And then there is dinner -- and not a routine meal. There’s something about the way food tastes when you’re out there, you know? The wind is going after your hair, the sun’s over there doing its art thing behind the Atlas Mountains, and now all of a sudden the sky is chucking these fancy pinks and oranges at you. For a moment, you’re just sitting there like, “Is this even real?” It does that whole adrenaline-meets-zen thing. You don’t just look at the desert — somehow, it feels as though your gaze is being sucked into placid surfaces that seem infused with the light of a pagan handful of millennia ago, but also alive in this warren of sculpture gardens and hot mineral pools built by a pair of sculptors before midcentury.