Sahara

So, I forgot to pack my hat, sunscreen, and my chapstick for my trip to the Sahara. I can almost hear my mother scolding me and marveling at my forgetfulness.  

Like every weekend trip, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to go or not. I don’t care about riding camels and I’m not keen on intense heat. But I do love bright stars and calm nights. So, I decided to go because of the potential for an amazing night, and I mean c’mon - it’s my opportunity to go to the Sahara! 

 We caught took an 8pm bus over to Zagora where we arrived at 8 in the morning. We wasted no time getting into the desert despite of the heat. We grand taxi’d over to Mohami’d, which is the last town before Algeria, then we hopped on camels and rode for one hour and a half before reaching camp. I was over the camel ride - I mean dromedary ride (the only way I can remember this word is by thinking of ‘drama’ - because they are noisy and ‘dairy’ because . . .) before I hopped on - I was never one for horse, or elephant rides. Which is why on the way back, I told our guide, Ali, that I would walk the way back with him. And, like Ali, I kicked off my shoes and walked through the softest, finest, cleanest sand I have experienced until it turned on me and started scorching my feet. 

 Speaking of scorching, we (Wade, Terry and I) were all very impressed with ourselves. We made our trip to the Sahara at the end of July, in the middle of summer, in the middle of the day (around 2 or 3pm). “We’re so crazy!” we said, all tough. But it really wasn’t that bad. We were stationary on the camels aside from our flailing legs and there was a rather nice breeze. Ali also mentioned that it was around 50 earlier today. It had cooled off a few degrees by the time we were on the dromedaries. 

 Arriving at camp, we did all that we could in the middle of the desert with huts. We ate peanuts, then slept (second nap of the day), then woke up to an egg tajine lunch, and was subsequently tempted to take a third nap. Instead, I hung around until the afternoon got cooler, and then hopped back on camels with a 18-year old French girl from Brittany, and her father (both of whom looked so stereotypically French - stylish, the girl  was slim with blond hair in a messy bun, and her father still looked youthful despite a greying beard and had blue, twinkling eyes).

   The best part of the trip was chopping vegetables with the French girl and Ali. In similar situations I’ve encountered, the conversations would usually be conducted in English due to my insufficient French or the other party’s sufficient English, or wish of practicing English. That night, however, was all French. As we chopping vegetables Ali told us about his life, frequently saying “inshallah” or “ei yi yi!” He was quite a character. He told me of bread that he bake in the sand, and the cheese of dromedaries (which is how I remember the ‘dairy’ part of the dromedary), which he said to be the best cheese, very strong, eaten by nomads (yes they still exist). I was sad when I heard you could not get it in towns. I guess I wasn’t meant to eat dromedary cheese. We talked quite a bit languages - the four Amazigh languages of Morocco, and of his job, of our lives. Afterwards, we all ate harira, a beef tajine hidden underneath layers of vegetables and the most flavorful melon I’ve tasted. Afterwards, we played a bit of music, then I stared off at the stars before drifting off underneath them.