Hattie on Tour

Sleeping out in the desert is an interesting, but somewhat uncomfortable experience;  the bedrolls are not quite thick enough and the sandy ground is not as soft as you might imagine.  We are up around 6.30 for breakfast of toast and marmalade , bananas and sweet chai.  Our French companions both speak excellent English and are self-confessed anglophiles having lived in London for a couple of years.  Stefan is an academic studying for a PhD in economics in Chicago and Marie has just given up a job as an analyst in London to join him there.  They have been excellent company on the trip, both having a good sense of humour, and we’d been getting on really well until the conversation over breakfast turns to politics and Stefan states he would never visit a communist country.  To cut a long discussion very short, Andy announces he would rather live in a communist country than America.  At which Stefan suddenly and without any other provocation launches into a tirade of abuse, swearing and ranting saying he’d have found it more acceptable if Andy said he’d prefer to live in Nazi Germany.  Flabbergasted, we think it best to withdraw since there seems to be no possibility of placating him as he continues to berate Andy.  Fortunately they are returning to Jaisalmer after breakfast and they don’t speak to us again. 

After packing up camp we ride the camels to a small village where the rains have filled a small waterhole.  It’s here that the rest of our party are being picked up for the return to Jaisalmer whilst we are being joined by another group for the rest of the day.  As we wait for the jeep to arrive we watch the comings and goings around the small oasis;  village women in their vividly coloured saris arrive in groups to collect water in metal urns almost too heavy to lift but which they carry on their heads with effortless grace.  Children from the local school have heard we are here and come in shy groups to say hello and ask for pens and empty water bottles.  One boy has been given a half-full bottle of mineral water by one of the group and immediately proceeds to empty this precious liquid on the ground.  It turns out that the villagers would rather re-fill the bottles from the murky waters of the pool that camels drink from and people bathe in rather than drink mineral water that has come into contact with the lips of someone else!  In India no-one puts the neck of a bottle to their lips, instead they pour the water into their mouths or drink from a cupped hand.  Only foreigners taint the water by drinking directly from the bottle making it dirtier, as far as Indians are concerned, than water from a muddy pool.

A water tanker is brought down to the pool to siphon off the water to fill the cisterns of the houses in the village.  All the water will taken away and stored otherwise it will become too brackish to drink.  Unbelievably, to us, the villagers drink this water without treating it in any way and we see several people come to the pool to drink.  There are startling contrasts in India – on the one hand people drink untreated water and live with unwholesome open drains and yet there is widespread mobile phone usage and network coverage far more extensive than in Australia. 

Today the camels aren’t tied together and mine is way out front.  I’ve got the hang controlling it’s direction;  a gentle tug on the reins to left or right does the trick.  But I have no idea how to stop it!  Apparently, I learn later, pulling its head back so it can’t see where it’s going brings it to a halt.  Fortunately they are placid, well-mannered beasts and walk at a gentle, but steady pace.  My camel is the mother of a baby which has accompanied the safari tagging along usually just behind or alongside me all the way. 

The temperature seems to have soared today and there is less breeze.  When we stop for lunch our camel drivers are in no hurry to move on preferring to wait for the heat to abate.  We are with a good bunch of people today;  a young Dutch couple, and English guy from a village somewhere between Ilkley and Skipton, and another couple who are possibly Dutch as well.  It’s 4.30 before we pack up and move on;  we’ve spent most of the afternoon chatting and very little of the day on a camel!  Half –an-hour’s ride further on we meet our jeep pick-up and say our goodbyes to the rest of the group who are heading to the dunes for their night under the stars.  The road back to Jaisalmer about 30 kms away is in good condition but very uneven and consequently it’s a bumpy ride.  It also narrow, which means pulling over whenever we meet anything coming the other way.  We arrive back, hot, sweaty and uncomfortably sandy.

Our first task on returning to Jaisalmer is to book a taxi to take us to Bikaner tomorrow.  We got a price from a taxi stand a couple of days ago which was half what was being quoted elsewhere.  But when we go back to book this evening the price starts at 2,500 rupees and then suddenly and inexplicably increases to 3,500.  Annoyed by the blatant attempt to over-charge us we walk away and are immediately surrounded by taxi drivers wanting to offer us a better price – it’s amazing the impact of walking away can have – and we settle on a price of 2,800. 

We say our goodbyes to some of the people we have met during our stay in Jaisalmer and spend our last night having dinner on a roof-top restaurant in the fort that has far-reaching views out over the desert. 

In the end we decided to do the desert safari through the hotel.  It is a little more expensive (3,600 rupees) but is more convenient;  we have a hotel room on our return and we don’t have to move our luggage.  There are five of us on the safari today and it’s a bit of a squeeze in the small jeep along with all the food supplies.  We are travelling with a young French couple, Marie and Stefan, and a Japanese student whose name alludes our ears.  We stop on the way to look round the royal cenotaphs and the rebuilt Jain temples at Lodhruva.  The hillside cenotaphs are in a rather sorry state of repair and the Jain temples although pleasant enough, bear no comparison to those in the fort at Jaisalmer.

A short drive further on and we meet up with the camels and their drivers.  We are on a non-touristic safari which means avoiding the well-trodden routes and other groups.  It transpires that it also means not visiting anything very interesting in the way of villages or monuments and sticking to the scrubby desert.  We ride the camels for about an hour before stopping for lunch in the shade of a tree.  We rest and chat whilst the drivers prepare a meal of vegetable curry and chapatis all prepared and cooked over an open fire.  We stop for a couple of hours during the heat of the day, water the camels and relax.  There is something rather majestic about the camel with its haughty and inscrutable expression and its stoical manner.  They are seriously uncomfortable to ride being particularly hard on the buttocks and hamstrings.  But I’ve discovered that it is much more comfortable to sit with one leg bent so that the foot rests on the camel’s neck or a bag hanging from the saddle.  All the camels are strung together and I’m at the back although my camel wants to be up at the front which means my leg is continually being trapped against the camel in front. 

The Great Thar Desert is flat , sandy and surprisingly green, with a few trees, bushes and a green, weed-like covering.  Despite the aridity of the area, the villagers grow a kind of red berry that is used medicinally and herd sheep and goats.  We also catch a glimpse of a desert fox and deer.  After another couple of hours riding we camp for the night on the sand dunes that cover a relatively small area of the Thar Desert around Sam and Khuri.  The sand is silky soft and golden blown into geometric crescents with steep leeward cliffs and rippled windward slops.  But even here there is some vegetation growing.  There are also numerous dung beetles scurrying around or buzzing overhead.  When not busy rolling balls of dung they are either fighting to defend their prize possession or burying it.  Fortunately they don’t seem interested in us and never encroach on our mats.  The camel drivers prepare another freshly-made vegetable curry and chappatis and ply us with sweet chai and fruit while we wait for dinner to be served.  The sunset is disappointingly unspectacular;’  in fact we haven’t seen a decent sunset since we arrived in India.  But the night sky is wonderfully clear and bursting with stars. 

Dinner is served in the pitch dark and I have to tie a torch to my head so that we can see what we’re eating.  After dinner our Japanese companion takes a walk over the dunes to answer a call of nature and doesn’t return.  It’s not until one of the drivers hears his calls for help that anyone realises he’s wandered far away from the camp, become hopelessly disorientated and lost his way.

By 9.30 pm we are all settled down for a night under the stars on thin mattresses, a rolled blanket for a pillow and heavy eiderdowns for when it turns chilly.  Later we are woken by the hobbled camels shuffling passed inches from where we lay.  By this time the waning moon has risen and the landscape is bathed in a bright silvery light. 

Today, we are shopping;  making up for all the times we have denied ourselves souvenirs in other countries because of lack of space and the over-riding desire not to add to the weight of our luggage.  Now, with only three weeks to the end of our trip, we feel we can indulge ourselves in the wonderful array of handicrafts that Rajasthan has to offer.  As we walk down the narrow alleys of the fort, popping into this shop and that along the way, our progress is monitored by shopkeepers further down the lane and when we reach them they expect us to step inside and spend a little money with them too.

Shopping is a pleasant, sociable affair.  Business is generally done over a cup of chai and once the shopkeeper has determined what you might be interested in, or even not interested in, it doesn’t seem to matter, an array of items will be brought down from the shelves and paraded before you in a variety of sizes and colours until the floor is stewn with numerous samples of scarves, tablecloths, shawls, bedspreads or whatever.  It takes a certain measure of determination to walk out without buying because the shopkeepers are a very tenacious breed and will cajole and negotiate  in an effort to arrive at a mutually acceptable price even as you walk down the street.

Side stepping the cows can be a little tricky too as a single cow can obstruct the narrow laneways leaving little room to squeeze by and whilst we are now quite used to walking alongside them in the street, pushing them out of the way needs a little more courage particularly in the face of their horns.  Fotunately, there is usually someone coming in the opposite direction to give them a hefty slap on the backside which invariably shifts the beasts.

We have dinner on the roof terrace of the hotel and not for the first time we admire the magical view of the fort lit up against the night sky.  From here we can see the complete sweep of one side of the fort with its ramparts, bastions and old havelis bathed in a warm glow.  The night-time view is quite special;  made even more so when the full moon rises from behind it.

The man-made Gadisisar Lake on the outskirts of Jaisalmer was once the city’s main water supply.  A shadow of its former self, the lack of rain has reduced it to not much more than a large pond.  We are lucky to see it with any water at all;  only a few days ao it was almost completely dry and hundreds of catfish that live in it had to be culled.  Fortunately recent rains in the desert have replenished it somewhat and the enourmous and rather ugly catfish are much in evidence in its murky waters.  There are several temples and shrines around the lakeside as well as some that, under different circumstances, would be in the middle of the lake.  Ghats run down to the water and there is even boat hire available, although business is slow today.  Despite the prevailing breeze there is a peace and stillness to this place on the edge of the desert.  The pleasing Tilon-ki-Pol gate which straddles the path leading to the ghats was built, legend has it, by a wealthy coutesan.

In the evening we visit the Desert Culture Centre and Museum for a traditional puppet show.  We arrive 30 minutes early, which gives us the opportunity to wander round the small museum which is the personal collection of the elderly man who introduces himself at the door.  The displays are a bit moth-eaten and dusty, but there are extensive explanations in Engish.  The audience for the performance consists of us and four other pepole and we are treated to a series of puppet dances accompanied by three musicians one of which is an absolutely brilliant and and rather theatrical player of a pair of precussion instruments very similar to Spanish castanets.  The show though doesn’t quite live up to expectations and is certainly not as good as the short taster we had during our visit to the fort above Amber.