Mystery and Beauty of the Sahara Desert

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 By Norma Hopcraft

The Sahara is a dry plateau not necessarily covered with sand dunes, Aziz, our group's guide, told us. In fact, he insisted we were not in the Sahara yet.

But for the last full day we'd been bussed across a dry plateau. When we had stepped off the bus for a break, our footsteps sent up puffs of dust. We'd been parched even though drinking lots of bottled water. 

Then we came up to some sand dunes. I got my first camel ride, my first 4x4 drive on sand dunes, my first night ever out under the desert stars.

In my opinion, we were in the Sahara. You can decide for yourself from the pictures.

The sand dunes ahead of us said "Sahara Desert" to me. I was there, in my opinion, in this mystic desert, the setting of thousands of stories.

A troop of camels rested on dry ground from their labors carrying tourists.

My first ever camel ride! What a hoot--I had to hang on tight while the camel got lurchingly to his feet.

Tuareg tribesmen handled the camels. They traditionally dress in blue robes.

A profile of my camel. I admired the sand-filtering fringe on his ears and his eyelids.

Some people rented ATVs to go out onto the barren dunes, in the distance.

My shadow, hanging on for dear life on the rocking camel, trying to fire off some shots without blurring.

Our Touareg guide helped me with this shot. Looks like I do too much sitting and writing ...

Camels are tall! I was way up in the air. The gait of a camel is uncomfortable, and so was the saddle. I couldn't imagine crossing the whole desert like this, day after day. 

When we got back from our 30-minute camel ride, both the camel and I were relieved.

Our driver of the 4x4 took us out to our desert camp for an overnight. He was dressed in the traditional blue bubu (robe) and turban that doubled as a scarf. The Tuareg are known as "Les Hommes Bleus du Sahara". They are renown as fierce warriors. They also live in a matriarchal society. The women are in charge. I saw one man in blue veil himself with his scarf, covering his nose and mouth, as a sign of respect for women when I passed him in a narrow passageway.

Our driver took us over sand dunes like a roller coaster. He was playing Tuareg music on the radio, an artist named Tinariwen. This musician won a Grammy for World Music. His genre is known as "Desert Blues," and it sounded great as we swooped through the Sahara. He's available on Apple Music and probably Spotify. I play his music all the time, now that I'm back from Morocco. He's a great favorite.

Inspiration at the Gate to the Sahara

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 By Norma Hopcraft

Morocco is magnifique! Let the architecture, carving, and tilework you see here inspire you with an interior design project, or an inlaid wooden box you've imagined making, or a quilt.

We spent a night in the Sahara -- you'll see those pictures next -- but first explored beautiful Moorish buildings on the edge of the desert. 

Even though we weren't officially yet in the desert, it exerts a powerful presence. The soil was painfully dry as far as the eye could see. Dust puffed out from under our shoes with each footstep and coated our shoes.

We enjoyed Malhoun music the night before we took the bus right to the Sahara's edge.  Here is the lead singer of the Jorf Malhoun Band. I'll Spotify them when I get home. They were excellent.

Near the Sahara we met Ali. Behind him you can see The Gate of the Sahara.

He's wearing a bubu, which is the Berber word for a djellabah, the floor-length garment worn by men and women all over Morocco. His is blue, and so his turban, created by a very long scarf. He is one of the hommes bleus, blue men, from the Berber's Tuareg tribe. More pics about this next time. 

Morocco is bustling with tractor trailers carrying goods -- and with other modes of transportation. Getting around by foot is still big. I often saw people walking out in the middle of nowhere.

We weren't allowed, as non-Muslims, to enter any mosque except one in Casablanca, which is a national monument. I took this shot from the doorway, in a hurry, that's why it's crooked, with people waiting behind me for their shot. But the mosaic work, carving, and stained glass are super, no? Moorish arches have always delighted my eyes.

Ali and a carved door at the mosque.

A detail of the carved door.

A lovely courtyard with mosaics, a shallow fountain, and light.

Look at the incredible amount of beautiful work!

Ali gives us some history and insights into the desert culture.

Families still live off of this alleyway that light never penetrates. 

Ali took us here to show us desert walled communities. They're made of big mud bricks strengthened with straw, and they last for generations.

Morocco, a land of mysteries and stories

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 By Norma Hopcraft

I feel so exotic -- I'm writing to you from Rabat, capital city of Morocco. I will meet my tour group here at approx. 5 pm. My sister arrives from Marrakech then too!

I hear a demonstration of some sort down the street from the hotel. But I've heard that Moroccans like their king. A taxi driver told me, "He's friendly." I don't speak Arabic so I don't know what the discontent is about.

French is spoken here too, so I trot out my French. When people hear my American accent, they want to practice their English, so they switch to English. It's, like, impossible to switch it back to French! Sigh...I'm the one who took the trouble to cross an ocean, so I ought to be the one who gets to practice their foreign language, don't you think?

I hope you have a chance to do as much travel as you would like. Getting to Rabat yesterday required taking a journey with five legs in it -- three by plane and two by train. It was a bit much. But after a great night's sleep, I am adjusted to my new time zone today.

To prepare for this trip, I read two wonderful books set in Morocco. Please read The Caliph's House, about a year spent in Casablanca reconditioning an ancient palace, and In Arabian Nights, both by a great writer, Tahir Shah. They are recent books and give so much insight into the people and the culture. The books have so many stories in them -- story is what I've been working at and studying about for three-and-a-half decades.

He talks about Morocco having underground streams -- not of water but of stories. Of mysteries. It's true, I feel it!

Here are my first photos from Rabat.

This is Avenue Mohammed V, a place where Moroccans stroll with their families of a pleasant evening.

This is a government building (Rabat is the capital city). Bird of Paradise flowers (orange) are in the garden, growing here just because they can. 

A hidden, secret courtyard.

The change of guard at the Mausoleum of Mohammed V, father of the current king.

Built in the 11th century, this is the Tour Hassan.

A Moorish doorway at the mausoleum.

I do love a Moorish doorway.

Details from the Tour Hassan.

The guard at the mausoleum. The poor horses were being plagued by flies on their faces. I wish the soldiers could hold a brush for the flies instead of a spear.

Very different look than the famous guard at Buckingham Palace.

I went to the Atlantic Ocean in Rabat to do a ritual I've done in the Pacific, the Mediterranean, the Atlantic at various points, the Caribbean: I roll up my pants and get my feet wet, no matter what the season, no matter how cold the water is, and re-dedicate myself to two things: Jesus and writing.

There were lots of women surfers at the beach! I didn't expect that in Morocco, where some women are in Western dress, some in scarves, and some covered except for a slit for their eyes. The surfing women wear a wetsuit and tie a long piece of fabric over it!

How about you? What travel plans do you have? What impressions do you have of Morocco? Comment below and I'll be sure to reply!

Isle de Bréhat -- A French Playground

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By Norma Hopcraft

Next my sister, my French friend Martine, her dog Tibou, and I -- the intrepid foursome through Brittany and Normandy -- went from Dinan to L'Isle de Bréhat, just off the coast of Brittany.

A loaded ferry took us across waters that had many rocks jutting up from the surface -- how many more were hidden just below? But we made it safely across, as you would expect from a ferry company, and we were enchanted immediately.

The agapanthus was at its peak of bloom, as were the hydrangea. The sea air was refreshing even while the sun was blazing hot. 

This was a very special place, glad I explored it, but certainly a playground of the very rich.

Houses were nestled into the landscape, which was burgeoning with blooms.

Rustic fences, stone walls, and hardy grasses caught my eye.

This is one cove, with boats basking in the sun.

A private cove for just one house.

The only problem with boating on Bréhat: the tide in this northern end of the world has big swings, and boats are often rendered unusable by the tide going out.

A path with ancient walls.

A cottage nestled into its lush garden.

Agapanthus growing wild, a mysterious house where certainly a family with some wild people in it must have lived.

Another view. What a place!

It's on a hill with sea air constantly flowing over it.

Another beautiful house.

Isle de Bréhat was just full of picturesqueness.

It reminds me of the kind of cottage known as Cape Cod. But here we are in the Old World, not the new.

A field of grass nodding in the wind.

My type of place: small and cozy.

A romantic door.

A statue just outside the restaurant where we had lunch.

Here's our lunch spot -- highly recommended!

Plants do well on Isle de Bréhat in the moist sea air, even in nooks and crannies. How about you? What special place have you been over the years? Comment below!