A night in the desert with beetles and stars

Ummed and Camu take us on our journey

SOMEWHERE IN THE THAR DESERT, India — Ummed Singh, 12, piles blankets on Camu's burlap saddle and motions for me to climb on.

I swing my leg around and hold on. "Lean back," he tells me. The camel stands up, and, though I'm leaning back, I lurch forward.

Ummed, in long-sleeved blue shirt, rolled-up pants and flip-flops, looks up at me, covered head to toe in long pants, long sleeves and hat.

"Everything OK?"

I nod. He takes hold of a rope attached to a piece of wood piercing the camel's nose, and leads the way into the desert.

Ummed, his father, Bura, his uncle, Absay, and another man whom we call Turban Man, because he wears an orange turban, are the camel drivers our hotel hired to lead our group of four — my husband and me, and a German couple on an overnight safari — Jaisalmer style.

Forget luxury tent camps with gourmet meals and attendants fetching cold lassis.

The camels are carrying our beds, blankets that our guides will spread out on a sand dune under the stars.

Also strapped to their backs are a few pots and the ingredients for a dinner Bura and Absay will cook over a campfire.

Absay will sing and tell stories, and the Germans will spot shooting stars.

Even for someone like me who'd sooner eat grass than camp in the sand, it will be a magical night.

A quick trip; a lasting memory

I'd heard stories about riding camels — that you can get seasick or that your thighs will be screaming with pain.

None of this turns out to be true. Camels are gentler than horses. They move more slowly, and the view from 10 feet in the air is grand.

Three-year-old Camu tries to stop to snack on desert grass, but Ummed nudges him along, steering him away from crevices and cactus needles.

Every hotel in Jaisalmer sets up camel safaris for its guests for anywhere from $20 to $35 a person, including food and bottled water.

The riding time is short — a couple of hours in the afternoon, a couple the next morning. Two hours on a camel is enough, most people find, but some like it so much they go back for two or three days and the chance to go into more remote parts of the desert.

On an overnight safari, you don't go far off the beaten path. We start out around 3 p.m. in the Singh's family's village of adobe mud huts, about 40 miles from the Pakistan border. For most of our ride, we can see a road that's patrolled by border police.

Our goal is to reach the sand dunes by sunset, and after about an hour and a half of riding, the terrain changes from desert brush to hills of rolling sand.

"Welcome to my desert," Absay shouts, waving his arms as we approach.

He's gone ahead of the rest of us to set up camp, and has silver cups of hot chai waiting when we arrive.

"Sit down. Relax. Watch the sunset. Tonight, we're going to have a party."

Ummed and Turban Man tend to the camels, tying their feet together with a loose rope so they can graze without going too far.

Bura and Absay make snacks — vegetable chips fried in hot oil and crunchy deep-fried pakora made with dal flour, coriander, chile, cumin and onion.

We sit down on blankets, and meet some neighbors — thumb-size black beetles that feed on camel dung.

"No problem," says Absay. "Beetles like friends."

They are harmless and don't bite, but Ummed senses our squeamishness and collects as many as he can in plastic water bottles.

We open beers and toast our crew. Bura serves Indian chapati (bread) that he's made on the fire and a dish of stir-fried vegetables.

We eat by flashlight. The sky fills with stars, and the moon is almost full.

While Ummed and Bura "wash" the metal dishes with sand as abrasive as any scrub brush, we walk with Absay to the top of a dune where he spreads out the blankets.

The hotel offered tents, and because the forecast was for wind and I'm such a camping wimp, we took one.

Absay begins to sing a folk song as we lie on our backs looking at the sky.

"Camel man will be right here," he whispers, spreading his own blanket on the sand between our tent and the Germans' sleeping bags.

The wind keeps us awake much of the night, and when we crawl out of the tent at sunrise, the gusts have reshaped the dunes.

The Germans and Ummed slept in the open, and are covered with sand.

Climbing toward us are Turban Man and Absay carrying cups of hot chai.

While we eat breakfast, our drivers round up the camels for the trip back.

It's a gentle ride back to the flat desert, with Ummed again leading the way.

He goes to a school that costs his father $2 per month, but today is a holiday, and I can't help wondering how he feels about spending it working.

He's only 12, but seems much older in a take-charge sort of way. His brother is a shepherd.

I wonder what his future holds.

Maybe salesman.

"How you like camel, lady," he asks, looking up at me. "You want to sign up for longer ride?''