Page 179 - WDT MAGAZINE PORTUGAL

flavored lentil soup, succulent mechoui (spit-roasted musicians strummed softly on their goat-skinned
lamb), and mounds of couscous, the Moroccan staple, instruments. The night sky, dark as squid ink, was
smothered in saffron-scented broth, chunks of beef, splattered with stars and the Big Dipper felt almost
and fresh, seasonal vegetables. After the meal, I within reach. A dog’s bark somewhere in the darkness
couldn’t resist poking my nose into the adjoining followed me all the way to bed.
“kitchen” where the chef and his assistant had The first rays of the sun outlined the dunes in a
prepared our multi-course diffa, feast, using a simple golden hue when I stepped out into the quietude of a
Butane burner and rudimentary utensils. desert sunrise. The experience was short-lived.
“Couscous mezzian! Couscous very good!” I Daylight soon flooded the landscape, setting the
showered the cook with compliments. He smiled compound astir. Soon, I joined the others gathered
broadly and offered me a glass of mint tea. around a breakfast of fresh orange juice, coffee, and
“Bismillah!” he invoked, as we clinked glasses. an assortment of pastries. This would sustain us until
the oasis of Tinerhir.
I left my host to enjoy a solitary walk under
millions of twinkling blots. In my wake, a trio of Tuareg My husband and I first explored the Tinerhir palm

178 WINE DINE & TRAVEL MAGAZINE 2019