hundred and twenty degrees out here, people, with not a butt crack of shade—so can we stop amusing the locals and do this thing?”
Isda resumed walking and chuckled. “Watch your step, ladies.”
He didn’t have to tell Celeste twice. Every two feet inside the perimeter of the camel rides section, which amounted to no more than a long, frayed rope tied towooden stakes driven into the ground, the huge beasts had left a pile.
The closer they got to the animals, the more Celeste’s eyes watered from their stench. Unfazed, the camels regarded them with defiant disdain while chewing their cuds and intermittently spitting like old men mawing tobacco on a Southern porch. The flies had declared open season on soft, foreign skin that had been sheathed in sweet lotions. Yet, for all of its repulsive aspects, somehow the situation was still pretty cool.
Mammoth pyramids that had been built so far back in history that it was hard to wrap her mind around them made Celeste feel as if she were suddenly frozen in time. Framing the monumental structures were the beasts of burden that had for millennia been making caravan treks with brightly embroidered blankets and square saddles covering their humps. Their modern-day drivers also looked as if they’d leapt out of a
Raiders of the Lost Ark
film, replete with long, white robes and black-and-white desert-sheikh headgear and bands, while park guards strolled by leisurely toking on Camel cigarettes and toting AK-47s.
Were it not for the modern-dressed tourists and buses, as well as the guards, the scene could just as well have been set five thousand years in the past. That didn’t seem to be lost on anyone in the group as Isda loudly negotiated the rate for nine beasts of burden that would go off the beaten trail.
The camels looked tired after a wearisome day of tourists. But cash was king in the desert, as it was anywhere else. So with a switch and a lot of yelling, the expedition was arranged and each member of their group was guided toward a recalcitrant animal.
“Lean back,” a camel driver shouted as Azrael mounted a large bull.
Celeste watched as the camel fussed, making a loud protest that sounded like a cross between a bear’s growl, a Canada goose’s honk, and a mule’s bray. The animal obviously didn’t appreciate Azrael’s weight and let him know as it stood on wobbly legs, causing her and the others to gasp as the beast lurched, and for a second it looked as if Az would open his wings to avoid being pitched.
Who could have blamed him? It was such a natural reflex for the angels, and concealing those glorious appendages was like constantly having their arms tied behind their backs. But when it was her turn, she thought her heart would stop.
First of all, it was way different from being on a horse. A camel was twice as high, and the saddle was a weird, flat, rectangular contraption that fit snugly between one’s legs. Second, the only way to mount a camel was if the beast was lying on the ground with its legs tucked beneath it, which meant it got up in stages. First it rocked to the front when it got its hind legs beneath itself, then it rocked backward as the front legs pushed up, creating a precarious seesaw motion for the rider.
There were no reins, just a knob at the front of the odd saddle to grip with all your might. The camels then loped in an odd sand shuffle that required one to flow with its rhythm. Sand or not, a fall off one of them guaranteed injury just from the height alone. Plus the cantankerous things used their long necks to turn back on the rider and nip, bite, or spit if they didn’t like you.
A silent prayer bubbled up within her the fartheraway they got from the monuments and the more hills and sand dunes they traversed. This part was not in the bright brochures posted in the airport and at the guest services desk.
But when the lead camel skidded to a braying halt and could not be pulled forward, Azrael dismounted with a one-handed
Isda resumed walking and chuckled. “Watch your step, ladies.”
He didn’t have to tell Celeste twice. Every two feet inside the perimeter of the camel rides section, which amounted to no more than a long, frayed rope tied towooden stakes driven into the ground, the huge beasts had left a pile.
The closer they got to the animals, the more Celeste’s eyes watered from their stench. Unfazed, the camels regarded them with defiant disdain while chewing their cuds and intermittently spitting like old men mawing tobacco on a Southern porch. The flies had declared open season on soft, foreign skin that had been sheathed in sweet lotions. Yet, for all of its repulsive aspects, somehow the situation was still pretty cool.
Mammoth pyramids that had been built so far back in history that it was hard to wrap her mind around them made Celeste feel as if she were suddenly frozen in time. Framing the monumental structures were the beasts of burden that had for millennia been making caravan treks with brightly embroidered blankets and square saddles covering their humps. Their modern-day drivers also looked as if they’d leapt out of a
Raiders of the Lost Ark
film, replete with long, white robes and black-and-white desert-sheikh headgear and bands, while park guards strolled by leisurely toking on Camel cigarettes and toting AK-47s.
Were it not for the modern-dressed tourists and buses, as well as the guards, the scene could just as well have been set five thousand years in the past. That didn’t seem to be lost on anyone in the group as Isda loudly negotiated the rate for nine beasts of burden that would go off the beaten trail.
The camels looked tired after a wearisome day of tourists. But cash was king in the desert, as it was anywhere else. So with a switch and a lot of yelling, the expedition was arranged and each member of their group was guided toward a recalcitrant animal.
“Lean back,” a camel driver shouted as Azrael mounted a large bull.
Celeste watched as the camel fussed, making a loud protest that sounded like a cross between a bear’s growl, a Canada goose’s honk, and a mule’s bray. The animal obviously didn’t appreciate Azrael’s weight and let him know as it stood on wobbly legs, causing her and the others to gasp as the beast lurched, and for a second it looked as if Az would open his wings to avoid being pitched.
Who could have blamed him? It was such a natural reflex for the angels, and concealing those glorious appendages was like constantly having their arms tied behind their backs. But when it was her turn, she thought her heart would stop.
First of all, it was way different from being on a horse. A camel was twice as high, and the saddle was a weird, flat, rectangular contraption that fit snugly between one’s legs. Second, the only way to mount a camel was if the beast was lying on the ground with its legs tucked beneath it, which meant it got up in stages. First it rocked to the front when it got its hind legs beneath itself, then it rocked backward as the front legs pushed up, creating a precarious seesaw motion for the rider.
There were no reins, just a knob at the front of the odd saddle to grip with all your might. The camels then loped in an odd sand shuffle that required one to flow with its rhythm. Sand or not, a fall off one of them guaranteed injury just from the height alone. Plus the cantankerous things used their long necks to turn back on the rider and nip, bite, or spit if they didn’t like you.
A silent prayer bubbled up within her the fartheraway they got from the monuments and the more hills and sand dunes they traversed. This part was not in the bright brochures posted in the airport and at the guest services desk.
But when the lead camel skidded to a braying halt and could not be pulled forward, Azrael dismounted with a one-handed
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