Read part 1 of the Sahara Desert excursion.
“We’ve arrived, sir,” Jakani smiled as I brought the car to an undignified halt, wincing slightly as something metallic pinged from an unseen corner of the vehicle. We had just spent the last hour traversing dunes and bouncing along undefined rocky paths on the way to Merzouga. I felt I acquitted myself admirably in my maiden desert voyage. I also felt, though, that the extra rattles and buildup of sand in the carburettor might need some explaining when I returned the rental Suzuki Alto in Ouarzazate.
But that was a problem for another day. We had reached the edge of the Sahara Desert. A train of camels sat listlessly in the blazing early-afternoon heat. I absorbed the scene, bouncing along as my hitchhiking companion slapped out a drum tattoo on the roof of the car. Around us lay a group of squat, sand-coloured buildings. Beyond them, the vast desert lay in wait.
Time’s sands
Our goal was Erg Chebbi, one of the Sahara’s large dune seas, and preparations were already complete. The camels were saddled, water stocked up, and traditional Saharan head scarves donned to shield us from the sun. Aziz, one of Jakani’s friends, had already left on a quad bike to get the camp ready for our arrival.
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Just then, I suffered a wardrobe malfunction. A bit too vigorously, it turns out, I tried hopping onto the awaiting camel. But it went wrong, and the pronounced ripping sound was an unfortunate giveaway of my failure. Trying again, I prayed no one noticed the gaping wrent in my shorts. This time, I eased onto the seat, slowly. Ever so slowly. Either way, my new companions – Carlos from Portugal and Francesca from Argentina – politely failed to mention it, and soon we had set off, locking on to the gentle swaying of our dromedary transport.
Jakani kept us entertained with traditional Berber tribal tales, and after a pleasant half-hour’s riding, I asked him how long the journey would take. “Who knows, Tom?” he said, walking alongside us. “This is the Sahara. Time is different here.”
Ebb and flow of the Sahara
He had a point. The shifting sands and unending dunes were strangely discombobulating, and it proved difficult to keep a grasp on any conventional passage of time. Instead, I surrendered to the ebb and flow of the desert and the relaxing rocking of my camel.
Sure enough, we eventually reached our camp at the foot of Erg Chebbi with the sun rapidly starting its descent. I had to strain my neck as I took in the staggering size of the peak and, in an attempt to match Jakani’s boundless enthusiasm, started to climb.
The sand, unforgiving and malleable, compounded the dune’s steepness, and I often lost my balance before sliding back down to the bottom to begin the ascent again. It was only later, upon finally reaching the summit of the peak and peering far below to the basin, that I noticed a much gentler, less perpendicular route. However, in my fervour to catch the sunset, I decided the only possible way was the direct one.
But my misguided endeavour also brought its reward. The view from the top of Erg Chebbi was astounding. The sky took on the hues of the desert itself as it bid its farewell for the day, and the sand seemed to glow in anticipation of the cool night ahead.
Tiny flecks in the distance revealed themselves as vehicles toing and froing from the oasis town of Erfoud. Looking around, I saw a few other visitors enjoying the gloaming spectacle. The fading light rendered them as silhouettes slowly fading into the encroaching void.
A nameless yearning for what lay ahead formed in the pit of my stomach as the sky rapidly bruised. Determined to arrive back at the base before night fully draped itself across the Sahara began the descent back down the dune, concerned only slightly with the gaping tear in my shorts.
Read part 3 of the Sahara Desert trip.
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