Morocco Day 3

Sahara Bound

I always love waking up to the braying of donkeys…and especially hearing Jenny giggling to it; it sets the mood for the day to come…

We had a nice homemade breakfast sitting on the terrace but by 9:30, the sun was warming things up quickly and we realized we were in for a change.

The cute girls from yesterday had come to work today in their best outfits hoping Jenny would take another picture of them. She happily did, taking enough for each one of them to receive one. The youngest looking of the girls, who was maybe 17 or so, then shyly asked if she could have a picture taken with her and Jenny – so sweet.

We continued south today, heading down towards the Sahara Desert and the Algerian border. We traveled through the Draa Valley, a long oasis that has unfortunately fallen victim to a drought. So many of the palm trees were dead or clearly dying. There were even a few stands that had been cremated by fire.

Each town we passed through was more authentic and traditional than the previous one. I love how colorful the Moroccan women dress, their melhfas are brightly hued in either solids or patterns and if black, adorned with lots of colorful elements. As we traveled further south, there was little doubt this area sees far fewer tourists.

One thing we noticed was how many children there are. Billy remarked that Morocco’s demographics appear to be in good shape. At one point, I pulled over to take a picture of an old kasbah and was quickly surrounded by children speaking to me in French. I was sad I couldn’t understand though I made out the fact they were hungry.

The landscape eventually turned desolate, as did the roads. There were quite a few stretches of time we did not see anyone else or any sign of civilization. When we finally made it to our prearranged meeting point with our Berber guide and host, it was 2:00. We had a difficult time figuring out exactly where to meet up with him but with the help of some locals and a French couple, we finally hooked up with Mohammed.

We dropped our car off and loaded things into the one of two Land Cruisers that had a huge Dakar sticker on it and set off into the desert with Mark (I imagine not his real name), who spoke not a word of English or French. Jenny was worth her weight in gold communicating with her limited Arabic skills.

Our drive took us out into the desert on an old caravan route that crisscrossed terrain covered in baseball, and even football size rocks. The drive in was long, stopping only to allow the other car to catch up to us and to check out a small oasis where you could see the water bubbling up from underneath the sand.

It was 5:30 by the time we reached the camp and both Jenny and I had started getting headaches from all the jostling. Thank goodness they let Jenny ride shotgun because I can assure you she would never have made it without getting ill.

The dunes of Erg Chigaga were gob smacking. They were twice the size of the dunes in Wahiba Sands, Oman. After climbing to the top of one and spending time taking it all in, Billy said he had never seen anything like it (since he missed the trip to Oman) and wondered if he would ever see anything like it again.

We sat on top of the dune until long after sunset, watching the stars slowly start to pop out. It was 8:30 before we were called for dinner – a hearty lentil soup followed by a chicken and mixed vegetable tagine, set outside on a lovely candlelit table.

It was quite good but it ranked third so far out of the three dinners we have had. The dessert, a mixed bowl of chopped fresh fruit was the highlight.

After dinner, we climbed back up to the top of the dune, cresting over the backside to block any light from the camp and watched the stars for at least another hour. Jenny laid there and waited until she saw a shooting star. She remarked that she could look at the stars for hours and how there is nothing that puts into perspective just how minute we actually are. Space is such a remarkable place, the concept of it is often difficult to wrap your head around.

By 10:15 we decided to turn in. Our accommodations while comfortable in most aspects were unbearably hot.

All of us like to sleep in a cold room. We keep our bedroom at 60 degrees, sometimes even down to 58 in the winter so a hot bedroom never sits well with us. Trying to find a position to sleep where you could minimize your own skin from touching was key, otherwise you would immediately begin sweating!