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April/May 2008 Newsletter
Howdy folks and welcome to another month (or two!) gone by with the Texas Camel Corps.
This update will include both April and May, 2008. Highlights include a wedding in Egypt, a bus crash in Sinai, meeting Jefferson Davis’ great, great-grandson and Kenya’s Camel Library. Read on, por favor, and get comfortable.
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On April 3rd, when we last left our heroes, camels Richard, Gobi and Ibrahim went to visit students at Ft. Worth, Texas’ Leonard 6th Grade Center as a part of a fundraiser for the Camel Library Service in Kenya. My 8-year old son, Pecos, also was along for the trip. He didn’t seem to mind skipping school one bit.
Kenya, in East Africa, has a unique book delivery service for children in remote areas: camels. Many schools, libraries and bookstores in the U.S. have begun book-drives and fundraisers for this worthwhile event and the Texas Camel Corps was asked to be a part of Leonard’s contribution to the cause.
In addition to the camels’ appearance and my presentation on man’s use of camels, Masha Hamilton, author of the novel “The Camel Bookmobile” spoke to the students, giving them a first-hand account of what life is like in the Kenyan bush. The school had some goals for their book-drive, which they far-exceeded and the school principal got to ride a camel. Or was it KISS a camel? I can’t recall for sure, but I think she did both.
Big fun at Leonard 6th Grade Center and definitely a worthy cause. Thanks go to librarian Karen Hale for the initial contact and for all her motivation and hard work. For more info on the Camel Library, visit: www.knls.or.ke/camel.htm
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Driving from Ft. Worth to the Big Bend area of Texas (exact opposite ends of the state- who comes up with this routing?!!!), Pecos and I, along with camels Gobi, Richard and Ibrahim met up with Ted and Janet W., of Washington state for a 3-day, bird-watching camel trek.
Early the next morning, before Ted and Janet had arrived, I’d taken some hay and a few other bulky items to an area near a spring where I like to camp. I thought the camels might appreciate not having to haul everything. By 10 a.m. Ted and Janet dutifully took the lead ropes of their camels and off we went, Pecos opening and shutting gates and I extolling the virtues of camel-pack trekking, the flora and fauna of the Chihuahuan Desert and the history/prehistory of this most magnificent part of Texas.
The first stop was a beautiful waterfall for lunch, an arduous, uphill hike from our starting point. OK, waterfall might be stretching it a bit. When there’s water, it does in fact fall, but this time there was no water. Still, the canyon that “feeds” the waterfall is a splendid hike and offered a small bit of shade. The wasps also liked the shade and one was determined to bite Janet squarely on the rear. Though I’d only known Ted and Janet a short time, as their guide I felt obligated to keep Janet’s rear (and all other body parts) safe and I swatted at the wasp, mid-flight, with my hat. Expecting to hit the critter (the wasp, not Janet), but missing, I was taken off guard and my hat flew from my hand, was caught on the breeze and gracefully floated over the 80-foot drop of the “falls” where we were so precariously perched.
Appreciative of my concern for Janet’s well being, but apparently more concerned for my fair complexion, Ted insisted that I hike up, over, around and ultimately down to find my sombrero. Coincidentally, this is the same place where my guests Dan and Christina were posing for a picture almost two years ago when a gust of wind blew her cap from her head. While I did find my hat, I didn’t find Christina’s.
Making our way to camp later that afternoon, Pecos and I began to prepare dinner: cactus stew. Much enjoyment was had around the fire that evening listening to and watching birds and bats and we all drifted off to sleep.
The next day we took the camels, loaded only with lunch and water, toward the southwest corner of the ranch. Ted said he’d had a handful of “firsts”- new sightings of birds- and Pecos and I handled the camels pretty much from here on out so our two guests could more easily access their field guides and binoculars. We meandered along Cibolo Creek, filled with huge cottonwood trees, a few puddles of water here and there and the camels were allowed to drink. Ted got a small bath (or at least his feet did), as Ibrahim pulled him across the creek at one point!
Back at camp that evening, I had something very camel-trek appropriate planned for dinner: shish-kabob, couscous and falafel. Janet declared the meal “gourmet”. Thank you very much, Janet! Apparently some raccoons also liked our provisions. Though I’d hoisted all our groceries in a bag up in the air, suspended from a branch, the masked bandits still made off with our bread and chips. The next day’s sandwiches would be on tortillas.
On our final day together, we headed north, up the creek to keep near trees and the water. Prime bird habitat. Pecos took great delight in learning about the birds of the area from Ted and Janet and even got adept at identifying the Vermilion Flycatcher (pyrocephalus rubinus), his new favorite bird.
The camels were loaded with everything; I didn’t want to have to drive back and pick up anything from camp. Now, I’ve always taken great pride in being able to pack odd-shaped items on my camels, but the ice chest on top of Gobi must have made our odd caravan look like a cross between the junkman and a bunch of smugglers. Add this to the harp and two live chickens packed on previous treks and I’m starting to feel pretty proud of myself. If only I could’ve gotten Pecos to ride on top of the cooler…
Big thanks to Ted and Janet for such a great time and to my little buddy Pecos. This was his first 3-day trek and we had a great time together.
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April 18-20, I took Gobi and Richard to Harlingen, near the southern tip of Texas for that city’s annual event RioFest. A festival devoted to art, music and, I guess for my part, history, RioFest provided a perfect place to share stories of the historic U.S. Army Camel Corps of the 19th century. Harlingen being largely Hispanic, I presented portions of the programs in Spanish.
Though at times it was hard to compete with the cacophony of carnival sounds (having a microphone and P.A. system sure helped), I do believe some folks might have actually learned something. I sometimes joke that I usually don’t like to book my education programs into events that sell funnel cakes. This was one time I made an exception and I enjoyed the funnel cake, thanks Latif and Shana!
Over the three days I really enjoyed meeting some very colorful locals: Latif, from Morocco, who’d married Shana, a good South Texas gal (what great meals THEY must have!); a gentleman from Northern California who’d recently moved to the Gulf coast for the fishing; a preacher from Tennessee who builds small churches across the border in nearby Mexico. The list goes on. OK, you got me. I use the camels as a means to meet interesting people! It works.
Thanks to Kathy Preddy and all the folks at RioFest as well as the family of Lynn Johnson for the “camel motel”.
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I returned to the farm from Harlingen around four o’clock on Monday morning, April 21. At four that afternoon I would fly to Egypt.
In January, Vance and Irma D., of nearby Waco, Texas, were part of our group in Egypt/Sinai and Vance was so taken by his time with my “family” that he decided to go back, this time with two of his adult daughters, Jennifer, 25 and Stephanie, 23. Also along was Lore B., of Houston, Texas, a long time newsletter recipient/camel lover and Diane F., a Texan, currently residing in Cairo, who teaches at an American private school in Egypt. I can’t thank these folks enough for making the trip possible.
The big-ticket event on this trip was the wedding of the oldest son of the family with whom we stay in Cairo. The two-day hoopla starts with the signing of a marriage contract by the two fathers. Held at a mosque, with a government representative recording the proceedings this is fairly low-key, with only men attending. There would be a procession of vehicles from our house and I was thrown a set of car keys and told to drive to the mosque.
I’ve driven in Sinai twice before (and only got stuck in the sand once!), but driving in Cairo is nothing that’d ever crossed my mind. Regardless, the keys were airborne and I, instinctively catching them in my hand, had unwittingly accepted the challenge. In case I got separated from the larger motorcade 13-year old Magdy, youngest brother to the groom, was put in the vehicle with my group.
Cairenes, nineteen million of ‘em, all live in an area big enough for maybe a quarter of that. On the streets are white markings delineating traffic lanes. Some of the larger roads may have as many as six or even eight lanes. These are meaningless. If a bus, truck, car, motorcycle, bicycle, camel, donkey, donkey cart, horse, horse cart, water buffalo or flock of sheep can fit in a nook or cranny among the packed conditions they will.
I shucked, I jived, I even overtook a few vehicles jostling for my spot among the emission-challenged masses. I may have even uttered a line or two of klak-sat, the rhythmic, horn-based traffic language that can mimic spoken phrases ranging from “I love you” to something that derides another motorist’s maternal heritage. I passed a traffic cop and tried to look as Egyptian as possible. I was familiar with some of the streets we took to the mosque, but the difference between being a passenger in Cairo and driving in Cairo is as great as the Pyramids of Giza (which we passed coming and going). At one point we had to cross oncoming traffic (zah-ma in Arabic), then drive against said zahma for thirty or forty yards to get to an alley that would take us more directly (?) to the mosque. My Peugeot prowess garnered thumbs-ups and applause from the other drivers when we finally parked outside the mosque. I had conquered Cairo!
While the men folk were in the mosque, the gals had been swept away to the bride’s soon-to-be former house, nearby. Group member Lore B. picks up the tale:
After being greeted by everyone, a young girl took us into the entry of the house and pointed out stacks of boxes there and in two other rooms. We didn't quite know what to make of this. We just smiled and nodded - completely clueless. We found out later that day, we were looking at Wella's dowry/wedding gifts for setting up her household!
Meanwhile back on the street, the celebration was on. At least 100 women were there. There were elderly grandmothers, fashionable twenty-somethings, adventurous teens, new moms, and the women in charge. Everyone was singing and dancing. One lady was drumming- and I mean gettin’ with it- on a large square plastic pail. It looked like the kind 30 pounds of cat litter comes in. She would shout out a verse and the crowd would call it back Think of a big, boisterous, cracklin’ happy pep rally- without the taint of wanting the other team to lose. One song had a refrain like "humdallah, humdallah, humdallah wheeeeeeeeeee". I didn't have a clue what they were singing, but didn't care and joined in. (Now I know the refrain might have been a blessing or a call for a blessing from God.)
My eyes nearly popped out when somebody let out a whoop, not just any whoop but an ululation. That seemed to be a cue for some of the ladies to teach Jenn, Steph, and me how to warble too. We were P I T I F U L!!!! We'd sheepishly laugh and try again and that would start another round of laughter and whoops.
The drummer overheard me showing Stephanie and Jennifer the call/responses we used to do back in Georgia. The drummer knew exactly what I was doing and motioned me to shout-out the call for the group. What a hoot! They tried and did a lot better job of it than I did ululating! We all ended up laughing again. We were all glad when the drummer took charge of the singing again.
I can't imagine being made so utterly welcome at a stranger’s wedding celebration here in the US. Shoot, I've never felt so welcome or included at any wedding before.
Thanks Lore!
That evening, back at the house, there was a “small” party with dancing and a meal. And gunshots. This soiree’ of perhaps two hundred people finally ended about midnight. The next night, over a thousand revelers wouldn’t get to bed until after two a.m.
Egyptian weddings are an assault on the eyes and ears. Everyone dances, everyone, with no exceptions. Money is given to the couple and periodically the amount given and the donors’ names are announced. No, they’re not announced, they’re blared. “Muhammad Mahmoud gives 3,200 Pounds! Ahmed Nabil gives 1,500 Pounds! Mr. Douglas, Mr. Hogan and Mr. Van (Vance’s name corrupted into Arabic) give 5,000 Pounds!” All this, shouted through tinny speakers with the treble turned all the way up and the bass turned all the way down.
The couple, Say-ed and Wel-la’, had arrived to the outdoor fete, sitting side by side, atop a camel in a traditional sha-bri-ya, or tented canopy. At one point or another each of our group was pulled onto the stage, dancing to the band made up of one keyboard player and about a dozen drummers. The men tend to dance with a ma-traq (a riding stick used with camels and donkeys) in their hands and this is clearly something young boys become proficient at from an early age. Young ‘uns and youthful gentlemen particularly enjoyed placing the ma-traq in Vance’s or my hands and “challenging” us through dance. One feat is to place the stick between the two dancers’ bellies, parallel to the ground, keeping just enough pressure to prevent the stick from falling. I could’ve said no plenty of times, but when in Cairo…The women danced and ululated (za-ghroo-ta in Arabic)- that most familiar of feminine Arab sounds of jubilation- basically a high pitched wail, not unlike Indians on the warpath.
Weddings are the same all over the world and, after two days of activities, we let the family sleep and we headed out for some sightseeing. We visited multiple mosques and museums over the next couple of days. The Egyptian Museum, Pyramids of Giza and Saqqara, the mosques of Sultan Hassan and Ibn Tulun and the Gayer-Anderson Museum all served to give our group a good grounding in Egyptian history from Pharaonic to Medieval Islamic times. Later, after our return from a week in Sinai, we’d cover Coptic (Christian) Cairo, Jewish Cairo (the Ben Ezra synagogue), the Citadel (home of Egyptian government for 600 years), Khan el Khalili market and Dervish dancing. I can’t possibly move on, though, without mentioning the Dervishes. This free performance in a beautiful setting (the wikala of Al Ghouri, an old caravan stop) will be added to all future trips. Words cannot describe what our group saw that night. Lore was brought to tears and I found myself utterly blown away.
The middle portion of our trip was spent in Sinai, the land bridge between Africa and Asia and home to my Bedouin “family”. Getting there, though, was quite a chore.
The private transfer company I’d hired to drive us from Cairo to Sinai sent a driver who’d not slept much the night before and, as we approached one curve, was dozing. I shouted his name; Ahmed (the representative from the company in the front passenger seat) grabbed the wheel and we avoided flying off the eastbound, elevated roadway. Skidding, we then made a 270-degree spin at highway speed, finally coming to a halt perpendicular to the road, just off the opposite shoulder.
“Il-hum-du-lil-lah” (“Thanks be to God” in Arabic) was all E-mad, the driver, could say as we immediately determined that no one was injured. He said it repeatedly. I assured him that we were all ok and after a few minutes some Bedouin drove by and helped to extricate the van so we could change a blown tire. The Bedouin were happy to help and even happier when their request to have their pictures taken with Jennifer and Stephanie was granted by Vance, the girls’ father.
Vance (a lawyer, no less!), also had everyone pose in various “crash positions” laid out on the highway with the van in the background. Ah, priceless vacation memories.
Yes, il-hum-du-lil-lah, no one was hurt. I have sent the owner of the company (which I have used many times) a letter and you can bet that all future drivers I arrange will be closely monitored. Unfortunately, less than a week later another company’s tour bus carrying nearly fifty people overturned in Sinai and nine people were killed.
Deep breath……….Read on.
We overnighted in Taba, on the Red Sea, just below the northern point on the Gulf of Aqaba where Egypt, Israel and Jordan all meet. But a few miles directly across the Gulf are the western mountains of Saudi Arabia. A ferry would take us the next morning to Aqaba, Jordan, less than an hour away. Aqaba is famous for Lawrence’s raid on the Turkish stronghold in the early days of the Arab Revolt during World War I. Our day’s destination, north of Aqaba, was the Nabataean city of Petra.
After a two-hour bus ride, we arrived at the Visitor Center outside of Petra. The ancient city, once home to as many as 40,000 people, was reached through a narrow canyon called the Siq, which contained ingenuously carved aqueducts along its sides for delivering water to the city from the many springs above. Completely carved out of the surrounding rock, Petra has recently been named to the new list of Seven Wonders of the World and is much deserving of this accolade.
We spent about three hours with a guide in Petra, visiting the iconic “Treasury”, Roman amphitheatre and hiking around before heading back on the bus for Aqaba, stopping for a late lunch along the way. Having guided in Egypt for five years now, this was my first trip to Jordan and I have to say that their infrastructure for tourism is second to none. Though I only spent a short time in country, I was beyond impressed. The day trip to Petra will also be a new “must-see” on all future trips. We took the ferry back to Taba (on the Egyptian side of the Gulf) and bussed south to the town of Nuweiba for the night.
The next morning two of the group elected to sleep in (Mummy’s revenge having struck some tummies), others went snorkeling in the coral-rich waters. I, however, had a prior commitment to deliver a laptop computer.
Saleh, the patriarch of my Bedouin family, has seven children, ranging in age from 3 to 24. They speak only a few words of English and lack confidence. I had the idea to bring a used laptop, loaded with English language software, to help them. Rosetta Stone is the best language program I’ve ever seen (it’s the one I’ve used to improve my Arabic) and I have to say thanks to Jim Hale of the American Camel Company (www.americancamelcompany.com) for his donation of the RS English program. I know Saleh and his family will greatly benefit from this.
I’ve long felt that Saleh and his kids would be better poised to work with tourists (about the only employment option in Sinai for the Bedu) if their English was better. It’s something about which I’ve thought long and hard, though. “Dropping the Coke bottle”, so to speak (referencing the movie “The Gods Must Be Crazy”), isn’t always best. In other words, giving the Bedouin a high-tech gift, though well intentioned, might not necessarily benefit them.
In the past, I’ve given various gifts, never to see them used. I truly believe this culture has everything they need and some of the superfluous items they receive as gifts simply get sold for what they really need: money. The items wouldn’t be sold for a “profit”; the money made from such transactions goes to buy food and necessary items. Sensing this, I’ve not been bringing much in the way of presents other than clothing for some time now.
The computer, however, I felt was justified. Steve Leuschner, an old friend from college, donated the laptop. Steve’s the CEO and President of Cardinal Tracking, Inc. and his generous donation will not only allow Saleh’s family (and neighbors, perhaps) to learn English, but also make it possible for them to look at pictures on CDs. In the past I’ve put together photo albums, but now plan to put all the images from each trip on CD for them.
Also, big thanks to Marilyn T., of Alvord, Texas for her desire to donate to this cause. Marilyn was featured in the January 2008 newsletter and is owner of Humphrey the “harrumphing” camel. When Marilyn found out about my plan, she immediately gave $100 toward the purchase of the laptop. Though ultimately the laptop was donated, and I returned her contribution, I wanted to publicly thank Marilyn for her thoughtful gesture.
After the snorkelers, the slumberers and I all came back together, it was time to head out to the desert and meet the camels.
A friend drove us in his jeep from the idyllic Red Sea coast to the desert village of Wadi Sam-ghi, a small collection of Bedouin homes, fashioned together from corrugated tin, feed sacks, shipping pallets and what have you. I always visit this place when I’m in Sinai because my dear friend Hajja Mi-ley-ha lives here. Hajja Mileyha is the grandmother to a good portion of the many children here and once made some high-octane chicken soup for me when I had a cold. The thought of driving past Wadi Samghi without seeing her is impossible.
Any meeting with Bedouin is begun with the invitation to sit and drink tea. Our tea circle quickly grew. The many children crowded around extending their hands for sal-a-maat, or greetings, shouting “dig-lis” (the closest transliterated approximation I can find for my full, given name, Douglas) which seems easier for the Bedouin to pronounce than just “Doug”.
Eager to perform old tricks I’d shown them in the years since I first began visiting here, the kids soon dispersed at the urgings of some of the older boys. Some of the Bedouin women then moved into Mileyha’s “courtyard” to offer their greetings. Many of these women will say hello, then ask if I remember their names. While I do remember some of the names, I always tell them it’d be a lot easier to remember which faces the names belong to if they’d take the darn “ta-ra-ha” (scarf) off! This is always met with laughter and (I think) smiles, from beneath their veils. After a good half-hour of tea, conversation and perusing the trinkets the women and children offer for sale, our group began making its exodus.
Some of the group mounted up on the camels, others were still suffering in their nether-regions and elected to ride in Saleh’s truck. I, as always in the early stages of a trek, hoofed it so I could get plenty of pictures of the guests on camelback. By late afternoon we made it to the “beyt-shaar” (goat hair tent) of my friends Salem and Emira, in an area called Wadi Ar-way-bay-ya.
The camel trek I guide while in Sinai follows more or less the same course every time, taking us not so much from interesting site to interesting site, though by proxy that does happen. Rather, we travel from interesting person to interesting person. Just like Hajja Mileyha at Wadi Samghi, folks like Salem and Emira and their kids have become like family to me. I, in turn, believe I’ve become like family to them. An example: whenever I arrive at Salem and Emira’s, Emira walks over to me, drops her veil, offers the usual alternating kisses to the cheek, but doesn’t stop at the requisite three. She always goes for FIVE: the first two on either cheek, the next pair inching nearer to the center, then WHAMMO! N,umero cinco tends to land almost square on the “hash-m”. Translate that one on your own.
Some of the best times I’ve ever spent in Sinai have been with Salem and his family. Salem never fails to ask about my camels, about my camel business in America and he never gets tired of my incessant questions about his beautiful life.
After a dinner of rice and boiled lamb, this, our first night in the desert, found our group scattered about for sleeping. Vance, quite the snorer, chose a spot a bit outside of the tent. Jennifer and Stephanie elected for the open skies too, leaving me, Lore, Diane and some of the Bedouin under the tent. Lore and Diane, the Bible says, “Make a beautiful noise”. You did.
The next day’s ride took us through sand, rock and ultimately to the oasis of Ain Khud-ra where we stayed with the widow Ra-thia. Rathia’s got one of the nicer palm-thatched huts in the oasis, complete with cushions and pillows, and she always looks after our groups like a protective auntie.
With some of the group still a bit queasy, Rathia offered some of the herbal remedies for tummy troubles that Bedouin have used for centuries. Brewing tea with mar-ma-ri-ya leaves (a type of sage) and downing a bit of crushed baeth-ran bush (no English translation) chased by water did the trick for Diane. Unfortunately, by then I’d handed out all my Immodium and had to resort to grinding up a pecan-sized piece of charcoal and mixing it with water for my own problems. For the record, it works.
Also at Ain Khudra lives Sob-ha, another widow whom I really hold dear. Sobha’s place is a simple stone structure that she uses primarily for storage, while she sleeps outside under a beyt-shaar on the rocky escarpment that surrounds the oasis. I love listening to Sobha play the shem-beh-beh, a Bedouin flute, and the Bedouin men in our group always sing along with her haunting, ancient melodies.
On this trip, Sobha asked me why I always have my groups stay at Rathia’s and not with her. Not wanting to hurt her feelings by stating the obvious, that Rathia’s place is more comfortable, and knowing the question concerned the economic rewards reaped by Rathia, I countered that Rathia gets my “sleeping money” and Sobha gets my “entertainment money”! I do try and steer folks over to Sobha to purchase trinkets and she occasionally has some handmade things for sale, too. Regardless of how she makes out with her “bazaar”, as she calls it, I always leave Sobha a little extra money and tell her it’s a gift for her donkey Mus-ki. In the past I’ve brought Sobha shoes, tools for trimming her sheep, goat and donkey’s feet and other gifts. I think I used the Arabic equivalent of “trying to spread the love”!
The next day’s ride would be our longest and would mark the first time in the four-day/three-night trek that all members of the group would be riding the camels. Our destination for the evening: an area called Bur-gaa.
After an uneventful day of riding we arrived at our camping site- a soft, sandy spot next to an impressive sandstone mountain. After dinner, Vance began pulling us all in on a joke he wanted to play on his girls: “snipe” hunting in Sinai. This American rite of passage is usually pulled on young kids on their first camping trip and is a great way to get children scared to death before they go to bed.
Speaking in Arabic, which none of my guests understood, I immediately enlisted the Bedouin in the ruse. We determined that the Arabic word for snipe was “wa-br”, a real word for a local animal known as a rock hyrax. The “wabr” for our purposes, however, the Bedouin described in a mix of English, Arabic and pantomime and was as long as your arm, its bite requiring a Bedouin woman to spit on the affected area four times for the swelling and discoloration to subside. Oh the charade Saleh and brother Rathie performed that night around the fire! 25-year old Jennifer was scared to death and everyone was in on it. Lore told about growing up in Georgia, hunting the Southern species, regionally known as “catty-wobber”. I surmised this etymological similarity would add credence to the story and soon 13-year old Au-da, son of Rathie, was rolling around laughing so hard, he had to walk away. Finally, though, we let the girls in on the truth, but not before Saleh and Rathie had shared with us the sound that wabrs make: “rrrrrrrrruuuuuooouuuuggggghhhhhhh”, or something like that.
Our final night with the Bedouin is always a sad one for me and, perhaps, for the group. By this time, my guests have really bonded with one or another of the Bedouin and this connection is truly what I get paid for. Nothing makes me happier than to see the relationships that grow between host and guest. For some it’ll be crazy, one-eyed Rathie who’s their favorite. For others it may be one of the young boys, out on the trek learning his father’s trade so that he, too, can one day be working, guiding safaris.
The next morning, we all piled into the truck that accompanies us and took the short drive to Ha-du-da, the largest area of dunes in the South Sinai. I never see the Bedouin more playful than when we’re in this area. They may stomp on the knife-edge ridge atop dunes, making the sand cascade in graceful, rippling patterns like water pouring down a slope or they’ll fall to their hands and knees, crawling, gasping, “Water…water…” as they’ve no doubt seen scores of tourists do in the past.
Saleh challenged Jennifer and Stephanie to what can only be described as pseudo-acrobatic sand wrestling, then proceeded to body slam Lore, clearly unaware she’d been brought up with older brothers. Lore responded by grabbing on to Saleh and the two of them went rolling like a human ball down the dune, more one body than two. Laughter needs no translation and I can still hear it in my head. Lore, thanks for that outrageous memory!
Once back at camp with the group ready to mount up, I hopped in the truck with Saleh and Rathie. I do this on each trip to allow myself some time alone with my “brothers” and for the group to have some quality time with the other Bedouin. By the last day, language was not much of an issue and I find that most folks want this last day for more pensive thought. Along the way, I helped Rathie and Saleh gather firewood and helped dig out the truck that had gotten stuck twice in the sand. I wouldn’t trade that time for anything. The group rode, stopped to potty, rode, then rode some more before meeting us for lunch.
After lunch, it was just a short ride to the paved road where we’d meet our transfer vehicle (a different one, with a different driver!) and say our painful goodbyes to the Bedouin. I’ve always said that the reason I do these treks is to repay the hospitality and generosity Saleh first showed me so many years ago on my first trip to Sinai, long before I was bringing guests with me. Each time I leave I make sure and give well above what the trek costs and this time I knew it’d be particularly appreciated. Saleh’s 8-year old daughter, Yas-meen would soon be going to Suez City to visit an eye doctor for glasses to correct a vision problem. Something so simple, that most of us take for granted- a trip to the eye doctor. If I could take her myself I would.
I’ve already gotten a couple of verbal commitments from people for January, 2009’s Egypt/Sinai trip and only need four folks to make it a go. By October we need to be firming up the list, so do please get in touch if you’re interested. Adding the Dervishes and the day trip to Petra will make an already unforgettable trip even better and I look forward to sharing my “family” with you.
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While I was still in Egypt, my wife Trish and our three kids took three camels and a donkey to Whitney, Texas. I’ll let Trish pick up the story here:
Saturday, May 3rd, the Texas Camel Corps went to Summer Fun Day at Thousand Trails Resort in Whitney, Texas. The TCC came in full force with every staff member except Doug. Yes, it was I, the unseen wife along with all our human children Vanessa, Delany, and Pecos accompanied by our animal children Gobi, Richard, Ibrahim, and Hamar (the donkey). While the younger staff of the TCC enjoyed the festivities like swimming, I had a great time meeting some wonderful people and hearing interesting stories. I totally understand the great pleasure Doug has in doing these jobs. Special thanks to Carla Wilson for bringing the TCC youngsters breakfast burritos and lunch.
Well done, Trish. You know, in the Old Testament Abraham sent his son to Mesopotamia to find a wife. The son, confused, asked, “Father, how will I know her?” Abraham replied, “The first woman who offers to water your camels you should take as your wife.” Trish, you do more than water my camels.
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Only a day and a half after I’d returned from Egypt, I loaded up camels Richard and Ibrahim and Hamar, the amazing wonder donkey for two days of education programs in Houston, Texas.
Over the two days, May 7 and 8, we visited the William S. Malev School for Religious Studies and the Schlenker School, two private Jewish schools that worked together to bring the critters and me to their campuses. The schools were holding events in honor of the 60th anniversary of the creation of the modern state of Israel and I was asked to present programs on life in the desert during Old Testament times. I’ve always believed Bedouin have essentially inherited the lifestyle of the Israelites, so this was an easy and fun time for me.
About the only “souvenir” I’d bought on the recent Egypt/Sinai trip was my very own, gently-used beyt-shaar (goat hair tent) and I set it up for the education programs, complete with adornments like a pigeon cage made of split palm branches, multiple Bedouin rugs and even a classic, Bedouin coffee pot. I like audience participation, so some of the students in each group sat in the tent, while others were quizzed at the end of programs for the chance to ride one of the camels.
Without so much as a nanosecond to recover from any jetlag, the prior three weeks’ work schedule flooded over me: Presenting Texas History programs in Harlingen in Spanish; two weeks in Egypt speaking Arabic; now I was at two Jewish schools trying to make sure and not reference Jesus, the Christ! It’s a wonder I didn’t blurt out, “Jesus (that’s “Hay-soos”) rode a camel, bringing salvation to Tejanos in the 1850’s making way for the spread of Manifest Destiny…”
Big thanks to Devora and Nancy for inviting the camels, Hamar and me to the big city.
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From Houston I came back to the farm, unloaded animals, slept a bit, then drove to Ft. Worth, Texas (isn’t that where this newsletter started in April with a school program?!) for the annual Texas Forts Muster on May 9/10.
The Muster is a unique opportunity for all frontier forts in Texas to gather at the historic Ft. Worth Stockyards, downtown, and share their collective history with the public through informal presentations over the weekend and this year’s event was extra special. 2008 marks the 200th anniversary of the birth of Jefferson Davis, statesman, farmer and, of course, president of the Confederate States of America. Davis’ great, great-grandson, Bert Hayes-Davis, was on hand and had arranged for my camels to be part of the celebration.
Jefferson Davis, before the U.S. Civil War, was Secretary of War, a position now known as Secretary of Defense and it was under Davis’ tenure that $30,000 was appropriated for the purchase of the historic U.S. Army camels. Bert had first contacted me in 2007 and I was thrilled to get the chance to meet this affable gentleman, his wife Carol and daughter Sarah. We even got a picture of Bert, sitting on my camel Richard! This is something his great-great-grandfather never got the chance to do. In fact, Jefferson Davis never even saw the camels he fought so hard to get.
The Stockyards provided a fabulous canvas on which to paint the colorful stories about 19th-century Texas. Tons of tourists come to celebrate the Wild West complete with cowboy gun fights and even a longhorn cattle drive, right down Exchange Street, past the public who are simply told by city officials to “stay off the street” while the two-dozen or so cattle pass by. Where else (except maybe Pamplona, Spain) could such an event take place? I love Texas!
Thanks to Bob Bluthardt from Ft. Concho and Cindy Harriman with the Texas Civil War Museum.
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On May 22, Richard, Gobi and I drove east to Texarkana, Texas for a local Hyundai automotive dealership’s T.V. commercial shoot.
The car lot’s general manager, Mark, was atop Richard (Gobi was used for some still photos), praising the camel on its ability to go for long periods without “fuel”, not unlike “the new Hyundai Elantra! Or this ’08 something or other! Or this gas-sipping such and such! You can drive one of these (points to the camel), or you can drive one of these (fast, MTV-type camera pan to line-up of Hyundais)!”
While I can’t remember the names of all the car models, I can remember the super nice folks from the shoot: Travis, the cameraman, who didn’t mind my offering suggestions on how best to shoot a camel (I do have some experience here); Bob, the director and Mark, the on-camera/on-camel talent.
Also, big thanks to Nita-Fran, for helping find camel accommodations the night before the shoot and to the folks at the Four States Fairgrounds for letting me put the camels in their wonderfully overgrown pens (the camels loved the careless weed and grass!).
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Over this past weekend, on Saturday May 31st, camels Richard, Gobi, my daughter Vanessa, 14, her friend Kelli and I provided camels for an 80th birthday party in Dallas, Texas.
The birthday boy, Mr. McGuire, is a Texas oilman and the guest list included the President of the United States, George W. Bush (a no-show) and former Presidential candidate H. Ross Perot (who did show). The family’s obviously tight with the current administration. Vice-President Dick Cheney visited just a few months ago and shut the neighborhood down, according to one neighbor who brought her young daughter across the street to see the camels.
The camels, girls and I greeted the guests as they arrived at the front of the McGuire home, on a spot of lawn that had a couple of palm trees brought in for the occasion. Just beyond, belly dancers shimmied and shook to an acoustic trio (guitar, banjo and upright bass!). Red River Valley and others from the American songbook seemed odd accompaniment, but I didn’t plan the whole party, just the camels.
A good time was had by all and by 9:30 we had the camels in the trailer and were headed south. Big thanks to Lauren Brooks with B3 Entertainment Productions of Dallas for including us.
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Some of you may recall Leah and Rio, a duo of documentary filmmakers, from the January newsletter. They’d visited our farm for a couple of days of camel handling instruction before heading off on their latest project. At the time I was asked to be vague about their intentions, due to safety concerns about reaching their destination, but now the cat’s out of the bag.
Go see their efforts on www.youtube.com/user/peacepiperepairman. In short, these two are documenting the genocide in Darfur, Sudan and their compelling communiqués are thought provoking to say the least. During our training, I asked Rio how long they’d be in Sudan. He said simply, “As long as it takes.”
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With summer starting up in Texas, all our camels have begun the annual process of shedding the previous year’s hair. For fiber enthusiasts, camel hair’s pretty popular. If you’re interested in any, please get in touch with me. I’ve given away quite a bit already, but still have some available. The deal’s the same as in years past: I’ll box it up and send it to you; you reimburse the actual shipping costs. Can’t beat a deal like that!
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Finally, for those of you interested in Texas Camel Treks, after ten years in the camel trek business our rates are increasing for the first time.
In September of 1998, when I first began guiding treks in West Texas, I set our overnight trek price at $650 per person. Fuel, of course, was in the $1.50/gallon range back then. For those of you who don’t know, our farm is from 360 miles to 500 miles away from the two locations in the desert where I guide and this overhead is singularly responsible for the increase.
Now, with diesel fuel costing me over $4.50/gallon, the following rates will apply:
Overnight in Monahans Sandhills State Park, $750 per person, 3 adult* guests minimum.
Overnight in the Big Bend area, $1050 per person, 3 adult guests minimum.
3-day trek in the Big Bend area, $1350 per person, 3 adult guests minimum.
*15 years of age or older. Guests 14 and under are half-price on all treks.
Would you believe, per day, it’s cheaper for a trip to Egypt/Sinai than to trek with me in Texas?!
Also, I do offer short, overnight treks here at our farm and those rates will remain at $200 per person, as they have always been, with kids 14 and under half-price. These are not listed on my website and are good introductory treks for those out west or the Egypt/Sinai trips.
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In June we’ve picked up two more T.V. commercials to shoot (Richard’s acting skills already sold 3 Hyundais I’m told!). We’ll be on car lots in Longview and Greenville, Texas this week, as a matter of fact, and we’ve got a visitor to the farm mid-month. Will update on all activities next month.
Thanks as always for your interest in my camels.
Doug
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