During a trip to the Algerian Sahara, like most tourists from the so-called Western world, I was fortunate enough to share time with Desert Men who were our guides. They are Tuareg, a Berber people of nomadic camel herders. They have roamed the desert for millennia and know how to do so: the Sahara belongs to them. Ancestral traditions arise from practical needs and are shrouded in myth. Covering the face with the tagelmust (also called cheche) prevents sand and wind from damaging the respiratory tract and protects from the sun; but it also allows protection from the spirits of the sand, which are not always benign. Dromedaries are indispensable on long desert journeys due to their resistance even to thirst: there is great respect and a rugged brotherhood for these animals. Hot tea is necessary to resist the heat, but it is also a ceremony, an exercise in meditation and hospitality. The political and socioeconomic situations of the countries in which they live have long brought about a notable shift in their way of life, which has remained unchanged for centuries. They gradually abandoned caravan traffic to become drivers, cooks, and tour guides, without whom we would be unable to appreciate this wonderful land and its culture. Everywhere and always, the globalization of our planet brings with it sometimes "progress," sometimes great distortions and disasters.

I hope the Blue Men manage to maintain their identity and that we don't fall into the trap of overtourism. I hope for a mutual and respectful understanding between populations, which sometimes leads over time, as I have seen, to great esteem and friendship despite their differences.