After we emerged from Old Fes yesterday afternoon, we chilled by the pool, we ate, we packed, we slept, we arose and went on our way in the early morn.  The Sahara’s sandy slopes beckoned, wanting us to arrive before sunset. It’s a long, long drive – that will be punctuated by a few stops along the way but frankly there just isn’t much to see between here and there. We double check for essentials – passport, wallet, phone – and Yusef hits the gas.

The streets are quiet heading out of the city, and become even less populated as we head toward the mountains. We pass the time chatting and looking over yesterday’s pictures, staring at the day’s Wordle, and soon Adil is telling us about our first stop, Ifrane. It’s cooler up here at about 5,000 feet, and green, and is not at all like a dry North African town you imagine. Feels a bit like we are at a country club…well-kept landscaping, pretty little streams placed just so, green space, a house here and there. Then some guards stationed at gates – yep, there’s a presidential palace behind those walls. 

We get out to stretch and have a coffee while Adil explains that this was designed to be a European-feeling community when Morocco was a French protectorate (Ifrane was founded in the 1920’s). Apparently the powers that be thought people needed a cooler-climate place to visit in the hot summers. It has the feel of a planned community – since it was – and at the same time, a bit like a failed attempt at some corner of Disney’s Epcot (“…are we in Swiss land or something?). We enjoy the break, and being in the Atlas Mountains, the cool moist air a refreshing change from the dry valley of Fes.

And then we drive…and drive…

There are bedouin camps along the way – very different than we saw in Israel and Jordan last year. The open rocky plains are dotted with sheep herds and goats, the trees few and far between. 

It’s not long since we left Ifrane, and suddenly Yusef pulls off the road. We are startled from our road-trip stupors and wonder what’s going on?! There are other cars stopped and several people milling about…to see the monkeys! At a time in days gone by that no one can quite pinpoint, our fellow humans started giving them bits to eat, and it didn’t take them long to learn this was the place to hang out. They are not afraid of us, bordering on aggressive. For you fauna-fites, they are Barbary macaques, an endangered ape (they are not monkeys, per se) found here and in Algeria. 

And so it goes…the road continues under our wheels…we pass through small towns…remark at the snow-capped mountains in the distance…

We stop for lunch at a hotel in the middle of nowhere, which is where apparently everybody stops on their way to the desert. I sent a pic to a friend in the US and he asked if we had the tagine de chameau, having stopped here too. The food was some of the best we had, surprisingly, and after some tasty Moroccan walnut cookies, we were on our way once again. (and no, none of us had the camel tagine 🙂 )

And so we drive…

A brief stop at a gendarmerie checkpoint and we are waved through. The rocky hills pass by the windows in an endless stream of sameness. The high plains can be like that. The locals take advantage of the abundance of rocks, paint them white, and write messages on the hillside…

Our drive is slowed by construction that never ends. The troops are getting restless for sure. Around the next bend is a lake – a damn, actually, stopping the water that comes from the largest oasis in the world (we will see this tomorrow) – which gives Adil a topic to chat about. The small towns and empty roads continue to ramble by. Another gas station pit stop happens, where they thankfully have cold drinks and ice cream.

And so we drive…

And there they are, bit by bit. The sand dunes – no, sand mountains – start to appear. But STOP! The gendarmerie pull us off the road and ask for all sorts of documentation, including a disc that Yusef took out of a monitoring device above the windshield. I had wondered why we often were going so slow, exactly the speed limit; apparently commercial vehicles are equipped with tracking systems that log speeds and stopped times. Of course everything was in order, but it took a solid 20 minutes for this to all play out.

And so we…finally arrive! Well, not quite yet, but it feels like it; we get to the point where most of us will get on camels for the final stretch. Bobb and I have opted out of the camels, he having ridden in Jordan, and I having done it twice (Jordan and Israel). We will take an SUV out to our glamping spot while everyone else lumbers along atop a dromedary for another hour. 

Our driver to the desert slopes is talkative (he speaks good English), and we learn there are over 200 camps! They used to be scattered over the hills everywhere, but the government stepped in and now they are only at the perimeter of this awe-inspiring landscape.

It is just jaw-droppingly beautiful out here. From afar, it looks like meringue, soft and pillowy, toasted along the edges as the light and shadow catch the small peaks…cresting and falling waves of butterscotch sand.

Aside: We had a long discussion about what color the sand is. It became quite the debate. Cantaloupe? Burnt caramel? Nectarine? Maybe roasted nectarine? Pumpkin? Nothing quite captures it, and perhaps that is the point. It is a place unto itself.

Bobb and I do not for a minute regret passing on the camel ride. It is just spectacular to be here with some daylight left, and it’s peaceful and quiet, no one else in the camp yet, save for the three young guys who work here. We get “checked in” – not so much a process as a “which bags are yours?” and “let’s go find an empty tent with two beds.”

We venture up the dune, labored steps through the thick falling sand that is much harder to walk in that you’d think. There are chairs perched atop, waiting for us to watch the sun sink below the horizon and greet our camel-riding friends as they arrive.

Bobb promptly falls out of the chair (“…hey, the sand is tricky!”)

We are quiet as the sky changes colors, and the sun becomes a pinprick of its former self. Everyone is in camp for the sunset, each of us finding our own exploration and presence. Some climb the far dunes, others sit on the wave’s edge…as darkness slowly falls and lights come up in the camp below.

Our hosts have put out some hors d’oeuvres for us, and we crack open the wine purchased at our vineyard luncheon. Cold rose in the desert chill, the fire blazing, the sky turning night-time blue, and it’s just…magical. 

After dinner (yes, tagine once again but some new side dishes and we brought wine so we are happy), everyone in the camp – it’s not just our group here – gathers around the fire for some evening relaxation and entertainment. The air is clean and chilly, the sand cooled between our toes. And our hosts who checked us in, set out hors d’ouerves, made the camp fire, cooked and served dinner, and cleaned up, are now performers on drums. Three young guys out in the desert taking care of tourists, day after day, night after night, smiling and friendly…we think about this, our experience wonderfully romanticized, and theirs one of hospitality work. We gain a new appreciation for what they are giving us.

We wrapped up against the chill and listened to these talented musicians…

The hour is getting late, especially for those on the “let’s watch the sun rise in the desert” plan. Ya gotta do it, right? I mean, how many times in your life will you be in the Sahara desert as the sun comes up? And on top of that, there is the promise of dune boarding! All of this, and breakfast, need to be wrapped by 8:30, so we turn in, sleep coming quickly in the desert’s silence…