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| Desert traffic |
Continuing on from my last post: our camel tour began at 3pm and B. (who was pioneering it) closed down the hostel for the night to join us along with volunteers M & Y. I began the journey a little apprehensive after receiving uncomfortable warnings from the locals about sexual harassment - having 2 minor negative TripAdvisor reviews shoved into our faces, 5 minutes before we left. We dismissed their accusations, wondering whether they were due to jealousy or an attempt to knock out their competition (that was rated highly on TripAdvisor). We all squashed into the jeep and began the hour long journey into the desert; it consisted of a symphony of loud Hindi pop, bumpy roads and clusters of wild camels that were perfectly camouflaged against the beige landscape. I watched fondly as 2 cows played, butting heads and frolicking around the lush green shrubs. It was a rare moment in India to see cows playing in their natural surroundings: away from the bombardment of traffic, fluorescent lights and piles of rancid rubbish.
After a pit stop at a nearby lake, we arrived at B's village and were introduced to our camels. I was going to be riding 'Raju', B. proudly explained that he'd won a few of the local Rajasthani camel races... I prayed that its racing streak wouldn't kick in mid-safari... As the camels sat placid with their legs awkwardly bent behind them, I noticed that hard calluses had formed where their bodies touched the ground on the back of their calves and under their chests. They were mounted with old brass saddles that were rusty and worn from constant usage and piled high with our mattresses for the night. We sat down on our beautiful beasts and I centered myself, engaging my thighs and trying to get used to the unusual sensation of riding an animal. B rode with me for the first half, pointing out the holes created by desert foxes, wild gazelles that shied behind far away bushes and the plenitude of huge black beetles rolling around balls of camel dung. We rode for hours with the rhythm of our animals into what eventually became a setting sun. Passing the odd tourist group who were also wearing flowy headscarves and looking enchanted.
The camels driver pulled on the reigns and the volatile rhythm started to slow down as we reached our designated spot and my thighs gave in. A few other desert folk from nearby villages sat squatting on the ground, waiting to pamper the camels and set up dinner.
Besides the terrifying moment of Raju almost knocking us off his back, it was all well and lovely: headstands in the sand, racing down dunes and feeling the wild, rough energy of the desert. I even learnt the art of making chapatti for the first time! But as the night wore on, the deserted skies began to form heavy clouds that were visible through yellow flashes that illuminated the picturesque landscape. Plan B, if it rained was to sleep in the nearest village. But as the water droplets started to fall, the plan was for
some reason abandoned in favour of lying on our mattresses on the sand, under a plastic tarpaulin that was used for the camels. The energy of the group soon became confused agitation, with no help from the Bhang cookies that were uneasily digesting in our tummys (interestingly, Bhang: the male marijuana plant is legal everywhere in India).
We lay, smothered by a plastic sheet feeling the pressure of the rain against our bodies as it started to pour. The holes in the plastic, that were of variable size soon became evident as I awoke with bloodshot eyes every half hour to another stream of water dripping on my feet or forehead. It felt like a bloody Chinese torture method. The crackle of the plastic would send me in and out of dreams, as someone else's hand angrily punched the cover off our faces (that was far too close for comfort). We'd expected the storm to pass after about 30 minutes, an hour at the most, with great reassurance from B who knew best...
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| Om nama Shiva ;) |
5 hours later, in a half wake- half sleep state, we all shoved the plastic sheet off our faces, that now reeked of camel. My clothes and mattress were soaking and stained pink from the leaking rose print on the mattress. The fine desert sand that had once felt like a gentle exfoliant, was now chafing against my sticky skin with each toss and turn. And then the mozzies arrived... desert life suddently seemed to lose its appeal. I awoke for the final time to feel the warmth of someone's body against my back, a strangers hand was comfortably draped over my hips and there was subtle breathing in my ear. It was the camel driver (that had definitely started off sleeping 4 people away): suddenly the previous days warning didn't seem so silly... I was not up for a ride at all, so I swiftly got up, shaking off the night like a damp dog and wandering across the golden hills that were cleansed from the nights rain. I did a few rounds of Surya Namaskar, saluting the rising sun and slowly and sleepily the rest of the group awoke for breakfast.
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That morning, we rode back across the dunes in silence, reflecting upon our noisy night. We returned to Jaiselmer in a lethargic blur, unamused by the deafening Hindi pop that was no longer entertaining. B kindly allowed us to wash up and regain a bit of a strength with a cup of masala chai before we ventured (with whatever remainder of energy) for one last dizzy day in the desert heat. With my mouth feeling as dry as Ghandi's flip flop, I now lie, propped up by my uncomfortably stuffed backpack on a luxurious, air conditioned sleeper bus en route to Udaipur. N has crashed out with the activities of the last few days, so I turn my head to look out the murky window: the great golden ball is slowly falling through the dusty sky - a perfect lasting image of Jaisalmer: The City of Gold.
Song of the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C3lWwBslWqg
After a pit stop at a nearby lake, we arrived at B's village and were introduced to our camels. I was going to be riding 'Raju', B. proudly explained that he'd won a few of the local Rajasthani camel races... I prayed that its racing streak wouldn't kick in mid-safari... As the camels sat placid with their legs awkwardly bent behind them, I noticed that hard calluses had formed where their bodies touched the ground on the back of their calves and under their chests. They were mounted with old brass saddles that were rusty and worn from constant usage and piled high with our mattresses for the night. We sat down on our beautiful beasts and I centered myself, engaging my thighs and trying to get used to the unusual sensation of riding an animal. B rode with me for the first half, pointing out the holes created by desert foxes, wild gazelles that shied behind far away bushes and the plenitude of huge black beetles rolling around balls of camel dung. We rode for hours with the rhythm of our animals into what eventually became a setting sun. Passing the odd tourist group who were also wearing flowy headscarves and looking enchanted.
The camels driver pulled on the reigns and the volatile rhythm started to slow down as we reached our designated spot and my thighs gave in. A few other desert folk from nearby villages sat squatting on the ground, waiting to pamper the camels and set up dinner.
Besides the terrifying moment of Raju almost knocking us off his back, it was all well and lovely: headstands in the sand, racing down dunes and feeling the wild, rough energy of the desert. I even learnt the art of making chapatti for the first time! But as the night wore on, the deserted skies began to form heavy clouds that were visible through yellow flashes that illuminated the picturesque landscape. Plan B, if it rained was to sleep in the nearest village. But as the water droplets started to fall, the plan was for some reason abandoned in favour of lying on our mattresses on the sand, under a plastic tarpaulin that was used for the camels. The energy of the group soon became confused agitation, with no help from the Bhang cookies that were uneasily digesting in our tummys (interestingly, Bhang: the male marijuana plant is legal everywhere in India).
We lay, smothered by a plastic sheet feeling the pressure of the rain against our bodies as it started to pour. The holes in the plastic, that were of variable size soon became evident as I awoke with bloodshot eyes every half hour to another stream of water dripping on my feet or forehead. It felt like a bloody Chinese torture method. The crackle of the plastic would send me in and out of dreams, as someone else's hand angrily punched the cover off our faces (that was far too close for comfort). We'd expected the storm to pass after about 30 minutes, an hour at the most, with great reassurance from B who knew best...
That morning, we rode back across the dunes in silence, reflecting upon our noisy night. We returned to Jaiselmer in a lethargic blur, unamused by the deafening Hindi pop that was no longer entertaining. B kindly allowed us to wash up and regain a bit of a strength with a cup of masala chai before we ventured (with whatever remainder of energy) for one last dizzy day in the desert heat. With my mouth feeling as dry as Ghandi's flip flop, I now lie, propped up by my uncomfortably stuffed backpack on a luxurious, air conditioned sleeper bus en route to Udaipur. N has crashed out with the activities of the last few days, so I turn my head to look out the murky window: the great golden ball is slowly falling through the dusty sky - a perfect lasting image of Jaisalmer: The City of Gold.
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