Sahara inc.
There's no oasis in this desert.
I’d like to say I’ve never seen a night sky like it, but I have. The stars can’t compete with the light of our camp, nor the village behind it. Still, when you catch them it’s a treat. I never seem to look up at home.
I’m sat on a dune with a woman from my tour in a bid to get away from the crowd. The groups that have congregated here are young and rowdy and we seem to be getting fleeced. We received one bottle of complimentary water between four people, and we are literally in a desert. Giggles cut across the sand.
“So last year I did a hiking tour in the Dolomites and this year I’m heading to Bali,” Lucia gushed. She’s a sweetheart, her enthusiasm infectious. “Now that I’m single, I just want to do things for myself and see as much of the world as possible.”
“I totally understand that” I reply. Not the first time I’ve heard that one.
Ahead, more dunes dip and curve like they’ve been lined out with a paintbrush. I know they are deceptive, with the wind changing them by the minute and making you complicit in the process. There’s sand in places of my body even a lover would struggle to find.
She’s a talker. Whilst she tells me more about herself, I watch a small group on the next mound over. It’s three women and their guide, his arms wrapped tight around one of them. Nobody can have their romantic moment here. Me with myself, the Moroccan tour guide with his guest. I wish I had a beer in my hand to finish off the day.
I’m travelling with a best friend and it’s not often you get to see one of those on a camel. She’s in bed already, most likely dehydrated. We had a surreal time riding with scarves on our heads and acting like fools in this landscape of childhood imagination.
“What’s my camel called,” I had asked one of the handlers.
“Bob Marley,” he said.
“What’s that camel called,” I pointed to another. They made a full set of teeth between all three of them.
“Bob Marley.”
The Bobs were unconcerned by their lack of individuality. I snapped a photo of the handler and he asked me to Bluetooth it to his phone. The dunes mirrored the hues of the sun as it sank from white to orange.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
Lucia is interrupted which is lucky because I wasn’t listening. It’s one of the leaders from the camp clambering up to sit with us, his turban trailing behind him.
“Hi again.” She says. As if I’d rubbed a lamp, he whips out three cans of ice-cold beer from nowhere. My wish is granted by a modern-day genie.
He gives us both a wink. “Next time you come to camp, you bring whisky.”
Lucia laughs and sighs.
“I wish I could come back, it’s just so beautiful here.” As if he needed any encouragement, he shuffles a little closer to her and begins to ask questions.
I don’t know when they met but I do know I am the extra fries he didn’t order. The unwanted dad on a Tinder date. I take it in my stride and think that this might be my chance to learn something.
“Are there still nomadic communities living out in the desert?” I interrupt.
“Yes. Some.” He says. “Lucia, do you have pets?”
I search for the other third wheels and their guide on the next dune over, but the women are gone. The silhouette of the couple as they kiss against the sand is beautiful.
“Should I leave you to it?” I ask Lucia when he gets up to fetch more alcohol,
“No please don’t.” She puts her hand on my knee. “I’m really not interested.”
As I chaperone, I think how naïve it was to think we’d see a traditional way of life here. There’s no such thing when you book through Trip Advisor. You get flushing toilets and ten other tour groups.
But the desert is magnetic. Even if it must be shared, I still managed to find some magic. My first wish was granted, so I make another against the dunes.
