Huacachina

Exhilaration

By Thomas Feng

December 11^th, 2017

Huacachina is a tiny town of 100 people built around a dreamy lagoon surrounded by rolling sand dunes sculpted by the desert's blistering winds.

The village is lined with restaurants, bars and clubs, transforming into a party on weekends.

I'm here on a Monday. The loudest noises are the occasional beeps of tuk-tuks wanting to give me a ride. I order a mushroom burger only to be served a beef burger with a few puny shrivelled mushrooms.

I attempt to walk up the sand dunes twice. First I walk up in my flip-flops, only to feel my feet begin sizzling on the sand. The next time I am successful using my hiking boots and celebrate with a peach juice.

Looking away from Huacachina, gusts of wind form ripples of waves across the entire desert like a small current in the calm ocean.

The emptiness is vast and the giant dunes stand invincibly tall. The only visible sign of life are the occasional dune buggies zooming through the desert.

Visitors flock to Huacachina to go on dune-buggy and sandboarding tours.

I take the 4pm tour with my new Canadian friends Jérémie and Amelie. As I hop on, I run into another Canadian couple Luis and Rachel from my tour of the Colca Canyon.

I see the buggies and think they will safely and slowly transport us to the sandboarding spots.

Oh how I am so wrong.

The buggy hoons along the sand and my heart races like it is on a rollercoaster. As it climbs up a dune, it accelerates with such momentum that it flies airborne and lands throttling down until we all cuss from how fucking exhilirating it is.

At one point, the buggy after landing takes a twisting, sharp left turn to send us vertically down a giant drop which seemingly never ended.

We stop for sandboarding. While waiting for my turn I sink my feet into the soft desert sand. The sun is beginning to set and the sand is soothingly cool.

As I step forward, I thrust a small wave of sand pouring down the dune, like paint gushing down a plain canvas.

Chest down. Legs out. Elbows in. Hold tight. Go.

Down the dune and dip down again another. I rocket forward while spreading my legs out like wings to protect them from rubbing the sand and burning. My head sinks low and I pretend I am a plane coming back to safer ground.

Sandboarding feels peaceful compared to the dune buggy. It is a smooth ride along these never-ending sands which will gradually and softly halt me.

We drive to the viewpoint to see the sun set all around us.

I ask to photograph my Canadian friends, young at heart, in love and free-spirited in their travels. Their kindness, companionship, laughter and outlook on the environment is something which will last in my mind from the trip.

And as the sun descends below the horizon, I have 15 minutes before my bus back in town leaves to the next stop. We hustle back on the vehicle and whizz up and down the dunes one last time.

They drop everybody else off as I run back to my accommodation to grab my bags and jump back onto the buggy. My driver weaves in and out of traffic in town and comes to a screeching halt in front of my bus.

I jump off waving triumphantly to some friends I have been travelling with, who have been wondering where the hell I have been. I know I am lucky to have made it.