A swarm of salesmen gave their pitches for UV and dust protection headscarves at a roadside shop. The vibe reminded me of a car salesman who really needs that last sale of the quarter. Hooked or not, you were GOING to make a purchase.
Pictures of a falcon on your head were also on the table throughout the trip. I lowkey felt like the falconry man was following us all day.
At the first location, I watched my friends drive four wheelers into the red sand horizon and back. They drove until sunset began, when we climbed into larger SUVs. Then, the real fun began.
My heart fell to my stomach. The driver cranked up the Arabic pop music and floored it through the sand dunes. I laughed hysterically, drunk on adrenaline. I was yanked left, right, up, down, and some kind of sideways. It felt like an out of body experience in an off-roading party car.
Lurching forward, we stopped at a vantage point for sand boarding and Instagram worthy pictures. The desert sand burned a clay orange under the sun. It stretched across the horizon in gentle rolling hills. Deep, thick, and squishy, the sand felt like molasses under my feet.
Seeing sand for miles, I felt I was in the middle of nowhere and everywhere at the same time. It was euphoric. Unable to stop my smile, my friends surfed the sand down the hill.
More manic driving later, I’m sat on a camel teetering on its skyscraper thin legs to stand up. The anticipation of the lopsided movement made butterflies grip my innards, which were also starving at this point.
It was a culture shock for me to segregate from the boys to be served dinner. Stray cats begged for food while we waited in line, tugging at my heart strings.
I thought about how skinny the kitties were as I stuffed my plate full of hummus, chicken, cucumber, tomato, and buttered pasta. Alcohol and flavored shisha were also available at an extra cost.
Chickens scavenged the tables when we sat to eat. Three belly dancers performed the most beautiful isolations for us. One in particular, in red sequins, would whip her long black hair in circles and dropped into splits. She was an icon. I felt inspired and allured by her confidence on stage.
Gusts of heat enveloped me, as men blew flames at the end of long sticks to music. The fire was so powerful that little specs of ash fell on me. My shirt is STILL stained, but the coolness factor made it a vibe anyway.
Flames danced at the end of ornate skirts in a Tanoura dance. The male dancers would lift the massive skirts above their heads in every direction while spinning them. The force alone was strong enough to extinguish the fire. How they didn’t get dizzy is beyond me. It was crazy impressive.
Recorded cries of babies filled the air, creating an unintentional eerie atmosphere. Men leisurely spun and cradled bundles of cloth. Upon further research, I’m still not sure what this dance was. If anyone knows, please tell me.
Driving back to the hotel, I ate strawberry ice cream and admired my floral Henna tattoo. As the plant paste dried and cracked on the inside of my palm, the left over image would remind me of the desert safari for weeks to come.
Hannah Lou Lifestyle 
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