Picture the classic desert scene: rolling mountains of orange and yellow sand, the snort of camels and the ethereal movements of the blue-robed men leading them. This is to be found in the desert of Morocco, and it is magnificent.
After our somewhat frenetic experience in Fez, our time in the desert really was the proverbial oasis. We arrived in the dusty town of Rissani after yet another long bus trip at an hour that was far to early for my liking. But after a short drive to our nearby hotel in the “comfort” of a car barely holding itself together, we arrived in the peace and stillness of the dunes. Without doubt, this was one of the best parts of the whole trip. Admittedly, though, camel riding turned out to be somewhat excruciating. . .
I have ridden many things, from tricycles and the family dog to huge snow tractors and elephants, but I have never been as uncomfortable as I was on the back of this iconic beast. The evening we decided to venture into the nether regions of the desert proper, our camels were expertedly prepared by our Taureg guide Barrack and sat waiting for us in that awkward looking crouch that camels adopt as a result of their odd legs. This proved to be a sign of warning for the jolting ride we were about to endure. Now I say endure with some levity of course because we travelled through some spectacular scenery as we wound our way up, over and through the dunes to the desert camp where we would spend the night. But the downhills turned out to be most painful indeed. For you see, the camel walks with a loping, jarring stride and, especially when going downhill, the rider is thrown forward with some momentum and the sensation is that one will be thrown over the “handlebars” of ones saddel onto the beasts’ neck or indeed to the ground some way below.
Our inner thighs and backsides bore the brunt of it which would later make standing and walking quite difficult, but that’s camel riding and so we made the best of it! Gripping the saddle tightly and wrapping our legs around the belly (as camel saddles have no stirrups like those on a horse saddle) we trundled along through the quiet, eternal wilderness with Barrack leading the way.
As the sun slowly set, colours changed from a light yellow to a deep orange, as if we were sailing across a fantasy sea and the blue of coming night started to roll in. We reached the well established camp just in time to scramble up to the top of the adjacent dune (a lung busting experience in the endlessly moving sands!) to catch the last rays of the evening. What followed was a night filled with delicious food, music and dancing, a few dodgy critters scratching around, and a great sleep under the stars – truly a desert dream.
Our return trip the next morning was quicker than the previous days stint which was something we both accepted with a smile as our bruised buttocks made themselves loudly known.
The sands and dunes through which we had ridden are known as Erg Chebbi and border on the Sahara. They are a classic travel destination in Morocco and well worth a visit. Camel riding trips of up to a week can be arranged, but we decided to give this a miss :-).
We enjoyed another quiet desert night before heading on to our next adventure: the Atlas mountains and Todra and Dades gorges.
I will remember my camel ride for the rest of my life, but I don’t think I will repeat it in that time unless under strenuous duress. Still, my ship of the desert carried me safely and for that I am thankful. Long may such things still be possible in such a beautiful place!
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