It was getting late, and Ahmed was anxious about getting us to the dunes. Handsome, with long curly hair and a scruffy beard, he flew across the flat, scrubby landscape while playing this beautiful song by the Moroccan singer Oum.

In the distance we could see them, glowing red in the late sun, with the great dune Erg Chebbi rising above them all, simultaneously close and far away.

“See that area over there?” said Ahmed, pointing off to the left as we sailed over what felt like a small cliff, “That’s Algeria.” He broke into a grin, “We are not going there.”

Before long the sand took over from the hardscrabble earth. We had seen it encroaching as we drove, but here it was in full. The Sahara. We stopped and got out.

There were the camels, tied together in single file, resting on their knees. They looked bored, some a little sleepy. Their drivers were there too, dressed in bright orange and bright blue. Young, and also a little bored as well, it appeared to me.

The drivers loaded us onto our camels, one by one. We started with Marissa, then I got on mine next. Anyone who has seen The Return of the Jedi knows how a camel raises and lowers itself, because the At-ats in that movie do it the same way. You climb into the saddle on their hump. Their back legs engage and up you go, holding on for dear life as you pitch forward. Then the front legs engage, evening everything out. From there it is pretty easy. The pace is slow and soft. A Cadillac on sand.

Ahmed took a few group pictures and said goodbye. “See you in the morning, guys. Enjoy the Sahara.”

Our camel driver, Ibrahim, stayed on foot (and barefoot), leading our single file of camels into the quiet sea of sand. The sun was warm on the skin and the gentlest of breezes was cool enough to remind us that this was late December. We were surrounded by quiet in a way that reminded me of winter evenings in Utah, the snow blanketing the ground and muffling all noise. Only this snow was red,  warm to the touch and hundreds of feet deep.

Ibrahim led us gently up the base of Erg Chebbi for about 25 minutes, at which point it began to get steep. Too steep for camels. Down they came (front first, then the back) and off we hopped. It was time to climb to the top on foot.

The trek was not long, but it was strenuous. It was steep, and it was sand. Soon enough we were breathing heavily, our legs wondering what they were doing out here rather than sitting in the car.

By the time I neared the top I was gasping for air, my legs feeling like over-cooked sausages. Ibrahim – to whom this hike was nothing more than a stroll through the neighborhood – reached out and helped pull me the final 15 steps. I collapsed onto the ridge, collecting my breath and waiting for my heart to slow to a safe level. 

As my pulse receded I began to notice one of the most beautiful landscapes I had ever seen.

To my left – countless rolling hills of sand in varying shades of red and brown over which the sun was lowering, its rays growing longer and longer across the horizon.

To my right – the dunes dissipating into the flat desert over which an enormous full moon was rising.

The sun was bright, intense. Warm. The moon was pale, reflective and cool. I’d never experienced either quite so dramatically before and certainly not both at the same time, something I am unlikely to experience ever again.

Ibrahim was chill. He sat against a dune, keeping half an eye on our party and half an eye on who knows what. He didn’t appear moved.

A second party met up with us shortly. A group of young 20-somethings from China. Giddy with desert air, we chatted and took group shots, each one sillier than the last, until the sun began to truly set.

Its intensity began to wane while the moon’s increased. It was time to climb down and re-mount the camels. Onward to our camp in the sand, dusk right behind us as we entered.

A dozen large canvas tents arranged in a horseshoe, with large carpets forming a path down the middle and to each tent. A large fire pit standing near the entrance. About half a dozen young men, just like Ibrahim, seemed to staff the camp.

Our Chinese friends arrived just after we did. We were sharing this camp tonight

These were no average tents. They all had solid laminate floors, running water and large beds with multiple blankets. They did not have heating, though, hence the multiple blankets for the bed.

After dinner we gathered at the fire pit. The staff had assembled, with drums and qraqeb. They began playing and singing/chanting. Even the crowd of Chinese youngsters eased their chattering and listened for a while. The first three songs lulled us all into a slight trance.

But then the trance was over. These boys knew their crowd and soon everyone was invited to participate. We all got to try our hand at the drums and the qraqeb, until the cacophony killed the mood and it was time to go to bed.

Getting ready for and into bed was a chilly affair. The warmth of the late December sun had faded hours ago and the tent was ice cold by 10PM. The sheets even colder. Thank God for those heavy blankets.

Part of the allure of this excursion was to watch the sunrise over the Sahara desert. To see the sunrise, one must wake up in the dark. And waking was cruel. My body ached. My throat was sore. Getting out of bed felt like getting into a cold shower, the cold desert air clinging to me like water.

We pulled ourselves together and got dressed. Marissa felt as bad as me, as did Cris and Rosa. Was it yesterday’s exertions, were we sick? Was it just the Sahara desert, kicking our weak, privileged asses?

We pressed on. We’d come all this way. Now was not the time to stay in bed.

We were camped at the base of a rather large dune, and had decided the evening before it would be a great place to watch the sunrise before breakfast. This was no Erg Chebbi, but as we made our way up it might as well have been Everest. Again my breathing was labored and now my throat was sore, my body aching.

Slowly we climbed. Slowly the sky began to lighten. The same breeze I had felt as the sun set over Erg Chebbi last night I felt now. It felt almost warm and it smelled fresh and sweet. I imagined it blowing up from the equator, coming all this way to caress my face with the air of Africa.

I was beginning to feel better.

We sat and we waited and the sky got lighter. We lamented our physical state, but we cheered up nonetheless. As the sun peeked above the horizon we forgot our trouble and watched in silence.

“I am watching the sun rise over the Sahara,” I said silently to myself several times, my eyes moistening just a little.

We lingered as the morning sun rose, watching other camps depart, their long camel lines slithering through the dunes as they headed  out of the sand.

Eventually we made our way down to our camp, to eat breakfast and pack our things.

The camel ride back was tranquil and soothing, the sun warm enough to lessen the chill that had gotten bone deep during the night. I was beginning to feel we should have booked one more day. But then I remembered we only had a few days left and had more to see, do, eat and listen to.

Ahmed was waiting for us.

“I hear you like Gnawa. C’mon, I’ve made some arrangements for you…”