One of my favorite memories from the month I spent in India, back in 2007, was going on a four day camel safari in the desert near Jaisalmer, Rajasthan. It took me 24 hours by train to get to the remote town situated about 50 kilometers from the Pakistani boarder. Often referred to as “The Golden City”, Jaisalmer sits on a ridge of yellowish sandstone topped by a stunning, intricately carved, sandstone fort.
At the beginning of our trek I was handed a large, stinking, stubborn male camel called Cecila who quickly showed me who was in charge and it was not me. I remember being accompanied by four Brits and we would attempt to race our willful animals only to have them start wildly sprinting off in random directions whenever we tried to get them to compete. Our guides would laugh and yell to us as we cantered off the wrong way with terrified looks on our faces and a trail of dropped supplies left behind us like breadcrumbs.
We cooked chapatis on an open flame, scampered away from the ever present dung beetles, slept under a sky cluttered with shooting stars and woke each morning blanketed by the blowing sand. The colors in India were always impressive but the technicolor saris and florescent turbans seemed even more shocking against the muted tones of this landscape. We wandered the deserts playing nomads walking for hours without ever seeing another person, then like a mirage, a tiny hut would appear and a smiling, brightly clad person would be there to greet us.
