Completely out of breath, our shoes overflowing with sand, our lungs burning  we stood doubled over at the top of Dune 45. Without thought or discussion, we had sprinted to the peak of this five million year old accumulation of sand.

A few months ago I had been mesmerized by images of this exact spot, our friends were overlanding Africa and their adventures inspired equal parts raging jealousy and uninhibited desire. It is difficult to admit the chaotic emotion within an overlander when they’re forced to return home and live vicariously through their friends. Half of you wants to write them off, slam your laptop shut and forget the life you led before. The other, seemingly sadistic half, just can’t look away and it’s this part of ourselves we can’t deny that eventually leads us to one night throw out our last three months of planning and book two tickets to Africa.

There are few moments in life when we can look around and say “I dreamed of this and now it’s mine.” This was one such moment and neither of us were about to spoil it with words that could never hope to match our surroundings.  United in this unspoken agreement we sat silently watching the sunset with only the sound of the sand whipping endlessly over the blurred edge of the dune.

Shadow and light