The first time I saw the Sahara Desert, it felt unreal – like someone had quietly turned the world into a painting. I had seen the photos before, of course — the endless dunes, the golden sunsets. But standing there in real life, it was something else entirely. It felt like I had stepped into a dream, straight out of One Thousand and One Nights.

It was October 2017. Said and I rented a car and drove south for hours, leaving behind the chaos of Marrakech and heading toward Merzouga. The landscape slowly changed. Buildings disappeared. Roads stretched longer. The air felt wider somehow.

Said told me that his father was originally from this region – from near Merzouga. In the 70s and 80s, like so many Moroccan men, he moved north to the city for work. Opportunity pulled him away, but the desert stayed part of him.

Maybe that’s why this trip felt different for Said. It wasn’t just a getaway. It was a return – even if only for a moment.

Sunset on the dunes

We arrived just in time for sunset. Waiting for us were two camels, chewing slowly and looking mildly unimpressed by our presence. Now, I wouldn’t hop on a camel again so easily – not after learning more about animal welfare – but I have to admit: this nomad man cared for his camels like they were family. And let’s not forget: camels don’t take abuse lightly. If you mistreat them, they will get their revenge. And honestly? Good for them.

We climbed onto their backs and moved slowly toward the dunes. The sun began to melt into the horizon, turning the sand deep orange, then gold. The desert doesn’t rush. It just shifts. For a few quiet minutes, there was nothing but wind, sand, and that endless sky. No traffic. No noise. No notifications. Just space. By the time we reached the desert camp, darkness had settled in.

The desert at night is different. During the day, it feels vast and exposed. At night, it feels close – almost protective. The tents were softly lit by candles. Dinner was simple but perfect. The kind of meal that tastes better because of where you are.

Naturally, I kicked off my shoes and walked barefoot through the sand, grinning like a child.
Said looked at me.

Put your shoes back on.
Why?
Scorpions!
Right. Of course.

Apparently, they don’t usually hang around humans. But “usually” isn’t the most comforting word when you’re barefoot in the Sahara. Shoes went back on immediately.

Life in the desert

Earlier, our guide had told us he was born in the desert. His parents were true nomads. These days, he lives in a nearby village so his children can attend school. The old ways are slowly disappearing, replaced by necessity.

Every day, he walks four to five hours through the dunes – barefoot – guiding tourists to and from the camp.
Bare. Feet. Through burning sand.

He’d been bitten three times by snakes and five times by scorpions. Each time he found a local doctor; twice he ended up in a hospital. He shrugged when he told us, as if venom was just another inconvenience. Life in the desert doesn’t dramatize itself. It just continues.

A sky full of stars

Later that night, we lay outside under the open sky. I have never seen stars like that. Thousands upon thousands sharp, bright, impossibly clear. No light pollution. No city glow. Just infinity above us.

I didn’t know where to look. Every direction was overwhelming.
I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to memorize it.
But eventually, the cold crept in and we crawled into the tent.
Before sunrise, we were gently woken up. And then it happened.

The sky shifted slowly from deep blue to pale lavender, then to soft pink. The first light touched the dunes, and suddenly the entire desert looked new – as if it had been reset overnight.

Sunrise, mint tea & one bad buggy ride

Breakfast was waiting: hot mint tea, fresh msemen, harsha, honey, eggs, fruit. Simple food. Honest food. I’ve always loved Moroccan breakfasts, the warmth of fresh bread, the sweetness of honey, the way tea is poured like a small ceremony. Honestly, I could eat this every single morning. And somehow, in the middle of the desert, it tasted even better.

Wrapped in a scarf against the early chill, I watched the sun rise over the dunes and understood something I couldn’t quite explain.

The desert doesn’t try to impress you.
It doesn’t compete.
It doesn’t rush.

It just exists – confidently, endlessly.
After breakfast, we decided to try something adventurous: a buggy ride through the dunes.

Spoiler alert.

I’m 1.60 meters tall and could not physically reach the gas pedal properly. Short girl problems. So Said drove.  And no – this wasn’t a case of questionable driving skills. By then, he had actually become a very confident driver (a skill we both worked on – long story, different blog). Let me tell you something: being the passenger in a buggy is not the same as driving one.

Every bump hit me in the stomach. Every dune felt like a rollercoaster designed by someone with unresolved anger issues. After twenty minutes, I was nauseous. After an hour, I was questioning all my life choices.

The desert? Magnificent.
The buggy? Never again.

Why I fell in love with the desert

And somewhere between sunset, scorpions, sunrise tea, and endless sand, I fell in love with the desert.

Not because it was dramatic
but because it was quiet in a way that felt eternal.