On My Camel (2)

On the third day, the group of ten reunited. Actually they wanted to spend their last day together and I wanted to stay longer. I wasn’t about to trek down for just a short jaunt. Before they left, we were sitting by the beach, and an old Bedouin came up with two camels. I had always wanted to ride on a camel. I had been told that it was rather overrated, but I was undeterred. I arranged to have a short tour after my friends had left that same day, for the sum of 40 Egyptian pounds.

The camel owner’s name was Salem, and he spoke passable Hebrew. The camels were a mother and her calf. We decided on an itinerary of a ride up into the mountains to make a campfire and tea. First we needed provisions.

I mounted. Salem led the camels up ahead. They were very good-natured. We headed over the beach several meters, with all the tourists looking on. Admittedly, I felt a bit silly. We went up to the road to a store and left the camels standing just outside.

We bought a few supplies. Upon leaving the store, the camels were gone from the place we left them. You know that feeling you get when you realize your car has been towed due to illegal parking? My heart sank. Actually, the camels had just walked a few meters over to eat some scrub. I generally take my car to the station for filling, but the advantages of self-filling transport became immediately apparent. On I got, and off we went.

From atop, I further beheld the striking contrast of the brown desert mountains on one side and the deep blue sea on the other. We went through the residential quarter of Tarabin, with its block apartments baking in the springtime sun. We progressed towards the mountains, onto the main road. All of this was a question of a few hundred meters, but at a walking pace, it seemed like an odyssey. Now we were out of site of the tourists, alone in the desert, and I assumed my regal role of the neo-Colonial Baroness, master of all she surveys.

Higher we went, up to the base of the mountains, and in just enough that we could get a view from above of all of Tarabin and neighboring Nuweiba. The visibility was excellent and we could see both towns, the sea, and even the texture of the mountains on the Saudi side across the straits. Salem found a discarded can and began to gather twigs for a small fire. I dismounted and began to snap pictures furiously, keen to capture as much of this beauty as possible for subsequent sighs. Of course it is never quite the same as being there yourself. This is the magic of travel.

Salem and I climbed up onto a desalination tank to get an even higher view. It was the ultimate panorama. After some time, we climbed down, and Salem tended to the campfire. I began to wonder how he was going to make tea. Then it occurred to me that he intended to use the discarded can. Indeed, he started to clean it out with bottled water heated on the fire. My stomach felt conflicted. On the one hand, I wanted to be polite. On the other, I remembered paratyphoid in Indonesia. To its credit, the can was lined inside with a thin coat of white plastic, so there was no rust to ingest. And the water was both bottled and boiled. I figured that I’d taste the tea gingerly and only then assess and resulting rumbling in the lower stomach. When you have had as many tropical diseases and stomach ailments as I have, you become quite adept and ascertaining damage just from tummy rumbling. You also learn to discern different types of diarrhoea. Yes, it is true! You have the kind that thunders its way out in mostly liquid form, save for the odd lump, but without any major abdominal pains. It may occur several times, but you are confident that it is of the passing variety, and plenty of water and some light food will do the trick. Then of course, you have the more insidious varieties that are accompanied by pain that I shall refrain from relating, which continues over several days. This is the kind that requires medication. When attended by vomiting, this is the kind that requires hospitalization. I have managed to survive my journeys by being poisoned only once a day. Twice is like playing with fire.

When the tea was ready, I tasted it and waited a few moments. No rumbling. Fit for the neo-Colonial Baroness. I drank it up. It wasn’t bad at all. Certainly the view made up for any culinary shortcomings.

After some time, we went back, and I took a few more pictures from the returning perspective. As we entered Tarabin, I became more self-conscious. Finally, we reached my guesthouse and I descended. I paid and thanked Salem. And then something truly interesting happened. He invited me to his home for a meal the next day. I asked him if I should pay. He said 30 pounds for the camels would be enough. That was less than today’s trip for a much further distance. It was an authentic invitation. I was touched. I gratefully accepted and we arranged to meet at 11:00 the following morning.