For years, whenever I’ve thought about Morocco, I’ve imagined myself sailing gracefully through burnt-orange sands at sunset aboard a comfy, good-natured ‘ship of the desert’. The reality proved far different.
I heard the Wookie-esque protests of my cantankerous (and ironically named) ‘ship’, Hubbly Bubbly, well before I met him. Dark brown, fuzzy and seriously grumpy, if he knew the art of minimising passenger discomfort, he wasn’t sharing.
Wedged between the marginally-less irritable Jimi Hendrix, and John’s more subdued beast, Omar Sharif, Hubbly displayed all the hallmarks of a middle child and grumbled if you dared even look at him.
Still, the sheer thrill of heading into the spectacular Erg Chebbi dunes (Morocco’s largest) aboard a camel went a long way in appeasing my shattered romantic notions as we rolled and pitched like ships in a storm, holding on for dear life.
The stunning vista of rising rose-gold dunes and wind-crafted sand patterns proved a kind distraction from the uncomfortable chafing that soon started under my thighs, while the peaceful silence was a welcome compensation for the wafts of warm camel fart that accompanied the near-constant flow of droppings delivered by Jimi Hendrix in front.
We arrived at our bivouac just after sunset – a small cluster of Berber tents, palm trees and stray cats. Our camel man said little but tossed a carpet and some thin mattresses on the sand, and went off to make tea.
He appeared only a couple times more that evening – to deliver a delicious chicken tagine and then clear it away – leaving us to simply sit back and enjoy a brilliant night sky full of stars and a profound silence unlike anything we’ve experienced.
The stillness was so unfamiliar to us cityslickers, we didn’t actually sleep. As the sky began to lighten, we climbed the pale dunes to await the sun, which, when it arrived, did so as a spectacular ball-of-fire.
It also brought pain in places we didn’t know you could hurt, the aftermath of what our Moroccan guide and driver Nour knowingly calls the ‘camel massage’.
The early morning ride back to Merzouga, buffeted by a sudden, wild exfoliating wind, was a lesson in pain internalisation. At the hotel, we found welts where welts should never be.
That said, we’d do it all again tomorrow. Ok, maybe not tomorrow, but again.
We were just grateful Nour’s car had soft seats for the next leg of our road trip through Morocco, a 500-odd kilometre journey north-east, to the ancient city of Fez.
Good to know
Getting there
Merzouga is around 570-kilometres east of Marrakech, near the Algerian border. If you’re coming overland, set aside at least a couple of days so you can explore the country en route (we journeyed here as part of a week-long road trip with local guide Nour*, who we arranged through Around Morocco Tours).
There are buses from Marrakech and Fez to Merzouga (CMT and Supratours), or you could fly to Ouarzazate and make your way from there by bus or taxi. Plenty of companies will also organise desert tours and take the hassle out of getting there for you.
Tours
Camel treks can be organised through hotels and agencies in and around Merzouga, or from Marrakech and Fez.
Camps and routes are particular to each operator. Our trek was organised through our guide. There were only three of us in our group and at our camp, but that may also be because it was July. Having said that, our overnight tour departed late afternoon and returned early morning so we avoided the daytime heat.
Tips
Wear comfy, loose-fitting pants to try and minimise the effects of the inevitable ‘camel massage’, and also wear clothes you don’t mind taking on a stubborn orange hue. One you’ve visited, the Sahara will never leave you.
*2016 update: Our lovely guide Nour no longer works for AMT but today runs his own tour guiding business – he’s working on his website.