Chai with camels

Meeting up with the caravan, the gentle laughter of women embraces me. Tents of rest luxuriate in the open air with cups of Chai on little trays. Exuberant smiles and excitement of the pending journey make us all giddy. Silhouettes of exotic people pass over the tent as we wait for our attendants. The ladies settle into comfortable, portable chairs laden with pillows and watch the crowd. Small children run about bartering goods. The clinks of coins are exchanged.

Each of us walks about the camels to choose one to ride. The camels wear colorful tassels and bells. Protection from the evil eye, I think. I choose a young camel with long lashes. She calmly licks her heifer. I watched amazed at her white fluffy baby camel.

The hilarious drama of getting on the camels, keeps us giggling for some time. And we don’t quiet down until the road gets squeezed into a narrow passage. I vaguely think about bandits.

My thoughts drift inwardly. I have read it’s important to have a plan when starting a journey. To ask yourself why you travel. I usually do, but not this time.

The day I left my mother’s home to seek the world, the December sky melted into the hazy band of blue ocean. I was leaving for good, never to be part of San Diego in quite the same way. The familiar winding drive caught me and shook me unexpectedly as tears coursed down my face like a child. I thought I so brave to go, to find my own way. And here I was a churning mess under the surface. That journey cut to my heartstrings and resonated in my bones.