The Edge of the Earth

Our driver didn’t seem fazed by the enormous patch of sand that stood before us. He put our Toyota into its lowest gear and causally plowed forward. The sand would swallow almost any other vehicle. At the very least, it would strand almost anyone else – a very bad idea when it’s 120 degrees with no chance of shade. But then again, very few people drive in the Sahara desert for a living.

Our 4X4 fishtails and we bog down for a moment, and then suddenly we are free and rocketing over featureless cobble and pale orange gravel once again. This is only the first five minutes of a desert driving trip that will take us many hours to the edge of Morocco, and a mere 20 kilometers from the Algerian border. It may as well be the edge of the Earth.

Time and time again, I find I’m drawn to the extreme places on the planet: the coldest, the wettest, the most inhospitable, the most remote. Those severe places fascinate me far more than Paris in the springtime or a stroll through Central Park.

Our destination was Erg Chicaga – a vast series of rolling Saharan sand dunes standing taller than 10-story buildings, and it definitely qualifies as extreme. Some may call a visit to this desert in the summer foolish – it’s far too hot even for Moroccans – but we tend to think of it more as an opportunity. Extreme places are supposed to feel extreme, and our blog is called “Married to Adventure” right?

I am causing a sand avalanche with my toes. The tops of the dunes at Erg Chicaga are so steep that when you walk, sumping landslides follow in your wake, breaking free in slabs that fall with a hissing sound. We spit off the very highest, and the globs of moisture cling to the sand and pick up speed as they roll 50 yards downhill – moving almost exactly the way a snowball runs down a steep mountain slope.

The desert is alive. The unbearable heat limits our time to a few hours before sunset and a few hours after sunrise, but plenty of stuff still lives out here. Come morning a pack of donkeys wander out of the dues. Nomadic Berbers leave their camels to wander, along with the goats that nibble on tough green shrubs. A locust the size of a small bird surprises a lizard and he skitters from rock to rock. We spend the night in basic tents with carpeted floors. We even have showers. It’s hard to imagine that when we leave, the rest of the living things will suffer here the rest of the summer and beyond.

I am sleeping on Tatooine. Almost as soon as the fierce sun sets, another bright orb rises from opposite horizon. Luke Skywalker’s boyhood home had two suns and technically speaking, ours has a full moon. But the hot evening air makes it feel as though a second sun has risen. When we forget a slice of orange on the table and find it 20 minutes later, it has turned as crisp as a potato chip.

The night is so bright you can read by it, so we leave the dull voices of camp and stroll over cooling sand in our bare feet. Somewhere in the distance, a Berber nomad is playing a skin drum. We roam unfettered without the fear of encountering another soul – reveling in the naked freedom of such a large and silent place.

Extreme places do have their advantages.