Star Wars 1: The Phantom Menace. Tonight, I finally saw it. The movie opened many moons ago, in 1999. People spent days camped outside the doors of theaters, basking in Star Wars mania. Some even wore costumes (you know who you are). Tonight, for my own premier, I decided not to wear braided buns over my ears, in Princess Leia fashion. Seems I'm about eight years too late for the hype.

Because, on the day Phantom Menace opened in American theaters, I was in a country far, far away.

Looking more like Skywalker's home planet of Tatooine then an ice-encrusted tundra, Southern Siberia was a blazing 107 degrees that day. I was just trying to keep cool. Air conditioners were non-existent in Kyzyl, the capital city of Tuva, for good reason. Winters plunge to -78 degrees. Yeah. MINUS seventy-five degrees! Why buy expensive cooling machines? But in the summer of 1999, when I traveled to the region that is home to the Center of Asia and Richard Feynman's center of obsession, the sun beat down on the remote terrain, scorching my cheeks - and my perceptions of Siberia.

"Watch out," the nomadic herder warned me, giving me a boost on the camel's bumpy back. I managed to avoid the spitting end of the beast, though I suspected any fluid projectiles would be quickly caught in the matted hair hanging off his chin. His eyes were probably under there, too, though all I could see was a carpet with legs. Flies buzzed around my head as the nomad whispered something into its hairy ear. I wished I understood the Tuvan language. Then we were off!

"Watch out," the herder repeated, shaking his sausage link finger at me and grinning with a near-toothless smile. Then he whirled around and signaled to his wife to start boiling the yak's milk.

Setting off across the tundra, my camel and I tromped around calmly, swaying from side to side and sweating in the hot sun. There was really nowhere to go. Seared landscape stretched out for miles before smashing into the Sayan Mountains in the distance. After wandering around for a while, we finally got bored of each other and headed back toward the round, beige-clothed yurt his family called home. In the distance, it looked like a single, white polka-dot against the brown earth.

As the dot grew bigger, the camel started moving faster. It also didn't understand English.

"Slow down!" I commanded.

"Nye ponimayu" he seemed to reply. I don't understand.

"WHOA!" I yelled.

"Nye ponimayu."

Shooting across the Tuvan vista, it was as if the poor thing was running from the law. Or the KGB. His hoofs thumped hard against the ground, mingling with my own heartbeat in a strange rhythm. Faster and faster he raced until finally reaching the yurt. Laughing, the little nomad jaunted out and grabbed the reigns. I dangled from the hairy hump, dazed.

"I say to you for watch out," he giggled in mangled, Yoda-like English.

During my personal premier of Star Wars tonight, I thought about that little nomad as Obi Wan Kenobe consulted the wise, green Jedi. I remembered my camel as Jar Jar set off on that beast-thing leading the charge against the evil robot army. I could almost feel the heat of the Tuvan sun when Anakin Skywalker trudged over his sandy planet.

Lightyears ago, many played Wookie Hookie to stand in line for this movie. My wait was a little longer. And it involved no costumes, no lightsabres...and tonight, thankfully, no camels.