People wonder where we are sleeping. We've slept in fields, in a fort from Mahajahara times, on temple grounds, in a wealthy person's home in the city, in a poor farmer's home on mountain top, and alongside railroad tracks. We always try for a low profile. We don't want to attract too much attention. Sometimes we've had uncomfortable nights when we aren't sure about the attention given by locals. Are they agressive or just curious? Last night's sleep was one we won't forget.  

We had let it get too late as we tried to find a suitable camping place. There just didn't seem to be anything as the darkness pulled the curtains on our vision. Then we lucked out yet again. We were crossing a bridge. Peering underneath we noted that the river bed was dry. This is a good indicator of spots for sleeping.  We started walking up the river bed searching for a spot. Here, we came to a strange anomaly in the channel, a circular bowl about 50 yards in diameter, banks around it 13 feet high fringed with pampass grass. The bottom of the bowl was covered by powdery white sand. It was smoothed to a flat surface. It seemed incredibly artifical. We tossed guesses around. Maybe it was a nuclear subsurface test site, an alien landing zone, a firing range. We didn't have a clue.  

While setting up camp, a tractor came in with its lights blazing in our faces to check us out. We tried to explain we were camping in English to people who only spoke Hindi. They left.  

We settled into our tents for the night. I thought I'd have a chance to get some journal writing done without having local villagers collect around our tents like moths attacted to a flame. It would be much more exciting this evening. As I wrote for about twenty minutes, I thought I heard a noise, a cough and rustling. I told Dan to turn out his light as I clicked mine off.  

Moments later, a shout came from the bank above. It was in Hindi and I had no idea what was said. A spotlight clicked on. More shouting followed. I started putting my shoes on, calling back in Hindi, "Ek minit." (one minute). The shouting got louder and more angry. I called back, "Neigh mai samjaha hindi. Angrezi atti hai." (I don't understand Hindi. Do you speak English). That's when the voice shifted to English. "Get out of your tents now. We have guns and will shoot." That got me moving. Then the voice said, "Where are your weapons?" I said we didn't have any. I heard what sounded like the bolts being pulled back on rifles. That's when I noted figures all along the ridge line outlined by the starry night sky. Some were aiming rifles at us. The voice was angry as it asked where the rest of the people were and to put my hands on my head. Dan, in the meantime was struggling in his tent to get some clothing on (he sleeps naked, which may be more information than you want. I sleep with my clothes on in unusual locations just to be safe.) Dan came out with just his pants on, which were beginning to slip down. I told him to put his hands up. That's when men in full camoflague gear and grease painted faces started sliding down the embankment all around us.  

One of the men had a machine gun aimed at me as we were surrounded. Dan's pants in the meantime were sliding down. He asked for permission to lower his hands to pull them up. The captain of the unit walked up shining the light in my face. The questions were still coming rapidly, but the voice seemed calmer. He told us that local farmers had told them that their were armed Afganistan or Kashmiri terrorists camped out in the field. The Indian soliders were a squad from the local military depot. He told me they had come fully prepared for a fire fight. Inspecting us, he quickly ascertained we weren't likely bad guys. We were rapidly talking and explaining our adventure, camels, BBC and journalist status. It took him a while to tell his men to lower their pointed weapons. Perpetual journalist that I am, I asked if I could take a photo of his troops. He said, they were a special unit and there would be no photos, no names, and no information about his base. But he was very apologetic about the mistake. He then asked if we would like tea. This was followed by getting us to explain to his men the details of our adventure-education-humanitarian mission. Then dinner was ordered brought to us. He even asked us to speak to his wife on his cell phone. In a complete turn around he explained that the India army never wanted to appear a bully or unfair and that the response was because of a possible threat. The captain went out of his way to make us comfortable. The next day he provided a personal military escort through one of the cities we would have to pass through simplifying our journey tremendously. He was genuinely interested in our safarai and even took a ride on one of our camels.  

He asked many questins during our short friendship, but one question has been consistently asked by Indian people, "Why camels?"   While an Indian sees a camel as common as a cat or dog, Americans and Europeans see it as an exotic animal. They want to know how two foreigners learn to deal with  this unique animal in a place where they don't speak the language, aren't familiar with the customs, and don't even know the local terrain. The camel also serves another purpose. They show us a side of India that few tourist willl ever see. The camel introduces us to the local people. As we pass a camel cart driver and say, "Ram-Ram," a local greeting, there is a knowing smile from the cart driver as he looks at our camels and asks us to hop on the back of his cart. We understand some of their life because we share in the camel experience. Local men see us with our camels and invite us to help dig a well. They know the difficulty of dealing with camels and that we won't be deterred by the diffiuclty of digging a well. A farmer plowing his field comes over to inspect our camels and talks to us about the cost of camels and the finer points ot purchaing an animal, then invites us into his home for a meal.

Dan and I have made it to Agra, one of our big goals. We are now turning up towards the Ganges River, the holy river of India. This is a change to our original plan as we aim towards the Western edge of Nepal which will take us through Bareilly and Pilbith to reach the border. To do this will require a lot of luck and a physical push that is already taxing our meager resources. We have also received a lot of cautions from local people, the police, and the military about being very careful in this area. Follow us to find out what happens.