The city orients itself around one great tree-lined boulevard, Avenue Gamal Abdel Nasser, running northeast from the old airport through the center. North of it lie residential neighborhoods; closer in sits the medina quarter and the kebbe, a shanty district that grew as the desert pushed people off their land. Getting around means shared taxis, the default and the cheapest option, where a set route runs a flat fare and you simply squeeze in with whoever else is going your way. Pay for all the seats if you want the car to yourself. There is also a Mauritanian ride-hailing app, ClassRide, for those who prefer a fixed price and air conditioning. City buses technically exist, though reliable information about them does not, making them a pursuit for only the most adventurous.

If you do one thing in Nouakchott, go to the Port de Pêche, the fishing wharf five kilometers west of the center, in the late afternoon. This is the city at its most alive. Teams of fishermen drive brightly painted wooden canoes onto the beach through the surf, and the catch comes ashore in a churn of color and shouting. It is bought and sold on the spot, then loaded onto donkey carts and battered old Renaults to be resold in town. One beach nearby is given over entirely to the boats, and you can buy fish straight from the sand. A word of caution: the sea here looks inviting on a hot evening, but the currents are treacherous and strong. Watch, wade, but think hard before you swim.

Nouakchott's markets are where the country's nomadic past goes to be sold and admired. At the Marché Capitale and Marché Sixième, you find Moorish silver jewelry, bracelets and earrings, rugs woven from camel wool, and the vanishing artifacts of desert life: camel saddles, carved wooden chests. Quality varies wildly, so plan to hunt, and plan to haggle, since opening prices can often be talked down to roughly a third. Out on the edge of town, on the road toward Boutilimit, the camel market makes a memorable detour. And Nouakchott has one genuinely unusual specialty: it is a principal selling place for Saharan meteorites, dark fragments of space rock gathered from the surrounding desert and traded in the city's shops.

Most restaurants in the capital serve a familiar rotation of pizzas, burgers, sandwiches, and salads, with the better places adding brochettes, seafood, and the occasional curry. Mauritania is officially a dry country, which makes drinking an exercise in discretion rather than an impossibility. Some French- and Spanish-owned restaurants and clubs keep a quiet supply of whisky or beer for those who ask, and the city's tight-knit expatriate community has its own weekend rhythms. Far more reliable, and far more in keeping with the place, is the tea: green, brewed strong, poured into small glasses from a height to raise foam, and served in rounds that are not meant to be rushed. Accept it whenever it is offered.

Nouakchott is the hinge of Mauritanian travel, and nearly everywhere else in the country runs through it. Shared taxis and minibuses fan out from the garages: north along the coast to Nouadhibou, a six-hour run; northeast to the oasis town of Atar, gateway to the dramatic Adrar plateau; and south to Rosso on the Senegal border, about three hours away. Buses to Atar leave in the morning and again in the afternoon, with locals steering newcomers toward the companies they trust most for safety. Whichever direction you choose, the city quickly gives way to open Sahara, and the contrast, after the noise of the wharf and the markets, is its own kind of arrival.