48 Hours in the Sahara
By Erin Deborah Waks
Scared I’d need the toilet every 5 minutes on the 8 hour drive to the Sahara, I avoided drinking much water. Fine, until we stopped for an hour long hike in the 30 degree heat on the way. Suffice to say, the second we sat down for lunch I was trembling, seeing stars, and about to faint from the dehydration.
A bottle of water, some salt and a panic attack later, we were back on the road again, armed with several litres of liquids (and, thus, my need to ask the driver to pull over at random petrol stations to pee). Yes, I was that annoying person who irritates the whole van.
Sitting in the front of the van had all been fun and games, until the temperature reached 41 degrees. And the air conditioning only worked in the back. Sweating profusely, trying not to pass out or panic, I was a bit of a mess to say the least.
Once we arrived and mounted our camels for the camel trek, I had somewhat calmed down. But entering the desert camp, however astoundingly beautiful it was, made me feel claustrophobic like you can’t imagine. I felt completely trapped, dependent on just a few camels to get me out.
Then night fell, and the temperature failed to drop like I’d anticipated. And, shock horror, there wasn’t any air conditioning in the middle of the desert.
After that I slipped on the floor in the bathroom, bending my knee to a violently uncomfortable angle. Not to worry, I snapped it back into position - no harm done, right?
Two hours of sleep later, I rudely awoke in a sweat and with a burning pain somewhere you don’t wish to have burning pain. Unbearable.
Needless to say, I gladly paid the fee to ride back in the 4x4 van instead of putting myself through another camel ride. Once back to the lodge, I had a bathroom meltdown, culminating in a panicked phone call to my father.
48 hours and a 12-hour drive later, I’m calmly writing this from a coffee shop in Marrakech, simultaneously proud of myself for having come through the other side - and incredibly relieved to be back in civilisation.
There’s no great point to make here, no internal reflection upon which to comment - unless you count me observing a) I should rely on my loved ones for support in times of panic and b) I’m more resilient than I think. But I’m merely sharing this to make the point that, despite what instagram suggests, travelling is rarely perfect, and not always fun. There’s moments of pain, panic and pure rage. But when you get experiences like this, you learn infinitely more about yourself - and get to see some pretty spectacular things along the way. That makes it all worth it.
