The Day of the Jackhole

The Day of the Jackhole

Celebrating 40 years on this earth

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2002. The camel whisperer.

September 13, 2011

Camels smell much worse than I have ever imagined, probably because I have never imagined what camels smell like. It’s a shock from all directions.

I’m sitting on one. With Crazy Val. We’re in Dubai on a project. On a weekend, they send us out on a tourist thing. A couple of hours zooming around on dunes in 4WDs trying not to throw up on each other, then off to a bedouin camp for food, belly dancing and henna tattoos.

The sand is hot. The air dry. The temperature is like an oven inside of another oven.

I don’t want to ride the camel at first, but then I think “You know, who knows when this chance may come around again?”

So we get on.

It stinks worse than something dead that you can’t find the source of. I wouldn’t normally sit on something that smells this bad. Not by choice. We are walked around on it a bit and Crazy Val is giggling at how it’s not very comfortable and she doesn’t really want to be on it either.

I have never been so happy to get off anything as I was to get off that camel.

About a month after the camel ride, I lose my job in Singapore. But it’s fine. I’ve won the green card lottery. I’m moving to America. I am moving to America with a laptop, a suitcase and a dream.

This is how trouble starts.

 


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