The vast indifference of knowledge

I’m now a bit more than halfway from Marrakesh to my destination, Merzouga, on the edge of the Sahara. The trip has unfolded beautifully, with time to sit beside riad pools and walk through the rocky and arid landscape, experiencing the vast indifference of heaven.

My year wintering over in Pittsburg (see the hundreds of columns about that on tinywhitebox.com), and my solo hike across England were great preparation. Erasing the boundary between inside my head and the world out there is a lot easier when I’m alone in awe-striking nature than it would be if I hunkered down in Miami Beach or Dublin.

My wife claims to have a better memory than I do. I’m not sure that’s true, but I don’t really remember. Regardless, Elena claims that during our very first conversation I told her I was drawn to the desert the way some people feel the pull of the ocean or how she feels closest to trees and woodlands. Since she moved in with me she’s had all the greenery (and whitery and colorfullery) a person could ask for. Now, I’m approaching the desert.

When I first proposed this trip to the Sahara, around last Thanksgiving, I was surprised at the questions people asked, not at their breadth or depth but at their uniformity. No matter the questioner’s age, background or gender, the following five questions kept coming up.

1. What country is the Sahara Desert in?

It’s easy to make fun of Americans’ ignorance of geography, so that’s what I’ll do. Asking this question is equivalent to asking what state the Mississippi River is in. (Yes, I know some people will say Mississippi—that’s part of the joke.)

More than 10 different countries have territory in the Sahara, from Mauritania in the west to Sudan and Egypt in the east, Every North African country borders the desert, which is roughly the size of the United States.

I am in Morocco, the most northwest African country, and am traveling to the small desert town of Merzouga.

1. Will you visit Israel while you’re there?

Again with the misunderstanding of geography. If you had a Swedish friend who was visiting you for a couple weeks in Machiasport, Maine (waaaay up on the coastal Canadian border and where my maternal grandfather grew up), would you encourage him to drive the 3,200 miles to Los Angeles while he was there? Jerusalem is about the same distance from here. Oh, yes, and there was no African or Middle Eastern Eisenhower building a highway system. It’s two-lane roads across closed borders and the entire nation of Libya, which has only gotten madder and more out of control since the overthrow and death of Gaddafi.

No, I won’t visit the Holy Land, despite my fascination with the Wailing Wall.

1. Aren’t you afraid of being eaten by a lion?

When I was a boy, camping in coastal New Hampshire, as soon as the sun went down someone, usually me, would start talking about wolves and how bloodthirsty they are. Any sound coming from the dark, from rustling leaves to an owl’s call, was cited as evidence of an imminent wolf attack.  This never happened, of course, for a very good reason: the last sighting of a wild wolf in New Hampshire was in the 1880s. At nearly the same time, the last lion was spotted in Morocco. Given the lack of large prey, shade and water, I’m not worried about lions returning during my visit.

I’ll still picture them in my head in the nighttime desert, though.

1. Will you ride a camel?

Yes.

1. Why? (Not why ride a camel, but why go to the Sahara Desert?)

Ever since I was a boy, I’ve pictured myself in the Brazilian Sahara, killing lions from atop a camel as I ride into the Holy Land to demand the Wailing Wall be quiet.

Dreams CAN come true!