What an event to witness - to the uninitiated such as myself, the thoughts preceding were in the line of "ho-hum, so what's the difference between horses and camels, really?" As we sat waiting in the air-conditioned bus, I was thankful not to be in the stands in the 45 degree celsius heat, 
but somewhat impatient as I thought I was going to miss out on a decent viewing of the race. Imagine my surprise when the bus finally accelerated forward, to join a convoy of 4x4's five deep and about 50 strong. The phalanx of vehicles began, with much honking of horns, to follow the camels around the track - both on the inside and outside of animals - who merrily loped and swayed along oblivious to the whooping, hooting, engine revving, dust-making conflagration enthusiastically following in their wake.
but somewhat impatient as I thought I was going to miss out on a decent viewing of the race. Imagine my surprise when the bus finally accelerated forward, to join a convoy of 4x4's five deep and about 50 strong. The phalanx of vehicles began, with much honking of horns, to follow the camels around the track - both on the inside and outside of animals - who merrily loped and swayed along oblivious to the whooping, hooting, engine revving, dust-making conflagration enthusiastically following in their wake. No rules on interference here - if you are lucky enough to have your particular camel on the outside edge then you can haul yourself out of the window, or open a car door (whilst in full pursuit) and exhort and cajole your animal to speed up. If all else fails, use a big, long stick to further motivate him..or her (I don't know - are all racing camels males?). 
After racing 8 k
ms for approximately 12 minutes, the camels arrive, panting and frothing, at the final 100 metre dash. At which point, the little robot jockey (looking so much like a monkey on the back) begins to whirl his crop with the energy of miniature helicopter blades. However, it appears to be a hit-and-miss affair, as some of the camels lurch forward even faster on the command, whereas others slow down to a recalcitrant trot. At times, the jockey's crop, which is controlled remotely, misses the camel altogether depending on the arc of the swing, or due to some malfunction it sticks, and refuses to budge at all.
After racing 8 k
ms for approximately 12 minutes, the camels arrive, panting and frothing, at the final 100 metre dash. At which point, the little robot jockey (looking so much like a monkey on the back) begins to whirl his crop with the energy of miniature helicopter blades. However, it appears to be a hit-and-miss affair, as some of the camels lurch forward even faster on the command, whereas others slow down to a recalcitrant trot. At times, the jockey's crop, which is controlled remotely, misses the camel altogether depending on the arc of the swing, or due to some malfunction it sticks, and refuses to budge at all. The winners circle is a venue of great delight and celebration. Each camel is surrounded by a multitude of handlers and owners and the first order of business is to smear the head and face of the camel with saffron, which the camel tries to avoid at all costs. Most of the saffron workers were covered in more of the orange matter themselves than they managed to wipe on the unsuspecting and unappreciative camel.
The most compelling view of the whole race is the start - the camels are hauled up to stand in a ragged line up at the starter's whip. They are held by a length of rope by a handler, who acts as the gate. Ther
e are at least 12 to 20 camels per race, and each handler must hold the camel in place by standing in front of the camel until the whip comes down, and the band of fabric is pulled up. At this point, these brave souls flee desperately from the forward charge of the racing 'steeds', narrowly avoiding the thunderous hooves, literally climbing over each other in their own race to the sides of the track in their haste to escape being trampled in the melee. The poor chaps i
n the middle group have the hardest time, and must be the fleetist of foot to avoid the prospect of becoming "camel fodder". It was then that the light bulb went off - so that's the reason for all those ambulances standing by - and perhaps also, for the inevitable car smashes that must occasionally occur around the track. Brave men, indeed!
e are at least 12 to 20 camels per race, and each handler must hold the camel in place by standing in front of the camel until the whip comes down, and the band of fabric is pulled up. At this point, these brave souls flee desperately from the forward charge of the racing 'steeds', narrowly avoiding the thunderous hooves, literally climbing over each other in their own race to the sides of the track in their haste to escape being trampled in the melee. The poor chaps i
n the middle group have the hardest time, and must be the fleetist of foot to avoid the prospect of becoming "camel fodder". It was then that the light bulb went off - so that's the reason for all those ambulances standing by - and perhaps also, for the inevitable car smashes that must occasionally occur around the track. Brave men, indeed!Another great experience to write home about.
No comments:
Post a Comment