Merzouga - MOROCCO

TUESDAY 1ST DECEMBER 1998

My first glimpse outside just after sunrise was nothing short of spectacular. The light beamed through the surrounding palm trees and danced along the sand. Before breakfast we followed the path out back towards a herd of camels feasting on fresh branches. They were framed by palm trees and the largest dune I'd ever laid eyes on. The moving dunes of Erg Chebbi began just outside the ksar's walls and the sea of sand stretched out as far as the eye can see. Nothing compares to the tranquility framed by these rolling hills. It's almost as though the touch of man had not passed its borders, as the wind, in time, carved intricate ripples over its surface.

On returning to the hotel we joined our friends for breakfast on the terrace. The spread consisted of homemade toasted bread topped with mandarin jam and washed down with a huge bowl of coffee. It felt good to enjoy the tastes of the west and a relief to be reminded that things can be this good! We got together with Gerard and the camel herder to talk about organising a one or two night camel trek. After a lot of indecision and time spent trying to comprehend French they came up with the suggestion of two full days trekking (six hours each) with one overnight stop including food (from Gerard's kitchen so there won't be any tummy upsets), bivouac and guide for 520DH each ($A 52). It was a little bit more than we wanted to pay, but worth it for the extra four hours trekking a day compared to the usual trips. The route would take us east across the erg and then northwards beside its far face (with the disputed Algerian border to our right) then back into the high dunes for an overnight stop in an oasis. The return trip would take us through the centre of the erg passing a rolling valley of sand and a wall of high dunes, finally returning to Merzouga.

Unfortunately we were unable to leave until tomorrow as they needed preparation time. The rest of the day was "at our leisure" - something we rarely obtained and cherished when the opportunity came. By mid-morning we'd left the ksar and began the one kilometre approach to the village. The ground was completely covered with yellow sand with the odd tuft of dry grass and palm trees. In the distance shimmered the dry and unforgiving flats of the lake that appears in the rainy season when, in contrast to today, flamingoes meet and frolic in its shallows.

The sleepy town woke up on our arrival and idle men on walls came to join us to show us their shops or houses. They weren't pushing too hard and after a friendly "no thanks" they left us to wander down the wide dirt streets. The only shops in town were two general stores and a few carpet shops, all hidden in low-key buildings. The ochre tones of the mud bricks and the occasional blue door to ward off evil seemed unchanged by mass tourism. Sitting on their doorstep in the centre of the village was a fertile palmary, kept luscious by an underground spring channelled along canals. We walked through this tranquil setting towards the main village, crossing paths with aged gentlemen and small children that all flashed welcoming smiles. The main village seemed more or less deserted, doors were shut tight and not a peep could be heard. Whilst on what you call the main street our friend from last night beckoned us to join him on a piece of concrete outside his shop. He spoke in a slow and lethargic tone and when he realised I had a cold with bad sinus a magic remedy came out of his jellaba. Seven herbs he called it and after sniffing it within five seconds it blew my head off and I was screaming in tears. The amount of gunk that came out of my nose was surreal and it was a most frightening experience, short of anaesthetic to dull the pain. I was quite weak afterwards but his potion had managed to get rid of what I'd accumulated in the past two weeks.

Hussain took us both inside to relax in a heavily carpeted room off the central courtyard of his home. We both even received a massage and came out as good as new. What followed was an enjoyable hour or two in his and his brothers presence, drinking mint tea in the sun, good conversation, and a lunch of bread and tagine. I happily signed their visitors book and felt that a friendship had grown. I remember explaining the previous night's car journey and how important honesty was to us and in that came respect and honour. Hussain agreed although it wasn't long before we were ushered back into the shop to look at their carpet selection. We always said we would come and look and felt that they ran a good operation. Dave was even keen on a few carpets and told them to keep them in mind whilst we go for a walk and have a think about it before returning. Of course Hussain did not understand this and after we tried to bargain down the price of two head-wraps he frothed at the mouth and yelled "You're not the only ones we invite in and do all this for. Goodbye!" We were stunned, hurt and disappointed to have him say this and in reply we told him that we were actually interested in their carpets, based on their undeceiptful hospitality, but wished to think about it a bit more. Although the older brother tried to fix things by telling us to take our time.

As we walked through the dusty streets, passing many a watchful eye by doors or behind window covers, I'd never felt more deceived or let-down. Even after putting emphasis on how much we disliked to be lied to all Hussain was interested in was a sale. The whole visit felt like such a sham and I felt stripped of all my emotions. The problem with Morocco is that you learn quickly to trust no one and to come across someone who goes to such painstaking length to force a sale by deceiving honour, trust and friendship is sickening blow. I hardly had words to express how deflated I felt. We opened our hearts to Hussain and he tried to take us for all we had. Rule number one - trust no one, but always be open to new opportunities.

We wandered through a few back streets of the village passing a group of ladies sewing in the dust. We didn't want to buy their head-bands but thanked them anyway and were rewarded with smiles and small-talk (in French of course). The road then led us past the last row of housing and abruptly the village turned into wide hammada desert, criss-crossed with hundreds of tracks. We returned to Hussain's shop as we said we would and purchased only the two head-wraps, leaving his sour face etched in the depths of our minds. On the way back we turned the negative positive and laughed at such a man who spends his time making false friendships. Yet when we returned to Ksar Sania there sat our friend, languishing in his surroundings and sipping a cup of coffee. Perhaps he had rushed back to save his name before we tarnished it to our hosts. Although we wanted to agree on the camel trek I did not wish to use Hussain as an interpreter and so we retired to our rooms.

The time was just after 4pm and we threw a few bottles of water and some biscuits in a bag, to feast on whilst watching the sun set from the highest dune. As one would expect many others were doing the same but thankfully they were all heading the other direction in order to climb the spine of the dune.

Our walk took us over the sea of sand, hard-packed on top but soft and sinking on the downwind side. There were small animal tracks everywhere, often leading to small tufts of grass. It felt so inspiring to be surrounded by this harsh environment and to be able to have this corner all to ourselves. The hard-packed sand was a distant memory as we began to climb the big dune, up to our knees in its rich orange sand. Half way up we sat down, defeated yet content, and watched the sun, a distant fireball, bleed into the mountains in the south. To our left lay all the mysteries of Algeria and the distant caravans of Nomads. To our right the distant hammada plains. I made the descent on my backside and regrettably collected wads of sand in my jeans. Dave ran down in a wild flurry fighting against the sands sinking clutches. Dusk soon turned to dark and we made our way up and over towards the lights. We, of course, walked to the wrong light and spent some time skirting along the outskirts before stumbling across our hotel.

I was thoroughly exhausted and after evacuating a beach-full of sand from my jeans lay down for a nap. By 7:30pm another delectable dinner was served including a huge dish of delicious couscous to fill the belly after a long day. Again we listened to their favourite 60's and 70's tunes and appreciated the sound of a good stereo. With full bellies we retired to the room by 9pm, where I caught up on this fine work of art. And with the sound of wind rushing through the palms fell soundly to sleep.