Among the Dunes

Sarah and I went to the Sahara to ride camels.

Our travels took us through Marrakesh and Ouarzazete, but they were resting points en route to our final destination: Merzouga. My first visit to the dunes was akin to my first visit to the ocean. Atop my camel, I sat transfixed in awe of the natural beauty around me. The dunes rose up one after the other, gently curving slopes and precise peaks crafted from the finest sand pixels.

That first day, we climbed a dune. Walking across the sand, I was surprised by how firm the ground was, only to find my foot sinking with my next step. Shoes offered little protection when scaling these heights, and my feet were slowly forced to make way for the sand that gathered there. Cresting the rise, we stood awhile to watch the sun set. The winds rose suddenly, whipping the sand into a frenzy. Sand caught in the corner of my mouth and became trapped in my tear ducts. From behind our sunglasses, we watched the huge white orb disappear into a sandy haze, until all that remained was a pale sheen curtain of light.

My high school friend Sarah Murphy and I pose for a quick picture.

As we emerged from the dunes, the camels plodded along the cracked ground, so dried by the sun that at first it looked like skin under a microscope. With the time, though, the edges warped, and the pieces of earth curled inward, assuming the appearance of smashed pottery. And when the camels walked across the shattered ground, it crumbled to the tune of a wooden wind chime.

The camels were taking us back to the hotel, built on the edge of the desert. Several are situated at the foot of the dunes for those tourists who prefer a room with a bed and a view rather than a night among the dunes. We weren’t given an option—the winds were too fierce that night to trek out to the tents. It was not until the following evening that we were able to reach the camp. On our second trek, we saw several nomad camps: sturdy black, box-like tents set up in a round, meandering goats and donkeys strayed from the enclosures.

I reveled in the beauty and silence of the dunes, but I must admit that my imagination had gotten the better of my expectations. I wanted to know the feeling one has after an entire day astride a camel, the feeling after days of travel by camel. I wanted to experience the sensation of crossing an unchanging landscape each day, to go for hours without seeing another human being. I let these exotic notions—an experience I know can’t be bought—cloud my expectations. Needless to say, our camel trek was a poor imitation of the lives of others.

I came to the dunes to ride a camel like the nomads, but every nomad I saw rode a donkey.

Published March 21, 2013