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Budda and Pussa

I didn't let a migrane keep me from riding an elephant. And although there wasn't a 9 girl to 1 guy ratio on this camel safari, I wasn't about to let some old lady's feet keep me from riding camels with digestive problems.

We first piled into a jeep for an hour ride where we would meet our camels for the first time. Within minutes the cries of road side scarf vendors faded out and I struck up a conversation with our driver. "Well I'm from Arizona, but my family lives mostly in Oregon." The driver who also lived in Boston part time with an Indian antique store lit right up, "Oregon?! Ah I love Oregon." "Yeah me too!" I proclaimed, "It's so beautiful. The people are great." "Ahhh some of the best 'smoke' I've ever had...they grow it good up there," replied the driver and gazed happily at the road as he casually swerved around the dunes that had poured into it.

When we arrived the camels and drivers were waiting. Naturally the first thing you do is make a mental assessment of each camel. Pros. Cons. Which would be the strongest, fastest, best in a camel fight. In all which would be the best camel for a man like me. "You'll be on this one," said a sun weathered man with a faded red turban. This was the kind of guy that probably lived off of desert bones and scorpians...and could no doubt slice a man in two from 300 yards with his safari machette. But you guys should have seen this camel. He was clearly smaller than the other and had some mystery crusties smeared on his neck, and a tail that might have been cut off, or even fallen off a couple times before being resewn. But when your camel guide has poisonous spit, and you've got intestinal weakness, there's only one thing you can do.

So I climbed abord Budda the Camel. Every one was laughing and giggling, while I was sat wondering if my camel would even make it to his feet. He did and shortly we were headed into the desert. There about 9 tourists in our group and maybe 6 camel guides. Some of the tourists were allowed to hold their reigns, you already know I was not, and when asked at one point if I could trot with ol' Budda, the weathered warrior chuckled and assured me know, it wasn't a good idea. There was one positive though, Budda and I lead the group, with my guide holding the reigns as he walked ahead. I learned my guides name was Pussa which drew to mind an old Johnny Cash song "Boy Named Sue" and seemed to answer a lot of questions. I also learned shortly after treking that ol' Budda and I had a special connection. Every once in a while I would hear the other camels grunting behind and would turn to see all the other riders hiding their faces in thier scarves and turbans. Come to find out it wasn't the other camels that were grunting... it was ol Budda. Which suddenly shed a whole different light on his name as well.

The safari was one of the best things I've done. It might have been the serenity of the desert, sleeping on sand dunes under the open sky, with nastalgic memories of my own Arizona desert (never thought I have nastalgia for Phoenix). It might have been riding a camel that you knew was just thankful everyday for another breath. It might have been that there were no hands clinging, or voices crying for my money. I'm sure it was a little bit of everything. And every moment I was feeling a little better.

The next day we saddled up at day break and worked our way back to Jaisalmer. I showered up and last night caught an overnight train back to Delhi. Tonight, I catch an overnight train to Shimla which is almost at the base of the Himalayas. I fly to London on Monday, so I am running out of time, but I'm gonna get as close to those bad mothers as I can. And even though tomorrow I will be in the mountains I know deep inside there is a dessert, a camel driver and one day-to-day camel who will always hold a piece of my heart.

Keep fightin Budda...

posted by Travelin' D @ 5:02 AM