a camel grows in samode
I like to tell people a story.
It's a true one and begins like this:
"One day, in the middle of nowhere, I almost died by camel."
The reactions of those listening is immediate. Death? By camel? What?!
I admit, this opening is a rather dramatic way start to a story. It isn't everyday that one comes across a person who admits to a near death experience via a humped, eight foot tall beast. I'm sure I'd be skeptical too if someone came to me with a similar tale. I'd probably mutter something like "death by camel? Hardly. More like death by lies." (Skepticism is, after all, one of my strong points.)
However, it's all true. In the early summer of 2006, I almost died by camel. Well, wait a second. Let me correct that. I could have died by camel. Perhaps 'almost' is too strong a statement. Whichever word I use, however, the truth remains: I do not get along with dromedaries.
My tale begins in the small and dusty village of Samode. The place itself is a westerner's idealized archetype of what a northern Indian town should be like. Samode is small, sleepy and charmingly rundown. The buildings have a sagging look to them, as if they are people who have had the air repeatedly knocked out of their lungs. The sides of homes are peeling paint (if painted at all). Doors and windows have yet to be installed in the vast majority of houses in town, which allowes for intriguing glimpses into the dark interiors within. Open air tea stalls and shops line the main street, which is haphazardly cobbled over with rough stones. A gutter runs the length of this road, oozing brown sludge and dirty water. Cows, pigs and chickens roam freely, pecking away at the dirt and dust. The cattle are a pitiful sight, looking like emaciated famine victims from those Unicef ads. The bovines have ribs that protude at sharp angles and the saddest and darkest eyes I have ever seen. The pigs fare much better, wobbling around on unsteady legs as they root around for trash.
In short, Samode looked like many of the photographs of small Indian towns I had seen in the past, complete with free roaming animals and men sipping tea on plastic lawn chairs. I loved the place immediatly. It was very National Geographic Goes To India.
The arrival of me, my family, guide and driver in our car attracted much interest in the local villagers. While waiting for the camel guides to show up, I realized that I was an object of fascination. Every man and child on the street passed by the vehicle with seering looks, not at all embarassed to be caught trying to steal a peek into the car. There was nothing bad natured or accusatory about their stares; it was more of an emotionless curiosity, as if I were some side show freak.
After several uncomfortable moments of this, our camel guide finally arrived. He was a well dressed man in crisply ironed clothing and with an immacutely manicured moustache. The guide introduced himself and quickly led us out of the car and over to the 'camel compound.' I say compound, because I'm not sure what else to call the place. The location was simply a small house that two camels were standing beside. It was on the main street, and within view of all those passing by -- which once again prompted freak show-like staring among the locals.
One of the animals was fitted with a cart that was designed to be ridden in. The other animal was decked out in a saddle and a bridle that, instead of going through the mouth, went through the camel's nose. Both of the creatures were garlanded with fake flowers and swaths of fabric. It was a very fetching, royal look.
My parents took over the cart, leaving me stranded with the saddled camel. It's very intimidating standing next to a creature that is taller than an NBA player -- and one who is a lot heavier and more unpredictable at that. The camel I was to ride kept shaking her head irritably, giving me evil looks and stomping her feet. I must have looked nervous about the prospect of getting on her back, because my mom offered me a seat in the wagon. But no! I had pride. I had to conquer my nervousness. It was up on the camel I went.
Which, by the way, was no easy process. Camels are trained to bend down to let a rider onto their back. However, it is no smooth ride once they get back up again. First they lurch one way and then the other, all while the rider is clinging on for dear life, praying to the camel gods that no casualities will result from getting tossed about. Needless to say, camels are not graceful creatures at the best of times, and when trying to go from kneeling to standing, are incredibly awkward.
Once settled and mounted, my parents and I began our trek. Mom and dad had a guide leading their sedate camel along, while I had a guide who led my mount via reins. All I had to do was hold on and try not to fall off.
This was fine at first. I'm an experienced equestrian, and have no fears about being astride a horse, or any other animal for that matter. I was a little unsettled about high up I was, but I was getting used to it pretty quickly. My guide was a sweet middle aged man who spoke almost no English but gave me reassuring smiles every few feet. He spoke very softly to the camel when she shook her head, and spent much of our walk nodding at his fellow villagers who shared the road with us.
This train of people and animals -- parents, guides, myself and two camels --walked down the main street of Samode together. This proved to be quite a sight for the villagers of Samode, because by the time we were on the outskirts of town we had a retinue of children, teenagers and men. All sorts of people ran out of their houses and waved at us as we rode by. Kids waved and tried to sell us chocolates, mothers shyly smiled and men shouted out offers of drinks and food. Yells of "HELLO! HELLO!" rang out as groups of excited teenagers followed us. I'll admit it -- I felt like a rock star. Everyone seemed so pleased to see us, and every face had a smile on. I'm sure part of the appeal was seeing three Americans making an ass of themself, but still. I'd be laughing too if I were them.
Since Samode is so small, we were out of town almost immediatly. We headed on to the highway that circles the village, a busy road that is full of camels, trucks, tractors and beeping buses. I tried to swallow my nerves as buses and cars swept by at frightening speeds. An open backed truck full of male workers pulled alongside me, and the entire load of men gave me thumbs up signs, whistles and that perpetual "HELLLLLLLLLLLLO". They eventually drove off, to my relief -- I was convinced they were freaking out my camel.
The congested highway was not pleasing my mount. She had started off irritated, and now she was doubly so. Every few feet she shook her head, wiggled her rump and made irritated noises. As I put it in my journal, riding around on a camel was like being in an "earthquake," a very jostling and jarring experience.
For much of the ride a storm had been brewing. The sky was heavy with rain clouds, and had an ominous, stern cast to it, all industrial greys and tarnished blacks. It was at a bend in the highway that the rain began pouring down. The wind began to whip my face, along with the raindrops falling into my eyes.
We were alongside a half developed area of tin roofed storefronts and unfinished houses. It wasn't an active part of town, but quite a few people were appearing out of nowhere to gather under the overhanging roofs to catch shelter from the sudden rains.
I'm not sure if it was the rain, the wind or all those people, but my camel began to buck. Wildly. I was flung about like a rag doll, holding onto the camel's neck for dear life. My legs were locked in a death grip around the animal's ribcage, and I kept squeezing my muscles tighter to keep from falling off. I let out a little scream. I knew it was a stupid thing to do, but it was instictual -- when one freaks out, one screams. Seeing my mother's horror stricken face didn't help matters, either.
I had visions of falling off the camel. I could see it all playing out in my head: I slip out of the saddle, bust my head against the pavement, and spill my innards everywhere like a bloody spaghetti dinner. Not a tantalizing prospect. A fall from that high up onto hard ground would be disasterous, especially considering no hospitals or clinics were around to help the injured.
The camel handler was able to calm the camel down finally. I was shaking with nerves as he led me and the camel under one of the overhanging roofs and out of the rain. I laughed a little, but I was still frightened. I wanted off the camel. As in NOW.
The rain had really begun to pour at this point, and my parents (still safely in the camel cart) were led under a tree to wait for a jeep to come pick us up out of the rain. An umbrella was being held over their head and they seemed dry enough.
I, on the other hand, was half under a tin roof and half under a live electrical wire that was dangling close to the top of my head. If my camel decided to buck again I would be fried meat. I was also worried that the animal might crunch my leg against the side wall of the building we were parked next to. She had the weight and irritability to do something like that.
My shirt was soaked through, sticking to my skin. I was still shaking a bit, and I wanted to scream at my camel for being such a miserable companion. I had been looking forward to the ride, and now I was left with a simmering dislike of all things dromedary.
Villagers -- mostly male -- were clustered around me, still trying to get out of the rain. The majority of them were smiling at me and joking with one another in Hindi. What a spectacle I must have been! They were all so nice, though. One teenaged boy offered me a cup of water. I couldn't except it and had to decline politely, but it was a sweet gesture. Someone else asked me "mom? dad?" while pointing to my parents across the road. I was asked where I was from -- "USA?" -- and the lone old lady present gave me a warm smile. People asked me if I was okay, and generally projected a warmth and desire to be helpful.
A jeep finally drove up, and I was able to get off my camel alive and well. We had cut the camel excursion short, but I was fine with that, all things considered.
We ended our afternoon at Samode Palace, which was a magnificent mughal home that is beautifully decorated and used as a hotel. The food was delicious, the staff were polite, and a kind old man gave us an informed and cheerful tour of the grounds. Despite the rain and near death by camel, I ended up leaving Samode with a fondness for the place and a desire to go back. The next time, however, I won't be riding a camel around town.
posted by cityflip at 12:36 PM
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