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
The truck veered off the highway onto a side road. Rolling along for a quarter of a mile, we turned left through the open gate onto the farm. The road ran straight toward Flinder's peak before taking a hard right toward a white clapboard house with a wide veranda. The farm had all the accouterments one would expect. There were miles of metal fencing, a huge side barn, a massive rolling empty pasture to my left, and in the one to my right…heaps of camels. This is Summer Land Camel farm just outside Queensland, Australia. The Largest Camel dairy in Australia and my home for the next three months as a wandering backpacker. The Quid pro Quo is working a few hours every day doing farm chores, and other duties, in exchange for room and board. The perks included camel ice cream, riding camels, and a few beers at the end of a workday. I also got a chance to swim in the rivers, watch Kangaroos hop along, party with my fellow farmhands and look up at the Southern cross in a bright clear night sky. I was put to work as soon as my bags were put away in my downstairs room within the converted main barn and my wide brimmed hat was on my head. I would be mocked a few weeks later for wearing sunscreen and not putting on the standard bronze Australian farmer’s tan. The other tell that someone is a farmer, or hardworking Aussie in general, is an ankle tan line about five inches up. The majority wear Chelsea boots with rolled socks over the edge to keep dirt out. A wide hat was also important because the camels would get curious and would nibble the edge if you didn’t seem to be a threat. I also was never spit it. They are treated far too well to care with a special push/pull technique I promised not to disclose. It does make the milk better if the Camel is happy. Camel milk is a clearer white than a cow’s milk, creamier texture and taste, and fantastic for skin issues such as acne and eczema. My first, and main, job was mucking out the pastures. Camel poop doesn’t smell like cow does. Partially this is the camel being water conscious and partly the hot summer sun baking it off. We would use metal rakes to collect the round little pellets into a pile, then shovel into a wheelbarrow, finally put on a compost heap. Loose straw went next. Then checking the water levels and cleanliness of the troughs. Baby camels were very skittish and easy to work around, while some adults had to be pushed around. Later on, I was allowed to mix the feed bags. These were between twenty to eighty pounds, averaging closer to fifty. The mix was pellets, calcium powder of some type, and a few other things. It had the bonus of being under a metal roof, giving me an excuse to get out of the hot sun. It was probably my favorite job, but the most tiring for sure. My final job was working in the café. As the only American, and one of a few guys, I was tasked with delivering food and cleaning tables. It was fun to talk to locals; I have a habit of talking people’s ears off about nothing, and my uniqueness allowed me to get away with it. The other backpackers at that time were almost exclusively German and Danish. I learned Germans made up the bulk of backpackers from Europe and many of the full-time workers were German. The main buyers for the milk itself was Arabs, to whom the camel is a staple of life, and Asian countries that had their own uses for it. It was a hard place to move on from, but to say I have ridden a camel in Australia, know what their milk and meat tastes like, and know true Australian hospitality and hard work will stay with me forever.