We wanted more than a taste of the Sahara (pronounced “sa-HA-ra!” with a violent crotch grab). We wanted a heaping mouthful. Our fantasy was thus: An oasis tent camp surrounded by an ocean of dunes, simmering desert sunsets, peaceful star-filled nights, crackling campfires, and an inescapable feeling of desolation that would echo through our dreams. Perhaps a short camel diversion led by a desert-hardened Berber man with one eye and a scorpion forehead tattoo would be in the cards. Ever heard the expression “wish in one hand, shit in the other”? 

Rent a 4WD drive? Not a chance. Nobody was interested, though we found many a tour operator willing to charge the going rate…

Read More

Following dinner, we spent the evening frolicking in the dunes under a waxing, wobbling moon. Enter two bottles of wine, two gin and tonics, and a smidgen of vodka. Wobbling moon, you say? I’m sure getting smashed was a factor, but that, combined with atmospheric idiosyncrasies, made the moon vibrate ever so in the black of night sky. It was fucking mesmerizing, made more so by passing clouds. I had to remind myself I hadn’t swallowed psychedelic mushrooms… had I?

And then there was the goddamn lightning. Off to the north, just above the horizon, was a silent, thunderless light show courtesy of Mother Nature. It was magnificent to behold…

Read More