Desert Safari Bollocks Part 2

Our convoy rolled up at the same time as 7 or 8 other vehicles and people of all nations came together to empty the sand out of their shoes. For those wanting to ride a camel or to snowboard down a sand dune, this was their chance. Camels are not nice animals. I suspect the reason they live in the desert is that all the other animals on the planet chased them away from the good spots. And there’s nothing dignified about riding a camel. I have the video footage of my wife to prove it. Some people aren’t happy with only having sand in their shoes, hair and mouth. They want the full ‘sand in your undies’ desert experience. This is where the sand boarding comes in. All the sand you can handle and a good laugh for everyone else.
Next it was into the camp for Arabic coffee. I’m not so big on proper Arabic coffee. For me it is a bit like England with their Football/Cricket/Rugby. They bought it to the world, but now they are just not very good. Luckily one of the Russians in the group spotted the bar at the other end of the camp which I suspect wasn’t a fixture in days gone by but we weren’t complaining. We were there faster than a young camel willy wrangler washes his hands after work.
I was surprised to see two cats skulking around as we sat on the cushions laid out around the low dinner tables. You don’t see cats in the desert very often. But why not? For a creature so fussy about where it goes to the toilet, the desert must be a dream come true. It’s just a giant litter box.
Dinner was served under the stars and the cats got the scraps and left (but didn’t go too far I suspect) then they pumped up the music to herald the arrival of the belly dancer.
Watching her, it occurred to me that Arabic women were belly-dancing hundreds of years ago and at the same time on the other side of the world, young Hawaiian, Tahitian and Rarotongan girls were doing the same thing. Isn’t it amazing how anywhere on the planet that is hot, men have found a way to persuade the ladies to get their kit off and wiggle for them.
6 or 7 songs was all the our German friend’s pace maker could take and even the two Indian guys who got up to dance in the audience participation section looked hot and sweaty by the end. But again the timing was perfect, because as the music was turned down the sweet aroma of shisha drifted across the camp. They say one shisha is about the equivalent of 30 cigarettes. I’ve never smoked. It is a filthy, smelly habit, but shisha is a totally different story. How can something with apple or banana or strawberry in it be bad for you? I had coconut one night, but that was a bit like smoking suntan lotion. But even if you don’t smoke you have to try shisha at least once. With our 30 cigarettes worth of fruit tobacco consumed we were guided back to our 4x4’s for the trip home. It could have turned into a spontaneous review of the buffet dinner, but our driver magically found a road in what seemed the middle of nowhere and we soon found ourselves back at our hotel carrying, as my wife and I found out later, enough sand to make a small commemorative paper weight each.