Merzouga - MOROCCO
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 I eagerly packed my bags this morning and cleared out of the room, dragging Dave behind, in order to greet my desert companion. The camels grazed in the sand, much the same as yesterday. Today was the day I'd been waiting for an eternity to occur - a camel trek through a Saharan Erg.
At 10 we took our small bag of things over to the camels, where young men were
busily setting up what looked like the best camels for us. Another bonus
about low season is that we trek alone with only Omar as our guide. The food
and water came from the kitchen earlier and before I knew it my day-pack and
parker were attached to a heavily laden camel. In Islam it is forbidden to
name animals but I secretly called him Oasis - saviour in the desert. His
hair was fair and his toes were covered with beautiful white fur. Oasis was a
majestic animal and as I patted his head he almost seemed to smile.
Dave jumped on his camel first and did not sit straddled but was perched up high as "Flash" (as he aptly named him) was laden with a satchel on either side, filled to the brim with food, a gas bottle and cooking equipment. Flash lifted him into the air at least three metres from the ground. Oasis soon did the same to me and I had my first taste of riding high.
Omar, dressed in his blue summer jellaba and black flowing head-wrap, led us
out towards the dunes and beyond any experience we've had before. The sky was
that predictable azure blue and the sun could only seep through the skin on
my face and hands for I too wore a head-wrap. As we moved along at quite a
pace I became mesmerised by my shadow in the sand and how it could be likened
to one of a nomad. It was such a buzz to be surrounded by towering dunes and
to hear only the sounds of camels munching on regurgitated grass and of their
heavy footsteps in the sand. The camels only had one hump and as they would
step forwards you would begin to rock back and forth, with only blankets as
padding.
The continuous sandy vista never ceased to amaze as well as the nearing disputed frontier of Algeria, hovering on the horizon. After two or three hours ride we had made our way across the width of the erg and began to follow the back of the high dunes. In the silence Omar halted under some shady palms and began to set up our lunch spot. "Otch otch otch" he yelled whilst pulling the camels head towards the sand. Obediently the camels began to sit. The whole process lurches you forward then back and to the centre in order to dismount. It's like those coin-operated animals that you see five year-olds on at the supermarket and I must say it was every bit as thrilling. Dave and I sat on colourful blankets whilst Omar busily prepared tea and lunch under a shady palm. Our feast consisted of whopping portions of bread with the choice of sardines, boiled eggs, and tomato to add to it. I ushered Omar to come and join us in my appalling French "derriere ici, derriere ici", which kind-of means "haul your butt over here". Although Omar never did come over as he seemed busy dealing with pots and pans, or perhaps he was not supposed to eat with us. We lay back and lavished like kings on a bowl of fruit, watching the harsh desert change colour in the afternoon light. A cloud bank had formed northwards and was beginning to blow our way. I hoped it not bring rain. After all, who joins a Saharan camel trek with an umbrella?
Soon we found ourselves back on the camels and a cool breeze began to stir
the sand below, whilst the sky above us rolled over in threatening shades of
grey, though the sun would always break through. To the east lay the Algerian
frontier and a kilometre or so away was a small settlement of Berber tents.
Through squinted eyes you could see the movement in the camp and the swaying
of swathes of fabric, throwing the small figures to and fro, like rag dolls
in a breeze. These were some of the real nomads of the desert and it was a
real treasure to pass them in their element. Further across Omar pointed out
the military outpost which we assume acted as a border patrol. I had so many
questions to ask, but little hope of getting them across. Like, how wide was
the disputed territory and if the border was closed was the military bothered
by the caravan crossings? Thankfully I had six hours tonight to try!
By our fifth hour on camel back a kind of sea-sickness set in as we rolled up and down the dunes, as well as having an aching behind! Dave even spent some time wandering up front with Omar but lagged behind once we crossed through deep sand. It's hard to believe that Omar can keep up such a fast pace after five hours in the dunes. I was exhausted from enjoying the scenery.
All was quiet in the desert, the silence was astonishing. We shared the dunes
with only a few animals whose small tracks lay for what looked like eons,
etched in the sand. Whilst all was calm suddenly out of the blue a movement
caught my eye. The scene was almost Disney-esqe when the luggage, with Dave
apparently oblivious on top, began to slowly slide off the camel. He reached
horizontal without uttering a sound before gravity took over and he plunged
headlong into the sand, blankets, cooking utensils, and all. One can hardly
be blamed for almost joining him in a fit of hysterics. I swore I'd never
seen anything funnier.
Not long afterwards the sun began to set behind a high dune and whilst enjoying the desert in its prime we headed back into the dunes with our backs to the frontier. Off in the distance was a young goat herder leading his goats back towards home, through tufts of grass. As twilight approached we were deep into the valley and it was almost as though the stars were shining just for us, leading us towards the next oasis to bed down for the night.
As night began to fall we came across a small oasis with lots of animal
tracks and a couple of Berber tents, one large and one small. Omar carefully
surveyed the horizon and, seeing no-one about, said that it would be okay for
us to use the tents. We began setting up in a large tent when suddenly
over the distant dunes we saw a great line of about ten camels and riders
coming towards us. Omar saw them also and starting moving our things back
out of the tent. Dave and I, thinking the group to be blood-thirsty
nomadic warriors returning after a good days looting, starting piling all
the equipment that the camels normally carry onto our own shoulders to
race across the dunes before we were cruelly hacked down by a scimitar.
We'd just finished stumbling across a dune to our new location when we
noticed a flicker of a cigarette from the approaching group and realised
it was a bunch of American tourists. What a let-down.
Omar spent a few moments setting up our things in the woollen tent and then we entered its palatial interior. Its design was simple yet effective - brown woollen blankets held up by thick nobbly lengths of wood. Dave and I were to sleep on one side and Omar on the other. We relaxed in this wonderland sipping a tasty cup of mint tea and a few biscuits from our bag. Between Omar and myself was a strip of sand where he had placed candles for light and we began an interesting evening of conversation in broken French. It was good to see Omar warm to our friendship and it wasn't long before he too had a million questions to ask. Some of the most interesting included "How do you speak Australian?" and after drawing a map of the globe in the sand he was utterly gobsmacked to learn that our home was 16000km away. "How long on a camel?" he asked. We replied "A lifetime."
By eight he began to prepare a tagine (cooked by Gerard at Ksar Sania) and
set out loads of bread. We ate Berber-style, with our fingers, dipping small
chunks of bread in to pick up the meat and vegetables. I could hardly believe
that it was a re-heated meal as the meat and vegetables tasted as wonderful as
they did back in the restaurant. Whilst washing our hands outside from the
warm water in the teapot we could see in the light of the moon Oasis and
Flash, who had joined their friends from the other camp. Omar looks after
them well and at night ties their legs together with a short length of rope
allowing them to roam nearby munching on tufts of dry grass and whatever
takes their fancy. The other camels weren't so lucky as their owners tied a
rope around one front knee, leaving the camels unable to walk.
For dessert we had wafer biscuits and tea, whilst talking about the state of the disputed border. The disputed part of frontier that we saw today is apparently 20km wide and varies over and under 20 all the way down south to the Mauritanian border. The nomads that seem to cross it for trade are the Tuaregs or "Blue Men" of the Sahara, as their clothes are dyed with indigo, as well as their faces to protect them from sunburn. These nomadic people were said to originate from the north and plied the great caravan routes, either raiding or trading. Unfortunately we didn't run into any as we're too far north, but if you see one they can be recognised by their fair skin and blue or grey eyes. We all enjoyed our broken conversations in French and by the end of the evening felt as though I'd known Omar for many years. It was so interesting to see someone so dazzled by something I've had knowledge of all my life, like the time I explained planes and about how fast they travelled and how long it took to fly from Sydney to Europe. Omar comes in contact with foreigners most days of hist life yet they have not taken time to explain the intricacies of their lives. The furthest he has travelled is with camels to Zagora, a few hundred kilometres south. I liked him a lot and was happy that it was just the three of us rather than a large group. By 11 or 12 the wind set in, blowing clumps of sand in through the flapping walls and into my mouth. In a flurry we all began to dump sand to weigh down the sides and after a few minutes it worked. Ah, the joys of a sandstorm in the desert! After asking yet another challenging question I recall Dave saying "Anita adore parlez", that is, Anita loves to talk, and recall Omar laughing out loud and smiling. Isn't it good to know that people's opinions of me are the same the world over? Just as Omar had jumped out from under his sleeping bag and blankets to tie down the door I needed to go to the toilet. With toilet paper in one hand I set off in the dark under a starry sky and passed over the next dune. One which I shared with other small animals. With my pants down to my knees I placed the paper in the sand and as quick as a flash another storm blew up. The entire roll of paper began to unravel and comically I hobbled down the dune, butt in the air, after it. Just as it was about to fly away I grabbed it. Rolling it up was like controlling a kite in a heavy breeze. I stood there chuckling to myself realising how ridiculous I must look. After returning to the tent unscathed I jumped into my warm, sandy bed, underneath four blankets and a sleeping bag, reflecting on a day of dreams come true. |
