A blue tent was my hotel under the stars of the Sahara. Crossing it, in four different expeditions, I was able to interface for the first time with absolute silence, the real one, which only allows the wind to make noise. I saw the sunrise rise behind the hump of a dromedary and the sunset disappear from the lens of my Nikon. Everything was damned in order and followed a precise rhythm, a script in short, from which you cannot deviate because the desert does not forgive: if you forget your part, you leave the scene without much compliments. No improvisation whatsoever, only perfect actors survive. The dry head of a fennec among the golden specks, found one morning after I was scouting the area around the camp for the night, is proof of this. But in addition to this sandy land, I got to know the culture of the Touareg people and understand something more about the Arab world. Furthermore, in one of the four trips undertaken here, I was able to admire the remains of what was once one of the most prosperous Roman colonies.