Tunisia 2025 | In the heart of the Sahara… among sand and infinite silence

November 1 – 10, 2025

There are journeys remembered for the places visited, and others that stay with you for how they make you feel. Our journey into the Sahara Desert, from November 1st to 10th, 2025, undoubtedly belongs to the latter. Ten days off-road, crossing sand, silence, and endless spaces—ten days that became a life experience and the beginning of new bonds.

The goal of the journey was ambitious: to reach Sif es Suane, a legendary destination far from conventional routes, deep in the heart of the desert. A place difficult to reach due to its remote location, the condition of the sand, and the weather variables that in the Sahara can change everything in just a few hours. We knew it wouldn’t be easy, and that is exactly what made the journey so special.

Everything began in Civitavecchia, with boarding and that suspended atmosphere that only departures can create. During the crossing, we had time to get to know one another, to share expectations, and to listen to the staff briefing: ahead of us was the Sahara, and none of us truly knew how deeply it would involve us.

Disembarking in Tunis was our first contact with Africa. From there, the transfer toward Matmata slowly pulled us out of everyday routine. A traditional dinner and a night in a hotel were the last real comforts before entering the desert.

Then came the arrival at Ksar Ghilane—the oasis, the colors, the hot spring. And finally the track, the real one, that took us far away from everything.

Our first camp among the dunes was a magical moment: the sun setting, the silence growing, the fire lit, a shared dinner under the stars, and the already powerful feeling of being exactly where we were meant to be.

From that moment on, the Sahara took control of time. Each day began with sand beneath the wheels and ended with a camp set up in the middle of nowhere. Each of us in our own small tent, yet all part of something greater. People who had been complete strangers, in just a few days began to feel like a real group: helping one another, laughing, sharing fatigue, emotions, and small moments that turned into lasting memories.

We tackled dune ridges, forgotten tracks, isolated wells, driving with focus but always with a smile. The staff guided us step by step, building trust and allowing everyone to experience the desert safely, without ever taking away the sense of adventure. The dunes grew higher, the driving more technical, but also more thrilling.

When the oasis of Ain Ouadette appeared on the horizon, nestled among mountains of sand, we felt small and incredibly fortunate. Bathing in the warm water of the oasis pool was one of those moments you never forget: water, laughter, fatigue melting away.

The desert, however, also teaches the unexpected. During one of the most intense days, as we were approaching our destination, a technical issue forced us to stop just a few kilometers from our goal. No frustration, no rush against time—only the awareness that in the Sahara you do not impose your will: you listen, you respect, you accept.

We changed plans, adapting as the desert teaches you to do. Sif es Suane remained there, in front of us, unreachable this time. But it wasn’t a defeat—it was simply a see-you-later. Because certain places are not conquered; they are waited for. And we will return.

It was right there that the journey revealed its most authentic side. Reaching the destination didn’t matter—being there did. Being together, far from everything, surrounded by dunes and silence.

Evenings at camp, the star-filled sky, conversations before slipping into our tents, and the wind brushing over the sand did the rest.

The return toward Tembaine and then Douz was gradual, almost melancholic. Going back to civilization after days in the middle of nowhere always feels strange. One last hotel, a hot shower, but our minds still among the dunes.

The journey ended as it had begun: with the sea, the ship, and disembarkation in Genoa. But we were no longer the same.

The Sahara doesn’t give you souvenirs—it gives you sensations. It teaches you to slow down, to trust, to let go. And above all, it gives you people: strangers who become travel companions, and sometimes even friends.

And when you return home, a part of you stays there, among the sand and the endless silence.