Day 13 - Merzouga is one of those places that feels completely impossible until witnessing it firsthand. We are tucked way down in the deep southeast of Morocco. The Algerian border is only about fifty kilometers away. Here, the flat rocky desert suddenly slams right into the Erg Chebbi sand dunes. These massive golden waves of sand can tower up to one hundred and fifty meters high. They constantly shift and look like they could just swallow this little village of fifteen hundred people at any second. Yet, people stick around. The locals brave the blistering summer heat and the fierce winter winds. They know that to survive out here in the Sahara, one needs to plant their feet and hold their ground.
This spot has a wild backstory. Ten thousand years ago, this whole region was actually a lush green savanna full of lakes. As the climate dried out and the Sahara took over, the underground water here turned Merzouga into a lifesaving oasis. Imagine exhausted merchants pulling up with their camel caravans. They desperately needed this water before pushing further south toward Timbuktu. Later on, nomadic Ait Atta tribes would bring their herds here to drink and graze. By the early twentieth century, the French Foreign Legion realized how isolated and strategic this water source was. They built a military outpost here following some brutal regional battles in Taflalet. The legionnaires and the ancient caravans are long gone now. Today, it is just travelers showing up to marvel at the exact same terrifying and beautiful sand.
We opted for a bit of strategic luxury by spending the first night in the climate-controlled comfort of a proper hotel rather than attempting to rough it in the dunes for forty-eight straight hours. It proved to be a stroke of absolute genius. June is well past peak tourist season out here, and the thermometer is threatening to top out at a blistering forty-one degrees Celsius today. A sudden sandstorm already whipped through the area earlier. Taking a cue from the sensible locals, the only logical response was to retreat indoors. The afternoon agenda involves a proper nap in a delightfully air-conditioned room, with perhaps a brave foray out to the swimming pool once the sun loses its absolute malice later in the day.
The real adventure begins around six in the evening when a driver arrives to ferry us toward our appointed dromedary transport. We will board the single-humped beasts to trek out to the desert camp. Thankfully, the heavy luggage is taking the civilized route via a four-wheel-drive vehicle and will likely beat us to the site. What actually awaits out in the dunes remains a bit of a mystery. While these modern camps are often surprisingly well-appointed, the fine orange dust of the Sahara is notoriously insidious and will undoubtedly try to colonize every conceivable crevice and cranny. The plan is to survive the camel ride, eat dinner under the stars, and sleep in a traditional tent. Tomorrow morning brings breakfast at the camp before the tour packs up and hits the long road toward Ouarzazate. The ultimate goal is to depart Merzouga without a permanent layer of Saharan grit embedded in one's teeth and hair.
