Asian Walkabout

Few of Creation’s creatures are more awkward than the camel. The critter’s ill-fitting body parts lend its appearance an aesthetic value similar to that of a kindergartener’s first art project. Its graceful, fluted ears become it, but, looks-wise, it’s all downhill from there. The eyes, cloudy glass marbles half-contained in their sockets, appear permanently glazed. Its feline snout protects a mouth filled with crooked tombstone teeth, and a greenish crest of foam permanently lines the gums below. A prehistoric, woolly neck slopes into a mountainous body held up by spindly legs and calloused joints. The beast’s innards are in constant distress: Its slitted nose pulls forth of thick and labored inhales, belches rumble from the depths of the prehistoric neck, and it constantly farts as though it’s had a long night of drinking Pabst Blue Ribbons.

Lacking the gentle, adorable quality of cows and the horse’s regal grace, the camel is the ultimate utilitarian beast. Its padded humps have comfortably held humans, sundries, building materials, and war provisions since man first figured out how to subdue it using ropes and sticks. In the great Thar desert, the dune-ridden, reddish-brown phenomenon that links Rajasthan with Pakistan, camels are still employed the same way they have been since the dawn of domestication. And we were lucky enough to take them for a ride.

After a Jeep ride into the Thar desert, a landmass with definitive Lawrence of Arabia mystique, we (Seth, myself, and fellow tourist Fernando) saddled up on a trio of ancient camel beasts to take a 3-hour tour of the Thar. Our guides, dressed in traditional desert tunics and turbans, added to the epic feel of the journey. Once astride the camels, we were a good ten feet off the ground. It was all desert beauty and cobra holes as we started meandering along a narrow path leading deeper into the desert.

Then Seth asked what the camels’ names were. I imagined something exotic, like Nagahindi or Desert Queen.

“Robert,” replied our five-foot-tall English-speaking guide, who would later start belting Hindu songs in a girlish voice and crank calling people on Fernando’s cell phone. Robert burped in confirmation. The other two were named Rocket and Number One. Rocket was a “very fast running camel,” while Number One seemed to have no particular claim to fame, besides being good for ladies.

Robert, Seth’s camel, was a neurotic lover of freedom who regularly trotted out of line and tried to take off on his own. His neurosis involved regurgitating his breakfast, chewing it, swallowing it, and regurgitating it again. He steadily munched on his snack of grass and bile throughout the trip, a rabid digestive foam percolating at his lips. Rocket defied his name by being unusually slow. Number One, the ladies’ man, did whatever he was told.

We strolled through rock-strewn scrubland onto sculpted sand dunes boasting delicate, wind-blown patterns. The sky turned to a deep periwinkle as the sun dropped low to the east, over Pakistan, located just a few miles away. We took rest stops to photograph the immaculate dunes and enjoy the sunset ambiance. Other tourist camel groups had already nestled into dune valleys to set up camp and watch the sunset. A Muslim-clad man with a bag of Kingfisher beers appeared from the east just as the sun was getting low, selling his chilly wares for us to toast the sunset with. A band of bored-looking gypsies sat down in front of us and did a music/dance routine. As soon as the sun had disappeared, leaving the sky a hazy purple, we mounted our steeds back to the jeep.

This was just a warm-up for the longer trip we plan on taking from the town of Bikaner, purported to have fewer tourists and dunes just as sweet as those surrounding Jaisalmer. We leave for Bikaner tomorrow at 6am, just in time to catch the tail end of the Bikaner camel festival and explore another fascinating, historic Rajasthan town. We will also meet the highly esteemed Camel Man, King of the Desert, for a multi-day desert ride.