An immense plain, dissected by a blue corridor. Mountains in the background, tree tops with their crenulated leaves wrapped in fog as in a mirage. The air is invisible, light, odourless and without the drone of insects. Nothing lies between the edge of the plain and the horizon. You feel you've been transported to one of those altitudinous deserts where water only exists as a figment of your imagination and where the wind transports tiny grains of sand. The landscape is equal in size to that of the Chilean Atacama, being once upon a time an ocean. The ground has been planed like the bottom of the ocean, flattened by the continual displacement of masses of water. We stop along the road near a shack. Tozeur is only 20 minutes away by car, but neither the town nor the immense palm grove is visible. The tea served is bitter (don't forget your sugar!) and the change of scenery immediate. The dry air, the blustery wind and the drop of water by the side of the road, serves as a reminder of the last rains, all incite instant dreams.
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