Al Sahara

Thanks for the blue backpack oosratee.  And for the sunscreen, the free meals, the company, the clothes-washing, the allorgha arabeea.

The bus ride could be worse, but when you're 6'3” your feet don't go anywhere and your knees go everywhere something already is, like the back of the seat in front of you or hard into the ground so your heels hurt.  We play the animal game starting at 'A' and it's Team America versus the Limies.  For the record Team America wins.  Bunny Rabbits does indeed start with a 'B' and Gray Fox is real and Blue Fox is not.

We haggle for scarves and get 5 dirhams off on account of student prices and demand.

Foondook Zalooka is enormous and costs 8000MAD a night.  Nekool al-boofay al-ktheetha and the swimming pool could swallow Massachusetts.  We smoke cigars by the pool and hookah on the terrace.  There are myriad stars and we're still in the city.  We drink vodka in a bungalow and talk music for the first time with one another.  Dates are heavenly, and taste like caramel.  And I love the Brits.

We wake up to a-tay and portookaal, hobs and processed meat.  We lay by the pool and go for a last indoor swim before we pack up and leave feeling sorry for the maids and the toilets that don't flush.

The blue room has two beds and all of our things.  The lighting is dim and the canopy hangs low.  There are decorative ash trays and an open shower.  An antique spoon holds our towels.  Free soap.  The first sand I've seen here.

Camels are beautiful creatures and make ugly noises and attract doobaab.  They sit just like the pictures.  We hop on and they say, “Aoooorghhhaaa.”  Then they stand and you see how your seats are tied from the teeth to under the tail and probably rub terribly.  Their joints are clearly visible, all of their joints.  We ride in a long line and the Amazygh leader walks for 2 hours in the blazing heat and sand.  His turban is 5 meters long and Berber blue.  You can draw a definitive line where the desert starts from cracked, scorched dirt to orange sand.  I draw a Texas Flag and demand respect for laughs.

You would think you could slide comfortably onto a saddle, but the gangly bodies of camels are rough and have coarse hair and you slide back and forth until your boxers are high up in your bowels and your jeans are high up on your belly button and your cheeks are probably red and blistered.  You will wake up sore and you will walk funny.

I've seen Algeria from the Dunes.

The sun sets beautiful over the city with all the satellite dishes looking to heaven.  We settle in a Berber encampment when twilight sets in.  There are carpets everywhere, and you get the feeling of something antiquated and artistic, but homely and poor.  We eat tajeen and drink coke.  Free tea.  The tents are small and are only for sleeping, of which I won't do much.  The carpets lay out completely over where we sit while the Berbers drum and yell Berber yells.  We dance and beat drums and they hand me tomtoms.  It takes a minute and I begin barbaric banging in rhythm.  The Berbers like my drumming.  We light the hookah and are so far from the city that the stars show up in photographs.  The only light comes from the hookah coal when we inhale and it burns hot.  I lay down and look at the stars and learn about the UK and dispell myths about Texas.  We don't all ride horses, and my family doesn't farm.  Pantomimes sound like a riot.  We can see every shooting star and a new set of constellations.  I sleep like a baby in the tent alone.  You wake up semi-cold and fantastic in the desert with the dunes rising to meet you.  We walk funny and are very sore.  Another hour on the camels doesn't sound like a picnic.  The sunset is incredible over the dunes.  The ride back is tired and I sleep better in Faas. 

What'd you do over the weekend?