Me, my camels and the rest of the zoo in Rajasthan, India

My passion for camels is not a secret, it was love at first sight in Abu Dhabi desert, and I almost got traded with two camels in Istanbul. It must be a destiny, everywhere I go I see camels, or I unconsciously choose destinations were I'm bound to find them.

India is not just a photographer's paradise, but also a camel's paradise. Or any animal's for that matter, since, as my guide told me many times "In India you don't need to go to the zoo, you'll find it in the streets."

Cows, monkeys, elephants, pigs, any creature you can think of swans around the badly kept roads of rural (and urban) India.

Indians have a sort of obsession for animals, they don't kill them, in the Rajasthan region most people are completely vegeterian, instead of eating meat, they translate animals into gods and worship them. During all my travels I had never been to a place where people establish a so close contact with nature. Almost unbearably fascinating.

I'm not vegetarian, but I realize I'm gradually eating less and less meat. I really I love animals, and during my recent trip to India, along with visiting countless monuments and places of historical interest, and driving around the Rajasthan, I couldn't stop staring at the cows: they are their holy animal, they are everywhere, they live in the streets, they hang around local markets, living just fine among people.

Indians don't even mind until they stumble on them suddenly in the middle of the road while recklessly darting back and forth with their cars and motorbikes: it's unforgivable sin (and very likely also illegal) to hit a cow.

Not only happy cows swinging their head conscious of their importance, but also other animals live carefree in a country where they are loved, protected and worshipped.

As for me, having the possibility to see my camels so often, without rushing and being able to capture their funky smile with my camera was, well, priceless.

More pearls, as usual, on my Flickr set devoted to animals.

Me and my camels

A while ago I had written about the "possibility" I've had to relocate to a camel farm in Turkey. At that time, I rejected the proposal, and now I understand the only reason I had done it was because I had never seen a camel. Live, at least.

During my latest trip to Middle East, I went on a Safari in Abu Dhabi desert, and one of the stops was at a camel farm. And there the epiphany: I love camels. They are discreet, sweet and shy. So shy that when I got close to the first one, he run away.

I took another chance, and it was mutual friendship. I started feeding them, that's why maybe they gave me the benefit of the doubt. I was thrilled, I forgot my camera somewhere in the farm, I wasn't even thinking about taking photos of the camels. In a nutshell, I forgot anything "modern", I thought perfectly normal of moving there and living in a tent. I was mesmerised.

"Ships of the desert", camels are part of the charm that desert lands evoke. Their being the undisputed stars of such timeless beauty, their role as constant travel companions to fascinating nomad tribes, Bedouins and Tuaregs, and their being a symbol of wealth and so loyal to their owners, inevitably play a strong role in tickling such a foreign curiosity.

It was a real wrench to tear myself from these sights, and from the very moment of our departure I've started picturing my next "camel-oriented" excursion. Mongolia?

Want to buy me? I'm worth two camels

Striking (and disappointing) revelation, in Istanbul, when a camel-trader was ready to pay only two camels to buy me.

"Only two??" I muttered, outraged.

"But they are expensive!"

"That's ok, then."

After a couple of minutes of negotiation, the deal was closed. I'm not sure why the buyer offered to pay the two camels to my friends instead of my parents for example, since I'm not married or engaged, but with the prospect of my future life in the desert, that was definitely a minor detail. I was actually flattered that someone was ready to give up on something precious for me. And camels are precious, indeed.

It all started when my friends and I were lured in a permanent exhibition in central Istanbul, where artists were teaching their art to young students and, at the same time, displaying their work. Just before the entrance we found a local carpet-maker who invited us in his lab/store performing the most charming techniques Turkish shopkeepers learn the very first day they start working.

Situated beside the Topkapi Palace, Ismail's shop is a colourful exhibition of strictly handmade carpets aptly enriched with photos of her mother and sisters during the whole making process, sewing and colouring with natural pigments, more resistant than the artificial ones.

Chatting, it came up that Ismail doesn't originate from Istanbul but from a little tribal village and, having noticed my enthusiasm, he kindly invited me to a bellydance party with his friends and family next time I would go to Turkey.

Since then, I've been dreaming about all this bellydancing (not that I'm able to bellydance, but still like the atmosphere), so when I go back to Istanbul my first stop will certainly be at Ismail's studio, just to make sure he's going to keep his promise.

In that case, my promise is that I will post here the pictures of myself bellydancing. If not too detrimental to my public image.