The main event, Bikaner

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Avoid western style breakfasts while in India. Good advice! The thickness of our pancakes promises to see us through the day and repair the sole of my right shoe. We leave Harasar Haveli and make for the Junagarh fort, a little apprehensive after Jaisalmer’s underwhelming palace complex. Once Rob has managed to record over the audio tour with a few directions on how to use the device, we get underway. Apprehension is replaced by respect. Respect for the stylish, well maintained buildings, respect for the excellent exhibits and awe inspiring “frescoes”, respect for the peaceful environment, until the schoolgirls’ outing arrives. The first of many photos with the white “ferenghi” is requested. Jill is hard pressed to get away as one teenager after another pulls her in close admonishing her friend to get a good photo on her Iphone 4.



We leave the fort planning to spend the afternoon visiting Bikaner’s civic buildings and museums. Fortunately we run into a very helpful and interested priest who looks more like a surf dude, at the Jain temple. He insists we drive out to Ladera for an afternoon at the camel fair and shows us the local paper full of photos of the previous day’s event. We broach the change of plan with Govind, anticipating his disapproval of any deviation from his “minimal effort” program. We counter his arguments not to make the 50 km trip, adding insult to injury we then ask him to stop to buy lunch. We purchase sweetmeats and questionable meat patties from a street vendor. A kindly old gentleman out with his granddaughters assists us with the transaction and after a whispered conference the girls request pictures with the two white tourists.



10 kms of dusty desert track, several near misses and we park up in the middle of “nowhere” to join the gay (male handholding seems to be the norm here) throng striding towards another sand dune. “Spending a penny” behind the bush can be tricky in the desert, but there is not a honeybucket in sight so we run the gauntlet at the most promising tussock before being engulfed in the flood of Indian revelers converging upon the camel races. With only a few westerners in evidence it becomes apparent that we are quickly becoming a major attraction. Our progress along the track is punctuated by photo-call, interviews in broken English, exchange of Facebook addresses and an interview with the master and boys of SESOMU boarding school on an outing at the fair. A long strip of desert between two hills makes the perfect amphitheater for the 500 meter strip across which the heats and final are held. Camels are random racers, some run in a straight line, others charge off at a tangent scattering the crowd to the hoots and cheers of onlookers. We realize there is no safe place to stand, so Jill stands on the finish line obviously believing she will be as safe there as up on the hill. A few shots of the thundering beasts and her husband yanks her from the path of the oncoming charge to safety. Good photos though, perhaps Rob should have heeded her entreaties to leave her be. Jill lives to shoot another day!



We celebrate the day’s champion jockey and wander down to the stalls for a cup of cha. Inquisitive about the women sitting up on the central stage surrounded by a quickly gathering audience, we amble across. Jill is motioned to the stage by one of the numerous organisers for a public version of musical chairs. At first reluctant, her competitive (sporting?) nature gets the better of her and she joins the group. The numerous officials create 15 minutes of chaos with whistles and counter whistles before the game gets underway. Many of the Indian girls have played before, but Jill holds her own until half of them have been eliminated before she is left seatless and retires from the battle to much applause. We have thoroughly enjoyed our day at the races and return to Bikaner and our favorite roadside restaurant, where fore $5 you can eat as much as your body will absorb!

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