Our accommodation in Merzouga was fashioned out of clay and straw, positioned in a lovely little spot next to the dunes, surrounded by palms. Our room was right by the pool, enclosed in a small courtyard and noticeably warmer than some of our previous locations. With the lights off that night, the darkness was complete. It’s been a long time since I have slept somewhere quite so devoid of light pollution, it was slightly unnerving.
After breakfast, C and I headed dune-ward. Idiotically we didn’t think to take water, but we were only venturing far enough to get an idea of the vastness of the desert, and, frankly, to take some cool photos, aiming to capture the extraordinary shade of the sand against the solid blue sky. It was definitely a good time of year to be in Merzouga, the dunes were our own giant sand pit, with just a few tyre tracks indicating that someone out there in the sandy wilderness might be playing with some much bigger, and definitely more mechanical, toys.
We were the first in a dotted line of Exodus travellers plodding up the dunes. I didn’t mind the followers, at least if we stuck together we couldn’t get lost, our mutated footprints acting as a useful trail back to camp.
After messing around on the dunes for a while, we returned and made a visit to a local carpet shop – “No obligation to buy.” We perused the wares, and had a spot of tea and some lunch: a big round bread, full of onions and eggs (honestly much nicer than it sounds). The non-veggies had some variety of meat with theirs. I was a bit sad that I didn’t have the disposable funds to seriously consider the rugs and carpets, there really were some impressive bits of weaving. They may have said that no offer would be considered rude, but I couldn’t have proposed a price that wouldn’t have embarrassed us all.
Back at the hotel, all noticeably carpet-less, some of us slightly more adventurous types tested out the pool. Note to self: blue sky and sunshine does not equal warm outdoor pool, particularly one that’s been exposed to the cold desert night. I jumped in, nay leapt vigorously, aware it was going to be a little bracing. Blimey! My heart skipped a beat and I struggled to manage a credible stroke to get me back to the side. February in Saharan Morocco was obviously not outdoor swimming weather.
The relaxing morning was a precursor to the day’s main activity: a camel trek into the desert to a Bedouin-style camp. We gathered at 4pm, meeting our guides and their camels. The camels, tethered together in three groups, seemed like particularly massive beasts to this uninitiated rider. I immediately named mine Bernard; he looked like a Bernard. We all agreed that J had the prettiest. Another, Kevin, kept trying to put his head on C’s knee, it appeared he’d taken quite a shine to her. Hopefully he wasn’t just a bit peckish and looking for a nice meaty snack to supplement his daily diet of grass.
The camp was nestled amidst the dunes, and consisted of a cooking tent, a dinner tent and sleeping tents, some small ones for the couples and larger ones for the solo travellers – one for the girls and another for the boys. If you needed to make use of the facilities you’d just have to find a shady spot behind a dune and whistle. We hopped off our trusty dromedaries and raced up the nearest big dune to enjoy the sunset.
Every inch of the sun’s descent towards the horizon heralded another subtle colour change in the sand. The vibrant orange landscape darkened and the shadows lengthened, whilst the warming final rays gave way to a chill atmosphere as we finally lost the sun. We gradually meandered back down to camp.
Dinner was the usual tagine of cous cous and vegetables, but tasted infinitely better for being consumed outdoors. After a simple dessert of juicy oranges, we joined the guides around a camp fire under the stars for a spot of entertainment. The young men played the drums – bongo style – and in good humour tried to get us each to have a go. After a few not so spectacular attempts, one of the gents from our group, a retired man in his late 60s, piped up that he’d like to have a go. It was miraculous, he drummed like a complete pro. It was the most unexpected thing and certainly surprised the guides who did their best to keep up. His wife later admitted that he’d been filling his retirement by learning a few new skills!
Eventually we headed for the sleeping tents. All rugged up and cosy, it would be a most comfortable camping experience.