Our humps are not broken; our legs just needed a rest. There is not straw in the desert anyway—just sand.

As undertakers of transcontinental travelling services, we have established coopetition with vehicular modes: we stick to unpaved terrain and they cede tourists to us.

Most riders accept our already blankets, but someone once brought their own cushioning made of gambroon and our caravan’s colts rotated each day so that each could experience the cooling cloth.

Some guides share stories of schmaltz about tropical oases saving lost travellers and their camel-companions, but a pool is not the rule for rest here—a nap just requires a kneel rather than a keel, a hump rather than a pump, a wink rather than a sink, and a smile before another mile. ; )