Legend has it that when a wealthy family refused hospitality to a poor woman, God buried them under the spectacular dune known as Erg Chebbi. Twenty five km long and rising 160 meters above the flat desert floor, its rose colored sands are a tourist magnet. Fortunately, we are there in February, low season, and have the spectacle pretty much to ourselves.
A sunset camel ride to Erg Chebbi and an overnight stay in a Berber tent are on the schedule, but high winds mean we’ll forgo the tent for a comfy hotel which is fine with me. The camel ride is on, though, and our guides lead us to the string of improbable looking beasts crouched in the sand, waiting for us. Climbing aboard is no easy task, but with some pushing and hauling by a guide, I manage to clamber onto the saddle atop my creature’s hump. For the next bit, I’m directed to hang on to the saddle, front and back. Up go its hind quarters, throwing me forward. Its front legs straighten in time to keep me from pitching over its head.
Mark is aboard behind me, looking splendid in the blue head scarf he bought from one of our Tuareg guides. It really suits him.
Our group sets off. I’ve ridden horses for a good part of my life, but that experience is no preparation for a camel’s walk which is totally bone-jarring, throwing me forward and back, impossible to follow. A few minutes of this and I’m wondering how travellers traversed thousands of miles aboard these Ships of the Desert.
The view is more than glorious, though, as the sinking sun turns what was rose colored all shades of reds and purples and corals, and throws our silhouettes across the sands.
The next challenge is dismounting. Down on its knees my beast goes. I hang on for dear life. Hindquarters lower, and I slide off.
The dunes are steep and the sand shifty, but we make it to the top and take in the panorama and the camels and our guides — a picture I won’t forget. 7FC80159-6041-4042-B0BA-2EB725D52D31_2_0_a
Safely back at our hotel, we’re more than ready for a dinner that begins with a bountiful salad selection served by a handsome young guy in great headgear.
Then it’s music of the desert. A fitting end to our day’s adventures. D9A2FE89-B498-40D7-B58B-6BBE00C0E810
I, too, have ridden a camel, and I’m here to report that 25 kilometers is about 24 and a half klicks too long for me. But kudos for your intrepid spirit. Thanks for a fun read.
Thanks for your comment as a veteran camel rider. I think you’ll agree once is enough!