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promised to be just what I was looking for. We would stay in permanently erected‘ genuine’ Bedouin tents, eat typical Moroccan food and have a sing-song round the fire.
It was unexpectedly serene and beautiful. We set off just before a magical dusk, plodding through the Erg Chebbi dunes atop our camels. The only sound was the enchanting singing of the Moroccan mother on the camel in front as she and the animal’ s rhythmic gait lulled her baby to sleep.
At dusk, amazingly clear stars appeared and this‘ just for a laugh’ overnight tour became something else for the five kilometre wander through the hills and vales of the dunes. At the Bedouin camp we ate freshly made lamb tagine, drank my wine and joined in the singing before settling down on our comfy bedding inside a big brown tent. Next morning, they sang“ Happy Birthday” to me. I tried climbing to the top of what looked like a small dune but which seemed to get bigger the higher up I went. I didn’ t reach the top before being called down to mount my steed and return to Merzouga where the only pouring going on was fresh orange juice and mint tea. It was dry and hot and I was happy.
The romance of the desert was then shattered by 4WD vehicles and motor bikes racing about the dunes. The
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