The weather's too warm now for camping, but we have some fine memories of our first year of camping in the Emirates. Lots of trips taken up wadis, onto beaches, even an overnight camp-out for hard-to-explain reasons in residential Sharjah near University City! The most memorable camping we've done, however, has been the desert camping. Often we went out as a Yankee and Confederate foursome: Larry and Joanne Garrett flying the Dixie flag and Gordon and Judy as the Yanks. We crack up the locals when it comes time to pack two families' camping gear into one station wagon. They gather around to see if all this "stuff" strewn around on the ground really will disappear into the car with room for four people as well. We like our creature comforts in the wadis and deserts, so in go the camping stools, the table, the big mattresses, tents, hammock (!), shade umbrella, hot water dispenser and coolers. They laugh like hyenas when they find out we're taking all this and more to spend only one night away from home.
Several months ago our criteria for uncrowded, scenic and culturally sensitive camp sites took us out on the road to Manama, then on to the turn-off to Al Ghail. We turned left there at the flags and headed out into the Ghail Dunes. It's a very good desert drive on hard track, going up and over progressively larger parallel dunes. We scouted a few campsites and settled on a comfortable one with a big acacia shade tree and trails that led out of the camp in all directions. For such a popular spot it had no trash but lots of camel droppings, which should have told us something. After pitching our tents we stood on a low dune and watched a spectacular desert sunset that night as the sun slid down between stripes of clouds in a show of scarlet, peach and violet.
Only a few things conspired to keep us awake and on our toes that night. One was the desert-driving shebab (young man) who came rocketing past camp at 2:00 a.m. with his radio pounding out head-banging rock music. "Sorry, sorry!" he shouted as he passed us minutes later going at high speed in the reverse direction out over the dunes. We yelled a few things to speed him on his way, then settled down again. About an hour later, the chewing began. We whispered in our tent that Larry chewed in his sleep...something we'd never known about him. No doubt he was saying the same thing about Gordon. We sat up as it got even louder. This was major masticating now! We peeked out through the tent flap and saw a number of tall ears in sihouette. The wild donkeys were eating the dried weeds that grew next to our tents. All I can say is they must have needed a lot of roughage!
The next day Joanne and I held down the campsite while the guys did a tour of some nearby hills.While they were out there wandering the dunes, the resident camel herd--all thirty of them--ambled along to shelter under their tree as per their custom most days. They pulled up short to peer in amazement at our tents, stove, coolers, chairs and camp gear spread out in the shade of their tree. The camels looked at each other in consternation and had a quick huddle. We could almost hear the lead female, a tall, buff-colored dowager, growling "What's this? I say let's stomp them and take our shade back!" Jo and I quickly began looking for weapons. Thirty against two was not good odds. All we could find in that sandy terrain was a large tree branch. Joanne looked back at me, determination written all over her face. "Watch this," she hissed. "I used to teach fifth graders." She stepped up to the lead dowager, who sneered down at her from a great height.The junior females crowded closer, grumbling their excitement about an upcoming fight.
"Girls," Joanne announced sternly. "You-all git on that path riiiiiight now." She did a dramatic point to the left. Thirty heads swung to look where she pointed. I eased behind Jo carrying the branch and waved it to the left encouragingly. "Girls, go thattaway!" Her voice dropped into an I'm-not-taking-anymore-sass-from-you timbre. "Git going, you-all." The camel and Joanne locked eyes. For a long moment the desert was absolutely silent as they dueled it out without a blink. The rest of the herd fidgited in the sun. At last the big leader fluttered her long eyelashes thoughtfully, then with a prolonged growl of defeat she turned left and reluctantly picked her way on the path that took her around the camp. The others muttered and grumbled, but Jo kept pointing the way and delivering her message while I kept the stick in motion. The thirtieth camel had marched by before we could give in to the giggles.
We were still lauging about saving the camp when the guys returned from the desert with stories of finding evidence of ancient battles on nearby "Battle Cat Hill." They were laden with spent shells and mortar casing and big tales of burnt-out jeeps. They never realized the real war had already been fought back in camp in the shade of the lone acacia tree. |
