There is something about deserts that appeals to me. They’re desolate, isolated — they’re expansive. Perhaps this stems from the fact that I tend to live an extremely ordered, structured life. To paraphrase Bruce Chatwin, by normality is the chicken coop that is England.
I thought of that recently. I will be back in Europe in April, somewhere in the Copenhagen-Malmo region. My life will, again, by very ordered, tidy and neat. There aren’t many real deserts in Europe. The one that does exist pales in comparison to the Great Australian Desert, the Kalahari, the Gobi or the Mojave.
It’s easy to lose yourself in the expanse — like Camus’s adulteress facing the Sahara. In February I’ll fly to the Mojave Desert, near Lake Mead, to see the sunsets — and visit the Atomic Bomb and Mafia Museums.