Over the next few days we would experience a tour like no other. I should have realised at the time, but for some reason - possibly due to suspicion borne from previous organised tour experiences - I didn’t. We were about to embark on an unforgettable 2 day trip. Soon - in fact sooner than we thought - we would be venturing deep into the Sahara Desert.

Normally our choice would be to go it alone, but on this occasion a tour was the only sane option. In general we would happily trot into the back of beyond on our own homemade, DIY (read low budget) mini adventures without reserve, but doing this in the Sahara would have been tantamount to suicide. I knew little about the Sahara, but what I did know – thanks to Ray Mears and the Discovery Channel – is that it’s one of the harshest environments on earth, and for this reason alone we opted to travel in company. Not, however, with the great Raymondo (I think he may have been wrestling 700lb bears in Alaska at the time), but with one of the real masters of the desolate plain, the Tuareg tribesman.

Arranging the tour proved to be remarkably simple. The Camel Man, as he was known by the guys in the Auberge, pitched up that evening and ran us through our options. I recognised him immediately; he ambled in wearing a white T-shirt with big, red ‘C’ emblazoned on the front. He didn’t really, I just made that bit up…it was blue. In any event, we were absolutely astounded by the range of tours on offer. Did we want to go sand boarding in the dunes? Or maybe stay overnight at a camp a half a day’s camel trek away? Did we want to stay with Berber Nomads? Or just have an afternoon trotting around on a camel closer to home? These were but a handful of our options, the list went on.

After toting up our Dirhams we eventually plumped for the 2 day, 2 night camel trek right across Erg Chebbi. The first night would see us camping among the dunes, and the second night – now beyond the eastern edge of Erg Chebbi in close proximity to the Algerian border – we would stay with a group of Berber Nomads.

The trip sounded incredible, and at around 40 bucks a day for everything – for food, water, camels, accommodation and a guide – it appeared too good to be true. At first, the Camel Man’s claims of unbridled adventure were met with a modicum of scepticism, but for the price (and the chance of an unforgettable experience) it had to be worth a punt. After all, we thought it’s not every day you’re in the Sahara desert - at least not unless you happen to be a North African Gerbil.

“So, what will we need to take?” I asked, naturally assuming that such wild adventure would need specific equipment and a certain degree of preparation.
“Nothing” said the camel man “We have! We have!”
Marvellous, I thought. This was all inclusive in every respect.
I looked around the Auberge, we were the only tourists to be seen. Considering the low cost of the camel trek, I wondered how many days we must wait until enough people rocked up to make a tour worth their while.
“And when do you think we can go?” I enquired eagerly.
“Today! Later! Later! When the sun is low!” He snapped somewhat abruptly, as if I had enquired as to why we weren’t on camels right now. He must have thought impatient b*stards.

Well, this was fantastic news – better than we could have ever expected. I glanced over to Lauren and, trying not to appear overly surprised or excited at this prospect of our own personal tour, gave a quick raise of my eyebrows. She was clearly of accord. Stifling an eager grin, she reciprocated with a look of equal astonishment.
“Well, I guess we’d best get our stuff together then…” I remarked, still somewhat dumbfounded and in a state of quiet disbelief. It was already mid afternoon so we had no time to lose – we didn’t even have time to check the weather forecast for the next two days, though my money was on it remaining hot, dry, and sunny.

With business concluded, the Camel Man turned from us and drifted gracefully back out toward the baking plains. We looked on as the tall, mysterious nomad departed but, much to our disappointment, he had nothing whatsoever on the back of his T-shirt.

Later, just as Mr C had promised, the guys at the Auberge rustled up a pair of sleeping bags, sufficient water and some attire to help protect us from both the fierce Sahara sun and the afternoon sandstorms. Unable to contain our excitement, we immediately went about getting kitted up in our new desert garb. Soon enough, though, we realised there must have been a subtle art to getting these headscarves to sit correctly. We, however, were as yet unable to master it. The result of our first bungled attempts were definitely less Saharan Nomad and more, say, George Formby with severe head trauma. But we didn’t care; these were the real deal and would afford us at least a little protection from the rigours of the desert - even if we did look like we had just failed a first aid course. As far as we were concerned, we were good to go.

Our departure was imminent. Within the hour we would meet our guide and our new best friends for the next two days, and tonight we would be sleeping under the Saharan stars in the dunes of Erg Chebbi. We were in for an extraordinary 2 days, and make no mistake about it.