We visited Dakhla in what I’m told is tourist season.

The only other foreigner we came across was a Frenchman named Jean who left his job and his wife to backpack indefinitely through Mauritania.  He sat at our breakfast table, even though there were always others available.  I think he was lonely.

Dakhla was bright and sun-bleached by day, but by dusk it was grey and empty.

They called it sleepy, but Dakhla was tired.


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