How did it Feel When...You Returned to the Sahara?

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This is my first in what I am calling the "How did it feel when...?" series. In this series, I will be answering the question of how specific events and experiences made me feel as I travel the world. I hope for this series to be a deep, emotional series that both conveys my feelings and experiences while inspiring others to travel and find their own stories to tell.

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The Sahara: The Call to Return

If you have met me over the last six years, or heard my mother talk about my time in the military, you probably know that I have wanted to return to the Sahara for the last six years. I first visited for work, and the world's largest desert captivated me immediately. Ever since I returned, I have felt my beloved Sahara calling to me from across the seas. I have often been close, but have never managed to return.

The Great Gallivanting changed that. I was finally able to answer that call and reunite with the place that captured me from the instant I first laid eyes upon it.

My First Sahara Experience(s)

When I was in the military, I deployed to the Sahara desert for several months. My job there was to work with local forces to prepare them to defeat the growing terrorist threat in the region. It was without a doubt a highlight of my career. Sure, I'd do some stuff that was way more important (in the Army's eyes, anyways) and would have a much wider impact, but working with local people on local problems in the Sahara was by far one of, if not the, most impactful experiences for me.

I actually went there twice. The first time was to meet with officials in the capital city and meet with our local partners in the desert. My team and I spent a week there sorting the details at what I would call a leisurely pace. We had plenty of time to take in the city, which we did. We rode camels, took a hippo viewing cruise, and drove out into the mountains to survey the land. We ate like kings, enjoyed local live music at dinner, and enjoyed what was several of our first times in Africa.

The second time I went was [more or less] all business. No stop in the capital. We flew straight to the middle of the Sahara to get to work. We had a blast. Everyday, we were hand-in-hand with our counterparts. We trained, ate, joked, sang, and more together for six to eight hours a day. We even slept just a few meters apart. In our off time, I met with local military and police leaders, we drove around the nearby city, ate at local restaurants, and partook in religous and cultural celebrations. While the latter few had military objectives to them, it was still a blast to enjoy them with people who would become my soldiers' friends.

Was in 50 degrees Celsius? Yes. Were there moments we wanted to go home. Sure. But by the end, none of us wanted to come back. For more than six years, I swore I would return.

The Return Flight, Six Years Later

Although I couldn't get back to the exact place I once was (because of government restrictions and whatnot), Morocco was a great place to start! Morocco is at the Western-most edge of the Sahara. It has a strong Berber cultural influence, which was very similar to where I was 6 years before (I actually worked with a couple of Tuaregs before; great people, if misunderstood in Western media).

We landed as the sun was fading beneath the horizon. On the flight in, I had the window seat. I hate the window seat, but I was so happy to have it on this flight. I could watch as the citys and green landscapes of Europe gave way to the blue of the Mediterranean sea and, eventually, the vast orange and golden brown of my beloved Sahara.

The flight reminded my of my last flight into the Sahara. I had refused to believe we were actually going there until we got wheels down on the tarmac (for professional reasons, not because I was what the kids nowadays call delulu). Even as I was staring out of the window, I couldn't really comprehend that I was back.

That changed when we came in for the final approach. As the plane got lower, and the desert rose to meet us, I started getting excited. Really excited. Steadily, thhe desert moved past me faster and faster until I felt the (not so gentle) impact of the plane landing.

Touch Down: Returning to the Desert

I nearly cried. That is not an exaggeration. I was on the verge of tears. I was finally back in the place that stole a piece of my heart six years before. I was speaking French with the local police, being hastled for taxis, doing on-the-fly currency conversions. The sounds of horns filled the air as drivers forwent whatever traffic laws there may have been.

Jo and I grabbed a taxi to our hostel. We zipped in and around traffic, dodging motorbikes and pedestrians as we went. We had to walk part of the way, because there was a market in the way. It was just like the Friday night street parties they would have years before in the other country.

Our first order of business at the hostel was food. We ate at a local place that we didn't even know was vegetarian. We had no idea what we were ordering, but we ordered it anyways. It was just as delicous as before. Familiar spices and flavours came back to me as we enjoyed our first of many delicious meals our amongst the hustle and bustle of the seemingly always open souks.

I could not stop smiling through it all.

Parting Thoughts: A Different Concept of Home

One of my then-22 year old interpreters (who now "owns" a mountain, runs two businesses, speaks an ungodly number of languages, and has a wonderful family) told me before I left six years ago that the Sahara had become my home. He could see how much it impacted all of us, and told us that the Sahara would always welcome us back.

And welcome me back it did.

Sometimes when we travel, we hype a prior trip up in our heads. We remember nothing but the good, forget most of the bad, and find ourselves disappointed when we return, because our new experiences are at odds with out memories. I have had this experience myself on multiple continents.

The Sahara was not one of them. There are few places I feel at home these days. Home has taken on a different meaning for me since I started my travel journey (read this post to see why that might be). The Sahara is one of those places. From the Atlas to the Tenere, Morocco to Egypt, Ribats to Cathedrals, the Nile to the Niger, the Sahara is a place that makes sense to me, welcomes me in, and provides a refuge that few back home can understand.

When I came back from my time in the Sahara six years ago, my step-dad commented, "I know this isn't home for you anymore, but..." I don't remember what came next, because that phrase stuck with me. He could see the change in my perspective just a few hours after my return.

They say that home is where the heart is. As we travel, we leave pieces of ourselves across the Earth. I certainly left a large portion of myself in the Sahara six years ago. The Sahara kept that piece of me, protected it, awaiting my eventual return. That is why I love my beloved Sahara.