Escape from Bikaner

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A 5:30AM bus was never going to be popular with anyone, and I approached my bucket bath with the same shivering lack of enthusiasm that the gateman displayed when I woke him up to let me out of the hotel. I had to pay Rs 10 to the conductor in order to guarantee safekeeping of my rucksack in the boot (=trunk, US people) of the bus, and I have absolutely no doubt that it would have gone walkabout without that insurance.

Finding my seat proved to be more of an ordeal than I would have thought possible. The bus was arranged with one column of seats, then the aisle, then a set of two-seaters. Above each of the columns of seats were sleeper berthes, though they more resembled medicine cabinets. First, I was unable to see any numbers on the seats. I then spotted numbers just under the sleepers, but soon realised that they referred to the sleepers. A French (?) guy then attempted to help, by asking what my seat number was. I told him 10, and he then pointed at a seat number on the back of the seat in front of him, and said "It's in front". I interpreted that to mean that my seat was in front of his, so I attempted to evict the guy who was already sitting there. Sportingly, he didn't take offence but told me that my seat was much further forward in the bus. I then found a seat with 10 on the back, but wasn't sure whether it referred to the seat to which it was attached (i.e. from which you couldn't read the number), or the one behind it. Of course I sat in the wrong one. It was at that point that I had a light-bulb moment - the seats were numbered in the only logical way possible (i.e. 1 is the front left, 2 the one across the aisle, 3 the one between that and the window, etc), and the French guy had been actually trying to tell me that a given seat had its number on the back of it. I'm hoping that only a small part of the confusion here, say 99% of it, was caused by my own idiocy.

The seat was not exactly overburdened with legroom, but at least I had the aisle available for overspill, and had no complaints about painful joints for the entire journey. It was rather chilly until the sun had reached a decent height, and I was only just on the right side of comfortable, despite wearing every layer in my limited wardrobe, but I managed to grab a couple of hours of sleep, and when we pulled in to Jaisalmer just after midday, my feelings about bus journeys had definitely thawed.

The hotel owner in Bikaner had recommended the Fifu Guest House in Jaisalmer (and indeed had made my reservation for me), and I was met by Jitu, the younger brother of Fifu, as I got off the bus. The guest house is very impressive - the building is new, and the rooms are well-equipped (Western loo with toilet paper) and have quality decor. And on the roof is a terrace restaurant, with an amazing view of Jaisalmer Fort. I had a long chat with both brothers, and was made to feel quite at home.

A trip out into the desert had already been arranged for some other guests, and would include a visit to a village, a camel ride, sunset on the dunes, dinner, and some music and dancing. I wasn't interested in another camel ride quite so soon after the last one, so I asked if that could be omitted. It could, and though the price I was quoted sounded very high, I figured it would be probably be something of an extravaganza, so I went along with it.

The journey to the village was an ordeal, bouncing around in the Jeep on a single-track road for 45 minutes. Other guests include a Canadian father and daughter, and two American girls who were embarking on a camel safari. The visit to the village was brief and disappointing, as we were surrounded by kids wanting money/pens/sweets, and we couldn't take photos of the villagers unless we paid baksheesh. I was unwilling to do either of these things, as appeasing the children makes them think that they can earn more money from begging than by going to school, and paying for photos creates a relationship that is based purely on financial motives rather than friendship.

We then saw a quick demonstration of pottery-making, before heading to a nearby building for drinks, where we also met an American couple who had just returned from a 3-day safari and would be joining us for the rest of the evening. The American girls and the Canadian duo rode off on their camels, and the remaining group chatted before being Jeep-ed out to the dunes (at Khuhri) for the sunset.

We were hardly alone in making this trip, and the highest dune were awash with camels and tourists. We chose a spot further down, as I was hoping to catch some shots including both sun and sand, but within minutes of sitting down a couple of crisp-selling kids had appeared. You have to admire their persistence. "Crisps sir?", "No thanks", "Only Rs 20 sir", "I'm not hungry". Wait 1 minute. Repeat. "Crisps sir?" etc.

Unfortunately I didn't really get any good pictures, so I'm thinking I should maybe read my camera manual some time.

On returning to where we had had drinks, the gypsy musicians had already started, entertaining the Canadian pair who were back from their camel ride. There were about 8 in the troupe - 2 older guys, a 30-something guy who spoke a little English, a couple of teenagers (one of whom looked as though he was entering a trance as he clicked away with great gusto on his wooden castanet thingies), and 3 young boys who seemed to be singing to a different music sheet. Everything was performed with great enthusiasm, and the percussion rhythms sounded completely alien to my Eurocheese-hardened ears. Of course, during one lively tune, the tourists were forced to don turbans and attempt to groove in an Indian fashion. I'd like to think I took the prize for ungainly cavorting by some distance.

We had a veg dinner during the entertainment, which was tasty though hardly a lavish spread, and as the evening drew to a close I was left feeling that this hadn't been good value for money at all. My mood darkened further when the musicians explicitly asked each of us for a tip - I was going to tip them anyway, but to be asked to do so is a break with convention. Jitu noticed that I clearly wasn't happy about the evening, but I told him I'd rather speak about it in the morning - it didn't seem the right time or place, and I wanted to sleep on it.

One more bumpy Jeep ride later, this time by night, and we were back at the guest house. My bed even has 2 sheets so, for the first time, my sleep sheet is unemployed.

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