Our wake-up call this morning was at 5:15 am so that those interested could hike to the top of the highest sand dune in Morocco for the sunrise. Two things were working against it for me - it was still cloudy so there was little chance of a sunrise AND I woke up with a wicked sore throught and some aches signaling the fact that I had picked up the bug going around camp. But then I heard the voices of all the retirees assembling outside and knew that I couldn´t let them show me up. True to Aziz´s word, even at 5:30 in the morning the camp was encircled by shadowy figures of local Taureg ´guides´ that have a consistent history of coming along on the hike uninvited and, in addition to trying to get money from you just for their ´conversation´, also try to sell you overpriced fossils from a local quarry. We were a hard group to sell to.
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This morning was the start of an unfortunate digestive malady for Mom, both delaying her hike start and then forcing her to turn around early after three unfortunate episodes in which she ¨left her mark on the Sahara,¨surrounded by a gaggle of tenacious Tauregs. I went ahead of the group, sensing failure of the mission to get on top of the dune and was briefly accompanied by one of the guides. At the point he actually tried to speak, I shushed him (it was a sacred sunrise walk for goodness sake!) and at the point he tried to guide me, I told him I was going my own route. He fell back with the handful of other hikers and I completed the rest of the fairly strenuous climb to the top by myself. At the top I didn´t actually get to enjoy a sunrise becuase of the clouds on the horizon, but I did get to see a small oasis just on the other side of the dune. Nestled among the orange sand was lush greenery, tall date palms, and three small multitent encampments. I sat up there for a while, found my way back to the camp using another route along the back of the dune, and then packed up and help load the trucks.
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At 8:15 two local herdsmen arrived with 15 camels (dromedaries actually). The camels sat down on their knees in the sand, belching and balking all the while, and we climbed up for our 1 hour ride across the sand. I learned that dromedaries have a life expectancy of 28 years and can go for two months without food or water based on their unusual physiology and the fact that they have two stomachs. IN addition, they are adapted to desert life with big broad foot pads for walking on sand, the ability to close off their nostrils against sand, as well as retractable membranes to cover and clear their eyes. It was an uncomfortably uneventful ride, with certain parts of the saddle unavoidably pressing up against certain parts of the anatomy, although a camel trek was definitely a must for the Sahara.
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Back in the 4x4s, we next stopped in Rissani at a deserted cafe to use the facilities. The Dutch couple in our group nearly started a riot outside the restaurant when the husband began handing out a few balloons to the local children. I didn´t witness itself, but apparently the children started fist fighting and Aziz had to whisk the car away lest repeat a similar incident at the same restaurant last year when one of the fathers of the fighting kids threatened the lives of tourists who were handing out candy to the kids, similarly prompting a bloody fist fight.
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Getting out of there became a priority, so we quickly loaded up and headed to a local kasbah that was linked to the current ruling dynasty. I couldn´t tell you a thing about the structure itself, though I recall seeing a man up to his knees in mud and straw making adobe on-site. Rather, in the foggy stages of my early head cold I was being followed by a local tout handing me beaded necklaces. Of course I paid too much for them in the end, since we discovered that they retailed for 1/10th the price in Marrakesh, but I still did some bartering and ended up with a few treasures (or gifts, as the case may be).
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From there we visited a poor class family living in the ruins of another adobe structure and got to hear more about how the mother and her family take odd jobs such as laundry or manual labor to make ends meet. When we climbed back into the 4x4s to leave that place, we were surrounded by the same hawkers that had met us before at the kasbah, evidencing a very active ¨telephone¨system that keeps people apprised of our location.
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After another 30-minute drive to literally the middle of nowhere, we came upon an elementary school that were were to visit. Photos were not allowed inside because of an incident involving OAT last year, but we filed into the the tiny adobe room giving high five´s and exchanging grins with the 30+ children crammed 4-across into seats designed for two. The kids themselves were clearly from poor class local families and were arranged in three groups: first grade, second grade, and third grade...all in the same single small room. We had a chance to ask questions of the 26-year old teacher, then the kids sang us a song from their chairs. We moved to the front of the room and belted out three painful verses of Old Macdonald, gave the teacher the school supplies that we had brought from the states, and left. I made sure to give special waves to several of the 2nd grade girls in the back of the class who had been too shy to make eye contact with me while I sat in the back of the class with them, but were waving like crazy when we started to leave.
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Another bumpy hour of driving through absolutely flat and barren desert landscapes with small brown hills rising up on either side brought us to our second Saharan campground during a mild sand storm. The camp was at a place called Daya el Maider. Daya means ¨Lake¨and we later learned that a great part of the flat expanse we had driven through had at one time been a lake. The brown horizon and the small ecru-colored dunes behind the camp were much less spectacular than Erg Chebbi, and sadly I have to admit that they were much harder to appreciate because my health had continuned to decline. Additionally, during the day Mom got progressively worse with her GI illness and it seemed she had spiked a fever by the time we were finally allowing in the tents. I started her on my Cipro, and then took some Advil myself, though I don´t think there was anything that could have helped keep my interest in the Moroccan cooking lesson provided by the camp cook, Mohammed. Together, Mom and I were probably asleep by about 9:30 am and had a good night´s sleep, minus the multiple treks in the middle of the night through the sand to the tented pit latrines.
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