The Skinny on India

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Namaste, (Friends & Family)

The Wheels on the Bus:

It was midnight. I stood on the dusty edge of Pushkar sweating like a hooker in church awaiting what was to be my fate for the next nine hours. The street mutts asleep adjacent to my luggage did not even make mention of the sputtering engine from the infamous Indian sleeper bus that was to be my mode of transportation into the far west reaches of Rajahstan. Anyone who has read any of my previous posts knows how much I love riding the bus (not really). I actually try to avoid them like the plague, but more often than not you have no choice.

After many failed attempts to bring the iron beast to life, some of the locals piled out of the cab and began to rock it from front to back so to gather enough momentum for contact. They should put this picture on one of those inspirational posters that reads, “Teamwork…When you sure as hell don’t want to be here longer than you have to.” Moments later, the old behemoth roared to life and we all gave chase as it slowly careened down the pothole stricken road to claim our rightful place in its belly. So began my trip to Jaisalmer.

It took me thirty minutes alone just to make my way to my seat in the rear of the bus. If there were 25 seats on the bus, then there must have been 50 people. Sitting in the dimly lit aisles, packed into the grungy sleeper compartments like sardines in a can, they were everywhere. Had I known they were having an Indian family reunion on this very bus, I might have opted for the next one. Evidently, the way it works is that tickets are sold at the station for the bus. This is standard protocol the world over and because so, the bus usually fills up. No problem right? Not hardly. As the enterprising driver makes his route, he picks up locals that pay him a fraction of what a real ticket costs under the table so that they can get on. He pockets the money and the buses patrons live with the consequences. End of story.
After snaking, stooping, high stepping, and sliding my way through the refugee camp of people living on board, I reached my bunk. Fully expecting to find a family of 27 in the coffin sized compartment, I was startled to find it uninhabited. Another 15 minutes of playing Tetris with my bag and legs, and I was in. I filled my lungs with a welcomed sigh of relief, which actually reeked of body order, cigarette smoke, and Chicken Tike Masala (minus the chicken because this is the vegetarian north), just before closing the cabin door.

“Even if I tried, it would take me hours to get it out of my bag,” I thought to myself as I was tossed into the walls of my sleeper repetitiously. I had foolishly packed away the only bottle of Dramamine (pills for motion sickness) that I had in my medical kit before checking out of the hotel. This was going to be a long ride. What I did have was a few Benadryl pills (allergy pills that make you sleepy) left over in my pocket. I decided to pop a few of them and hope for the best. At the very least I would not get a rash from the stain on my mattress. Right?
Nine long, restless hours later, someone wrapping on my sliding cabin door woke me up.“Hollo? Hollo my friend? Where are you from? I make nice hotel for you. You come stay at my place and I make you special price. Hollo!?” Groggy and less than amused I thought to myself, “You have got to be !$@*@%$ kidding me.” It seems that vendors get on the already over crowded bus the stop before Jaisalmer and solicit weary travelers to stay at their place of business. As he continued, I locked the door and rolled over. Peering out of the brightly lit window, my eyes strained to adjust. I was able to fight and work my compartment window open just enough to stick my head out and catch a face full of sand and arid desert heat. Welcome to Jaisalmer.

The Camel Community College of Jaislamer:

It must have been around the twentieth time that he had grasp my hand to shake it in the ten minutes we had known each other. You could tell that manual labor was not in his background and that he used moisturizer for extra measure. I could not distinguish if he was gay or straight, but should I honestly have to wonder either way? Still, he was a very congenial guy. Nice, good English, polite, but if he tried to caress my palm one more time, my nerve was going to unravel on him like an over caffeinated monkey on a mango. For his own well being, I hoped that my disdain for his actions was coming across loud and clear.

The manager at the La Mystica Hotel in Jaisalmer was just too outgoing for his own good. At this point I just wanted my room and a bath. Sleep wasn’t an option, as I needed to spend the day sorting out logistics and the such. The room itself was not quite what I had expected, but for 100 rupees ($2.25US) a night who could complain. This was by far the cheapest room I had ever paid for and lately it seemed more of a game to see how little I could pay for a night’s accommodations.

My stomach was still unsettled after several days, but manageable now. A steady diet of curd and milk seemed to be helping. Still, with every new town comes a new set of rules and new challenges. I have eaten at the same restaurant, ordered the same dish, and had two totally different outcomes. It was safe to say, I was still mastering the art of Indian cuisine.

After a light lunch and a walk about the town, I decided to talk up the owner of the hotel regarding the camel rides I kept hearing about. Now, I am not really one to do the whole tour thing, but this may be a good option until I got back on my feet. After a brief run down, I decided to book a 2-day, 1 night quote “excursion” in the desert. It was guaranteed that I would not be with 900 other tourists in a caravan being led by the Indian Bear Grylles, so I decided to give it a go.

The next morning I found myself in a canvas topped jeep with no doors heading out of town with two Swedes, two Germans, and an Indian guide. I would consider the Indian roads around here on par with that of New Orleans after hurricane Katrina (actually, maybe worse). However, this did not detour our driver from red lining the jeeps engine down a road wide enough for a matchbox car. When another car approached from the opposite direction, we simply split the difference by swerving off the road into the rock and gravel of the non-existent shoulder and then lurched back onto the path (all at 70-80 kilometers an hour). I could not decide if wearing my seat belt was a good idea or not. Should I break my neck when the jeep rolled or be flung 100 yards to safety? Tough choice. Luckily, someone had thought of this long before me, removing all of the vehicle’s safety features, and, in turn, making my decision for me. This left me with few options, so I decided to just settle in for the ride and go with the flow.

The camels were perched around beige colored adobe homes chewing their cud when we arrived. The village children with rotting teeth, and bare feet came pouring out from around the corner to greet us. As I have previously pointed out, hygiene and cleanliness is not at the top of most peoples to-do lists here. Since the discovery of sugar (coupled with a high carbohydrate diet, and little exercise) tooth decay and diabetes are rampant amongst the population. One particular little boy (around 4 yrs. old) showed me his wallet and some pictures that looked like they had been torn out of a magazine. One was of a woman who must have been in her mid thirties and looked like an Indian movie star. I asked him, “Is this your girl friend?” He nodded and the Swede (an older (60ish) but vibrant man) gave him a rupee. He told the boy to save it, I told him to take his girlfriend to a movie, but we both knew that he would probably spend it on candy.

As I mounted and my camel crawled to its feet, I could feel the strain on my groin already. Approximately 8 feet high, I knew that this might hurt after a while. Several hours into the ride, it would only be confirmed. If you place a 55-gallon drum on the hood of a pickup, climb on top straddling it, and drive down a washed out dirt road for hours, then you will get an idea of what riding a camel feels like. And the best part is you don’t even have to travel half way around the world. This can all be done from home for free.

My particular camel “Chocolate” liked to bite when kicked. Chocolate and I had an uneasy relationship at best. I wanted to go fast, she wanted to go at her own pace. If I gave the slightest inclination that I was driving this gravy train, she would look back and glare at me as if to say, “I wish you would try something.” I hate that camel.

The day passed, and Chocolate and I just agreed to disagree, as I would like to say. The evening began to fall, as we made camp on the dunes. Chocolate went her way for the night, eating desert shrub, and I went mine, walking bow legged and gingerly towards the campfire where dinner was being prepared. Made from scratch, our cooks stirred the simmering Dahl, kneaded the fresh naan, and steamed the sticky rice all over a small campfire made from twigs. I do believe a cigarette lighter produces more heat than our campfire did. Observing first, I tried my hand at making naan, but the end product was so pitiful, I decided to leave and chat up the older Swedish couple instead.

Kenneth was one cool, crazy cat. In his sixties, he acted anything but. He wore a large silver chain around his neck, shaved his head, wore terminator glasses coupled with a black tank top that read “Born Winner”, and was tan. We hit it off immediately. His wife Eva was the anti-Kenneth, but just as fun loving. “She keeps me grounded”, as he would later go on to say. I would have to agree.

While Eva was in the movie industry, I never really understood what Kenneth did. This is what I do know: he had spent several months in India each year since 1979, does a lot of drugs, and loves techno music. I mention this for one reason.

After a gritty, yet tasty dinner (evidently they use sand to clean the utensils), we engaged in conversation with our camel driver. He explained that in another year he hoped to graduate from “camel college” (no joke) and open his own operation. Since he currently only earned around 1,000 rupees a month (around $25US), who could blame him. Consequently, as I have learned, there is a time and place for everything. That time and place is usually called college. This universal truth proved itself once again when our camel driver offered us up some opium from his personal stash for dessert.

Now, before you start having premonitions of me on the infamous TV show “Locked up Abroad” let me explain. Little more than sap from the opium plant (probably imported from Afghanistan or Pakistan) mixed with sugar, the tiny rock candy like pieces are nothing more than the active ingredient in prescription painkillers you get for your neighborhood doctor. The difference is that many rural citizens in India never see the doctor and take this centuries old drug for pain. Considering the camel ride was anything but cush, Kenneth, the Indian camel jockey, and I all partook.

I expected the small piece that I ingested to take around 30 minutes or so before the euphoric sensation kicked in. Forty-five minutes later, I was on a magic carpet ride, with Jim Morrison, flying over the desert. Our destination was enchanted and psychedelic freaky-deaky land. Not really. I know you are disappointed. As I sat there, I could hear crickets chirp. Nothing. I looked at Kenneth and asked, “Do you feel anything?” He shrugged, so we decided to take another piece. This time I took a slightly larger rock and crushed it between my teeth, while Kenneth took the whole bag. With a bittersweet flavor, black tea worked well to cleanse the palette. Surely, I would be making sand angels on the dunes in no time now while singing an off key version of Neil Diamonds “Sweet Caroline”. The Germans, this whole time, had kept to themselves talking about who knows what. By now, we all had cotton mouth from the dry desert air and took to pounding two of the cheap, chemical infused beers that we had hijacked from the local black market bootlegger.

Laying under the stars that night, I felt a serenity not from the so-called “opium” but from a beer buzz. Kenneth, who had been disappointed early for leaving his bottle of LSD in his luggage at the hotel, was now snoring to my left and Christian (or whatever my German acquaintance’s name was) rambled like a teenage girl about Gandhi and Indian history to my right. As the wind kicked up the desert sand, I pulled the covers over my head and succumbed to sleep.

Check out other adventures at our new site Ultra Expeditions and see what we are up to.

The Quote:
I've never had a problem with drugs. I've had problems with the police.
~Keith Richards

The Plan:
Some of the best intel you get about an area or country is from other travelers. I have met several travelers, coming from the south, that have said the season is closing down and that the heat is becoming unbearable. For this and other reasons I have decided not to head south, but north instead. From Jodhpur I will head north, passing through Delhi, on to the Himalayas in the remote Kashmir, Jammu region.

Namaste,
Jason

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Comments

[J]

Nice PatGreen reference, but your map looks like an Arkansas family tree!