***** Following the Berber into the Sahara. Our Experience ***** (Sahara)

Member Name: malibu_jenny

Product:	Sahara
Date:	07/03/09 (124 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Isolation, Beauty, Silence & Stars.

Disadvantages: Desertification?

It was late afternoon when Best Friend and I passed through Rimini in North Africa. The heat on the bus was sweltering and as our driver turned off the trailing gritty road into the desert, the sun was low in the sky.

The beginning of the desert at the Berber village of Merzouga is not an easy translation from earth to sand; the rockiness and the bumps sent luggage flying all over the bus and the Australian couple next to us were flung high enough to hit the ceiling. We clung on, peering through the windows at the white stone markers which guided us. With no marked roads and no landmarks, these were the only thing preventing us being lost in the flat plain of stones and they were few and far between. It was a long journey and we passed only one other vehicle, a jeep with a plume of sand behind it like a Tintin cover.

After what seemed a long while of fending off sunglasses, flip flops and crumbs, we arrived at the Erg Chebbi dunes. These are a well-known drop off point, with a building containing the first toilet facilities in a long way. Our driver, hunched over the wheel and muttering in Arabic, skidded to a halt on the stones and threw open the side door. A large and surprisingly agile man with a black moustache immediately boarded, shouting at us in a combination of languages. The gist of it was that we were to leave all luggage behind, take only one bottle of water and one blanket and be very quick about it.

Tripping over ourselves to get off after such a long journey, we fell out of the bus into the fresher air. After pleading in French to be allowed to use the toilet, we complied with the blanket and water rules and were led down a slope to a long row of sleepy kneeling camels. We were to ride into the desert and camp before nightfall.

I clung onto my camel as it dipped forward and swayed back to stand up. Having seemed huge on the ground, it seemed a whole lot bigger once I was onboard. It showed very little interest in me and carried on chewing despite a new cargo. I was sat between humps on the thick purple camelhair blanket I'd chosen, with the bottle of water tucked into the folds. I realised once it was upright there was no need to hold on, my small stature and the camel's broad back made for easy balance and the handfuls of ear I was grabbing at weren't going to add any support.

Best Friend was also aloft on her camel, a darker, neater one than my sandy coloured ride. Both animals looked far healthier than the moth eaten tourist camels we'd seen back in Marrakech. It edged against my leg for a moment, nudging me with its huge teeth and hooded eyes. I put my hand out to stroke it and after pulling back twice (it had something of a vicious look) I managed to pat its head. We walked in stately camel strides towards the dunes and felt the hooves sink as we entered sand. Much smoother on the sand, the camels climbed with ease and slid down the other sides. Within five minutes, the sun was beginning to set in a dusky sky and there was no sign of civilisation whichever way I looked.

The dunes at Erg Chebbi are a beautiful rose pink which no photo does justice. The only other colours are the bright blue of the Berber robes and the brown of the camel poo which rolled in little marbles down the slopes as we walked. The shadows were long and the silence of the desert overtook us almost as quickly as the night which seems to creep up from the sand in an arc of stars. By the time we arrived at the Berber camp, the fires were lit by the tents and every constellation showed in the sky. Dismounting from the camels, we ran up an enormous dune, panting and struggling towards the top. The dunes are almost vertical and it was hard work to kick footholds with my trainers. More than twice the height of a two storey house, the ridge of sand along the peak gave a view of the dunes and the few silhouettes by the fire.

We lay on our backs at the top, in silence, looking up at the stars. Although they were far less bright than they'd appeared from the Atlas mountains (where I'd seen my first shooting star), you could see the curve of the earth and this was something I've never experienced before. I watched a satellite slip from behind the dunes and the edges of the sky wrapped around us. We stayed there for a while like that before I decided to slide down the dune. With a tray, this would have been a fantastic sledging opportunity, but in jeans it was hilarious. The sand, which had seemed so firm on the journey up, had taken on a powder like consistency and every bit of me snagged on it as I flipped this way and that. By the time I reached the bottom, my pockets were full, my hair was coated and my trainers were a very snug fit with the amount of sand. I was laughing and shaking it off in piles as we trudged to the campfire.

A robed man who looked little more than nineteen manned the fire. As we were starving from all our exertion, I began to try in English and then French to find out if there was food on the way. After several failed attempts, I accepted that my two or three words of Arabic were insufficient and explored the tent. It was made of the same thick camel hair blankets and rugs and supported by a central wooden staff. The sandy floor was cold and we shook out our blankets. These now smelt comfortingly of camel and for a moment we sat in there like kids playing in a Wendy house. The smell of a Tagine (what else?) led us out in time to see it produced from the fire and fingers were in it the second the lid was whipped off. As I dipped the traditional flat bread in the last remains of the sauce, I felt contentedly full for the first time in days.

We drank mint tea and swigged from our giant bottle of water, but all too soon this ran through us. After so many years of being friends and so many festivals, parties and drunken nights, we do everything together and with my keyring torch we headed off into the dark. Suddenly overcome by modesty, we stumbled up and down dunes, travelling a surprisingly long way to get out of sight of the fire and the watchful eyes of our camels. The desert at Erg Chebbi is not flat and if you are ever in this situation, I strongly suggest you dig a small hole to wee in or you'll be watching it run away from you indefinitely.

Our return to the camp was heralded by drums and the Berber played we lay around digesting our food. Looking at my mobile, which served no other purpose out here than as a clock, I noticed that it was only half past nine, belying the incredible tiredness I felt. We crawled into the tent and under the blankets. The desert is cold at night and I was grateful for both the camel blanket and the hoodie I'd wrapped around my waist before we set off. Shuffling the cold sand into a dip to fit my knees and shoulders, I slept more peacefully than ever. There was no noise, no light and no disturbance. Just the desert silence and the dry air.

We were woken by the drums while it was still dark and shuffled out, shaking and refolding the blankets. Within a moment, we'd splashed our eyes with the bottled water and were perched on the camels again, heading off between the dunes. As we travelled, the air warmed and the sun began to rise. Our shadows from the ridge of one dune were projected on to the side of the next and elongated the camel legs even more. The occasional piece of scrub cast a foot of contrasting darkness and as the sun edged its way over the first mound, the whole sky gleamed.

After a long ride, we dismounted the camels, petting them for a last time before we were given bread and hot sugary coffee. What had seemed a bleak and uninhabited stop off before now felt overwhelmingly busy and noisy after the peace and quiet and the rush to pick up a bus back towards Ouazazarte was daunting. While there is always a strange feeling anywhere away from the modern world, I found the Sahara transcends all that self-discovery nonsense by making human life seem insignificant. The Berber way of life has no need for the permanence the Sahara can't provide.

Summary: Words aren't really enough.