My Name is for My Friends

A bit late to the party, yes, but I got kind of misty-eyed at the passing of Peter O'Toole last week. "I will not be a common man. I will stir the smooth sands of monotony."

As Groucho once said, his name is a double phallic, which always makes me giggle. But anyway...Lawrence of Arabia might be one of my favorite films ever. It's really only appreciated if you see it on the big screen, as it was meant to be seen. I was lucky and saw it at the Zeigfield, and even though I had seen it before, I felt like I really experienced it for the first time. It totally inspired me to ride camels through the Sahara desert last year.

His legendary stories of drinking and debauchery with the likes of Richard Burton, Peter Finch, Omar Sharif and Richard Harris are always worth looking into. “I did quite enjoy the days when one went for a beer at one’s local in Paris and woke up in Corsica.” Take that, kid who ended up in Paris.

Some of his other movies were fantastic too- he claimed that he and Burton were drunk through the entire filming of "Becket", and they seem to be having a riot.

The world just seems a little less fun without him.

Pictures Taken from the Back of a Camel named Jimmy Hendrix

Things were starting to look different.

Bare, black desert. Sadly, strewn with a whole lot of garbage.

Nomads still made their life here, picking up and moving their tents. Herds of goats, sheep, camels were scattered on the plain, usually with a small boy attending them.

The Nomads dig hundreds of wells over the generations to channel water to a main well. You can see them stretching out over the desert for miles like giant anthills. It's otherworldly, and I'm amazed at the fact that people and livestock can live in places this desolate and dry.

The people we encountered started to change as well. In the cities, you would occasionally see women without a headscarf or women who wear pants, but you would occasionally see a woman with a full-on veil covering her face. Most of the urban dwellers wore colorful robes and modern accessories. Here, in the desert, not so much. Fully-veiled women in black from head to toe was the norm, and you didn't see too many of them out and about.

But mostly, it was empty.

Suddenly, a mirage.

Erg Chebbi on the horizon is truly a magical sight. Every time I looked up at them, they seemed to morph into a new form.

They are right smack up against the Algerian border. This is where the vast ocean of sand of the Sahara really begins.

Trudging through sand is really hard work though. You know what is pretty much designed to do the job though?

Yeah, that's right.

All these pictures were taken from the lofty high perch of a camel's back. Specifically, the camel they called Jimmy Hendrix.

I grew up spending most of my time on horseback, so it wasn't too far of a departure for me. They are about the same width as a horse (they are surprisingly narrow) but about twice as tall, and they have a rolling, pitching way of moving. I totally understand that people have reported seasickness up there.

Still, it wasn't the most comfortable ride. Men seem to have a harder time with it than women, but the real camel drivers sit side-saddle, not astride.

Regardless, the dunes were one of the most painterly landscapes I've ever seen. Watching the sun go down and the full moon come up against the undulating wind-blown forms was pure magic.

Camping in the desert was actually quite comfortable. Plenty of good food (tagine, again!) lots of warm blankets, and a roaring fire with good music.

I was hoping to be completely star-struck, but the full moon was so bright. A really brilliant meteorite went streaking through the sky very close by at one point, which had one of the camel drivers musing about "la fin du monde!".

The Berbers were an entertaining bunch. We tried to explain our dirty jokes to them, they tried to explain theirs to us, and high hilarity ensued. "Is it true, in America, people drink every day? That's crazy!" Well, when you put it that way, it does seem a little crazy.

Other interesting bits of cultural gleanings: They loved Rihanna but thought Lady Gaga was crazy, but more than anyone, they embraced Bob Marley as their own.

Sunrise here is worth getting up early for.

The color and shadows splashed on the dunes was amazing.

Camels totally snore at night. Loud, deep snores. I found it comforting.

It gets blazing hot really quickly here. It's good to get an early start to the day.

I felt like I was in a Zen Garden on an enormous scale.

It is an amazing place. Do yourself a favor and get there.

Dades and Todra Gorges

A whole lot of Morocco reminded me of the landscape of the American west. Canyons and gorges and stretches of deserts and arroyos. I tried to explain to someone (in French) how much like Arizona it reminded me of, but I got a puzzled stare. So I went for "c'est similaire a sauvage ouest Américain" and at least got recognition that yes, indeed, this is the Wild West.

It was beautiful. This area was filled with Berber villages and settlements. Goat herders living in caves in the mountains, and rivers and oasis and huge date palms clustered around them.

The sunsets here were amazing. Sunrises, not so much- the mountains blocked most of the morning light. Lesson learned: sleep in!

It was an altogether wild place.

This shop was carved out of a mountainside. It was a cave inside, with a door installed.

Products with Rose, rosewater, and aragon oil were ubiquitous in this area.

High up a winding mountain road, the Dades gorge.

Not far from Dades is the Todra Gorge, which is popular with rock climbers and pesty pushy vendors.

The river here bubbled up from an underground spring, with frogs and tiny catfish enjoying the source.

It was fairly chilly in the gorges- the sun only hits a couple hours a day. A nice break from the desert heat, but keep in mind that most hotels don't have any way to heat their rooms. Some of them had space heaters, but in general, in winter, plan on wearing a hat to bed.

Tinerhir was a picturesque Berber village close by. Tourist sites were few and far between out here, and where there was something to see, there were busloads of people. It was pretty easy to escape all that- we're not talking about Paris amounts of tourist, but it just seemed like a whole lot because there wasn't too much else there.

Next, onward to where the real Saharan desert begins.