Into The Sands Of Time: Exploring Egypt's White And Black Deserts

“In the desert, there's a solution for everything,” our guide, Ahmed, told us.“Except the wind,” he added with a wry smile, zipping up his light jacket.

As the sun dipped below the horizon on our second night camping in Egypt's surreal White Desert, the stillness shattered. A sandstorm had swept in without warning, devouring the landscape in a wall of dust and grit. Sand whipped around the towering limestone formations - already otherworldly by day - and morphed them into ghostly silhouettes, their shapes shifting like mirages in the swirling haze.

One formation, resembling a giant bird of prey, seemed to flicker and pulse in the storm. Another, with a regal, timeworn profile, bore an uncanny resemblance to the Great Sphinx. It was impossible not to wonder: Could these strange limestone sentinels have inspired ancient Egyptians to carve some of their most iconic monuments?

I've always been drawn to deserts - their vastness, their defiance, their silence. Now, based in Cairo, I couldn't resist the opportunity to spend a few days off-grid in the White Desert. With an Egyptian guide and driver, my husband and I had embarked on a three-day, two-night excursion that took us deep into one of Egypt's lesser-known wonders.

Through the swirling chaos, I glimpsed the faint outline of a figure in the distance, ghostlike in the storm. We thought our eyes were playing tricks on us as the wind intensified and the figure vanished. Only later did we learn that a woman from another camp had become disoriented when the swirling sands obliterated all sense of direction. Fortunately, she hadn't wandered far and was soon found. In the desert, even experienced travelers can quickly lose their bearings.

We hastily extinguished our fire and scrambled for shelter, huddling inside a wall tent lit by a single flickering bulb powered by a car battery. Sand pelted the canvas like driving rain and crept through every seam and zipper. When I woke later that night, the storm had passed. The stillness was so absolute it was almost unnerving - but I couldn't get out. The tent zipper had been fused shut by the sand, and we had to break it open to step outside.

The scene that greeted me under the moonlight was ethereal. A dense layer of fine sand blanketed everything: the tent, our sleeping bags, our clothes, even our hair. I stood alone under a star-filled sky, feeling as if I had woken up on another planet.

In the silence, I spotted a flicker of movement: a small fennec (desert fox) scuttling past. It paused just long enough to meet my gaze, its amber eyes catching the moonlight, before vanishing into the dunes.

About 230 miles southwest of Cairo, the White Desert, or Sahara el Beyda, is accessible via the Bahariya Oasis. The journey takes around five hours by road - long enough to feel the gradual shedding of urban life - followed by a few more hours bumping off-road across open desert in search of the perfect spot to set up camp. Most travelers, like us, opt for a guided expedition in sturdy Land Cruisers, outfitted with modern navigation gear and packed with supplies essential for surviving the desert's extremes.

The desert's real magic, though, reveals itself slowly. Egypt's White and Black deserts are studies in contrast. The White Desert, protected as a national park in 2002, is dominated by chalky limestone formations sculpted over thousands of years by wind erosion. Some resemble giant mushrooms; others look like camels, sphinxes, ravens or fantastical creatures from another world.

A short drive away lies the Black Desert, the next stop on our trip, where ocher sand gives way to black-topped volcanic hills. These dark peaks are the remnants of ancient eruptions that spewed basalt over the surrounding sands, creating a stark, brooding landscape that feels distinctly Martian.

We climbed one of the larger hills and stood on the summit, watching the light shift across the silent and vast desert floor - a view that made the world beyond seem impossibly far away.

From there, we paused at Crystal Mountain, an outcrop of quartz and calcite crystals fused together in dazzling structures. One massive rock, shaped eerily like a jellyfish, seemed almost too fantastical to be real.

But perhaps the most extraordinary spot we visited was the Valley of Agabat, or Wadi al-Agabat, a hidden labyrinth of towering rock formations and moonlike terrain near the White Desert and the Bahariya Oasis, accessible only with seasoned guides.

Famous for its surreal stone sculptures and golden sands, this remote valley likely played a quiet but important role in ancient trade networks.

During the Pharaonic, Greco-Roman, and later Islamic periods, caravan routes - often called“Darb” routes - crisscrossed the vast deserts, linking the Nile Valley to distant oases and beyond, even reaching toward Libya. Wadi al-Agabat would have served as a natural corridor between the Bahariya and Farafra oases, offering relatively easier passage through the rugged desert landscape, with identifiable landmarks in an otherwise featureless expanse.

At its heart, the Moon Cave reveals quiet marvels: Slender beams of light filter through natural crevices, illuminating mineral-veined walls that glimmer in the half-darkness. Touching the cool, shimmering rock felt like reaching out to connect with the Earth's own secret history.

What was even more astonishing, however, was the cave's acoustics. The curvature of the rock, its height and its dense material amplified a single clap into a resounding cacophony that echoed far across the surrounding desert - a natural phenomenon that, in an emergency, could serve as a lifesaving signal.

Despite the occasional discomforts - a sleeping bag full of sand, the endless fine dust coating everything - I found myself savoring every gritty, wild moment. Out there, stripped of modern distractions, it felt like life's basic elements - air, earth, fire, water (or the desperate lack of it) - asserted themselves with thrilling clarity.

Just a day's drive from the bustle of Cairo, the White and Black deserts offer more than an escape; they offer perspective, serenity, clarity and adventure. Between the thunder of the wind, the shimmer of stars on a sea of dunes, and the profound silence that follows, the desert becomes not just a place, but a state of mind. A reset. A return.

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

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