{"id":24097,"date":"2025-12-08T15:57:16","date_gmt":"2025-12-08T20:57:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/aleta.life\/?p=24097"},"modified":"2026-01-14T23:41:03","modified_gmt":"2026-01-15T04:41:03","slug":"sahara","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/aleta.life\/index.php\/2025\/12\/08\/sahara\/","title":{"rendered":"Sahara!"},"content":{"rendered":"
Position: 29\u00b048’19.6″N 6\u00b009’11.6″W<\/a><\/h6>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Damn but it was quiet. Quiet enough to hear yourself breathe. Quiet enough to occasionally catch the lub-dup of your lover\u2019s heartbeat. Quiet enough to hear the soft tinkling of sand as it tumbled uphill away from the wind whenever it blew firmly enough. No trees or brush or grasses disturbed the flow of the breeze. With nothing to bump into there was nothing to resonate off. Nothing to generate sound from. Only the static ripples and wavelets of sand that lay scumbled across the low swales below us. None tall enough to disturb the peace.<\/p>\n

High on our perch looking southwest over the Sahara, our gaze followed the dunes’ curving knife-edged spines, no thicker than a grain or two of sand. When the wind blew it raised a fine mist of sand a couple of inches off the ground. The mist rose and fell across the top of the dunes around us. Climbing up we’d left footprints along the ridge. But the wind soon erased them and the knife-edge returned in a few hours. Early in the morning the tracks of nocturnal animals are easily spotted. A snake here, a gerbil there. Their tracks don’t last long, though. For as soon as any wind picks up they’re gone. Yet the dunes themselves stay put. Or so we were told. Which means, for the trained eye, they can be relied on as guideposts.<\/p>\n

Amped Up Glamping<\/h6>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Erg Chigaga Luxury Camp<\/a>, aka. Nick and Bobo\u2019s, sits about 35 miles from M\u2019Hamid El Ghizlane along the Draa River. The pavement ended just outside town. Ninety minutes and a good deal of slooshing around in the sand in a big Toyota 4×4 later we arrived.<\/p>\n

Nick and Bobo’s was the first, and remains the best, of the luxury glamping hotels. Carol, in a capricious mood, figured if we were going to spend two nights in the Sahara Desert for the first and perhaps only time in our lives, she wasn\u2019t going to arse around with second best. What constitutes glamping in the desert these days? You should expect a gold and red brocade-lined tent complete with a king-sized bed, running water and an honest-to-G\u2019 flushing toilet.<\/p>\n

Our front curtain looked out on to the main gathering area \u2013 essentially a fire pit surrounded by tables with wooden boards radiating outwards towards the breakfast tent, cocktail bar, hammock swings and library. After three weeks of enforced near-abstinence from alcohol, an open bar stocked with Bombay Sapphire gin, Schweppes tonic water and no end of ice came as a surprise and a relief. Indulgent? Yep. And there was more to come.<\/p>\n

Camels<\/h6>\n

\"\"<\/a>I am not fond of camels. At least not riding camels. My first experience riding camels was in Mongolia when Carol was bucked off hers and mine spooked and tossed me off, too. Carol fractured her tailbone and I got away with a couple of dusty elbows. For more on that story, see here: Video – Mongolia, The Camels<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

Mongolians prefer their camels with two humps, one fore and one aft, an arrangement that gives the rider an entirely false sense of security. North African camels have one hump, which looks precarious at best. But like any good amusement park ride you have to suspend disbelief and put your faith in the equipment. Our second camel adventure was much less dramatic than our first and gave us a new appreciation for these big beasts whose nearest relative is the stately giraffe. Of course it was the baby camels that sealed the deal.<\/p>\n

Baby Camels<\/h6>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

The camp\u2019s host and guide, Bachir, led us for a walk across the dunes and threw in a few facts about the desert along the way. When he spotted a herd of camels, about a dozen, with several calves he lit up. \u201cI love baby camels!\u201d he declared. \u201cThey make me so happy!\u201d It was the most animated we would see him over the two and half days we stayed at the camp.<\/p>\n

Baby camels are awfully cute. Unafraid of humans (fear in camels is clearly a learned behaviour), they appeared naturally curious and were only stopped from nuzzling us by their protective mothers. Bachir got close enough that he rubbed noses with a calf before being shooed off by its mother. Camels won\u2019t breed during a drought. Without water the stress on the mums is too great. Last year, a decade of drought broke and so this year a whole bunch of babies got born. \u201cIt is a good year!\u201d, Bachir said.<\/p>\n

Camels\u2019 dependence on humans became apparent when we walked in the midst of the herd who stood around an enormous water bladder which they clearly wanted access to. Several gave us the stink-eye when it became clear we weren\u2019t going to crack open the valves.<\/p>\n

Wither Nomads?<\/h6>\n

Goat and camel herders typically spend winter in the desert lowlands and summers in the mountains. Twenty years ago the seasons came and went predictably, our guide told us. After a decade of drought, though, it\u2019s less clear when, or if, there will be a rainy season. Morocco\u2019s government is helping preserve nomadic life by digging wells and water catchment basins. Modern pressures like urbanisation and social media have already reduced the nomad population. But without government-supported water, nomads would probably cease to exist altogether.<\/p>\n

Caravans<\/h6>\n

\"\"<\/a>For centuries, the Draa River<\/a> served as a jumping off point for caravans of camels crossing the Sahara to Mali. The route from Mararakech to Timboktu is about 2,000 kilometres (1,200 miles) long and the journey took between 50 and 70 days depending on the size of the camel train and the cargo. Trans-Saharan trade had gone on for centuries, but it was the Imazighen (Berbers) who popularised the camel as pack animal.<\/p>\n

At its height in the 16th<\/sup> century, dozens of caravans traded tonnes of gold, textiles, salt and slaves. Once across the Atlas Mountains heading south into the desert, a caravan might go 3 \u2013 10 days without seeing water. Scouts would run ahead and confirm if an oasis had water, or if it had dried up and filled in with sand. A camel can carry up to 180 kilos for days at a time. Humans (mostly) walked the equivalent of an ultramarathon a day for two months. Kasbahs<\/a> were key strongholds and cities along the route. To rest, caravans would stop at carvanserais<\/a>, something akin to a coaching inn. No doubt there was plenty of entertainment available. I am sure those places were as wild as any roadhouse<\/a> or truck stop you might imagine.<\/p>\n

A Dish of Tea<\/h6>\n

<\/p>\n

At night the camp glows with a campfire and lines of candles trace the paths radiating out from the centre of the courtyard. Dining under the stars was cool. Literally. With only two other couples in the camp, we sat discreetly distant from each other. With little for our voices to bounce off, they faded into the night sky.<\/p>\n

Which was a pity because we wanted to eavesdrop. Not on the young British couple, but on the middle aged white guy, who looked like a mercenary fresh off the helicopter complete with greying goatee. His much younger companion was a tall, striking black woman who demanded a great deal of his, and therefore everyone else\u2019s, attention. With that description, I\u2019ll let you brew your own tea. Shortly, after breakfast the following morning they left, taking their story with them.<\/p>\n

Rallies and Concerts<\/h6>\n

\"\"<\/a>October and November brings people in for alternative forms of entertainment. M\u2019Hamid (our jumping off point for the camp) hosts two music festivals in the fall. On the last weekend in October, the Taragalte Festival<\/a> focuses on Desert Blues and local musicians and culture. A couple of weeks later, the more international Zamane Festival<\/a> celebrates the cultural heritage of the Draa Valley and the local area\u2019s history as the \u2018Gateway to the Sahara\u2019. It draws internationally famous African musicians like Vieux Farke Toure<\/a>.<\/p>\n

On our second night a group of musicians entertained the camp with an impromptu concert. Their enthusiasm was both apparent and infectious.<\/p>\n

A motorcycle and a car rally zoomed past us down the valley. Long plumes of dust spread across the horizon and hung in the air far longer than the roar of engines. Rallyists know this time of year brings cooler weather without the hazards brought on by the rains that start later in November and continue (unpredicatably) through February.<\/p>\n

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