In this case a camel with no name.
Apparently they don’t give them names, though once Kate rode a camel in the US named Rosalie, which coincidentally is my mother’s name. I’m not sure that “America” (the band) had it right. Can’t see how a horse would have survive.
We barely did for the six or so hours we were plodding from dune to dune with a brief layover at an oasis where a man in a fez showed up with cold Cokes. It was hot and my camel wasn’t nice. Well, I guess I can’t blame him.
The town where we stayed was once a French foreign legion outpost and really this was no joke. We could see Algeria. I kept thinking that if something happened to our guide, Mohammed, we would survive.
Though our camels had very very big flat feet. They look as if they are designed to make a lunar landing, which I think in a sense they are. While I can’t say I like the creature, I have developed a respect for them.
That night we were exhausted. I am still having difficulty crossing my legs.
Leave a Reply