In 2005, we flew from France to Tunisia. After making our way to the city of Tozeur, we hired a driver to take us even further south into the country to an oasis on the edge of the Sahara Desert. Our driver, whom we learned was a competitor in the Paris-Dakar Rally, hurled his four wheel drive Ford Explorer over the "roads" with unbelievable speed and agility. We careened and bumped over asphalt that, at times, had been completely covered by the moving sands of the desolate landscape as we drove further and further from civilization. Potholes I could lay down in threatened to leave us stranded at any moment, but after five brain rattling hours we arrived, bruised but alive, at our destination. Given that the mercury still hovered at 120 degrees, we immediately headed for what could have been a mirage--a shimmering and cool freshwater pond surrounded by bowing palm trees and shaded sand.
Our accommodation for the evening was a large Bedouin-style tent. About the size of our current living room, poles of varying height held up the thick, woven material that made up the walls and ceiling of our abode. Inside, a bare space, half taken up by a large block-style bed made with numerous pillows and a number of heavy, woolen blankets woven with varying patterns. I took one sweaty look at that pile of blankets and thought, "You have got to be kidding me."
As the sun finally crept toward the horizon, we walked out behind the tents and there, just behind the encampment, lay an edge of the Sahara Desert. Stretching from Mauritania and Morocco in the west to Egypt and Sudan in the east, here was a northern point of entry sifting through my toes. The sand already in the shade was cool and fine; we dug our bloated feet and hands deep into the shifting, soft powder. As we walked in and around the dunes, a line of men on camels made their way along a plateau, their shadowed figures cloaked against the swirling terrain.
After dinner, we retired to our tent, the temperature still sweltering despite the hour. Eventually, I must have fallen asleep because I awoke curled in a ball, shivering from cold. Now I understood the need for the blankets piled at my feet! I nudged Gus and we got up, lifting the edge of the woven door to our tent and stepping outside. It was wonderfully fresh and breezy, and a delicate quiet surrounded us. Looking to the heavens, an unbelievable sight. I had been camping, been far away from big cities and seen many stars. But nothing compared to this evening. There were so many stars, they seemed to crowd one other. There was hardly room for the blackness of the sky amongst all the sparkling orbs. The moon and stars lit up the sky with an unworldly light. Necks craned, we stood transfixed by this awesome firmament.
As I sit here in the darkness, laptop illuminated, the sky above does not stand a chance as it competes against the lights of the Eastern Seaboard. Its authenticity is lost in our world of bright modernity and buzzing electricity. Indeed, the true beauty of the night sky has been reserved for that slow train of humble men snaking across the windswept desert to an unseen home amidst the sand and shadows.
Below, a photo I took of animal tracks in the sand of the Sahara:
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