Sunrise and Sunset in the Thar Desert

Taking Care Of Business

In the Thar desert, many kids never get the chance to attend school. From an early age instead, they shepherd goats and sheep. At about 12 years old, if lucky, they might find a safari operator to employ them. Mr Bangali explained to me that at that age, with no English language, the boy is paid about 500 rupees per month ($10) for his help with the camels and tourists. After about 2 years, having picked up substantial English (and other languages) from the tourists, the young man may find a camel owner to rent camels from and start his own safari business… getting about 1500 rupees per month from the safari operator in Jaisalmer to take their customers out. The goal at this point is to save up for their own camels. Each camel costs between 20,000 and 50,000 rupees. This is a huge sum for these people, but its not the end of the cost.

Right now this area of Jaisalmer and the Thar Desert is in drought. They have not had rain for 3 years and where once the desert was farmed, with plenty of food for the villagers and their animals, now the land is dry and mostly just sandy. Fewer people live here and memories of the monsoon time (July-August) are just that - memories. Life is extremely difficult. Yes, there are still wells… but they have to actually buy in food. Food for a single camel cost 200 rupees/day ($4 or a bit more). The camels HAVE to work with safaris in order to pay for themselves.

Mr Bangali is 24 years old. Not yet married, although I get the feeling his parents have started looking. Until recently he owned 3 camels - Rocket, Robert and Lalu. Unfortunately Lalu died suddenly a few months back. I can see hurt in his eyes. She was more than just a huge investment for him. She was his friend. He takes very good care of his camels, telling us that if you treat them right, not overwork them, feed then good food (not just desert bushes!) and water them without stressing them too much, they will live 25-27 years. Otherwise, not so long.

On day two in the desert we stop to water the camels. Using a simple pulley system, three men drag the rope attached to an inner-tube bucket, up from the well. Water spills down a chute and into the camel trough. Each camel can drink up to forty gallons!

A local point of view

A quick wander through the less than savory parts of Jaisalmer gave us a good glimpse into life everyday. Life that goes on, even in the middle of the annual Desert Festival.

l

Competing barbers chat side-by-side.

A blacksmith is hard at work, hammering out something useful with tried and trusted methods.

His young son, at age 3 is already following in Dad's footsteps.

And then there are the dogs... this baby flea-bag with his begging eyes, almost found himself in my backpack and en-route to a better life in the US!

Lost in Jaisalmer Fort, City of Sandstone

Jaisalmer is Jaisalmer because of the fort.

If Agra didn't have the Taj Mahal, nobody would visit, in the same way, if Jaisalmer lost it's Fort, tourism here would die. Or as one Indian man told me, the tourists would come for another year, to visit the ruins of the Jaisalmer Fort, then no more. He and his friends laughed out loud, but many a true thing is said in jest and I could see they truly understood their livelihood was tied to the Fort too.

And yet, every year they do lose a little more of the Fort. About 6000 people live inside its walls. They own stores and run hotels. The resulting water and run off is eating away at the sandstone and the Fort will one day no longer be.

For this reason, I chose to stay in a hotel outside of the Fort. But everyday I walked inside its walls, exploring the narrow alleys, marveling at the cows, dogs and people that make the Fort their home.

A good example of the delicate and intricate carved buildings that are typical here.

The view over Jaisalmer from high upon the Fort walls.

And at night, it glows over the marketplace outside it's walls.

Quite Literally Deserted

We paused briefly on our way to start the Camel Safari, to visit one of about 83 abandoned villages.

It is undergoing some restoration work by folk from another village and from time to time is borrowed as part of a movie set.

Kuldhara was once the home to a wealthy man, a trader on the silk route and the father of a very beautiful girl. The visiting Maharaja had eyes for her and a plan to make her his 5th wife. However, her family was several castes above that of the Maharaja and her father said no…resulting in, of course, much resentment from the Maharaja. He used his power to punish the businessman, affecting his business and that of another 82 villages in this desert area. The villagers all chose to move away, in support of (or perhaps out of reliance on) the businessman and his beautiful daughter. They went elsewhere to resume their lives and trades.

To this day these villages, for the most part, remain uninhabited… and in various states of disrepair.

Using the well water they mix mud and paints.

Me with my scarf tied by our guide, desert style!

It kept the sun off my face and staying in place all day.

The floor is a mixture of local dirt, cow dung and water. The women spread it by hand and when it dries they have a hard, durable floor for the houses.

Desert Festival 2010

I got lucky... The Desert Festival in Jaisalmer coincided with my visit!

And as we all know, there is nothing like a parade with music, dancing and costumes to kick off a festival.

So, this was how I started my January 28th...

From the top of Om Restaurant, where we were partaking in a leisurely breakfast, I heard them coming. The parade had started from the lake, was coming through town and going on to the stadium.

No-one knew exactly when they would get here... I was told "Madam, this is India. It will come in Indian time." You can imagine the accent.

And for 30 mins a procession of dancing beauties... perhaps not even women, drum playing men in wagons pulled by camels, bagpipers (yes! even in India) and performers skipped by. I was mesmerized. It was a peek at what was to come from the stadium later...

Heating Up The Desert

As I sat on red fabric, thoughtfully laid out on the dusty sand in the stadium, I took in quite a view.

I was in an area labeled "foreign tourists". Apparently we are quite special. A guard stands at the entrance and our area is roped off. Locals lean over the barrier, I'm not sure whether they are watching us (about 200 white people) or the festivities!

I'm definitely watching the festivities.

Only here could you see a moustache contest...

and a turban tying contest - for foreigners. What a laugh!

And to round it all off, this girl defied gravity while carrying pots of water on her head, and swaying wildly, side to side.

Going it alone

This journey really began when I left Osman at Haridwar Junction on the evening of the 24th of January. He, making his way north on the express to Amritsar then heading for the Wagar (Pakistan-India) border and me catching a later (almost midnight) train, overnight to Delhi.

I traveled first class, mainly because it was the only class left when I booked. First class has it’s ups and downs. I shared a lockable, clean and nicely outfitted cabin with a 37 year old Indian man and a 61 year old Californian (turned Indian) woman. The conversation was intelligent and pleasant, I got a great nights sleep, much good advice and perhaps most importantly, they both knew exactly when I should exit the train. This is a small matter that means so much here, as the stations are poorly sign-posted, the trains are never running to schedule and the porter, when speaking in English, is barely understandable with his thick accent.

So what’s the down side to First Class? I now know what I am missing in second and other lower classes and it’s hard to go back!!!

Once in Delhi I made tracks to the railway station cloakroom. The plan was to stash my large pack there for the day and come back for it before my next train early this evening. At the cloakroom I had the good fortune to meet Rhys. An Englishman with the same plans. His next train leaving 2 hours after mine and going in the same direction, his day as roughly laid out as mine.

Rhys and I spent the day walking around Parahganj, winding through the maze of markets, fighting off rickshaw drivers and resting in the only park that seemed to be open on a Monday. Yes, even the parks, with simple grass for sitting on, are closed one day a week.

At approximately 4:30pm I decided I should head to the station for my 5:40pm train. It had taken us about 10 minutes by rickshaw this morning to get here, so I’d allow double that to get back and still should have time to collect my things from the cloakroom and find my platform… right? Wrong! So wrong!

No rickshaw wanted any part of us. A surreal feeling after spending the day (indeed last 2 weeks) fending them off with a stick. Apparently the traffic was bad and it would take 45 mins to get there. Uh-oh. I ran for the Metro, my last hope. The line to be scanned (as India seemed to be on Amber alert too) was about 150 people long!!!! Another entrance revealed 2 lines. Men and women. The women’s line with just a handful of people in it. The only way to get to the station on time was to leave Rhys and run through. Luckily he had the time to deal with this crisis and we agreed to meet in Jaisalmer in 2 days.

Also luckily, I found a ticket agent who explained the system to me and directed me to the appropriate train, platform and my destination station. Ten rupees and ten minutes later, feeling more like a canned tuna, I was exiting toward the railway station. Phew!

Next stop… cloakroom. It was packed with people! If the Metro had taught me anything, it was pushing and shoving is acceptable behavior. So I did. And pretty soon I was not 30th in line, but I was 2nd! Guilt be gone, I had a train to catch and what if it was actually on time today?!

When the Delhi-Jaisalmer Express did arrive, only 1 hour late, I was ready. Myself and my new English friend Tanya, separated into our respective carriages for the 20+ hour journey. It was getting dark already and I was pretty tired. If only I could find the conductor and confirm my seat number…

One look at his chart confirmed I was actually in the wrong carriage. Second class, air conditioned yes, but apparently this train split in two just down the track and the carriage I was in would be heading to who-knows-where, while the back part of the train, including the other second class carriage, would go to Jaisalmer. Oooops! But how the heck is anyone supposed to know these things? His advice (to me and the other 2 people who had made the same mistake) was to jump out at the next stop and walk 6 carriages down and get in again. Easier said than done.

The train stopped and we jumped out onto the platform. People everywhere, running in all different directions, pitch black and within 30 seconds the “all aboard” whistle was being blown. WTF! I still had at least 4 carriages to run! The race was on… we did our best then dived into the nearest carriage just as the train began to move again. How do these people live like this? After walking through several more carriages I found another conductor, received directions to my berth and collapsed with relief and exhaustion. I had to ask myself if I was really meant to be going to Jaisalmer?… It did seem the universe was conspiring against me.

Lucky again with the company I was to keep, I had landed next to a 24 year old Indian man who lived in Jaisalmer, was a camel safari guide for 14 years and now ran a small guest house. His English was fantastic. (I took his word for it that he also spoke a good deal of French and Korean.) Amin was born in the Thar Desert to a poorer family, he had never attended school and is basically illiterate - but due to his constant tourist contact, has a worldly way about him. We became friends…then I fell asleep.

Seventeen pleasant, but noisy hours later, the train pulled into Jaisalmer Station and I had arrived.

Missing...One magic red carpet

I knew I had found it when I saw my room - The “Pink Maharani” room. Aside from being clean (and most are here) it was hand painted, Indian style. Bright colors, pieces of mirror and postcards decorated the walls. Five little windows with shutters that open over window seats, curtains of chiffon and gold thread. It was magical! I might have to refer to myself in the third person, as Princess Jasmine from now on!!! (Iknow, I know… she wasn’t Indian, but Disney is yet to collide with Bollywood and Jaisalmer does have more of an Arabian feel to it.)

It is from the silk cushioned window seat that I now write. It does still feel like I am riding the rails, but Im sure that feeling will subside. For now I’m showered, relaxed and soaking up the sun. From my open windows I see the Fort, markets, children playing in the streets… and it is not too noisy here either.

I made it. My own little slice of yellow sandstone heaven lies before me. Welcome to Jaisalmer, Princess Jasmine!

Cookie Time

A quiet walk along the back streets of Rishikesh inevitably lead to the fresh cookie cart. Unbelievable to think this man mixes dough, forms cookies and bakes them in his little fire-heated oven, all right there!

I wanted ONE. But buying one apparently means buying about a dozen - as they are sold by weight. So 2 minutes later, with a mouthful of cookie, I was a one-handed photographer... the other hand grasping a newspaper bag of cookies that I had no idea what to do with!

I tried offering them to beggars and homeless alike. No luck.

Then we ran into this guy. Hanging out near the bridge, certainly looking hungry!

He was very grateful for a cookie. His black-faced monkey paw gently reaching out and taking it. Deliberately measuring each bite, savoring the taste and leaving crumbs all over his face.