I Ride A Camel Through The Dunes And Ponder The Shape Of Things

Midnight at the oasis

Sing your camel to bed…

~~ Maria Muldaur Midnight at the Oasis

I did it. We did it. We were shown our camels, and without any instruction at all, we road off into the dunes. Our destination was our Dune Camp. I volunteered to be first to mount the dromedary assigned to me. It knelt. I approached from it’s left side and I swung my right leg up and over, and settled onto the ‘saddle’ of thick wool pads. I felt fine. I was ready to go, as soon as Mariam was on hers. I was ready. And then the command to “get up” was given. He unfolded his legs and stood. I swayed forward and backwards like a bronco rider in a Yuma rodeo. It was shocking to suddenly be what seemed like fourteen feet in the air. I felt for my neck. No cracks or fractures. Soon Mariam was up and on hers. Hassan, the driver grabbed a blue rope and we were off.

[Here are two desert travelers. Photo is mine.]

About thirty minutes into the ninety minute trip, I began to assess how my body was handling this totally unique experience. The first problem area were my inner thighs. This is typically ground zero for my frequent legs cramps. I was pressing my legs against the sides of my animal. I relaxed. My thighs screamed in pain. Not a 10 but a 8.9 on the legs discomfort scale. It wasn’t lethal, yet, so I began to feel more as ease, letting my legs hand free. I was sweet. I was until I got an urgent memo from my prostate.

What on earth are you doing to me? It said.

Just take it easy, it’ll be over soon. I said.

I have a vague idea what the prostate is made of, but after an hour of riding, I’m sure it was the consistency of coarse gravel. We rode on.

I began to relax enough to look out at the giant dune to my right. Smaller ones filled the medium distance. What did they remind me of? What sublime forms were manifested in those piles of sand?

A whale. The undulation of Mount Greylock in western New England inspired Herman Melville. He saw a whale. Was it a swell in the ocean? A roiling cumulus cloud? A reclining nude? A heap of stream-rounded pebbles or large boulders, the sharp edges taken away by the action of water?

[The alluring forms of the dunes. Photo is mine.]

I looked at the breaking clouds. The setting sun on the sand, the hues changing moment by moment. But most of all, I listened to the wind.

On a distant dune, the size of a small mountain, I could hear the sand-surfers and dune buggy riders shouting to each other. How could they prefer to hear their own voices rather than the wind?

Exuberance I can understand, but disrespect for a sacred and legendary place, I don’t really get.

After a dinner of Tangine Chicken, I sat beside a small fire and listened to music from the sub-Saharan tribes. I could feel the drums in my bones.

I will sleep well tonight.