Morocco V: The Sahara!
The most captivating thing to anticipate about Morocco was that we’d be in the Sahara Desert. My sense of excitement exploded imagining seeing for real the iconic scenes of dunes, and camels, and their handlers out there. Finally: I would get there for myself! I intended to drink it all in, every last dry drop of it.
Our itinerary led us from the verdant western side of the Atlas Mountains over passes choked by unusually high winter snowfall. On the eastern side of the mountains was a different color palate: every hue of brown in the dust, dirt, and sand. After a long day in our mini-bus and a quick night at the “Palais du Desert” hotel in Erfoud, we were met by three desert-worthy 4x4 vehicles. Off we went!
Fossils in the bedrock! Everywhere!
After a couple of hours of motoring east towards the Algerian border, we stopped in a trackless place to stretch our legs. Our hosts led us along a small stone ridge where the rocks were embedded with hundreds of beautiful fossils!
Then we skirted the end of a dune and there, on a ridge with sand stretching toward the horizon, was our private camp, our desert home for two glorious days and nights. In the distance was an eye-catching rock massif called Jbal Bayaa.
We settled into our individual safari tents, each floor covered with gorgeous handmade Berber carpets. The beds and nightstands, solar-powered lights, and en suite bathroom with toilet, sink and shower elevated the experience from basic to proper glamping (glamorous camping)! Slider doors opened to the stunning view. Out front, a table and chairs, also on carpets, beckoned us to sit and drink it in.
Most of all, I had anticipated the desert silence. Soon, I needed to wander. Intending to go just a little way, my soul was drawn like a magnet away from camp. After days of visiting populated, thriving, busy, albeit truly wonderful places, all that was before me was peace and silence. Farther and farther I went, until there was nothing to hear but my breathing and footsteps in the still air of the sunlit afternoon. I sat and reveled in the warmth of the sand. I gazed at the wind-sculpted ripples on nearby dunes. Everything was a stunning dun color, except for the brilliant blue of the clear sky.
My camel handler, Moh
It wasn’t long before I heard something worth exploring: grunts, mostly, and burps and other sounds that could only signal the arrival of the camels! They and their three handlers came into a swale nearby that was hidden from the others, but I got a sneak peek of the afternoon’s activity! Before long we were donning proper headgear (a “shash”) and being shown how to hang on while a camel rises beneath you! Off we went, this time powered by the elegant shuss of camel’s feet on sand. The gait was unhurried and steady, a rocking motion that felt just as I had imagined it. (The saddle: not so comfortable!) After dismounting, we scrambled up a tall dune for photos and to see the impending sunset.
Back at camp in the mess tent and outdoor lounge were refreshments including (of course) proper mint tea. Islamic religious strictures on alcohol made our discovery that the set-up included an impressive bar even more wondrous. Our Muslim hosts were wonderful for considering our needs! Cheers.
I got up a couple of times in the night and was saddened to see cloud-covered sky. But when I peeked out at 6am, the sky had cleared! Silently, I bundled up and slipped out into the cold morning. The camp was silent, and I had the sparkling bowl above to myself. There were so many stars that I almost missed picking out the Big Dipper! It gave me a memorable glimpse of the majesty of the firmaments before light pollution.
After breakfast, the group made its way several miles across to Jbal Bayaa, some of us on camels, others preferring to walk. (I was on a camel, of course!) Our 4x4 vehicles met us there and we visited a nearby nomad winter camp. (We learned later that they call white people “Romans” in the wake of Roman occupation long ago.) The nomadic lifestyle is hardscrabble, and these are hardy, hard-working people devoted to their animals and the earth that sustains them. As in so many places, it is a diminishing lifestyle as modernity tempts young people to pursue a different sort of life. Although shy of strangers, they were welcoming and we even played some futbol (soccer) with the children.
Learning to cook tagine
The hand-washing station (with a mirror view)
Also on the agenda that day was a cooking class to learn how to cook tagine (the national dish). Later, around a campfire, we enjoyed Gnaoua (pronounced gna-wa) music, a hypnotic, rhythmic Moroccan genre rooted in the heritage of formerly enslaved people from further south in Africa.
And again that evening the sunset again wow’d the crowd, followed by a final sunrise that threatened to outdo it.
The Sahara is a hefty 3.5 million square mile presence across eleven northern African nations, including most of eastern Morocco. Its dust swirls up and across oceans at times. It is a geological feature with a life of its own, and will not be harnessed or bound. It is fun to recognize that any impact I had on it during those two days was swept away immediately by time and natural forces. That remarkable desert will always be there, but it will never be the same for long.
[Our trip guide was the incomparable Ali ait Ichou. Our adventure travel company was Wilderness Travel. For more about it, see https://www.wildernesstravel.com]
