MERZOUGA

There are places that ask nothing of you. And then there are places that quietly begin changing you before you've even arrived. For me, the Sahara was one of them.

Long before I stood on the edge of its endless dunes, the journey itself had begun working its magic.

Leaving Marrakesh, I settled into the passenger seat beside my host and driver, Mr. Noureddin El Jakani,, watching the city slowly disappear in the rear-view mirror.

Ahead of us lay the Atlas Mountains.

Every winding bend seemed to reveal a different Morocco.

Snow resting on distant peaks.

Ancient kasbahs clinging to hillsides.

Palm groves appearing where you least expected them.

Streams weaving silver ribbons through ochre valleys.

The landscape never seemed content with being just one thing.

Neither, I realized, was I.

The further we drove, the quieter my thoughts became.

Somewhere between Marrakesh and Merzouga, life back home loosened its grip.

Emails disappeared.

Deadlines vanished.

The constant noise that so often follows us through modern life stopped.

Travel has a wonderful way of reminding us who we were before life became so busy.

Along the way, we stopped in small Berber villages. Rich, thick coffee arrived with warm smiles. Here, I tasted my first Berber pizza...minced lamb, onions, garlic, cumin, paprika, coriander and vegetables cooked in between two layers of dough. Simple, authentic food. It left me both satisfied and speechless.

We passed children walking home from school, watched old men sitting outside cafés, talking without ever appearing to be in a hurry.

Time moved differently.

No one appeared to be chasing tomorrow.

Later we passed the famous Atlas Film Studios near Ouarzazate. Noureddin told me films like The Passion of Christ, The Mummy, Gladiator, Lawrence of Arabia had borrowed these landscapes long before I had. But no movie could prepare me for what was still to come.

Hours later, after ever-changing landscapes, from rugged desert terrain and verdant palm oases to spectacular river valleys, we reached the iconic dunes of the Sahara Desert and to our camp site just as the sun was setting.

No photograph had ever prepared me for the scale of the desert sunset before me.

Smaller dunes rose like golden oceans around the bigger dune, Erg Chebbi, their curves endlessly reshaped by the winds that had been blowing long before any of us arrived.

Nothing stood still.

Not even the desert.

Hidden amongst those vast waves of sand sat our luxury camp.

From a distance it seemed almost impossible that such comfort could exist in such magnificent emptiness.

Camp staff welcomed me with sweet Moroccan mint tea poured from high above the glass, as though the ceremony itself mattered just as much as the tea.

It did.

Everything in Morocco seems to understand that beauty lives in the smallest rituals.

My tent was filled with woven Berber rugs, warm colors and soft fabrics that echoed the desert beyond its canvas walls.

Yet it wasn't the comfort I remember most.

It was stepping outside.

The silence.

I'd never heard silence like that before.

Not the absence of noise, more the presence of peace.

As the sun began its slow descent, the dunes changed color every few minutes.

Gold.

Amber.

Burnt orange.

Deep crimson.

It was as though the desert couldn't decide which version of itself it wanted me to remember.

Then darkness arrived.

The Milky Way slowly revealed itself above me.

Not somewhere in the distance.

Almost close enough to touch.

Standing alone beneath that enormous sky, I felt wonderfully small.

Travel has given me many extraordinary moments. But very few have humbled me the way the Berber hospitality and the Sahara did.

Sometimes we search the world looking for places that will impress us.

The Sahara doesn't try.

It simply waits.

Patiently.

Quietly.

Until you stop trying to conquer the silence...and allow the silence to conquer you.

from BECOMING SOLO: a memoir by Julie Stafford

LUXURY TOURS MOROCCO