November 2018: My friend and I were on a cross-country, multi-nation journey across North Africa-North Africa | Venture The Planet, aiming to explore new countries neither of us had been to before. With only three days in Mauritania, I wanted to make the most of our time—and what better way than by hitchhiking atop an iron ore train across the Sahara Desert?
This journey is often hailed as one of the greatest train adventures in the world, and in an era where so much of travel is commercialized and regulated, it felt surreal that such a raw, unfiltered experience was still possible.
But Mauritania is far more than just the train. It is a land of ancient history, vast deserts, and nomadic traditions. This is the birthplace of the Moors, an Islamic Berber civilization that once ruled over Northwest Africa, Spain, and Portugal during the medieval era.
Much of Mauritania remains remote and inaccessible, dominated by endless sand dunes where camel caravans still roam—living echoes of a time when nomads controlled the vast trade networks of the Sahara. Scattered across the desert, crumbling villages lie half-buried beneath the shifting sands—once-thriving trade hubs that connected Sub-Saharan Africa to the Roman Empire.
With only a few days in this enigmatic country, I knew we were in for an unforgettable adventure—one that would take us deep into the desert, across history, and atop one of the most legendary trains in the world.
What is the Iron Ore Train
The Mauritanian iron ore train is an engineering marvel, transporting approximately 22,000 tons of iron ore daily from the massive mines of Zouérat, deep in the Sahara Desert, to the coastal town of Nouadhibou.
Stretching over a mile long, it is one of the longest trains in the world, often consisting of three to four diesel locomotives pulling up to 200 freight cars. At the very end of the train, a single passenger car is reserved for mine workers and railway staff.
Every day, the train makes its grueling journey across the desert, skirting the disputed border of Western Sahara, unloading its precious cargo at the coast before returning to the mines for another load.
Yet, beyond its industrial purpose, the train has become a lifeline for local Mauritanians. In a country with few roads and even fewer public transportation options, the iron ore train is one of the only ways to travel long distances across the Sahara. Hitchhiking is commonplace, and locals routinely climb aboard the open freight cars, perching atop heaps of iron ore, exposed to the elements.
Rides are free, and the railway company turns a blind eye to those who hop on during the train’s brief stops in remote desert towns. There are no tickets, no conductors, and no rules—just one unspoken condition:
You are on your own.
There are no safety measures, no guardrails, and no shelter—just the open sky, the harsh desert winds, and the sheer thrill of riding across one of the most inhospitable landscapes on Earth.
Sitting atop an iron ore car, staring out over the endless Sahara, with nothing but the rhythmic clatter of the train and the emptiness of the desert horizon, is one of the last great adventures left in the modern world.
Route that I took on the train from Choum to Nouadhibou.
We flew into Mauritania, arriving in the capital city of Nouakchott late in the evening after a long journey from Egypt-Coral Reefs and Biblical Deserts-Camping on the Red Sea in the Desert Paradise of Ras Mahammad National Park | Venture The Planet via Istanbul, Turkey.
It was the weekend, and despite the late hour, the open spaces of the city were alive with activity. Along the streets, locals gathered to barbecue, sharing food, tea, and conversation with friends and family under the warm Saharan night sky.
We checked into a small, family-run inn, where the atmosphere was quiet and welcoming—a brief respite before our next adventure.
A driver I had pre-arranged met us at the hotel, and without wasting time, I set off with him to the market to buy supplies for our upcoming journey on the iron ore train.
First, we needed cash, so we found a street money changer, one of many operating in Nouakchott’s informal economy. I exchanged $500 USD, receiving handfuls of inflated local currency, which I stuffed into my pockets.
With cash in hand, we moved on to buy food, water, and traditional Mauritanian clothing—flowing robes and headscarves that would provide protection against the sun, sand, and wind during our time in the Sahara Desert. The real adventure was about to begin.
Essential Items for Riding the Iron Ore Train
Riding atop the Mauritanian iron ore train is an unfiltered, raw adventure, but the experience comes with harsh conditions. To survive the journey across the Sahara, these items are helpful:
- Goggles – The iron ore dust is relentless. Without eye protection, you’ll be blinded within minutes as the wind kicks up clouds of fine, metallic particles.
- Mask or Face Covering – Breathing in iron ore dust for hours can be unbearable. A local Berber turban (cheche) is particularly effective, allowing you to wrap your face while still breathing comfortably.
- Plenty of Water – There’s no telling how long you’ll be on the train once you board. The desert heat dehydrates quickly, and without enough water, the journey can become dangerous.
- Snacks – There are no stops, no vendors, and no access to food along the way. Bring high-energy, easy-to-carry snacks for the long haul.
- Clothing That Can Get Filthy – Expect to be completely covered in dust and grime by the end. We opted for traditional boubou robes, which are loose, breathable, and perfect for desert travel.
- A Warm Jacket – The desert nights are brutally cold. Wearing a warm layer under your boubou ensures you stay warm when temperatures plummet after sunset.
- Sleeping Pad – Sitting or lying on jagged iron ore rocks for hours is painful. A sleeping pad or cushion makes all the difference.
- Multiple Copies of Your Passport & Visa – At the end of the journey, the police will check your documents. If you don’t have copies, they’ll need to take your passport to make them, which can slow the process down significantly—especially when you’re exhausted and delirious from the ride.
With these essentials, the journey becomes more manageable, allowing you to fully embrace the adventure of riding one of the world’s most extreme trains.
Drive to Choum
Getting to the Train: The Journey to Choum
The best place to board the iron ore train is in Choum, if traveling toward Nouadhibou. Choum is more accessible, the train usually stops here, and—most importantly—the cars are still full of iron ore, allowing passengers to sit atop the mounds and peer out over the endless desert.
If traveling in the opposite direction, from Nouadhibou inland, the train is empty, meaning you’ll have to sit on the bare metal floor of the freight cars, exposed to the wind and jolting motion of the train.
Getting to Choum
The easiest way to reach Choum from Nouakchott is to hire a private vehicle and driver. Public transportation is unreliable and sporadic, making self-arranged transport the best option.
Since the train was scheduled to depart in the afternoon—though its actual timing was unpredictable (sometimes early, often late)—we set off at 5 AM, giving ourselves plenty of time to navigate Choum and prepare for the ride.
The drive was expected to take 8 to 10 hours, cutting through vast, empty desert. Along the way, we passed small, isolated Berber villages, where locals greeted us with warmth and curiosity.
A Grim Lunch Stop
Food options along the route were limited, but we eventually stopped at a small, open-air roadside restaurant. The meal of the day? Goat.
As we sat down, our eyes drifted to a freshly slaughtered goat carcass hanging from the wall, collecting flies in the scorching desert heat. Just a few feet away, a pile of entrails and excrement sat stewing in the dust, filling the air with a putrid aroma.
It was hard to work up much of an appetite, but we ate anyway, knowing we’d need all the energy we could get for the journey ahead.
Locals in Sahara Villages-Mauritania
Village of Choum
Village life in Choum
Marketplace in a random roadside village
Waiting for the Train in Choum
We arrived in Choum right on schedule, with a few hours to spare before the iron ore train was expected to arrive. To our surprise, there were a few other travelers waiting in town, hoping to hitch a ride atop the train, just like us.
Our driver asked around town for updates, and we were relieved to hear that the train would be more or less on time. Given the horror stories of delays lasting eight hours or more, this was good news.
Exploring Choum
With time to kill, we wandered through the sleepy, sunbaked village, stopping to drink tea with locals who seemed genuinely excited about our upcoming journey. Occasionally, a random herd of goats, led by their shepherd, would meander through the dusty streets, the only real movement in the otherwise quiet town.
Few vehicles passed through Choum, and my friend and I quickly realized that we were the only foreigners in town. Despite this, everyone was welcoming and eager to help us with catching the train.
One local, who spoke English, offered to join us on the train in case we ran into any trouble. Understanding the unpredictability of this journey, we gladly accepted his offer, and my travel companion tipped him generously for his time.
The Call to Action
As we waited, we passed the time inside a local home, sipping tea and playing peek-a-boo with the children, enjoying a rare moment of calm before what we knew would be a grueling journey.
Then, suddenly—someone rushed in, eyes wide with urgency.
“Hurry! The train is coming!”
Without hesitation, we grabbed our gear and ran for the tracks—ready for one of the most extraordinary rides of our lives.
Drinking tea in the home of some Choum locals while waiting for the train
Village kid who kept smiling at me
Riding the Train
Local in Choum. who was also waiting to ride on the top of the train
The Train Approaches
We jumped into the car and rushed toward the tracks, hoping the train would actually stop—because evidently, it didn’t always.
A few other locals had also gathered, waiting to jump aboard when the moment came. The setting sun cast a breathtaking glow over the desert landscape, painting the dunes and distant mountains in deep oranges, reds, and purples—a fleeting moment of beauty before the raw intensity of the journey ahead.
Then, long before we saw it, we heard it.
A low, thunderous rumble vibrated through the ground, rolling toward us like an oncoming storm. Seconds later, the distant wail of the train’s horn shattered the silence, echoing across the vast expanse of desert.
The iron beast was coming.
We stood at the edge of the tracks, hearts pounding, ready to race against time and climb aboard one of the world’s longest, heaviest, and most unforgiving trains.
Arrival of Train
Boarding the Iron Ore Train
As the thunderous locomotives screeched past us, I caught sight of one of the train drivers waving at me from the cab. It was a fleeting but surreal moment—an acknowledgment of the madness we were about to embark on.
Even though the train had started braking, it took a full 30 minutes for it to grind to a complete stop.
We were told we had less than five minutes to board before it would lurch forward again, resuming its relentless journey across the Sahara Desert.
The Climb
With no time to waste, we said a quick goodbye to our driver, slung our gear over our shoulders, and hurried to climb aboard.
We scrambled up a narrow metal ladder, scaling the side of a freight car just five or six cars back from the locomotives. Wanting a safer, quieter ride, we chose an empty car, avoiding the one just a few cars down—where a group of locals and a goat were already settling in for the night.
Digging In for the Journey
Our most crucial supplies—the large jugs of water—were the first thing we secured. With the train already beginning to creak and groan, signaling its impending departure, we jumped from the car’s wall onto the mound of iron ore, the loose, jagged rocks shifting beneath us.
There, we dug ourselves into a spot, carving out a makeshift nest in the ore—a space that would serve as our seat, bed, and shelter for the next 12 to 14 grueling hours.
As the train jerked forward, we knew:
There was no turning back now.
Boarding the Train
Me Wearing the local Berber dress on the train
Aboard the train
Richard and I aboard the train
Local Guy who joined us on the train
Riding the Train
Into the Sahara: The Train Departs
Just as we settled into our makeshift spot, the locomotive blasted its horn, a deafening signal that the journey was beginning. The engines roared to life, their deep, mechanical churning reverberating through the train.
One by one, the freight cars jolted into motion, slamming into each other with metallic crashes, each impact traveling down the mile-long chain of cars like a giant iron beast awakening.
As we began to pick up speed, villagers ran alongside the train, waving us off into the vast, empty Sahara. We waved back, watching them fade into the distance until we were alone—just us, the train, and the desert stretching endlessly ahead.
The Cold, the Wind, and the Smoke
With the sun sinking below the horizon, the temperature plummeted. What had been a scorching desert afternoon quickly turned into an icy, unforgiving night.
The wind howled across the open freight car, cutting through our layers of clothing and making us grateful for our boubou robes and jackets.
Our goggles proved invaluable, shielding our eyes from the fine iron ore dust that swirled in the wind. The face scarves helped, too—filtering out the dust but not the thick, acrid smoke that occasionally billowed back from the locomotive.
Every so often, a gust of wind carried the suffocating fumes straight into our faces, forcing us to gag and cough as we struggled to breathe through the haze.
The “Latrine” Situation
There was one unavoidable challenge—nature calling in the middle of the Saharan wilderness, atop a moving train.
We quickly designated the bottom of the iron ore pile as our makeshift latrine area. It was simply too dangerous to try relieving ourselves over the side of the train—the wind was too strong, and the risk of falling was too great.
I had heard a grisly story of a man who fell from the train attempting to urinate over the edge. Days later, he was found dead in the desert, his body a tragic testament to the train’s unforgiving nature.
As we huddled into our dug-out space, the train continued its relentless charge into the desert night, the stars emerging overhead, and the cold tightening its grip on us.
There was no way off until Nouadhibou.
Sleeping on the train
A Dreamlike Ride Across the Sahara
Riding the iron ore train was like stepping into a dreamscape—a journey so surreal it blurred the line between reality and imagination.
A full moon bathed the endless Sahara in a soft, eerie glow, illuminating the rolling dunes and barren landscapes stretching beyond the horizon. We passed occasional villages, but for the most part, there was nothing—just the vast, silent desert staring back at us, indifferent to our passage.
The Rough Ride and Bizarre Dreams
The train wasn’t smooth—far from it. It shuddered, jolted, and groaned as it barreled through the night. The vibrations were relentless, making it nearly impossible to sleep soundly.
Still, I fought exhaustion, determined to stay awake for as long as possible, soaking in every second of this once-in-a-lifetime journey.
When I did drift off, my dreams were wild and bizarre—somehow shaped by the strange rhythm of the train. In one, I arrived at work on the iron ore train, stepping off as if it were just another normal commute. Each time I dozed off, the grinding metal, sudden jerks, or violent shaking of the train would wake me again.
Beneath me, the iron ore shifted, forcing me to dig out a new resting spot over and over again. My makeshift pillow—a mound of ore shaped to cradle my head—kept crumbling away.
Brief Stops and Unexpected Surprises
Every so often, the train lurched to a stop in the middle of nowhere. In the darkness, a few shadowy figures would emerge, climbing aboard in silence before we rumbled forward again.
Then, out of nowhere, a passing train shattered the stillness.
Its blaring horn and blinding headlights jolted us violently awake—a moment of pure disorientation as the massive, roaring machine thundered past, momentarily illuminating our faces like ghosts.
Living a Childhood Dream
The ride was unforgiving—cold, dusty, and bone-rattling. But despite the discomfort, we loved every second of it.
Every young boy, at some point, has dreamed of hitchhiking across the country on a train like a hobo, chasing adventure, embracing the unknown.
And here we were—doing just that. But instead of rolling through the American Midwest, we were hitching a ride across the most extreme landscape on Earth—the Sahara Desert.
As the train plowed forward into the night, we embraced the raw, untamed beauty of the journey, knowing that this was one adventure we would never forget.
My dirty face once we arrived in Nouakchott
Arrival in Nouadhibou: The End of the Journey
After 12 grueling hours on the train, we finally arrived in the coastal town of Nouadhibou.
We had boarded at sunset, and now, as we disembarked, the first light of dawn painted the horizon in soft hues of orange and pink. The timing was poetic, marking the end of one of the most surreal experiences of our lives.
Dust-Covered and Exhausted
The moment we jumped off the train, we were completely covered in iron ore dust—our clothes, faces, and backpacks stained in deep, rusty hues.
The sheer exhaustion of the ride had settled into our bones, every muscle aching from the relentless vibrations and shifting ore beneath us.
A Quick Run-In with the Police
The sheer exhaustion of the ride had settled into our bones, every muscle aching from the relentless vibrations and shifting ore beneath us.
As soon as we hit the ground, local police approached us, asking for our papers and passports—a standard routine for foreigners hitching the train.
Anticipating this, we handed them copies of our documents, avoiding any unnecessary delays.
The First Stop: A Shower and Rest
With the bureaucratic formalities out of the way, we flagged down one of the waiting taxis, preying on the dust-covered, exhausted hitchhikers stumbling off the train.
We went straight to a cheap hotel, eager for a hot shower and a few hours of rest.
Washing off the thick layer of iron dust felt like shedding a second skin, revealing just how drained we really were.
A Simple but Glorious Meal
After catching a bit of sleep, we wandered into town for lunch. The meal itself was forgettable, but after half a day of cold wind, iron dust, and exhaustion, anything tasted incredible.
With full stomachs and renewed energy, it was time to move on to the next challenge.
A Race to the Border
Our next mission? Getting to the Western Sahara border-Crossing the Conflicted Deserts of One of Africa’s Oldest Rebellions, Western Sahara | Venture The Planet before it closed at 4 PM.
The drive would take a few hours, and we didn’t have much time to spare.
We made it with just one hour to spare—crossing yet another threshold into the next chapter of our journey.