Erg Chigaga Desert: Unknown and Unexpected (Part 3 of 6)

Known as "The Land of Thirst" and "The Land of Terror," [the desert] is feared and respected by all who pass through it, a great dead zone that might have inspired the old nomad adage, "One does not live in the desert.  One crosses it."  Men of Salt, Michael Benanev.

The desert described in Benanev's personal narrative resides in Mali between fabled Timbuktu and the country's northern salt mines where a one-way trip typically takes a few weeks.  In stark contrast, our desert excursion would only last an evening and part of the morning but, in all fairness, the quote still leaves me asking, "Why go into such a place as part of a vacation?"  Each of us had our reasons, but the one I like most is that it allowed us a little touch of the unknown.

Trying to plan for this unknown, I used a fair amount of both English and Arabic to set up our trip to the Erg Chigaga desert near the tiny border town of M'Hamid.  And, after numerous emails and chats and a meeting with the agency owner, I thought that I had the details whipped: meet at the hotel in M'Hamid at a certain date and time, ride camels for an hour and a half to the bivouac site, have dinner and a tent to sleep in and ride an RV out the next morning.

Further, being that it's May and starting to get "Africa hot" even in Rabat, I thought I had a good idea of what the weather and severity of the trip would look like.  From the local forecast, it'd be sunny and hot and from several guidebooks and reviews, the trip wouldn't be as severe as Merzouga due to some smaller dunes and considerable distance to them from our starting point.  In between the two, the sand should be minimal and the ground a hardened type of flat skreet rock.

Reality didn't quite match our expectations, as my mother later recalled:

"Expectations: Short camel ride into a campsite complete with bath, bed and meal.  Ride out in comfort in a 4 wheeler-then, move on!  Reality: 2 out of 5 ain't bad."

Additionally, the stakes were raised at the last minute as my grandmother and Al (originally slated to take an RV out and back) opted to give the ninety minute camel ride a shot after the agency's owner assured us that the ride would be doable for a couple of eighty-somethings because we could stop as necessary and adjust (which they proved accurate, and then some!).

What we experienced, however, was a little different.  An hour and a half turned into two hours, the RV back transformed into the same camels that we rode out and the sun and heat morphed into sand-laced wind in the evening and a non-stop, cold and driving rain the next morning.

Through it all though, one expectation was surely met: we got a trip never to forget!

It started well enough.  Our two young guides and six camels were ready and awaiting us when we arrived at the hotel.  After a little tutorial on how to mount and ride our dromedaries, everyone got up without issue and we began our trip.

My sister was the first one up and the last one off.

Grandma did great, despite the duration of the trip and various weather.

Mom and Al ready to go.

Thankfully, the skies were full of streaming sheets of clouds that shut out most of the late afternoon heat.  But even this reprieve didn't come free, as it was accompanied by a gusting wind that gave us plenty of finely-granulated sand to chew on and filled most of our nooks and crannies.  Yet under the mixed weather, our focus quickly shifted to one of our "ships of the desert."

A good beginning...

...quickly turned into sand scurrying across tiny dunes to greet its newest visitors.

The dromedary in question was mounted below 85 year-old Al and was bothered by a back injury that sharply brought him to the ground no less than four times.  Watching the first couple of times, I couldn't believe that Al stayed on during the swift descents.  Hard enough to stay on a camel when it goes down in a controlled manner, it was a testament to the man's strength that he did it without warning.  Way to go, Al!

Possible reasons why the camel went down: a rough saddle sore on his back, a splinter or thorn stuck between the wooden saddle and his back, he wanted to test Al's resolve!

We all arrived at the bivouac site a little sore between the thighs and ready for a little trip into the dunes, some dinner and rest.  The site was modest, with tents for two or four people and a shared communal bathroom.  A late dinner of beef tajine filled our empty bellies while a one-cat welcoming party made the animal lovers feel at home.

Part of our destination.

Megan atop the highest dune.

The Erg Chigaga

One of our guides making his way to the supply tent.

Our welcoming party.

After dinner, sleep didn't come as easy as any of us hoped, as steady breezes sprinkled more sand through canvas tent flaps atop weary masses who were trying to drift as easily into dreams on slat-wood cots.  Before my dad knew it, I was waking him for a sunrise that never happened shortly after he finally got to sleep.

Mom's Most Interesting Moment: "How we ended up riding those camels all the way back in the wind and rain the next morning when it was communicated that we would be back at our starting point in the back seat of a jeep!"

What Mom Enjoyed Most: "The camels.  Being an animal nut-case, I found these guys (and they were all males) all pretty neat. Considering how they were created to live in this environment was inevitable.  We had 2 hours to study all of their parts, their moves, their communicating, their moods, and feel how sloppy they are to ride.  Translated: no one left this trip without feeling some degree of pain from those camels..."

After a gritty trip out and a restless night, we were all ready for the trip back to the hotel and our comparatively luxurious van.  The return trip, however, gave us one more reason to appreciate that we came to the desert for a once-in-a-lifetime experience and didn't have to survive there like some of the Bedouins whose paths we crossed.

A few minutes removed from the campsite, the sky opened with a drizzling rain that escalated and lightened over the next two hours but never quit.  Wet dromedaries smell like wet dogs and are about as stable as drunk men walking on stilts under hundred pound backpacks.  120 minutes haven't passed that slowly since the last time I tried to sit through an Arabic class.

But when the clock stopped on our trip, smiles replaced frowns and soon enough wet clothes were traded for fresh, dry ones.  As we piled back into our van, moans of relief echoed while stories of our little hardship were shared with laughs.  It was a good trip and wouldn't be forgotten as we faced our next leg: Nine hours to Agadir.

"Hail of Bullets:"

• Mom: Our 10:00 (?) pm "pot roast-style" dinner was great, served by our jovial guides, complete with tea, water, breads, and ice cold honeydew melon slices. 
• Mom's Main Attraction: "The wonderful feline that entertained Megan, Al and I whilst dinner was being prepared (he was a talkative fellow)."
• Mom's thoughts on the "sleeping arrangements:" The sub-adequate restroom (at time to retire), its kerosene light had little life left to help me brush my sandy-gritty teeth and finally, the long awaited rest.  We were assured by Abadeen (our little guide man/cook/server/host) that he and Habeeb (his co-pilot) had prepared a "very comfortable bed" for us after they had cleaned up the dinner table (not quite).
• What mom enjoyed least: (a) Trying to sleep in those "comfortable beds".  (b) The sand storm that kicked in midway through the night.  (c) The result of sand storm = sand in my tent, bed, pj's, hair.....wind threatening to relocate entire tent.....(d) Gramma wandering out of tent to find the bathroom in the middle of sand/wind storm.

"Planning Factor of the Day:"

Despite having the details of my desert arrangement written out and signed by both parties, this apparently didn't mean too much due to the fact that three different entities (the agency owner, his "representative" at the hotel, and the actual guides who took us out to the desert and back) were part of the trip but don't apparently work directly for one another.  

Either by design or accident, communication between the three and with me was labored and ultimately resulted in a different product than originally arranged.  Though it wasn't insurmountable, it didn't come without some adverse effects.  Regardless, I still feel like we got what we wanted, and the only thing still chafed is my inner thighs.  

One of the less convenient truths about the matter, unfortunately, is that if you put yourself in a position of minimal control it may end up being what you get.  In a foreign environment such as M'Hamid, far removed from Rabat and hours from the agency owner, control is significantly limited.  You may be put in a position to either push through it or default.  We pushed through it.