A desert journey through Morocco’s Sahara stirs a visitor’s soul

Chances are, if you ever find yourself in the middle of the Sahara while on a trip to Morocco, it will feel familiar.

You’ll wonder at the silent strangeness of the dunes at Erg Chebbinear Merzouga, but fully expect to see people or things you “know”from books and movies -- Paul Atreides and the Fremen, LukeSkywalker or even Lawrence of Arabia -- pop up from behind thehills of sand.

In the Valley of 1,000 Kasbahs, approaching the desert on anall-day driving trip, my husband and I pass through what seem likehundreds of small towns. I’m casting about for a subject ofconversation when I spy something that reminds me of home:construction.

When I ask about what seems to be a boom in homebuilding, ourdriver says that many of the towns’ residents work in Spain andFrance. They send money home for family members and to buildpalatial houses for their eventual return to Morocco.

I also am struck by how the streets in the small towns are filledwith men. Women are almost nowhere to be seen, but when they are,they’re mostly covered.

I expected that in this mostly Muslim nation, but the reality ofthe near-absence of half the population from many towns’ streetssaddens me. I’ve been told that Morocco has some of the mostliberal women’s rights laws in the Islamic world -- and when I wasin Fes and Marrakech, large cities, that distinction made sense.But my Western eyes have a hard time adjusting to these towns. Iwonder what these women think of their sisters in the big cities,and vice versa.

But some things are the same everywhere: When we drive past aschool, we see teen boys wearing jeans and slouching under thecrushing weight of their bookbags while teen girls walking nearbygiggle on cell phones.

Do camels laugh?

When we arrive at Merzouga, we are greeted, as we had beeneverywhere in Morocco, with hot mint tea. We wait awhile before weset out for camp because our guides want to time the trip so thatwe will see the best of the Sahara at sunset.

Merzouga is in southern Morocco, near a disputed border withAlgeria. Guidebooks say Morocco’s desert has nothing on Algeria’s,but visitors to Merzouga are uniformly impressed with what theysee.

Here’s why: It feels like the end of the Earth.

At base camp, you’re surrounded by sand as far as the eye can see,with a 400-foot dune as the backdrop. You imagine yourself asColumbus, seeing what feels like uninhabited land for the firsttime.

As we watch our guide, Ibrahim, prepare the camels for our trip, myhusband and I pull long-forgotten knowledge from grade school andhalf-remembered documentaries to get ready for our first up-closeexperience with these animals:

They don’t rear up. We think.

They spit. (Our conversation takes place at a comfortabledistance.)

They run, but usually not with people in tow.

I say a silent prayer as Ibrahim instructs my camel to kneel so Ican hop onto the folded blankets he has placed on her back. As sherises, I start to wonder if this trip is a good idea for someonewho is as much a city girl as I.

The camels mostly ignore their human cargo but snort repeatedly atwhat I start to imagine is some hilarious camel joke at myexpense.

Lively companions

About 45 minutes into the ride, we stop to enjoy the sunset. Tryingnot to groan in pain, we dismount to take pictures as the sunchanges the sand from beige to pumpkin to scarlet.

We mount our camels again, and after a thigh-chafinghour-and-a-half, we arrive at our camp in the desert.

What seem like mountain-size dunes are a backdrop for the camp,which is composed of 10 to 12 tents set off by sparse groupings ofdate palms. I’m exhausted after our long ride but am strangelyhesitant to leave my camel. I’ve grown attached to her during ourjourney.

The guides -- Ibrahim is joined by another Berber escort, Moha --immediately usher guests to a meal tent, where we gladly acceptmore mint tea to ward off the approaching cold.

The camp also includes three sleeping tents and a cooking tent.Guests get to know one another while seated on cushions on thesandy floor of the meal tent.

These camps have a reputation for being especially popular withSpaniards and Frenchmen who pop over for quick weekends the wayFloridians might take trips to Miami or Key West.

The guests in our camp for the night include 10 men from France whoare spending a few days riding motorbikes through the dunes, andfour Spaniards: a 60ish man, his 30ish son and two of the father’scontemporaries.

I understand French well enough to follow what’s being said but notenough to participate in a complicated discussion about motorcyclemaintenance. The Spaniards don’t speak English, but because I speakSpanish, we manage to have a lively conversation.

A Mexican art student who says he has been living with the Berbersfor a few weeks appears from nowhere when talk turns to a subjectin which I have no expertise: the best place in the world to scorehashish (the verdict: Chile).

Tales around the bonfire

Our dinner, a one-dish meal with what I think are chickpeas andgoat meat, arrives just as I start to despair of ever feeling warmagain. Because my husband and I didn’t think to pack a dessert, ourSpanish friends share their dulces with us as dinner windsdown.

During an after-meal bonfire, Moha shares stories about cameldisasters so disturbing that if I had heard these first, I neverwould have consented to ride one. He follows those stories withtales of games -- one sounds like a cousin of Spin the Bottle --that he played with childhood friends on December nights in thedesert not unlike this one.

His family once lived in the desert, but tourism has provided themwith the opportunity to live in a town. Still, he says, he prefersto spend his nights in the sands, returning to his apartment homeonly once every two weeks.

And the sandman comes

As the night grows colder, and the fire begins to die, theFrenchmen hike to the top of a dune, where they enjoy a few beersby moonlight.

We retire to our tent. From the comfort of my bed -- a few blanketslaid on the sand -- I hear the Frenchmen return to camp. I pull thehood of my jacket over my head to protect my ears from the bittercold. In minutes, one of their number is snoring loudly enough tomake his companions laugh.

Finally, just before 11, the camp falls silent, with the exceptionof our French companion’s rhythmic snoring, and the occasionalgrunts of the nearby camels.

I toss and turn, but when I finally drift off, I dream of the hotmint tea that will greet me after the morning’s call to prayer.

Getting there:

Royal Air Maroc (royalairmaroc.com/eng) offers direct flights from NewYork to Morocco.

When to go::

Summer is high season. To avoid crowds -- and find lower lodgingprices -- think about traveling in late fall, winter and earlyspring. The Dakar Rally, an off-road race to Dakar, Senegal, isscheduled to pass through Morocco in January 2008.

Where to stay:

L• La Mamounia, Marrakech’s most opulent hotel, is seton former royal grounds and was frequented by Winston Churchillfrom the 1930s to 1950s. mamounia.com.

L• Hotel Riad Omar: Within easy walking distance ofMarrakech’s Djemaa el Fna square and the Koutoubia Mosque, thishotel offers small but comfortable rooms ringing a centralcourtyard and a hammam (Turkish-style bath); riadomar.com.

L• Fes Hotels

Riad Dar Dmana: This family-run guesthouse with five rooms andthree suites is near the center of the city’s medina (old city)section. Traditional Moroccan food is served on a candlelit patio;riaddardmana.net.

La Maison Bleue: This nearly 100-year-old Moorish residence in themedina was built by a judge, and his grandchildren have opened itssix rooms to guests. A spa offers several treatments, and you canwind down from a day of shopping in the library or on the rooftopterrace; maisonbleue.com.

In the desert

Auberge les Dunes d’Or: Start here on your journey to themagnificent dunes of southern Morocco. This facility offerstraditional, basic rooms -- and an opportunity to take camels outfor a night in the desert and a stay in a Berber tent; aubergedunesdor.com.

Tour operators

Experience It! Tours, Morocco: This agency offers several packagetours of the Imperial Cities and treks to the Sahara; from $1,000per person. Custom tours with a private car and driver can bearranged; experienceittours.com.

The Africa Guide: This clearinghouse for agencies that operatetours in Africa also has maps and visa and hotel information; africaguide.com.”>Chances are, if you ever findyourself in the middle of the Sahara while on a trip to Morocco, itwill feel familiar.

You’ll wonder at the silent strangeness of the dunes at Erg Chebbinear Merzouga, but fully expect to see people or things you “know”from books and movies -- Paul Atreides and the Fremen, LukeSkywalker or even Lawrence of Arabia -- pop up from behind thehills of sand.

In the Valley of 1,000 Kasbahs, approaching the desert on anall-day driving trip, my husband and I pass through what seem likehundreds of small towns. I’m casting about for a subject ofconversation when I spy something that reminds me of home:construction.

When I ask about what seems to be a boom in homebuilding, ourdriver says that many of the towns’ residents work in Spain andFrance. They send money home for family members and to buildpalatial houses for their eventual return to Morocco.

I also am struck by how the streets in the small towns are filledwith men. Women are almost nowhere to be seen, but when they are,they’re mostly covered.

I expected that in this mostly Muslim nation, but the reality ofthe near-absence of half the population from many towns’ streetssaddens me. I’ve been told that Morocco has some of the mostliberal women’s rights laws in the Islamic world -- and when I wasin Fes and Marrakech, large cities, that distinction made sense.But my Western eyes have a hard time adjusting to these towns. Iwonder what these women think of their sisters in the big cities,and vice versa.

But some things are the same everywhere: When we drive past aschool, we see teen boys wearing jeans and slouching under thecrushing weight of their bookbags while teen girls walking nearbygiggle on cell phones.

Do camels laugh?

When we arrive at Merzouga, we are greeted, as we had beeneverywhere in Morocco, with hot mint tea. We wait awhile before weset out for camp because our guides want to time the trip so thatwe will see the best of the Sahara at sunset.

Merzouga is in southern Morocco, near a disputed border withAlgeria. Guidebooks say Morocco’s desert has nothing on Algeria’s,but visitors to Merzouga are uniformly impressed with what theysee.

Here’s why: It feels like the end of the Earth.

At base camp, you’re surrounded by sand as far as the eye can see,with a 400-foot dune as the backdrop. You imagine yourself asColumbus, seeing what feels like uninhabited land for the firsttime.

As we watch our guide, Ibrahim, prepare the camels for our trip, myhusband and I pull long-forgotten knowledge from grade school andhalf-remembered documentaries to get ready for our first up-closeexperience with these animals:

They don’t rear up. We think.

They spit. (Our conversation takes place at a comfortabledistance.)

They run, but usually not with people in tow.

I say a silent prayer as Ibrahim instructs my camel to kneel so Ican hop onto the folded blankets he has placed on her back. As sherises, I start to wonder if this trip is a good idea for someonewho is as much a city girl as I.

The camels mostly ignore their human cargo but snort repeatedly atwhat I start to imagine is some hilarious camel joke at myexpense.

Lively companions

About 45 minutes into the ride, we stop to enjoy the sunset. Tryingnot to groan in pain, we dismount to take pictures as the sunchanges the sand from beige to pumpkin to scarlet.

We mount our camels again, and after a thigh-chafinghour-and-a-half, we arrive at our camp in the desert.

What seem like mountain-size dunes are a backdrop for the camp,which is composed of 10 to 12 tents set off by sparse groupings ofdate palms. I’m exhausted after our long ride but am strangelyhesitant to leave my camel. I’ve grown attached to her during ourjourney.

The guides -- Ibrahim is joined by another Berber escort, Moha --immediately usher guests to a meal tent, where we gladly acceptmore mint tea to ward off the approaching cold.

The camp also includes three sleeping tents and a cooking tent.Guests get to know one another while seated on cushions on thesandy floor of the meal tent.

These camps have a reputation for being especially popular withSpaniards and Frenchmen who pop over for quick weekends the wayFloridians might take trips to Miami or Key West.

The guests in our camp for the night include 10 men from France whoare spending a few days riding motorbikes through the dunes, andfour Spaniards: a 60ish man, his 30ish son and two of the father’scontemporaries.

I understand French well enough to follow what’s being said but notenough to participate in a complicated discussion about motorcyclemaintenance. The Spaniards don’t speak English, but because I speakSpanish, we manage to have a lively conversation.

A Mexican art student who says he has been living with the Berbersfor a few weeks appears from nowhere when talk turns to a subjectin which I have no expertise: the best place in the world to scorehashish (the verdict: Chile).

Tales around the bonfire

Our dinner, a one-dish meal with what I think are chickpeas andgoat meat, arrives just as I start to despair of ever feeling warmagain. Because my husband and I didn’t think to pack a dessert, ourSpanish friends share their dulces with us as dinner windsdown.

During an after-meal bonfire, Moha shares stories about cameldisasters so disturbing that if I had heard these first, I neverwould have consented to ride one. He follows those stories withtales of games -- one sounds like a cousin of Spin the Bottle --that he played with childhood friends on December nights in thedesert not unlike this one.

His family once lived in the desert, but tourism has provided themwith the opportunity to live in a town. Still, he says, he prefersto spend his nights in the sands, returning to his apartment homeonly once every two weeks.

And the sandman comes

As the night grows colder, and the fire begins to die, theFrenchmen hike to the top of a dune, where they enjoy a few beersby moonlight.

We retire to our tent. From the comfort of my bed -- a few blanketslaid on the sand -- I hear the Frenchmen return to camp. I pull thehood of my jacket over my head to protect my ears from the bittercold. In minutes, one of their number is snoring loudly enough tomake his companions laugh.

Finally, just before 11, the camp falls silent, with the exceptionof our French companion’s rhythmic snoring, and the occasionalgrunts of the nearby camels.

I toss and turn, but when I finally drift off, I dream of the hotmint tea that will greet me after the morning’s call to prayer.

Getting there:

Royal Air Maroc (royalairmaroc.com/eng) offers direct flights from NewYork to Morocco.

When to go:

Summer is high season. To avoid crowds -- and find lower lodgingprices -- think about traveling in late fall, winter and earlyspring. The Dakar Rally, an off-road race to Dakar, Senegal, isscheduled to pass through Morocco in January 2008.

Where to stay:

• La Mamounia, Marrakech’s most opulent hotel, is seton former royal grounds and was frequented by Winston Churchillfrom the 1930s to 1950s. a href=”https://www.riadomar.com”target=”_blank”>mamounia.com.

• Hotel Riad Omar is within easy walking distance ofMarrakech’s Djemaa el Fna square and the Koutoubia Mosque. Thishotel offers small but comfortable rooms ringing a centralcourtyard and a hammam (Turkish-style bath).riadomar.com.

• Riad Dar Dmana, in Fes, is a family-run guesthousewith five rooms and three suites is near the center of the city’smedina (old city) section. Traditional Moroccan food is served on acandlelit patio; riaddardmana.net.

• La Maison Bleue, a nearly 100-year-old Moorishresidence in Fes’ medina, was built by a judge, and hisgrandchildren have opened its six rooms to guests. A spa offersseveral treatments, and you can wind down from a day of shopping inthe library or on the rooftop terrace. maisonbleue.com.

• Auberge les Dunes d’Or is the place from which tostart your journey to the magnificent dunes of southern Morocco.This facility offers traditional, basic rooms -- and an opportunityto take camels out for a night in the desert and a stay in a Berbertent. aubergedunesdor .com.

Tour operators

• Experience It! Tours, Morocco, offers several packagetours of the Imperial Cities and treks to the Sahara; from $1,000per person. Custom tours with a private car and driver can bearranged. experienceittours.com.

• The Africa Guide is a clearinghouse for agencies thatoperate tours in Africa. Maps and visa and hotel information areavailable. africaguide.com.