I loved that primitive way of living which gave one back that hunger that transforms every morsel one puts under one’s tooth into solid satisfaction

Peter’s attitude was one of wonder at discovering the ways of the nomads, ways that are as old as the world. I, on the other hand, was going back to a chapter in my own history. In a sense I was only prolonging the journey I had made in Russian Turkestan. I was familiar with the smell of camels and of their fetid breathing as they ruminated. I had already joined in the halt at the watering-place, already seen the gathering of the dung for fuel. I knew the joy of drinking boiling tea, had assisted in the search for camels that strayed while grazing. I knew the silence at night, when one’s eyes are burning after marching against the wind all day. I loved that primitive way of living which gave one back that hunger that transforms every morsel one puts under one’s tooth into solid satisfaction; the healthy weariness that made sleep an incomparable voluptuousness; and the desire to get on that found realization in every step one took.

E. Maillart, Forbidden journey (1935), 104