We were up before sunrise. Just a few steps away from the Kasbah where we stayed in the skin to notice all the loneliness of this place. The cold, the silence, the absence of forms in the dark are signals by which the gap occurs. It seems as if humanity had been extinguished for thousands of years, or as if it never existed.
Our guide, which has an air of a young Omar Sharif, called Idir. Berber is the sand rescued us last night. Drive safely in the desert while we wonder how to navigate the maze of tracks that are mixed and rolled on the floor of the reg.
finally see the sun rise over the dunes of Erg Chebbi. My colleagues enjoy and take pictures. I try a persistent stomach pain no experience embitter me. For some strange reason, I have not slept a wink, not I feel fine. I find myself wondering what the hell do there, how well it could be at home. But I know that the question is useless. At this moment, on this day, my life is here in the desert. Little care about my stomach aches or my breathing difficulties. I decided to move and my body, but not always be the best partner possible, travel with me. Later
Idir brings us to the mountains that separate Morocco from Algeria. The area is even more inhospitable, far from the villages and hotels are clustered along the dunes. Not too hot, but sunlight seems capable of taladrarte the skull after few minutes. Is a white light, almost poignant.
In the middle of nowhere, we stop at the home of a nomadic family. Adobe walls are four dry. We sat on mats worn carpeting inside and share a tea with two Berber women and children. We took ten years for girls. I imagine that air of adolescent thirtysomethings who can afford the Europeans would have to be the strangest thing. Will surely be the most frivolous, but it probably envy.
By midmorning we reached a remote village, further south Risanni Here, the majority of the population is black. It reminds us that we are in Africa and we hardly looked out of a huge continent and the Sahara almost dizzying halved.
the evening, Idir invites us to tea in his tent. His son Mohammed, a boy of about three years and has the same look strong and determined of his father, running barefoot on the rocky ground. Idir seems so content with his life. Could probably afford to change if so desired. As I look askance at how to drink tea and let your eyes wander to the desert, I wonder if his world, which to us seems so simple, it will be for it as complex as ours to us.
in that desert probably looks Idir, in that vast rocky plain and dry, is the answer to my question. But I am not able to decipher. Again, it is the traveler who else is left to learn.
While the view is let me get lost in the desert, I remember those lotus eaters of the Odyssey to the lotus made them forget their homeland, thus relieving them of the tyrannical obligation to return to her. Idir
fill the now empty glass of tea. Thank you, drink another drink and I let go of the sadness of the last light of evening.
Our guide, which has an air of a young Omar Sharif, called Idir. Berber is the sand rescued us last night. Drive safely in the desert while we wonder how to navigate the maze of tracks that are mixed and rolled on the floor of the reg.
finally see the sun rise over the dunes of Erg Chebbi. My colleagues enjoy and take pictures. I try a persistent stomach pain no experience embitter me. For some strange reason, I have not slept a wink, not I feel fine. I find myself wondering what the hell do there, how well it could be at home. But I know that the question is useless. At this moment, on this day, my life is here in the desert. Little care about my stomach aches or my breathing difficulties. I decided to move and my body, but not always be the best partner possible, travel with me. Later
Idir brings us to the mountains that separate Morocco from Algeria. The area is even more inhospitable, far from the villages and hotels are clustered along the dunes. Not too hot, but sunlight seems capable of taladrarte the skull after few minutes. Is a white light, almost poignant.
In the middle of nowhere, we stop at the home of a nomadic family. Adobe walls are four dry. We sat on mats worn carpeting inside and share a tea with two Berber women and children. We took ten years for girls. I imagine that air of adolescent thirtysomethings who can afford the Europeans would have to be the strangest thing. Will surely be the most frivolous, but it probably envy.
By midmorning we reached a remote village, further south Risanni Here, the majority of the population is black. It reminds us that we are in Africa and we hardly looked out of a huge continent and the Sahara almost dizzying halved.
the evening, Idir invites us to tea in his tent. His son Mohammed, a boy of about three years and has the same look strong and determined of his father, running barefoot on the rocky ground. Idir seems so content with his life. Could probably afford to change if so desired. As I look askance at how to drink tea and let your eyes wander to the desert, I wonder if his world, which to us seems so simple, it will be for it as complex as ours to us.
in that desert probably looks Idir, in that vast rocky plain and dry, is the answer to my question. But I am not able to decipher. Again, it is the traveler who else is left to learn.
While the view is let me get lost in the desert, I remember those lotus eaters of the Odyssey to the lotus made them forget their homeland, thus relieving them of the tyrannical obligation to return to her. Idir
fill the now empty glass of tea. Thank you, drink another drink and I let go of the sadness of the last light of evening.
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