Camel College of the Great Thar

Desert is a richly freighted word - one that turns the mind to endless dunes, a relentless beating sun, oasis, turbans and camels - images supplied by Lawrence of Arabia, Disney's Aladdin and a thousand other romantic sand odysseys in film and on page. However the reality in the Great Thar Desert does not meet this dreamscape exactly. There are dunes but they are sporadic, and the unerring flatness of the scorched plain is scattered with scrubs and bushes rather than sand alone. The sun in March is not as savage as it might be, while there are no palms trees crowding the oasis. And the 'ships of the desert' in this neck of the woods are dromedary (one hump), not camels (who have two) - although I will grant you they are as keen on farting and spitting as their more famous brothers.....

One lesson learned is that camel riding is (very) sore. I'm writing this on the train to Delhi lying on my belly as I can't sit down normally. What path of evolution lead camels (and dromedarys) to such a bizarre and almost pneumatic method of walking I cannot comprehend. Yet they are sort of likeable in their non-plussed and slightly vacant way, despite the damage they have done to me.
The guides who took us were interesting. A set of three men (30, 26, 22) and a boy of fifteen. Although not related they did seem to have a strong fraternal bond, and a rich sense of humour. They also referred to their activities out here in the blasted plain as 'Camel College'. They  knew a vast array of languages from the tours - Rajan the 26 year old  - could speak English, Hindin, Rajistani, Mewar, Gujurati, Marahastra and Urdu. And they were also fine cooks, whipping up a rich and spicy thali - a kind of smorgasboard of anything from two to six or seven different curries served with rice, chappati and poppadoms.
We slept under the stars which were unbelievably bright and clear. Two Indian girls we were with were able to point out the reddish tint of dying stars and the vague haze of nebula in the sky - something impossible in the light polluted south east of England. These ladies, like a lot of Indians, were born astrologers so we were able to point out Orion and Taurus and the Great Bear. I even got the hang of it, and it is funny when you recognise these constellations you realise you have been seeing them all of your life. And I was struck how the familiarity of the night sky, the stars of which are roughly the same across the whole north hemisphere, invokes the strangest memories of places and times from my own life. And these past moments - looking up in the sky as boy in Sheffield or amongst lying flat on hay bales in Hertfordshire - were as far from the Indian desert as it is possible for the imagination to travel.  Yet the commonality of those star shapes brought them vividly to bear.

*Respect to Mum who pointed out that I was riding round on dromedarys, not cormorants which are a type of bird fond of water....