Sahara Desert

　　      I looked around, and over the boundless yellow sands, lonely winds howled mournfully. The sky was high, the earth deep, majestic, and silent.

　　　　It was dusk, and the setting sun dyed the desert a blood-red hue, both desolate and terrifying.

　　　　With a climate almost like early winter, the land transformed into a poetic desolation, contrary to the scorching, blazing sun I had expected.

　　　　— Sanmao, "Starting from Scratch"

　　　　When it comes to the Sahara, one must mention a woman and a book.

　　　　Since ancient times, this barren and silent nature of the Sahara has stubbornly refused the intrusion of people. Intense heat and dryness are its temperament; the sound of wind and shifting sands are its language.

　　　　Sanmao, a petite woman with center-parted long hair, a tall figure, and a smile that revealed slightly crooked teeth—not beautiful, but lively—set off with her small pack and headed straight for the sandy Sahara. From then on, that vast sea of sand unfolded like a delicate scroll in her writings, vivid and colorful. The Chinese restaurant where vermicelli was called “rain,” the quack doctor who used nail polish to fix teeth, the grand sofa made from coffin boards that turned out bright and beautiful, the old tires washed clean to become cozy little seats… A cemetery district could become Rome, a flowerless wilderness could bloom into spring, and the kind of romance that countless women yearn for deep down was brought to its utmost expression.

　　　　The Sahara fulfilled Sanmao’s lifelong nostalgia, and Sanmao fulfilled the youthful dreams of countless people. Everyone has been at that age when the world is vast and full of unknown journeys—how can one be content being a frog at the bottom of a well, only gazing up at that tiny patch of sky within their limited circle? The heart hidden beneath a peaceful life yearns for something else, something freer, more unrestrained, even a bit more crazy. The Sahara is the perfect place to fulfill such dreams; it is so distant, so mysterious, dreamlike and surreal.

　　　　But those who come to the Sahara with romantic dreams will soon discover that the desert is a place truly untouched by romance. All the restlessness and agitation of city life are helplessly purified in the face of its wild winds and sands into one purest belief: survival. In this sense, the Sahara may be the place closest to the essence of life. A spring that can soothe your throat, an oasis where you can stand—everything that is readily available in the mundane world and thus taken for granted can suddenly become the object of your deepest longing. When your eyes gradually lose their sparkle from too much exposure to the sun, when you taste the long-absent sweat seeping from your pale skin, you may suddenly understand: this is the rule of the game in the Sahara. It takes everything from you first, then silently teaches you about life—you can imagine with all your passion, but you must live with both feet on the ground.

　　　　Everyone changes a little after experiencing the Sahara, but the vast desert remains forever beyond human emotions, existing true to itself. When Sanmao ended her wandering life with a single rope, the Sahara did not flinch even an inch. Within its vast embrace, humans are truly as small as grains of sand.

　　 Rabat, Morocco