Ripcord Adventure Journal 1.2 Second Edition
In this issue, our second, we venture widely in our quest to find great adventures. From an article written and sent from Princess Elisabeth Station in Antarctica we venture along the Omo River to meet Ethiopian tribes who are holding on to their authentic way-of-life in the face of commercialisation and tourism. We send a couch potato to climb Mount Fuji in Japan while others wander the ancient Roman roads in Transylvania, venture up Mount Toubkal and taste wondrous epicurean delights in Morocco. Finally we hear of the exploits of the explorer Charles Howard-Bury and the Everest Reconnaissance expedition
In this issue, our second, we venture widely in our quest to find great adventures. From an article written and sent from Princess Elisabeth Station in Antarctica we venture along the Omo River to meet Ethiopian tribes who are holding on to their authentic way-of-life in the face of commercialisation and tourism. We send a couch potato to climb Mount Fuji in Japan while others wander the ancient Roman roads in Transylvania, venture up Mount Toubkal and taste wondrous epicurean delights in Morocco. Finally we hear of the exploits of the explorer Charles Howard-Bury and the Everest Reconnaissance expedition
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Hammam<br />
Siffy Torkildson<br />
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA<br />
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA<br />
feel like galloping off into the desert.<br />
I note that my camel rocks forward and backward, as if in time with<br />
its upward and downward movement, I feel like I am in a dinghy<br />
drifting across the undulating dunes. After riding horses my entire<br />
life, getting used to Jimmy’s unique stride will take some time.<br />
I try squeezing my legs around my camel, as if on a horse, keeping<br />
my heels down; this had been ingrained into me as a young girl<br />
learning to ride a horse. In a flashback I remember my riding<br />
instructor hollering at me “Heels down! Eyes straight ahead; don’t<br />
look down! Do, there is no try!” I catch myself looking down,<br />
especially since a camel’s head is much lower than a horse’s. I glance<br />
at my guide’s head wrapped in a gray scarf as he leads my camel<br />
along; he seems so at peace.<br />
In the darkness the dunes are magical silhouetted against the full<br />
moon. The night is silent and I can only hear the footsteps of my<br />
barefoot guide and camel. A tall sensual dune looms above us to the<br />
north. The desert mystique is starting to rub off on me.<br />
“Karim, you can ride my camel and I will walk. You must be in<br />
pain.”<br />
Karim’s eyes reply with mixed emotions; he is a proud Berber,<br />
however he is in extreme pain. I feel sorry for Karim, dismount my<br />
camel and offer Jimmy to Karim. I tell Karim that my back is sore<br />
from riding my camel and that I would rather walk. Inside I smile,<br />
as I know Karim has had to let go of his ego yet again. I stride<br />
across the dunes smartly wearing my sandals.<br />
Karim giggles constantly atop my camel. “Which is worse, riding a<br />
camel or walking?” I ask.<br />
“I am not sure!” He laughs in his Dom DeLuise cackle.<br />
I notice Tor eyeing our hats. I smile within, knowing the scorching<br />
Saharan sun will take a toll on his exposed face. Before sunset we set<br />
up our Berber tents. The tents are made with wooden poles, covered<br />
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