When we pulled up to our destination we were instantly greeted by seven camels spread out with bundles of blankets and other desert necessities. All but one of the camels were prepped for the day’s trek, and we were just in time for a show.

The last, and youngest camel, was still in training, and found the discomfort of the saddle and the piled-on blankets to be disagreeable. He made all of us very aware of his situation by bellowing a series of loud and disapproving groans. It reminded me somewhat of an adolescent talking back to their parents with each audible noise translating to “I don’t wanna.” After about five minutes, the reality set in. The young one was “coming with us whether he liked it or not.” Further complaints would continue to be made known throughout the remainder of the trip from this guy – loudly.

Looking around at the terrain, it was, by definition, a desert. There were cactus, and there were desert trees. Oddly enough, it looked a lot like Tucson. Down to a cactus that looked very similar to a cholla, and a tree that was strikingly similar to a mesquite (including the nasty thorns). After taking in the scene, camels in the foreground and desert spanning miles, we all grabbed our thrones upon the camels.

When I went to mount my camel, I found that he was so tall I had to kick the sky to get on. I basically touched my left foot’s toes with my left hand, while swinging my right foot in a motion that almost hit the nearby camel guide. Feeling a bit sheepish by my maneuver, a motion which my groin had an exceeding distaste for, I repositioned and was centered upon my brown desert beast. Seconds later, the camel rocketed into a standing position. His back legs went forward first and resulted in a quick jerk that almost knocked me forward onto his neck. Then, as his front legs got up, I was sent flying backward in another jerk with as much abruptness as an unexpected incline on a roller coaster. Readjusting my hat, and loosening the death-grip on my saddle, I was ready to go. It took a minute for everybody else to assume their riding positions, and, as scary as it was, I tried hard to hold back my laughter as each person held on with a look of terror as their beasts got up.

[ngfilename filename='P1110188.JPG' float=left w=240 h=180]Moments later, we were trotting along. The desert wind was in my face reminded me of home. Though, as much as it did, I don’t ever recall being able to ride a camel in any of our deserts. Especially not for a meager $14 a day! Our first stop on the trek put us at a mud hut (home rather, it was much bigger than a hut) out in the middle of nowhere. Staring blankly at each other, G and I, and our fellow tourists got off our camels and had a look around. It was more of our guides’ wishes than ours to stop there, but we obliged.

Walking into the front yard of this mud gated home, we got to see firsthand what a desert person does. There was the quintessential half-naked baby in a cradle, and a child, barely walking age, being watched by his mother. Both stared at us as we walked the front yard scrambling for a bit of shade. We eventually found some under their thatched roof porch. After about five minutes of awkward stares, and being ushered to ‘take pictures’ (of what?) we hurried along back to our camels. After a quick couple of jerks, which are much more tolerable when you know they are coming, we were back trotting along.

The novelty lasted for quite some time, but quickly started to wear off as a punishing soreness began to creep in along the inner thighs. Thankfully, we stopped for lunch just before my loins really started to complain. The guides had chosen a spot underneath a very large tree and, after a moment of gathering firewood, began to cook right up next to it. Within a couple of moments we were all served a cup of freshly cooked chai. [ngfilename filename='P1110220.JPG' float=right w=240 h=180] A few minutes later we were given our first plate of food. The dish was an interesting plate of what seemed like malt-o-meal. I’m sure there is a more accurate description for such a thing, probably something with a more desert-sounding name, but we were more interested in how the six of us were going to eat it with two spoons and one plate. After asking for some more spoons (they only gave us two more, but close enough) we started tackling the grit-like substance using the previously chai-filled cups as bowls. It was sweet like the green corn you’d have in a tamale, and it had about the same consistency.

Next up was a dish one of our guides called ‘chips’. Andy, a British fellow, asked “American style chips, or British style chips?” to which I, looking at the plate, proclaimed, “Neither.” It was an interesting sort of fried substance that G now describes as “crunchy.”

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Last up was the typical Rajasthani meal: curry and chapati. The curry had bits of vegetable that I couldn’t recognize, but I think were okra. It also had a slightly bitter taste which evened out the bland chapati for a rather tasty meal. If you were one of the courageous few you would have also agreed to ‘some spicy’ in the form of ‘pickle.’ Pickle, as you might assume being a westerner, is not actually the friendly cucumber-turned-deliciousness we all know and love. Instead, it is a condiment born of the seventh circle hell fires that, I think, is used to put westerners in their place when they request “spicy.” Surely no dish could possibly be enjoyed as it singes lips and mouths for tens of minutes. After agreeing to a small, and I mean small, spoonful of ‘pickle’, I frantically guzzled half my liter of water.

About an hour later, things were packed up, mouth-fires were extinguished, we mounted our camel-steeds, and were on our way to the dunes.

Come see the photos of Day 1 of the camel safari.