Sahara (فصل ٢)

The bright desert sun peaked in through the window to wake me up Saturday morning. Today was the day we would travel to Merzouga, our departure point for the sandy ocean of the Sahara desert near the Algerian border. Around eight or so, I managed to convince my body to get out of bed for breakfast and wandered down to the hotel restaurant to see if there would be something besides bread for a change. This morning I was greeted by more variety than the usual tea, bread, and apricot jelly. There wasn't necessarily eggs, fruit, and meat of any kind. It was breads and pastries, just with more diversity within the category of simple carbohydrates. Not to say that breakfast was not good, but my body is probably wanting to kill me by now. By midmorning the group loaded up to make the hour or so sojourn to the village of Merzouga at the dunes edge. On our way we stopped in Erfoud for lunch and to make a stop for water and head scarfs, or keffiyeh, for protection against the sun and sand. I found a seller that had some for 40 dirhams. After talking him into selling two for 60 dh, one for myself and then Chanelle's. I paid and waited for my change as he dealt with multiple customers. Somehow in our dealings and exchanges I managed to get both for 30 dh. In Morocco, negotiation and purchase of items, especially as a westerner, is war. So, happy to get two for less than the price of one originally was quite a good deal. So, pleased with my dealings I left before he could realize I got the best of him. After a traditional lunch of a dish I am still unsure the name or composition of we left to make the last leg of the trip to Merzouga. Around 2:00 we the road began to run parallel to the towering dunes of Erg Chebbi that seemed to blend into the background of the cloudless, blue sky in the high afternoon sun. Turning off the highway onto an open stretch of rock and sand, we headed towards Hotel Tomboctou which lay at the edge of the dunes to our left. Once at the hotel, we would have a few hours to rest before heading into the desert. The heat during the middle of the afternoon can reach around 120 degrees Fahrenheit in the desert, and you could definitely feel it outside, as well as inside. After tea and for some, a short nap it was time to saddle up the camels and meet our Berber guides. It was about six in the afternoon when our group met our camels and set out into the sea of sand dunes the now stretched as far as I could see in either direction. The days in the desert are very long. The summer days coupled with the intense sun in the desert make for early very early sunrises and late sunsets. I tied my red keffiyeh around my head and met my camel for the ride out to our camp for the night. My camel was not large or impressive, but for everything he lacked in looks he made up for with personality. From the start he seemed to say with his groaning that he didn't sign up to work the weekends. Reluctantly he stood up and our four camel pack headed out behind the others. Entering the dunes we left the flat desolation behind and began traveling into the orange, rolling waves of the Sahara. Starting out on the camel, I rode as I would on a horse. Quickly, I figured out that this was not the best way to ride a camel. Horses and camels have a few differences. The hump that camels have on the middle of there back makes riding a little different than a horse. Additionally, the saddle is more of a blanket and pad tied to the top of the camel, and camels have no stirrups. Camels are also a bit less smooth than horses are. Where horses step left-right, camels step with both right or both left feet at the same time. After expirementing a bit and trying to recall scenes from Lawrence of Arabia, I settled on what I consider a decently good technique. I abandoned the straddle technique and sat on top behind the hunp half cross-legged, hanging the left leg more off the side. This was much more comfortable and made the ride as relaxing as a camel ride can be. Riding through the dunes was probably the most surreal feeling of my life. Being surrounded by what resembles mountain ranges of sand in every direction is an overwhelming and beautiful sight. Two hours into our desert trek we rounded the side of a massive sand dune and could see our camp for the night in the shadow of the mountain of sand. Our camp was a circle of Berber tents centered around a center area of rugs and tables for tea and dinner. Behind our desert encampment a sand dune towered over us, resembling a massif you might find in the mountains but on a smaller scale. My best estimation would put the top at around 300 to 400 ft. above the surrounding land. The sun was waning and I decided I would race it to the top to catch a glimpse of the fading evening light over the desert. As I started up I realized to catch the sunset, I might be fighting a battle I couldn't win. The slope facing our camp was quite steep, and I realized the problem with climbing san dunes. Besides being uphill at a pitch steeper than any mountain I had climbed, the ground shifts under your feet, moving you inches at a time. It seemed to take forever to make it to the top, but out of breath and done discovering an amazing workout I crested the ridge where the pile of sand came to its highest point. Joined by the few brave souls of ALIF and a couple of volunteers with an organization from Rabat, I took in a view I would not have imagined seeing at the beginning of summer. From the top the dunes mellowed into a deep orange and began to fade in the low evening light. I missed the brilliance of the sunset, but the faint light cast a slightly eerie, epic feeling across the Sahara. Off to the south I could catch a glimpse of the closed Algerian border. Even though absent of life, I still can say I saw Algeria. Considering the situation, it was about as close as I would get anyway. The sky was getting darker and most of the people at the top were deciding it was time to head down to camp since dinner would be soon. This is where I learned that going down a sand dune hundreds of feet tall is much more fun than the trip up. The nice thing about sand being soft is that you can run down it, and so that is exactly what Cherrie and I did. Those that walked definitely missed out, it was the closest I think I could get to skiing without sand skis. Even though the climb up is a bit difficult and demanding of patience, the view and rush down more than make up for the tough ascent. My camera full of good photos and stomach not full of food, I was delighted to see that it was almost dinner time at camp. A group of us from the UF group and a couple of grad students, Javi and Julie, found a table and relaxed on the soft rug covered sand. Dinner was a meal of bread as always, Moroccan styled salad, and what I can really only describe as a Berber casserole of sorts. It was very good and it was nice to have a fullfilling meal after a long evening. After dinner our blue, clad Berber hosts broke out the drums and started up the post dinner music and dancing. Hearing the sounds of the tabla, djbeme, and doumbek reminded me of how much I miss my drumset at home, as if I could play it now anyway with a cast. Though later in the night as we sat talking in a circle, a couple guides had their djembe with them. To my surprise they asked my if I wanted to try, and of course I said yes. The cast was a bit of an impedement, but since it was a hand percussion instrument I was able to manage pretty well. It was enough to cure my withdrawls and I was tired and decided it was time to fall asleep under the bright blanket of starts that filled the Saharan sky.

Originaly I said this was a two parter, but the entry is proving long and my time constraints push me to finish it tomorrow for part three.

~Andrew