Day 52 – It’s time to get our bucket and spades out . . .

There are certain things on this planet that fascinate man. Ice & Fire. Mountains & Seas. Lakes & Caves – and Sand!

We’ve dipped toes. Now it’s time for ankles. Today we’re on our way to where there’s lots of it. To a place near Merzouga called Erg Chebbi. A mere whisp of the Sahara at about 50K in length. We don’t need that much.

It’s still hot. We’re hoping for clear blue and calm. We want to walk and click. To pose with the sunset pics. The weatherman has something else in mind. The nearer we get, the windier it gets.

We get to within 1K of our destination. Stop at a T-Junction. Consult the map. Would you believe it? Another Monsieur Phut-phut appears out of nowhere. “Where you going? Where you from? I know that place. My cousin has a better place. It has this, that and some of the other. Come see, if you don’t like you can go to your first place. OK?” – “Have you been waiting at this junction for long?” – “No, course not. I’m just on my way back from the shops”. So we follow compliantly. Like a couple of puppy dogs learning how to keep heel. Are we being taken for another ride?

Hassan leads the way . . .

The Kasbah is delightful. We decide to stay. Bide our time around the small sun-trapped pool. But the wind kicks up again. Visibility drops as quickly as the setting sun. No pics this evening. A young German couple and their three kids join us. They arrived yesterday. Seems they had planned on staying at a different place too. That is until they coincidentally met up with Hassan at the same T-Junction. Makes us wonder if any of the other Kasbahs have guests?

Following morning sunrise set for 5.19am. I wake at 5.22am. Not a drop of wind. Creep out of bed and out. Silently make my way “into the desert”. Leave Mary-Ann to her slumbers.

I tread out and head towards the tallest dune within a thirty minute radius. I’ve got it’s apex in sight. It’s a joy to be first footing. I’m like a kid playing in the snow. No need for mitts though.

My high vantage point gets me clicking.

Just before retracing my steps, one of the resident crows appears. He’s out for an early morning stroll too. Of a different kind. Oh to be able to join him.

Downside to being here? The sand doesn’t stay in its place. It gets inside our place. Every exposed surface gets a fine golden covering. Beastie’s been given the final touch, like one of Mary Berry’s dusted mince pies.

I bring back a piece of my own desert art.

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