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National Geographic : 2002 Dec
Contents
apprehension. The camels were hard and lean (and so, by this time, were we), but the extra effort involved in crossing these great moun tains of sand could prove daunting. Earlier we had picked up a new guide, a Libyan Tuareg called Shikou, who was dressed in garments befitting the Lord of the Rings or Aladdin's genie, with a huge turban and volu minous robes. These were matched by his over whelming urge to talk to anyone in sight. If there was no one to talk to, he would talk to himself. Not far ahead was our last formidable barrier, the Hamada al Hamra-a barren, rock-strewn plateau stretching more than 180 miles from north to south and 300 miles from east to west. Vischer summed it up as the "first in terms of difficulty among all the deserts in the Sahara ... where shouts and laughter cease and the human voice is drowned." Vischer was wrong. Nothing could drown the voice of Shi kou, who never stopped talking. He was certainly a better talker than he was a navigator, and it soon became clear that he was unsure of his way. The Hamada al Hamra presented the prospect of a pitiless six-day crossing in the best of circumstances, but by the time we reached it, Shikou was well and truly lost. By misdirecting us, he extended the hamada crossing by a further two days. As we climbed onto the plateau, I was worried. The camels were tired, some nearly exhausted, and one or two had started to stum ble, always a bad sign. Halfway up, just for an instant, I had a curious sensation that Vischer The first niaht
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