A sleepless night

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...

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.

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

A golden surprise

Waiting for the bus with a cuppa chai

Hooly cow. An appropriate phrase that I'm beginning to feel originated here, given that cows are holy to Hindus and I find myself repeating it daily. We've just arrived back to 'Ba's Guesthouse' situated inside the Golden Fort of Jaisalmer, India.
The Sandstone fort rises out of the desert sand like a magnificent sandcastle, alive with women in colourful sari's and men wearing white shirts and saffron turbans; the original colours that the warrior caste wore & a clever shield from the scorching sun. We've just returned, sleep deprived and sun kissed from a night in the Rajasthani desert, in which we rode with the desert folk to the sand dunes that border Pakistan. The red border lights could be seen about 30km away flashing throughout the cool, cloudy night. But like many things in India, it didn't exactly go to plan...

N & I :)

The monkey temple: Jaipur

We arrived in Jaisalmer after a 9 hour night bus, our clothes damp from the manky double bunk that we'd shared. The pungent smells of the previous nights curry we'd eaten in our dark little cabin and various fumes circulating from the open window, still lingered on our sticky skin.
It had already been a whirlwind of activity: A backstreet meal in Jaipur, forgetting my passport & missing our bus to Pushkar, experiencing racism at its core in a tuk tuk bus in Ajmeer and being driven around Pushkar's mountains and lakes on Shiva day by our new friends N and C. While I'd love to expand that rammed sentence, to put all the events that have occurred into one blog would be total overwhelm; mimicking the sensation of this trip so far (in the best sense).

The Amer fort: Jaipur 

There was a moment on the night N. arrived that remains a perfect allegory for this trip. She was 4 hours late after the airport lost her luggage in Dubai somewhere and we were sat in J's tuk tuk that had just broken down. Positioned sideways, we were pushed through a stream of oncoming traffic on the highway listening to deafening horns of all frequencies blaring their business. We held hands tightly and with a hint of fear and a mound of joy, we laughed at the lunacy of the situation - knowing everything usually ends up alright. Sure enough, 5 minutes later we were puffing on a beadie on the side of the road, watching the mass of noisy cars we'd just been immersed in - and the flow goes on.

Pushkar

Due to time constraints, we were conquering each city in a matter of days, so we zoomed through peaceful Pushkar and weren't quite expecting such a scorcher in the Golden City where I now sit. The fort and Palace previously run by the warrior caste (Bahti's) deserves its own post altogether, for its elaborate history cannot be expressed in a few simple words. We'd conquered the palace and stood at all the viewpoints we could find, our eyes scanning over the parched rooftops, most of which are now restaurants or guesthouses. We managed to spot where we were staying that was distinguishable by the bright sari's flying in the wind of a half-constructed guesthouse. Our only job now was to book what Jaisalmere's famous for, camel safaris; we'd already received numerous offers all day. Many locals came from surrounding desert villages and owned camels (or had a connection that did). They could navigate through the desert like it was the back of their hand. I laughed at how what is such a novelty to us, must seem so normal to them, showing excited tourists their pet camels and sandy garden.

Pushkar lake

Jaisalmere ladies
dressed in colourful sari's

We were walking down the large stones leading to the exit of the fort, passing rows of closed travel agents and slightly wishing we'd accepted one of the previous offers. And then, like the law of attraction, B. pops out of a dimly lit side street and offers us a camel tour. We allowed ourselves to be pulled along by the warm wave of the evening, up another set of foreign stairs, leading to another magical rooftop that evoked a sense of Aladdin's Arabian nights.
After talking business and haggling hard, B brought up a welcome tray of drinks and snacks, paying homage to the hospitable nature of the Indian Culture. We gazed up at the bizarre pink cloud that was floating above us, that soon became a desert storm. We sat in the restaurant below, trapped from both sides (that had no walls) in a power cut, watching the city reveal itself through the odd flash of lightning. We soaked in the energy of the rain (that this desert can go up to 7 years without seeing!) knowing that tomorrow night we'd lie under the milky way, with nothing but dry dunes and a desert breeze...

Jaisalmer

 Recipe of the day: Dhal Bati (A classic Rajasthani dish)
 http://nishamadhulika.com/special/dal_bati_recipe.html