English Essay

Sorry for this guys, but the school wont let me into my email to print out my essay in class, so im posting it on here.

The crimson heat flooded my surroundings and drowned everything in a blistering haze. The sand itched at my feet before dragging itself off towards the shimmering horizon. Everything here seemed to happen in slow motion, the heat made it difficult to focus. Cars meandered at a leisurely pace beaten and broken by time and temperature. People plodded through the sand as if it were a thick golden mud. The day was in no hurry. The only contrast to the local pallet was the occasional palm tree or grass plant sprouting in the patches of shade between the old stone buildings.
I only knew a little of the language, and my attempts never ever sounded as a aggressive. I hate the feeling that I’m being yelled at when I’m only buying breakfast. The whole street sounded like it was in the midst of an intense argument. Even the traffic seemed caught up in the angst. Engines revved furiously, in chorus with the cries of a thousand squeaky horns. The din became overwhelming.
I decided to retreat. I found shelter in the form of a rather battered looking cafe. The glass in the windows was foggy, effectively sandblasted. The door frame seemed to resent the hideous beige that had attempted to smother it, and appeared to be successfully resisting as more and more paint flaked and fluttered to the floor leaving patches of bare wood showing. Sand was gathering in the base of the doorway, as if it too were seeking shelter from the harsh outdoors.
The aroma of coffee and thick cigarette smoke, a universally recognised scent, filled my nostrils. I took a seat at a booth by the window and grabbed a dog-eared menu. If I could point at something on the menu and not seem too rude, I could eat. A few moments later I sat back and allowed myself to sink into the awkward yet welcome comfort of the worn chair and began to wonder.
How had I ended up there? Journalism was my passion, I had dreamed of all the exciting and vibrant places it could take me to. This was not what I had in mind at all. Still, everyone had to start somewhere and I was grateful for the opportunity to travel for a while. I was also fairly proud of myself for surviving my first day in Mauritania.
. . .

I had nothing better to do for the next couple of hours, so I remained at my table for a while. The sunlight grew dimmer outside. The traffic thinned, though became no less angry. The people on the streets began to disappear. I had no idea where all these people could go, as there seemed very few buildings around that could be used as housing. Perhaps they all simply dissolved into the sand. They seemed as much a part of this place as the stone blocks and rusty cars.
I left some money on the table with the remainder of my meal and clambered out of the booth. As I left the cafe my skin met with a sudden chill. Without the hot desert sun to keep watch over the streets, darkness and cold had crept in. Dressed for the afternoon weather my breath became shallow and uncertain in my chest. I shivered and hurried back along the road to my hotel. After a while I began to see the lights of my hotel in the distance. It looked so far away as it twinkled at the other side of the vast ocean of cool blue sand that lay ahead of me. I shivered again. I had a lot to get used to in Mauritania.