Pete's camel caravan with storm coming in
Erin
After a lengthy trip into the Sahara desert accompanied by a man named Ahmed who acted as our driver, tour guide and translator, we found ourselves literally on the edge of the rose-gold sand dunes looking at the Sahara properly. The dunes were accentuated even more by an inky black sky - not the night sky, but a huge storm that was whipping up and coming at us over the border of Algeria. The sky got darker as we visited the tiny local shop made of clay and hay to load up on water. We were advised by our Berber guides now - who had taken over from Ahmed - to purchase at least 2 bottles per person for the night, as where we were going there certainly would be no water.
We were then taken to our camels - two caravans of them, all saddled up with blankets and side bags, to take us into the Sahara properly. I was second in line in the first caravan, and Pete was bringing up the rear of the second. I must say - camel caravans, semi-running through the deep sand of the Sahara was one of the less comfortable experiences of my life. Suffice it to say - if you're going to take a camel anywhere and he's wearing some blankets, wear longer shorts that come down over your knees unless you like chafing on your inner thighs.
We arrived at our accommodation for the night - a curious and enjoyable Berber camp, with huge communal tents made of blankets and carpets held up by wooden poles with a central courtyard style area with campfire and carpets to sit on. A hookah was nearby, along with other Moroccan things like intricate bowls and tea sets. The Berbers told us to make ourselves comfortable, which was easy. We explored the camp - the insides of the communal tents all set up with beds on the floor and beautifully embroidered carpets and bedding. Except, as is to be expected, there was no toilet.
Someone asked the Berbers where they could go to the bathroom and were told they'd need to dig their own individual latrine in the sand outside the camp - somewhere off in the dunes. What? This being my first ever trip to a country this wild it was both exciting and worrying. Digging my own toilet? Uh... okay. As it turns out though it's not that difficult to go pee in the desert alone. You just need to be careful not to stray too far from the camp.
I went out into the sand to find a great spot to pee. As I was looking, one of the camels ran past me and off into the wild unknown. I did my business in the dunes and went back to camp to hear one of the Spanish speaking other guests asking one of the Berbers where the camels had gone (turns out they'd all taken off) and how'd they get them back. "They will come back tomorrow." he told her in Spanish. As it turns out, a lot of Moroccans can speak French, Arabic and Spanish - something you wouldn't expect.
As the sun began to get obscured more by the dark clouds, rain came down in the distance and a great desert wind came up. The Berbers ushered us inside a tent and then brought us a delicious tagine they'd made for us. One girl - who actually had Arabic ethnicity, but was Australian- on our tour complained that we didn't have plates or something. As Claire pointed out "We're lucky we got forks. They didn't have to provide that since they don't eat the way we do in the West." We shared the tagine in a communal style - all sitting aorund and taking pieces with our forks and when we were done the wind died down a bit and we moved back outside around the campfire.
By this time though, the dung beetles, which look like Scarabs, had come out. Hundreds of them. Some of the people on our tour freaked out a bit, but the Berbers would simply pick them up and whip them out into the dunes. Apparently they're harmless - although they did make for an exciting toy for the camp cat, a typical housecat who lives at the camp and comes out by night in the cooler air.
The Berbers entertained us with music and singing around the campfire, and as many people on the tour began to drop off to sleep - literally sleeping under the stars on the tent, myself, Pete, Claire, Mike and David all wandered out and around the dunes in the dark. The Berbers took us up on top of a huge sand dune. Let me tell you, climbing a sand dune is akin to walking in calf height snow - uphill. In a word, difficult. I've never been so tuckered out. All of us tourists struggled and needed help getting up there, which was pretty hilairous.
Once on top of the dunes, we shared a flask of whiskey and someone passed around a joint. We sat on the dunes, chatting well into the early hours, admiring the Milky Way, when the waning moon began to rise. One of the Berbers referred to it as "The Sunrise of the Moon", which is a relatively romantic way to describe it.
I think we finally fell asleep around five in the morning, and when the sun began to rise, we were woken by the camels, indeed, returning as promised. They seemed to be unhappy to be forced to return, and many were moaning and groaning atop a hill. They can be very loud - alarmingly loud in the desert - and it was easy to let your imagination run away with you in the pitch darkness of such an exotic, open place. It was certainly a night I'll never forget.
Comments
Post a Comment