Mint tea

It is rest hour. The time when the implacable sun finally softens by lowering itself unto the horizon. The hour when, with the day coming to an end, everyone prepares for the evening encampment. Bella, the Targui guide, prepares a campfire under the shade of an acacia: three glasses of mint tea — “the first as bitter as life, the second as strong as love, the third as sweet as death.” Soothing sweetness invites abandon but the sweet (“douce” is translated by both soft and sweet) light is also ideal for photos. The light underlines the reliefs, softens the contrasts, confers on the landscape a structure that is flattened during the day by the ardent sun. I don’t linger in the ephemeral camp. I run off to fill my eyes with the golden sun which rests on the desert.

Outskirts of Tamanrasset, Algeria

C’est l’heure du repos. L’heure à laquelle l’implacable soleil s’adoucit enfin en baissant sur l’horizon. L’heure à laquelle, la journée se finissant, on se prépare pour le campement du soir. Bella, le guide Targui, prépare un feu à l’ombre de l’acacia : 3 verres de thé à la menthe – «le premier aussi amer que la vie, le deuxième aussi fort que l’amour, le troisième aussi doux que la mort». Apaisante douceur à laquelle il serait tentant de céder, mais la douce lumière est aussi idéale pour des photos. Elle souligne les reliefs, atténue les contrastes, confère au paysage une matière écrasée tout le jour par le soleil ardent. Je ne m’attarde pas au campement éphémère, je file me remplir l’œil de la lumière dorée qui se pose sur le désert.

Environs de Tamanrasset, Algérie.

June 21, 2009
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Maureen_doyle

Mint tea recalls my first experience with Touareg tea. A friend and I were traversing the Atlas Mountains and stopped in a village for the night. The village chief (or at least that’s what he seemed like at the time) invited us in for tea. Since I was the only woman, he assigned me to make tea. Unfathomable to him, I needed to be coached. Apparently, “Woman = Tea Maker” in the Sahara. My error was the amount of sugar. He repeated, “Encore, encore, encore…” till the pot was nearly half full. So I learned another Tourage equation, “Tea = Sugar”.