01 Feb The Secret Garden. Part I

I remember that the first time I was conscious of looking out into infinity was crossing Mauritania through the desolate plains of Tassiat and the dunes of Achkar. Back then I was still playing at being a rebel, drinking Dyc whisky and coke, listening to the Lemons and travelling with little money and a lot of nerve (not like now).

Ever since that time, I have been obsessed with deserts, and I have never stopped dreaming of following the routes of those explorers who tried to unravel the mystery of the city of Timbuktu. Because of my proximity to home, I was lately more attracted to the adventures of those who tried to get there via the Murzuk route, and among them, especially the adventure of Gordon Laing, all heart, or Henry Barth's great journey across the Sahara. In their letters and writings both claimed to have found in the depths of the desert a secret garden in which flowed the true fountain of freedom, to which those great caravans coming from Egypt through Khufra went to drink.

As in the 19th century, insecurity in the area continues to make it very dangerous to approach and has meant that this place has remained lost and inaccessible for years. And as is well known, all lost places feed hidden stories and excite the imagination, especially of the most volatile minds, something like mine, (if I am cannon fodder...).

And knowing for all these years, that behind those distant dunes that I could see from my room, there was this hidden garden, was a provocation that I could not neglect for much longer. In fact, I still don't know how I endured it for so long...

So one day I decided to stop dreaming and fulfil one of my dreams, I chose a group of Tuareg from among Ubari's friends, the best of each house, filled the cars with weapons, fuel, water and a couple of mature lambs, and we set off into the dunes. That's all we needed.

As we rode through the sea of Ubari dunes, I thought of those first inhabitants of the area, the Garamantes. That civilisation, capable of stopping the Roman advance across the desert, travelled these same dunes thousands of years ago in horse-drawn chariots. Their capital was at Germa, very close to where we arrived that day, from where they controlled the oasis routes across the Sahara. You can still see the ruins of their mighty empire, although getting there is still a bit of a mess (I won't be the one to say no to such an adventure).

Along the way, incredible places appeared, known only to the Tuareg, all discarded by the maps, with no right to a name, and which I tried to store in my memory with a selfie. Dunes of different colours and sizes, small groups of palm trees or a small acacia tree, with hardly enough wood to warm it up, lying alone in that sea of dunes... Everything moved me, as I am so tender with my new heart, but there was a place where I know that my soul escaped and there it must still be, trapped in that deadly silence, at the foot of a dune and a couple of palm trees...

And so, climbing up dunes, descending cliffs and pulling out cars stuck in the sand, it was time for lunch. After the salat al asr prayer, and surrounded by an incredible landscape, we made a fire, and sharing plates and spoons, we devoured pasta, lamb and other people's kueskos. Thus, in the best way I know to enjoy simple things to the full, as I learned in the army: in camaraderie. What a pity about wine....

I'll leave it for the next day if we manage to find the secret garden and the fountains of eternal freedom, or it will continue to be one of the myths that abound in my dreams.... but what I wanted today was to show you the photos I took along the route. Besides, it's not always necessary to get there, sometimes the best is just on the way...