400 km to the east of Cairo, through the Black Desert and into the White, there is a valley of rock formations. The windswept collars of the region are both gorgeous and severe. The nights are black, and the air is crisp. This journey began as an ill-guided attempt at gaining a new perspective. Just before takeoff, a few words of wisdom were passed on—perspective can’t be sought, only achieved. No matter. The trip was already booked. A few packs of cigarettes were purchased, and out into the ether we went.

It wasn’t hot—not in the conventional “stranded in the desert searching for water” sense. The sun bore down, and by midday, the body felt tethered to the earth under its weight. The modern, air-conditioned, luxury 4x4 included in the tour was just under 20 years old, had one working window, and boasted nearly 400,000 miles on the odometer—a true testament to the power and efficacy of Toyota.

The trip was long and quiet. The first half was surprising, with possibly the best cell service anywhere in the country, but the latter half was lonely and void—both of meaningful conversation and distraction. It must be conceded: it was very difficult to detach from the endless source of content nestled deep in my front jeans pocket. Even without unfettered access to consume data, the knowledge that it was just out of reach was, at some points, unbearable. Shutting it off entirely would have been the right way to handle the situation, but at this juncture, the phone is your camera. Can you really call it an experience if you don’t have content to show for it?

Nevertheless, while not absolute, the detachment was significant. The region of the White Desert explored was still within three hours of civilization. The experience, however, was somewhat revealing. At one juncture, a group of camels was huddled in an open area. There was not another soul in sight. “Where are their owners?” “Won’t they wander off?” “What do they eat?” The answer was simply: “It’s the desert.”

It’s the desert. The guy will be back in a few months (maybe he’s on vacation or out wandering about). The camels will eat. There’s shit to eat and drink out there. The camels know the way. Where are they going to go? It’s the desert. Go left a bit, right a bit—it’s not like they’re walking to Libya.

There is a point to all this rambling about camels and desert and wind-whipped, sand-filled evenings spent under the stars. Sometimes it takes time away to see the overarching theme. 

The mission was meant to be a touching of grass—sans the grass, as patches of it are few and far between in the Sahara. Instead, after a filling meal of BBQ meats and Sri Lankan tea (with and without sugar—go with the sugar), my finger couldn’t stop itself from maneuvering about in the sand, pressing into millennia of eroded rock, beside a low fire under the stars. An idea emerged. What the idea was—the basis of it—was not important. Not nearly as important as the foundation it was built on.

“What happens if you get lost?” was the question. “Go to the water. Someone will find you.” That’s a truly interesting way to look at the world. You’re lost? Don’t worry. Go to where we all need to be. Someone will show up.