Riding the camel train
Riding a camel through the parched Sahara dunes is like riding a mechanical bull that has a banana seat, though a bull that moves in slow motion. Your one-humped ride plods up and down soft dunes of rusty orange sand, surefooted on camel toe. With one hand, you hold tight to a metal handlebar; with the other, you grip your camera, trying to capture the photogenic shadows and silhouettes of the camel train.
After forty-five pelvis- and coccyx-busting minutes, Todd and I dismount our dromedaries at the Berber desert camp where we’ll spend the night with several dozen others in our caravan.
We all lay out on a large square of layered carpets, surrounded by tents. Looking up, we watch planets and stars punch through the black sky. Todd and I listen in as a Spanish couple asks our Berber hosts about desert wildlife.
Our Spanish is good enough that we understand that there are scorpions, but not to worry.
I’m lovin’ it. Great posts, and wonderful art. Hope you come through Kathmandu while I’m there!
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