The Unfortunate Utterly Predictable Camel Ride

Why It was 100% My Fault and I'm Grateful Anyway.

This dude is putting on the charm but I know better.

I have to admit something challenging: The unfortunate camel ride? It was entirely my fault.

As my husband and I planned our trip to Egypt, while looking through a pamphlet he muttered, “Hmmmm... an optional camel ride?”

I instantly perked up. “Yes! We’re doing a camel ride!”

I had ironclad reasoning, so I delivered it with a raised eyebrow: “We are going to Egypt! It is what one does in Egypt!”

I was approaching this argument with the same unearned, blinding certainty I deploy when I sharply correct my husband’s driving. I’ll shout, ‘HERE! NOW! TURN RIGHT!’—and he snaps to attention because my confidence is frankly terrifying. I am absolutely, 100% sure of my directions... right up until the moment we pass the destination on the left. My conviction has the trajectory of a guided missile; It’s just that unfortunately, my accuracy has the trajectory of a paper airplane.

So, that morning he simply absorbed my enthusiasm with wary, practiced patience.

Fast forward to Aswan in Egypt. Having bravely sailed choppy Nile waters in a felluca, my fellow tourists and I disembark onto a sandy embankment where a cluster of huge camels in colorful headgear wait.

Up close, I note a camel’s shoulder is level with the top of my head. Hmmmm, taller than I thought.

As I admire the impossible grace of my sister tourists lightly scrambling aboard, the group runs out of camels. My husband has clambered onto his with a symphony of grunts.

“Wait,” a young man gestures, pointing up the trail. A late-arriving camel is being led toward us, repeatedly letting out a mournful, guttural BRAY!

“Sounds like he’s complaining?” I venture. My camel guy, who doesn’t speak English, simply points me toward the complainer.

No pressure. The rest of the group is saddled up. I think, I can be graceful.

No. But still, I haul and heave myself up and into place.

“Lean back!” the boy instructs. I jerk back just in time. The camel is standing up hind legs first, and so tips forward, nearly launching me over its head. With a pull on the rope in its mouth, it reluctantly straightens up and starts in to follow the others.

BRAY! BRAY! Like an annoyed teenager forced to mow the lawn, my camel complains every few seconds.

No stirrups, no reins—I teeter, clinging to a single, ancient, smooth saddle horn. Balance. Balance. I glance up. My husband looks utterly serene. With his camel ambling along willingly, he slides his hand into his pocket to click a few photos with his iPhone.

Mine suddenly curves its flexible neck around, eyeing my dangling leg with an unnerving curiosity. Is he close enough to bite? Still, I begin to feel sympathetic, inventing scenarios: Did I interrupt his dinner? Did he already hit his ride quota for the day? Surely other riders have been heavier?

BRAY! BRAY!

Honestly, I feel the same way. The only thing preventing me from dismounting and walking is the hour-long trail ahead. While the camels have their remarkable, anti-slip evolutionary footwear, I know my clod-like human feet will skid and slide in the deep sand mounds.

I fight for balance. I feel like I signed up to dance a waltz and instead got the polka.

Then, sharply, out of nowhere, my camel drops to its knees. “AGHHHH!“ I cry out, flinging forward and gripping the horn for dear life. My camel is trying to ditch me! He is yelled at, swatted with a rope, and reluctantly rises again.

After that, I’m pretty sure Joe (as I decide to name him) has had enough. He semi-trots the rest of the way, which knocks me around like a forgotten sock in a dryer but at least ends the agony faster. We are both profoundly relieved when I dismount. How do they make this look easy in the movies?

Another brilliant idea dashed on the rocks of actual experience.

Adventures in Egypt. The last two photos: My husband waving from his camel while me? Not having a good time.

Did I learn a valuable lesson about being an idealistic romantic? Absolutely... until the next itinerary pops up.

Because for all the jostling and the dust, and for the sheer, baffling ignorance of my 100% certainty, I’m still grateful for the experience. I mean true travel isn’t about perfectly executed plans or serene, movie-like moments, right? I think it’s more about genuine, unfiltered chaos. The shared stories. Broadening my empathy for other cultures and people in our world.

And it all makes for a nice timely analogy—how a little jostling and dust and baffling ignorance—can define my first year of learning as a published author too. Instead of perfectly executed plans, there’s been plenty of genuine unfiltered chaos.

Really fun.

And I’m grateful.

In this spirit, may you be enjoying a very happy Thanksgiving this week. And for readers outside the U.S., may you also feel my gratitude for your support. Of these wishes, I’m 100% certain.

Warmly,