There are certain destinations that are not on many people’s travel wishlist. Not because they are inaccessible, but because they ask for time, patience and a willingness to step outside familiar frameworks. Chad – a country that receives only a few hundred travellers a year – is one of these places.
Guided by Pier Paolo Rossi – an Italian geologist and rock art expert who has been travelling to the Sahara since 1987 – in November this year we set off on an expedition designed to explore the country in depth, by road; from the savannah landscapes of the south to the heart of the Central Sahara in the north.
Continuing north, vegetation thinned as the Sahel gradually gave way to the Sahara. Distances stretched, horizons widened and the tentacles of modern civilisation retracted; the land began to assert itself more forcefully.
After several days exploring the Ennedi Massif, we turned west and crossed open desert once more, eventually reaching Anoa Oasis – a scene that resembled something out of a dream. Rocky outcrops rose from the sand, large dunes shifted with the wind and a caravan of camels passed through, arriving to collect salt. Nomadic huts sat lightly on the land, while papyrus reeds and palm trees gathered around pools of fresh water. We were invited by the village chief to his home for tea – a moment of generosity and connection that stayed with us as we continued our journey.
Throughout this region, the Toubou people are the predominant tribe – pastoralists and desert nomads whose lives have long been shaped by movement, water and seasonal rhythms. For generations, they have navigated these vast landscapes with an intimate understanding of terrain, weather and distance, sustaining livelihoods across borders that feel abstract in a place defined by mobility rather than settlement. Encounters along the way offered insight into a way of life rooted in resilience and deep knowledge of the land, where the desert is not an obstacle but a lived and understood environment.
After Anoa Oasis, the journey continued north to the Ounianga Lakes. Set deep within the dunes near the Libyan border, this UNESCO-listed chain of salt and freshwater lakes appeared improbably among pale sand, fringed by date palms and salt flats. At night, the lakes mirrored skies of extraordinary clarity, stars reflected so sharply they seemed suspended both above and below us.
From Ounianga, we turned back east, crossing the open sand desert once more to return to Ennedi. It was on this return journey that the landscape revealed itself through moments rather than landmarks.
We explored the Guelta d’Archei – a narrow, palm-lined canyon where permanent pools of water lie hidden between sheer rock walls. This is home to one of the world’s last remaining populations of Saharan crocodiles: a small, relict population surviving in isolated desert pools left behind as the climate dried and vast palaeo-river systems across the Sahara gradually receded.
We stood beneath Aloba Arch, one of the largest natural rock arches in the world, its monumental scale shaped entirely by erosion and time. There is a quiet, almost spiritual presence to this place – created by the immense forces that have shaped the land long before us.
From Ennedi, we returned to N’Djamena by charter plane, taking off the surface of a seasonal dried lake – a final reminder of just how fluid and elemental this landscape remains.
Each stage of the journey revealed Chad not as a country, but as a succession of worlds layered across latitude, climate and deep time.
It became ever more apparent that we weren’t just moving through space, we were moving through history too. What is now desert, from the Guéra Mountains through Ennedi and beyond, was once savannah. In a matter of days, we were tracing a transition that took thousands of years to unfold.
The landscapes became a living archive that suddenly felt much closer to us. Ancient rock art – giraffes, cattle and human figures etched into shelters and caves across Ennedi – brought to life the people who once moved through these places, following water, pasture and seasons. Sitting beneath vast desert skies, looking at the same constellations they once knew, the distance between past and present felt suddenly diminishingly small.
What made this expedition even more special was the complete absence of any sign of tourism. For three weeks, we did not encounter another traveller. There were no permanent lodges, no roads built for visitors, no industry wrapped around the experience. Our camps were temporary; each day unfolded on the land’s terms, unapologetically, without anything interfering with the natural beauty of the places we passed through. Without those layers of interruption, the connection between place and self felt ever more palpable.
This kind of travel is not primarily about comfort or ease; it requires giving up a few everyday conveniences, yet soon one realises that the sacrifices feel smaller than first anticipated. The reward is an adventure that keeps unfolding: the more attention and curiosity you offer, the more it reveals itself.
Travelling through Chad also prompted reflection on tourism more broadly. It offered a glimpse of what travel looks like – when places exist first for themselves, not for visitors. It made me think about how development, especially if unthoughtfully done, gradually stifles a destination’s true voice. Here in Chad, the country’s authentic and original voice rings out clearly.
Taking the road less travelled pays off in countless ways. Moments around the campfire, beneath immense desert skies, sharpen an awareness of time, change and continuity – these are experiences that stay with you over a lifetime.
Image credits: AMADI
In German, there is a word I often come back to when thinking about this journey: Fernweh. A longing not for home, but for elsewhere – for places that feel distant, unfamiliar and transformative. Chad evoked that feeling in its purest form.
As the year draws to a close, this journey felt like a reminder of why travel matters in the first place. Not to collect destinations, but to seek out places that recalibrate how we see the world – and our place within it.
For those willing to step beyond the familiar, the rewards can be profound.