Desert dunes

Last night, I sat atop a dune in the desert sands of Erg Chebi and watched as the full moon crested red on the horizon. As it rose, it turned a deep orange, becoming more and more pale as it ascended, clearing the sky of stars. I slept outside, spying satelites and shooting stars. In the morning, the sun rise from between two dunes as the moon set full behind me. It was magic.

After leaving Fes, I spent a few nights in Meknes, a town known for its mausoleum to Mouley Ismail and its proximity to the Roman ruins of Volubilis. I was stunned by the plaza before the gates to the royal palace. The gates dominated one side while the medina crouched on the other. Tour buses paused to let tourists off to take photos. Horse drawn carriages waited for tourists travelling on their own wanting to see the nearby graineries.

I spent a morning at Volubilis. The city is in an advanced state of disrepair, but the site is known more for its mosaics. As I toured the different houses and looked at them, I was brought back to Madba in Jordan, and I wondered that I could be seeing similar artwork from the same civilization so spread apart.

To break the journey to Mezourga and into the desert, I stopped over in Midelt, suspended on a barren plain between the High and Middle Atlas. As the bus left Meknes and rose into the alpine scenery, I spotted Barbary apes lingering in the shade before we descended towards the rocky plains. I was amazed at how quickly the landscape changed out the window.

In Midelt I did nothing. The town suffers a lack of tourists and I was followed by seemingly everyone in town, asking me to eat at their restaurant or look at the souvenirs in their shops. When they learned I was headed towards Mezourga, they suggested various auberges and guesthouses. When I told them I had a reservation they suggested I break it. La shukran, I said, smiling, and went on my way.

I took the bus down into the desert. It stopped in Rissani and I walked to the center of town to catch a minibus to the village of Mezourga. Built out of mud walls, the village sits at the foot of the ergs. I arrived and met a group of people travelling together who were on their way out to the dunes. I decided to stay in town and rest from the days of travelling and leave the next day. I bid them adieu, had a delicious tagine, and went to bed.

In the morning, they returned, all smiles. The moon was bright, their butts were sore. We ate breakfast together before they set off for the Todrah Gorge and I read for the afternoon.

At five, I was brought to my camel and we set off into the desert. Hassan lead our train on foot as we crested and then sauntered back down the dunes. We were silent as if in tacit agreement not to speak as we listened to the sounds of the camel's hoofs in the sand.

After an hour and a half, I was sore, but we had arrived at our camp, shaded by one of the larger dunes. It was too late to watch the sun set, but the light was still good and so we wandered nearby, touching the sand with my bare feet. I sat on a dune and let the fine grains run through my fingers. And then the moon rose, and I shouted out to the others to look east towards the horizon.

We ate by candlelight. The moon was well above the horizon, and already a pale blue, headed towards white. When the candle burned out, we didn't need to light another. From a nearby camp, the sound of drums could be heard and after dinner the Quebecois couple I had come with went to check it out. I wandered over the dunes, admiring the patterns cast by moon shadows.

In the morning we broke camp early. The sun was bright, but cool, and a breeze blew the sand like mist off the peaks. We rode back again in silence, listening to the wind and the sound of the camels on the sand, the sun at our backs, and civilization ahead.
Posted by eku at September 18, 2005 12:25 PM