Notes from a Dug - Jaisalmer to Jodhpur

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Notes from a Dug - Jaisalmer to Jodhpur

Did I mention that, once in Jaisalmer, we would be staying in another of the Maharajah's palaces? Instead, we drove up to a four year old Maharajah styled palace for which even the nabobs of old would lay open their treasuries. Greeted by historically dressed members of the royal Hussars (wrong country but I don't know the right name) with moustaches that would make Lanny McDonald's flaccid with shame, these lads were beating a kettle drum the size of an army tent. And ... all for the five lovelies and a dud. We walked the hundred meters across the castle keep and were ushered in by two turbaned, Kurta clad sitar musicians and one Bedouin Sheherazade. I could gush like a fool but it was obvious that one thousand and one nights were coming our way. This was the full meal deal amazingly just outside a town of 70,000. Someone is counting on a growing tourist trade. Why would that be? We thought the draw was the ability to ride into the sunset on the rock-hard hump of a camel. The itinerary dictated just another fort the following day and a couple of Havelis.

Based on that, Anna figured, "I'm passing on the fort. Catch ya later for the camel ride. I'm hanging at this hotel for the day and letting whatever pampering people might be here take care of me." The next day it was the two+ huskies (Lisa & Terry & a bottle of cough syrup) and the curiosity seekers that leapt up late to visit Jaisalmer. It was full-on magic. As the only living fort in India it means people eat, breath, conduct business and legerdemain within the walls of this desert city, once a main stop on the Silk Route. It was here that 170 years ago five Jain brothers build a commercial fortress larger than the financial kingdoms of Bill Gates, Carlos Slim and Warren Buffet combined. They built a Haveli with jewel encrusted interior walls, four inch thick gold ceilings, and unparalleled, filigreed exterior sandstone walls. And, all this from an Indian desert kingdom. They did it without water, without electricity, without roads - just from what they could squeeze from the never-ending caravans of traders.

More magic came at us in the form of an eight year old girl who walked a tight-rope over our heads, balancing three bowls on her head with her feet inside a bicycle rim as she edged her way along the rope. Eyes focused unwaveringly dead ahead, oblivious to the cattle, scooters, tuk-tuks and masses of people that threaded their way through the streets of this feudal Byzantium. And, then there were the colours. Unparalleled! Rich, pulsing, shimmering fabrics. Sheesh Mahals (Glass Palaces) that a person could drape across their Canadian beds or hang from their Canadian walls. Forget the iridescent saris and the herbs and spices of matchless intensity. Our guide took us to a women's cooperative that receives piece-work from the surrounding desert tribes. From a man with a lacklustre shopping career, I told Terry, "We ain't leaving here without as much as we can lift." Terry knows I mean it and she does her best to comply.

We visit a silver jeweller whose family has been doing this forever and whose work is commissioned by royalty. He works out of his house in an 8 x 8 shop that backs onto the desert. Terry finds a ring that makes her feel like royalty and the smiles are regal as we leave.

Not done yet, we wonder what dance the camels will do as we anticipate our ride into an undoubtedly hazy, husky, liquid peach sunset. The camels oblige. The women are fine. Doug gets his gonads pounded. The camels lay their bodies down so we can slide, as easily as possible, onto the cooling desert sand. Janice stands beside the guide and Doug. Something emits the resonating sound of a BAA-ROOM. Janice looks first at the camel and then at Doug, trying to identify the originator. Accusatory eyes follow. The guide and Doug know that these unearthly sounds can only come from a camel. The others are not so sure.

We conclude the day by eating out on the rooftop patio of a 100%!v(MISSING)egetarian restaurant, hidden in the back streets of a desert town in the mystical kingdom of India.

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Comments

[Beth]

thanks for the updates!
we are enjoying your blog and the vicarious tour! exquisite!