By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
Our guide looked at me "You don't want to ride your camel anymore?" At this point I am regretting agreeing to going for the extra day camel trekking as it was almost the same cost as 2 days. What a great bargain I thought at the time. I endeavored to make this a life lesson that more is not always better. Meekly I said "No, I just want to walk the camel" then grabbed the camels reigns, as if this was a normal request. The old man looked at me with his leathery face, partially covered by his white Kufi cap and a red checkered scarf to protect him from the harsh desert sun, "Okay, we go for camel walk" and shot me a wonky toothed smile. I smiled back, thinking about him having dinner with his family three days from now, talking about the tourist who came for a camel trek, to walk his camel most of the way. It was only the first afternoon of our camel trek in the Indian desert, but I was failing to see the appeal. It was very hot, as any sensible person may expect that at over 40C, but with no shade, no water and not even a hint of a breeze, this was even more oppressive than I had imagined. The topography was currently more of a scrub land than the rolling sand dunes I had envisaged and sitting on a camel was the most uncomfortable mode of transport I had ever encountered. Pushing the 15 hour bus journey in Nepal into a distance second, that only 3 weeks before I thought would hold that record for much longer (the Nepalese get very travel sick, although their bus drivers are famously resilient to stopping for any reason, leading to cacophony of passengers vomiting into a small plastic bag, then flinging them out the bus window, occasionally across a slightly bemused looking backpacker. This has also made me very wary when walking down the road in Nepal or India when a brightly colour Tata bus is passing!). I am walking my camel now, while my travel companion is stubbornly continuing to ride hers. The sun is starting to lower in the sky, losing some of its searing heat. The occasional rugged bush with its wiry branches and small bristly leaves provides some temporary shade for at least my ankles. And, in front, the postcard rolling sand dunes are starting to emerge. After a couple of hours we have arrived at our camp for the night. We help our guide setup our base for the night atop one of the sand dunes, a mishmash of sheets and cushions are laid on top of each other of various bright colours and patterns to make a patchwork quilt that will double up as a living room and bedroom. The air is now fresh, like jumping into a cool shower shortly after emerging from the sauna. Our nemesis from earlier, the sun, is now a large red ball hanging low in the sky and the hostile sand dunes have changed from a blindingly bright white/yellow colour to a soothing orange. Shadows now accentuate the wavy surface of the dunes, strangely reminding me of my childhood at the beach in Whitby, in North Yorkshire, a much colder and damper place. As we sit and watch the sun slowly disappear behind the dunes in the distance, I can now begin to appreciate the true beauty of the Thar desert. Harsh and unforgiving in the day, but beautiful and tranquil in the evening. I am sure I will never choose to ride on a camel again, but I do suggest camel walking as a great alternative.