The Desert
An English explorer in the 1930s crossed the uninhabitable Rub Al Khali desert in Saudi Arabia. He concluded nothing prepared you for one thing: loneliness. Well let me tell you, nothing prepared me for the testicle crushing agony of camel riding. 30 minutes on board and I thought I'd lost them. Our camel train had set off from the desert's edge at 6AM and would not return until dusk the next day. It was going to be a long long 36 hours for me and my nads. I thought I would be ok with a long time in the saddle, being right up there with Kylie in terms of pertness. Sadly, this doesn't seem to be the best quality for long distance camel travel.
If I was unprepared for nad-crushing, I was equally unprepared for my first desert toilet stop. This small detail was not mentioned in any preamble. The complexities were not drawn to my attention at any stage and basic training not provided. When Captain Oats left saying "I may be some time", this was a brave, noble gesture. When I said it, I referred to what a complicated manoeuvre this was going to be. Where do you go for a start off? Which dune is the right one? How far away is far away? Then there is hole digging, positioning, the roasting desert heat, sweating, possible nether sun burning, sand blowing everywhere. And the ignominy of everyone in my party knowing exactly where I was and what I was doing, having watched me trudging off silhouetted against the horizon, bog roll flapping by my side. 
The highlight of the trip was sleeping in the desert that evening. What can beat sleeping on the dunes, under the stars, listening to the camel herders repeatedly changing their mobile ring tones late into the night? I did enjoy the camel's company and by day two, we had bonded. OK, they urinate down their own legs - we've all been there. So they shit while they eat, I'd love that. More room for dessert. Camels are dirty, smelly, graceless animals but they do posses a certain charm. I began to understand what Kate Moss saw in Pete Doherty.
Massage
I arranged an Ayurvedic massage the day after our return, to soothe what I rightly thought would be aching limbs. Ayurveda being an Indian massage and healing system, peddled everywhere tourists go and Jaisalmer is no exception.
Sadly, it was not the relaxing antidote to camel rides I had hoped for. Carrie and I were separated by a curtain, but I quickly felt very alone with my masseur. Firstly, I was butt naked. My man - a large rough handed gentlemen - then started with full length body strokes. A few testicle brushes, but nothing I couldn't handle. One willy slap that sent the old man spinning like an airplane propeller, but an accident I was sure. Onto the front, please sir. I began to drift off. This was better. Down my right leg his hands went. Up my right leg his hands went. Hello! That went a bit far up the old bum crack! Oh well. Down my right leg. Up my right leg. Again! That is a bit famili - again!
What is going on? His hand is going right up where it shouldn't be. I had to do something, shut up shop. But how? How do you clench your bum cheeks, slowly, so as not to cause offence? This is something more than going to a friend's house you don't want to, just for an hour, so as not to cause offence. I mean, what if I trapped his hand? Get the timing wrong and suddenly we're in a very strange place. Me and a fat Indian man, in a dark room, down a small alley, inside the walls of Jaisalmer fort. That explorer was right. I began to feel very lonely. Nothing had prepared me for this.
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