The Sahara
is a potent, evocative reality. It is one of the world’s great brands. No one
name so completely epitomises an environment. Oceans can be Atlantic or Pacific
or Indian, mountains can be Himalayas or Andes or Alps, but if you want to
convey desert, you only have to say ‘Sahara’. (Michael Palin, Sahara, 2002)
The
Sahara announced its presence as our vehicle crossed Tizi n’Tichka, the highest
mountain pass in the High Atlas that links Marrakech and Ouarzazate. I looked
out the window, watching the verdant hills turn into a brooding expanse of arid
peaks and shriveled shrubs. This landscape, bleak and stripped of color,
continued to appear, stretching as far as I could see, revealing the beauty of
the Sahara.
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| pise (mudbrick) villages in Morocco |
Driving
for hours on end through this barren terrain, passing occasional rock outcrops
and mud brick villages, created in my mind the most enduring and the most evocative
image of Morocco. It is not Ouarzazate’s Ksar Ait Ben Haddou, or Marrakech's
famed square Jemaa el Fna, or the 11th century Chouara tanneries in
Fez, or the magnificent 300-meter deep Todra Gorge. It is the heat-shimmering
emptiness of the Saharan landscape that haunts me to this day.
