?
Why travel thousands of kilometres across deserts, borders, and questionable bus routes… without flying?
Why ride on top of a train through the Sahara with no roof, no seat, and absolutely no shade?
Why sleep on floors, take detours through places most people can’t point out on a map, and miss the comfort of an easy flight?
Because I wanted to challenge the idea that adventure requires convenience.
Because the planet doesn’t need more short cuts, it needs more long journeys with purpose.
Because when you take the slow road, you see things you’d never see from 30,000 feet. You meet people. You collect stories. You rediscover awe.
And maybe, just maybe, because I enjoy doing things the hard way.
Was it always fun? No.
Was it worth it? Every single dusty, sweaty, unforgettable second.
