The
arid desert locale and spotless white sand beaches in Mexico's Baja
peninsula seemed a natural setting for a camel ride.
If
the camel enterprise seems unusual for this country, it's become
something of a trend in various Mexican resort areas. A tourist
company operates this particular outing from Cabo, taking guests by
truck north to Rancho San Cristóbal. There about a dozen
well-behaved, pampered camels take turns offering small group rides.
I say pampered because the animals are beautiful and obviously
well-cared for. Our chatty guide ("call me Marco," with a
joke about Marco Polo) is irrepressible.
My
Texas cameleer friend Doug Baum was involved with a partner, Sidi
Omar, in originally bringing these camels to Cabo and training them
with their new handlers. That was some six or seven years ago with a
fair amount of turnover among handlers since. Doug also goes on
training and saddle support missions to Cancún, for instance.
First
we get to do the third-party photography. Taking your own photographs
while riding is a no-no, simply because they want both your hands
clamped on the safety grip. Good thing they'd never seen me in the
Middle East. They encourage the camel-kissing trick and the sharing a
bite to eat trick. Camel has a piece of jicama in his mouth and waits
for me to chew on the other end. Ugh. Pineapple would have been
nicer!
No
surprise that a waiver is required; this is North America, after all,
where most camel ranches would require the same. (I wanted to say
shades of Bellingham, Washington, where we indeed had the waiver but
none of the follow-up safety issues). Therefore must don the
accompanying helmet with something intended to resemble an Arab
headdress attached to it. Goofy-looking, but can't escape it or the
emphasis on safety. And disappointing: we mount the standing camels.
No fun in that, especially with the two-seater saddles. Hoping my
Oman camel T-shirt impresses them, I successfully convince them that
I am riding on my own.
Once
in the saddle, a very pleasant ride commenced. Through the
cactus-strewn landscape to a small tidal pool, then back along an
endless, pristine, uninhabited beach. Glorious, really (but hating
the headgear ‒ sorry/not
sorry). Then a walk through the desert flora with a guide. Finally we
were taken to view the collection of rapidly developed print or
digital photographs.
A
very tasty Mexican lunch followed. A woman was kept busy cooking the
corn tortillas for us to gorge on cheese tacos, beef molé,
beans, spareribs, rice, and Dos Equis beer. I'm sure I took photos of
the invitingly arrayed tequila shots but after a few samples I must
have misplaced my touristy sense.
Olé
... a very safe venture.
©
2018 Brenda Dougall
Merriman
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