As I sit at my desk on a cold and dark January evening contemplating the slim chance that I may have at doing a study abroad, my mind can only drift to thoughts of last summer.
I last left off writing about a planned trip to Zagora. After spending what felt like days on a bus from Inezgane to Ouarzazate, and then another bus from Ouarzazte to Zagora, we finally arrived in the sun-struck, dust-ball of a town called Zagora. The city sits on the outskirts of the Sahara desert and looks like it belongs in an old western movie; abandoned buildings, run-down hotels and soulless streets were begging for use. Exploring the streets in the 60 degree temperature(Celsius) we finally ran into some local tour guides. After some haggling (and tea, no doubt) with some locals, Vinny and I booked a mud hut, tour guide and “quatre-quatre” for our journey into the desert.
The next morning we began our voyage into the Sahara. Departing from our mud huts and shoving ourselves into a Toyota Land Cruiser, our 4 hour trip into the desert began. Vinny and I sat at the very back of the SUV entertained by a bitter (but hilarious) English couple and a very lovely couple from Bordeau, France. Vinny and I took the moment to laugh at the strange ties that the six of us had. Not one to assign events to destiny and fate, I couldn’t help but think that it did seem a little strange that we would find ourselves in this company. The two colonizers and the colonized Quebecers... I digress--Vinny and I were no doubt the translators of the trip helping the bitter Englishmen communicate with the French. After gallivanting across the massive dunes of the Sahara for about an hour, our hosts cooked us an outstanding display of Moroccan cuisine.
With regards to the desert: It was truly amazing to see how dark the night really is without any sort of light pollution, and although I’d love to describe the silence that we experienced, I think it might be a little ironic to do so with words. So instead I’ll leave some empty space to describe the silence of the Sahara:
After returning to Zagora and to our bed-bug-infested mud hut, we eventually made it back to Marrakesh where we had a day or two to shop and decompress after 35 days of constant travel. Sleeping on the roof for 3euros per night was the best thing we could have done to end the trip.
6 flights (7 or 8 for Vincent), countless days spent on buses and trains, bed-bug-ridden nights, sore feet, aching muscles and a high jacking later, Vinny and I can truthfully say that we have never spent a more fulfilling month in our entire life. (I intentionally refrained from writing about our high jacking in order to avoid being airlifted out by our mothers, fathers and/or grandparents).
When we first set out on this trip, we wanted to be satisfied by the answer to the following question every day: “So what did you do today?” Here are some examples of the responses:
“You know, visited the Eifel Tower”
“Not much, did a walking tour of Barcelona”
“Same old, did some shopping in Fes”
“Mehh, I hiked the 36th most prominent peak in the world”
“Oh I surfed off the coast of Africa”
“Spent a few nights in the Sahara, after being high jacked but it’s less exciting than it sounds”
(In case you are wondering, there may be a hint of sarcasm in the responses).
While this entry has been motivated mostly by procrastination, it is also the best way to eternalize the memories of the trip for myself, family and friends before the events become too “Marseilleai.”
Brazil, Argentina, Chile and Peru... Here we come!
