Sand Blasted

I finally made it to the Sahara desert while in Morocco. It was a singular day on this worldly journey which I was highly anticipating. A camel ride in the desert terminating at a Berber campsite, we were to camp there for the night in a home made of dunes and an infinite number of twinkling stars. It was supposed to be an escape from the chaotic souks, a chance to exhale and reconnect with nature. But by the time I actually had a chance to exhale, all that came out of my mouth was Saharan sand.
Much of Morocco was slightly disappointing. Whether Ramadan, a less than spectacular tour leader, the heat, or unrealistic pre-trip expectations were to blame, the camel ride into the Sahara desert was the one night of the trip which I was hoping would give me temporary amnesia in regards to those disappointments.

A beautifully sunny day, though slightly breezy, we arrived at the departure point. Though I had romanticized driving through the desert with only sand and sky in my field of view until reaching our caravan of camels, the actual landscape was dotted with hotels, all serving as different departure points for the large number of tour groups which run camel ride trips into the desert for the night. The realization that this 'authentic' excursion was still a business slightly cheapened the experience, but nonetheless, I was still excited for the night to come. With almost powder like sand, there was enough of a breeze to make me think twice about using my camera for fear of wind blown sand damage. A minor inconvenience? Yes. But not enough to temper my excitement. Putting blinders on to the neighboring distant hotels, I was able to lose myself in the sea of sand. The dunes were a combination of yellow rolling waves and a meringue pie topping. The ripples in the sand were patterned like a Golgi apparatus and with a late day sun casting mesmerizing shadows, we mounted our camels. A very unattractive and awkward animal with their moaning, spitting, and teeth clearly in need of braces, their humps were draped with a saddle and brightly colored Moroccan blankets meant to increase the comfort of our haunches during the hour-long ride to our campsite. Camels, in groups of five, were tied together so that only one man was needed to guide that particular group of camels and tourists safely through the sand. It was a practical arrangement, but an arrangement which found the trailing camel's head in your hip pocket for most of the journey.

Desert Transportation

Golgi Apparatus anyone?

Atop my trusty steed with the trailing camel's head in my hip pocket. Also to note, the blue tube coming from my left shoulder is the water tube from my Camelbak water bladder. Water from a Camelbak is never more delicious than when enjoyed atop a camel's back. 

My beautiful wife

The calm before the storm

We embarked into the desert and into the wind. Momentary stinging grains of sand glanced off our bodies as the camels meandered through the desert. For men, going uphill was far more desirable than going downhill, especially if pro-creating is in your future. I wasn't daring enough to alleviate this problem by sitting side saddle, but upon discovering the trick of squeezing the camel with my thighs as a means of lifting my haunches and baby maker away from the saddle's impact, the journey was much more comfortable. As we continued into the desert, the sun cast those iconic long shadows of tourists atop a camel into the sand. Even the loud camel flatulence and balls of poo which rolled down the dunes into poo graveyards somehow managed to add to the ambiance.  Occasionally, one of us was stranded on our camel when it became detached from the group, but after about 90 minutes, the camp had been reached and all had made it safely.

Unmistakable shadows of man on camel

The camp consisted of about 12 tents, made only of wool blankets with wooden poles in each of the corners with a central pole to raise the roof. Heavy wool blankets were also placed at the foot of the tent carpet door to complete our homes for the night. Some of my friends went sand boarding and sledding down the dunes, while others stayed back to soak in the surroundings. Eventually, the more adventurous campers tired of their journeys up and down the slopes of the dunes, and they joined the rest of us outside the main tent in time for the dinner, which the Berbers were to cook for us. As we started to eat some olives, the wind speeds increased. I now know that sandy olives aren't nearly as tasty as salty olives. As we scurried to move the food, tables, and chairs into the safety of a much sturdier Berber tent than our humble abode for the evening, it was at that point that the weather gods released a fury of sand which quickly squelched any further romanticizing.

How many of you have spent honeymoons in such luxurious accommodations?

A blizzard of sand is the best way to describe the next 8 hours. Tropical storm force winds whipped the Saharan sand into the sky and into every unprotected orifice. The tents were shaking with such force that we feared they would either collapse or blow away all together. I felt like I was taking my life into my own hands to simply leave the tent and walk to the bathroom. Wool Moroccan blanket tents, as you can imagine, aren't very well ventilated. Being huddled at the back of the tent, as far away from the tent opening as possible, with 15 other people created an environment conducive to sweating. The relief of emptying my bladder was immediately tempered by the thin layer of sand covering every sweaty, non-covered inch of my body. The Berbers actually managed to cook a pretty tasty dinner over a gas stove in their tent. Having to cook this dinner over a tiny gas stove in a tent meant that we ate very late in the evening. The swirling sand also meant that the evening entertainment of traditional song and dance didn't happen either. I wasn't hugely disappointed about missing out on the entertainment and I was actually starting to enjoy the ridiculousness of the weather. If you're not going to have a beautiful evening of sleeping under the stars, you may as well have a wretched sand storm because it at least makes for a more memorable experience.

Once dinner ended, we all decided to just go to bed. Funny thing about blanket tents and severe wind. They don't always stay upright. Our tent actually collapsed while we were eating dinner. All of our gear was in the tent, and in addition to a collapsed tent, everything was covered in about 2 inches of sand. The Berbers came and erected the center support pole once again, but it made for a very sleepless night wondering if the next gust of wind would cause it to collapse, but this time falling upon us while sleeping. Each tent was supplied with 2 mattresses which were comfortable enough, but they were covered with sand. Flipping them over at least provided a less sandy sleeping surface than what greeted us upon returning from dinner, but having to sleep completely covered from head to toe still made for a very long night. The whipping wind caused sand to fall upon us throughout the night as if being sprinkled with fairy dust. Sara and I each woke up in the morning covered in a thin layer of sand, but at least we made it through the night unharmed.

Once the winds stopped early in the morning, I emerged from my tent to soak in the surroundings. The moon was shining brightly and there were still a few twinkles of stars in the sky. The dunes were silhouetted  against the sky but would soon be illuminated by the early morning sunrise. As we mounted our camels for the trek back to our hotel starting point, everyone was relieved at the prospect of getting back to a place where they could shower and try to extricate the sand from their bodies. I was not. I wanted more time in the desert to wander around the dunes and admire the endless sandy horizon. The ride back to the hotel was peaceful. The early morning sun shone a spotlight on the dunes and created more iconic shadows. It was the beginning of a new day and an end to a night I'll never forget.

A new day

Our caravan returning to civilization