Titania Veda

A Year of Whimsy: ‘Tom Turbo’ Visits the Camel Farm

I smell like camel. Barely 24 hours after I began my first day at a camel farm in the foothills of Austria, I have already bonded with the two-hoofed creatures and constantly carry the pungent odor of the animals’ scent and saliva on my skin.

From the rocky coastline of west Norway, it took three countries, two planes, a cab, four trains, a tram and almost 14 hours to reach the town of Melk by the Danube River, home to the largest Benedictine monastery in Europe and where I was met by Gerda, the owner of the camel farm.

The farm lies in the most idyllic of settings, with an Austrian pine forest as a backdrop and only a stone’s throw away from Vienna. In a compound, a succession of gravelly stone houses painted the color of honey mustard are occupied by Gerda, her mother and the family’s elastics and suspender-belt factory.

The farm is a menagerie consisting of 11 camels, brought by Gerda from places as far flung as Mongolia and Canary Islands, a handful of tall stallions and short Shetlands, a white mule who likes to roll on its back and is stereotypically stubborn, a llama with two-toned ears, a gray ostrich that rushes toward people and fences in bursts, deer who flit in and out of the surrounding forest, a monochrome Shitzu called Killa, a plump orange tabby and a stray black rooster that materializes only during sauerkraut-stacked lunches.

My first day on the farm was spent scooping the poop of excited camels who found themselves the supporting actors in an Austrian children’s television show — “Tom Turbo” — about a talking bicycle. The plot, an actor explained while seeming quite embarrassed about being in the long-running show at all, involved kidnapping the camels. Human cast members wore beige safari suits of cotton and leather while Peter, one of the ruddy-cheeked child actors, carried a phone in the shape of a tennis ball.

Gerda’s farm was to be occupied for the week by the film crew. The dawn wake-up call was greeted by the sight of Tom Turbo, the remote controlled bicycle, nonchalantly riding by the stables while batting his enviably long eyelashes and occasionally speaking bursts of German in a bass voice usually reserved for deities.

Gerda’s camels are as well-trained as they come and despite popular belief, have yet to spit at me. But they do tend to defecate when excited. Though they have appeared in about 10 television and film productions in the past, Gerda said they still get stirred up by cameras and large groups of people. So once “Achtung!” is called and the cameras roll, small brown gumball-like objects tumble from the camels’ backsides every few minutes, making popping noises as they hit the ground.

Of all the camels, my favorite is Halef. The coat that covers his two humps is as thick as freshly shorn grass and a tie-dyed mixture of browns, ranging from sienna to dark chocolate. Knobbly-kneed with a tuft of hair jutting from his nobbly head like a punk rocker, he is the largest and most compliant camel, preferring to sit and languidly take in the scenery.

Aside from the camels, the farm is filled with characters. The other Tom is a volunteer helper from Australia. In the afternoons, he enjoys running around the farm and bathing in the fresh water creek near the paddocks. While deep in muck, he divulges random information, such as how Gerda was once a hippie chased by Interpol and would invite him for midnight dips in the Danube. The lady herself, bespectacled with wispy gray blonde hair, reminds me of the nervous and worried Rabbit from “Alice in Wonderland” as she stomps around the compound in riding boots with a permanently pinched look on her face.

Then there is Genahdi, a strapping Bulgarian with a gray crewcut and fleshy muscles barely contained by his daily uniform of navy singlet and blue dungarees. The stoic one of the lot, he is often seen standing placidly before the camels, holding their reins as he waits for Gerda’s strained and muddled instructions. He speaks no English, so we smile instead and get along like a house on fire.

For an afternoon, the filming relocated to the top of a mountain behind the farm. On horseback, Gerda led the caravan of camels up a riding trail, while Tom, Genahdi and I guided them on foot.

Once we reached the top, I lay near Genahdi on a grassy hillside, holding the camel reins while waiting for the film crew to call for action. The ground smelled like eucalyptus and what I dreamed bluebells would smell like.

We listened to the camels gnaw, chomp and nibble the long blades of thick grass beside us. Chewing close to my ear, a flaxen beast called Mustafa blew my hair with his rough breath. From the ground, the sky was a palette of blues, the suede softness of long camel noses and swaying pines.

Titania Veda writes a weekly travel column. She is a former features reporter at the Jakarta Globe.

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