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Published: June 12th 2006
Hello All,
I'm disappointed with myself, because I'm still more than a month behind on my blog. This means that I can't relate my travel experience with as much freshness as I'd like. Funny. It's only a month ago that I was there, and it feels like years ago. Time really stretches out when your moving from one place to another so quickly, and between such different places. When you're on the road like this, experiences stack up inside you very quickly, the new ones compressing the old ones. Like when the packer at the grocery store puts the rice, soup cans on top of the strawberries. Fortunately, for the first time in my life, I've managed to faithfully write in a journal, so, between that, my emails and my photos, I am able to reconstitute the strawberry jam into fruit with enough fidelity for it to at least be believable when viewed through a seventeen inch 24-bit-color window. So...
After three days of basking in the refreshing mid nineties weather of Mt Abu, I decided it was time to get back to work. The next stop on the Rajasthan tourist circuit is generally Jodhpur, the third and last
of the 'Purs that I was to visit (The others, which you have already visited with me, are Jaipur and Udaipur).
Travel in India, like good soup, takes time. In New York, you can't really get anywhere in under 30 minutes. In Rajastan, it's five hours. At least. So, joined by an Aussie and a Portugese girl whom I met in Mt. Abu, I got on the one hour bus ride that unwinds its way through the hills, returning its passengers to Abu Road, the sweltering lowland sister of the congenial hill station. But we're just getting started. A five minute walk took us to the Abu Road train station, whereupon we boarded a (you guessed it) five hour train ride bound for the Blue City. As in the anecdote from my last posting, we couldn't purchase reserved seats on the train, because the bureaucratic wheels that crank out the passenger lists for the conductors had already started whirring and squealing. The reservation cutoff time is ill-defined, but seems to be about 12 hours before the train arrives (perhaps it depends on when the train leaves its starting station, but I think that would be too logical). However, unlike
Jodhpur Palace
The stone screens in lieu of windows are head-spinningmy train to Mt Abu, this one was packed, even in the reserved section. The three of us squeezed into some spare seats in the reserved car (much to the consternation of the adjacent riders) while I ran around unsuccessfully trying to find a conductor to grant us some reserved seats. Just as the train was about to leave the station, I glimpsed an un-begged conductor standing on the platform outside our adopted car. Almost as if he had been waiting for us, he didn't blink before writing down three seat numbers on my ticket. We had been spared from a tortuous five hour ride spent standing perched between two cars (ok, I know I'm being overly dramatic, but that's how it feels when you are scrambling to arrange things in a crowded train that could move at any minute).
The ride after that went smoothly. I, along with my new travel companions, shared in a pleasure enjoyed by train passengers the world over - the munching of snacks culled from local markets. I take particular pleasure in selecting the most tasty looking biscuits, crackers and fruits available before boarding public transport. (In France, I used to wonder if
the other passengers were offended by the stinkiness of the Camembert that I spread on my baguettes while traveling there, or if they were used to it, or even tempted by it). After a couple of hours of riding and chowing, (though nothing stinky) I noticed a peculiar change overtaking the view outside. The sky became overcast with gray clouds, as if it was about to rain. This explanation, however, was not a very good one, as we were moving from arid plains to bona fide desert. Soon, the air became choked with gray dust, so thick that visibility range dropped to a few hundred feet. I could only conclude that there was some sort of massive brush fire in the region, thickening the air with smoke (also unlikely, as there didn't appear to be enough brush to sustain a fire...). It wasn't until later that I learned that this was a fairly ordinary specimen of a dust storm, spawned by the fortuitous weather system blowing (relatively cool) wind across the region - the high temp forecast for the next day was 98, down from 107 the day before!
Wow - four paragraphs and we have just gotten to
Henna Mania
You didn't really go to India if you don't get one of these done. Jodhpur. When the train pulled in, it was night, and I felt as if I was coated from head to toe in a thin layer of soot. It sticks to your skin and your hair, and gets in your breathing passages. I headed for a hotel recommended by a couple of French girls I met in Bundi (travelers trade hotel recommendations like housewives trade stain removal tips) and spent the ride marveling at how hot it felt even in the breeze of the moving, open autorickshaw. That night at the hotel, I didn't even request a room with a hot shower. The cold shower that I took to wash the dust off was the only time I actually felt cool.
If you ever go to to Jodhpur, make sure to try the makhania lassis - they are a fantastic yogurt drink, with cardamom, saffron, butter and nuts that simply has to be tasted. You can find them almost everywhere, particularly in the brightly colored stands below the central clock tower.
Even though I had the fan blasting that night, and the bed was pretty good, I didn't sleep much. But there is a bright side to not sleeping
Egg Man
You have to visit the egg man if you come to Jodhpur. He will totally hook you up. I don't know who that guy on my left is. He just snuck into the photo. well - that just means that I don't have to force myself to wake up to see the sights! But before sightseeing, more planning. Two friends and I spent a half hour walking through town trying to find the train station, then another, very frustrated hour trying the get train tickets at the aforementioned station. There is a very organized system for processing the people in line that involves women and old men cutting in front of you and acting as if they didn't see you waiting there... After a while, the three of us formed a phalanx to prevent any others from squirming in front of us. This experience contributed heavily to making this the last time that I rode a train in India.
Finally, at about 1:00 PM, we got around to acting like tourists. The much acclaimed Mehrangar Fort is the number one destination in Jodhpur, and deservedly so. It is chock full of finely carved screens, many designed to shield the royal women from the leering eyes of men. They had a beautiful collection of palanquins and a display explaining the use of opium in celebrations, even to this day.
On descent from
Sleeper to Jaisalmer
A tad crowded. This isn't just a camera trick. the fort back into town, my friend decided to get a henna tattoo. An hour and over a hundred rupees later, not only had she gotten two, but they even convinced me and the other girl to get one. Unfortunately, henna really takes best on the thin, nicely ridged surface of your palm. The one I got was on my right arm, and was pretty faint from the outset (it looks dark in the photo because I haven't chipped the dried henna off the skin's surface yet). Finally, the three of us newly stained travelers cast about for a place to dine, and found it surprisingly difficult to find amid the tangle of hardware, auto supply shops and other workaday spots that are of little interest to travelers. Finally, I decided that sitting down indoors was no longer a requirement, so we headed for the world famous Jodhpur Egg Man who is stationed below the clock tower in the center of town (ok, a google search didn't turn up any web sites about him, but I swear, he's, like two degrees separation tops from anybody you know. Well, I guess one if you know me... but even not counting that...).
Predawn at the Jaisalmer Station
Getting in at such an hour can be inconvenient... For 5 rupees (12 cents) he'll slap down two smallish but perfectly spiced, piping hot hard boiled eggs for you to scarf at any time of the day or night, while the clock tower looks on contentedly. I ate six, and that was only because my stomach was, well, not in top shape. Otherwise, I could have downed ten, easy. The whole time that I sat on a milk crate in the pale glow of the tube light from his stall, I was tickled by the thought of Paul Newman's timeless jailbird character Cool Hand Luke, who successfully defied one prisoner's assertion that "No man can eat fifty eggs".
One more Makhania Lassi, then the Portugese girl and I headed for the train station for (my first) sleeper train to Jaisalmer, jewel of the Thar desert. The Ozzy didn't come, as she didn't have time or desire to experience the legendary heat of Jaisalmer. This ride took about six hours. We elected to ride in the second class sleeper car, which is the cheapest one. You get a very lightly padded bench covered in vinyl, and no bedding or AC. Heat isn't a problem on the night trains, at
Jaisalmer fort street scene
This is looking at the central square, by the gate. least at this time of year - deserts, though hot during the day, cool off rapidly at night owing to a lack of clouds that would reflect back the heat radiated by the hot ground towards space. The benches are stacked three to a wall, with about two and a half feet between one another, and most of them align your reclining body with the width of the car, rather than the length, which means there is a tendency to roll during rapid braking. If you are in the top berth, as I was, finding a place to store your bags is an real challenge, as you want them close to you to prevent theft while you sleep, but not so close that they occupy the space that you require to stretch out. As you can see from the photo, it gets a little crowded. I slept a little bit, but certainly not enough to feel rested when the train left us the Jaisalmer station at 5:15 AM, well before the night began to give way to day. My friend and I were relieved to be picked up at the station by the hotel that we had booked, Hotel Himalaya,
Jaisalmer Fort Alleyway
Don't you want to go there? which charged 50 rupees ($1.10) a night for a single room! However, nobody had yet checked out that day, so I had to snooze on a mattress on the roof of the hotel, trying not to watch the sky go from charcoal to navy to lavender to sky blue as the sun rose.
Jaisalmer is a small city whose core is a picture perfect fortress perched on a sandstone hill rearing its jagged crown out of the sands of the desert. The walls of the fort rise for probably eighty feet, constructed of bright tan sandstone, which, in the light of dusk or dawn, has earned it the appellation "The Golden Fort". Apparently, it is the only fortress in Rajastan that is still lived in. It really is splendid to behold. My hotel was in this very fort, off a narrow foot path inhabited by a cow and her calf, and a handful of friendly local residents. Lonely Planet discourages people from staying in the fort, as its ancient sewer system cannot handle the volume of water discarded by its modern inhabitants. I tried to reduce my impact, and guilt, by minimizing my water use whenever possible. The fort
Jaisalmer Walls
Hard to believe such a place exists. is quite small - you can walk clear across it in a casual ten minute stroll, during which you will encounter narrow lanes bordered by golden-hued shops hawking trinkets, statues and the brightly-colored Rajasthani fabrics (and, sorry to shatter the antique image, but since this is 2006, many Internet shops boasting the capacity to burn digital pictures to CD). There is also a cluster of Jain temples, since many of the original inhabitants of this wealthy trading post on the road to central Rasia were followers of that religion. Wandering within the crenelated walls of the fort, it's hard not be struck by the thought that this place is unreal. It is just such a picturesque, charming, beautiful, fantastic place, not to mention how improbable it seems that such a settlement can exist in such a remote location surrounded by hundreds of miles of desert.
After you've gotten used to the magical charm of this place, you begin to realize that you are being pestered to book a "camel safari". These are the bread and butter of the tourist industry in this town, and much of the hotels' income is the fee they charge for arranging these safaris. Now,
Jaisalmer Nook
Gives "brunch" a whole new dimension what a camel safari is, essentially, is you planting your keyster on a camel and riding in a big loop in the desert, for as little as one or as much as ten days (or even more) in the desert. There are a few common gripes that people share after one of these excursions, but I'll save them for later so you can enjoy the experience unjaded by the complaints of others. I elected to do a three day/two night "non-touristic" camel safari. This means that rather than riding between supposed tourist sites scattered around the desert, like the ruins of a Jain temple, or a small oasis, participants ride around the plain old desert, stopping to eat, rest, or wander around the occasional desert village. This sounded more appealing to me, as I don't think the sights that the "touristic" safaris visit are really sites that I would choose to see otherwise. You run into more tourists, and the spots where you stop are more prepared to charge you for anything they can.
So, on the sunny morning of Wednesday, April 12th, I set off from Jaisalmer in a jeep. They drove me and the one other person
Jaisalmer Haveli
Ths spectacular mansion was built by the prime minister of Jaisalmer, who was subsequently executed for building his house higher than the Maharaja's. going on the safari about 15 km out into the desert west of Jaisalmer, and dropped us by the side of the road, where a smiling guide in a big white turban and powder blue tribal costume awaited us with a pair of camels, happily chewing their cud, moving their jaws in an odd transverse grinding motion, and producing a satisfying woody crunching sound with each bite. Their names were Papu, the smaller, dark brown one, who is five years old, and Radhu, the bigger, light brown one, who is seven years old. To give you a sense of the enormity of these creatures, the smaller one was probably seven feet high at the hump, while the larger was about eight feet high. Radhu was a big meanie, and tried to bite whenever you tried to pet him, but Papu was very good-natured and friendly. When camels are resting, they bend their knees and lie on the ground. This is the only time you can easily mount the thing. Once you are seated, he proceeds to raise himself up, first propping himself up on his front knees, then getting onto his back feet, then jumping from his front knees onto
Camel Safari Guide
Whipping up some lunchies. his front feet. Experiencing this process while seated on a camel is rather incredible, sort of like I imagine it would be on a cinematic boom being raised to about ten feet off the ground.
Riding a camel, contrary to what you might think, is not an effortless activity, like riding in a car. The camel's back lists forward and back with each step, obligating you to move your hips in synchronization or risk serious chafing. Your weight shifts from your butt to your inner thighs, which tend to get pretty tired, and sore the next day. The rocking of the camel is particularly pronounced when going downhill. A camel is not a horse. Also, contrary to what I had heard, camels need to drink water at least once a day in the heat of the desert, and preferably twice.
The days go by pretty lazily on the Camel safari. You wake up around 7:00 AM, when the rising sun starts beating down on you. The camel guide makes breakfast, generally boiled eggs with toast and jam, and maybe a little porridge. Next, he saddles up the camels, and you begin walking at around 8:30. Your steed carries
You Start To Get Creative
When you don't have a personal photographer. you calmly through the scrubby, rocky desert beneath the scorching sun, while the air heats up around you. At about 11:30 AM, you start looking for a rare tree, in whose blessed shade you will take lunch. The guide unsaddles the camels, then ties their front legs together with about eighteen inches of rope, so they can wander to munch on leaves, but not too far away. You sit on a blanket in the shade while the guide prepares lunch, generally chapati (a simple unleavened bread) and some vegetable stew. After eating lunch, you rest in the shade (you probably have to move at least once to stay in the moving shadow of the tree) until about 3:30, when the midday heat begins to subside. The guide saddles up the camels once more, and you ride for another two to three hours to reach your evening camp site. You then have dinner, not terribly dissimilar from lunch, try to get comfortable on the sand, maybe read or write a little, and watch day fade into dusk into inky blackness. The night is refreshingly cool. There is usually a gentle breeze, which makes it cool enough to want a blanket. Though
The Crew
Guide Bhlal leading Papu (foreground) and Radhu. there are more deluxe safari packages you can get, I didn't have tents or beds, just a quilted blanket to sleep on, and another one to keep me warm, which was fine. Well, there was one night on the sand dunes where these walnut-sized beetles kept crawling up to me and "tasting me" with their feelers; I won't deny that I would have enjoyed a tent then. But they didn't bite, just sort of tickled, so it wasn't terrible. The stars are supposed to be quite dramatic out in the desert, as the air tends to be very clear, and there are few cities to damage the view with light pollution, but I didn't observe this. However, I had the equally dramatic benefit of seeing the rocky slumbering desert landscape illuminated in the icy, silken light of a full moon.
And thus did the days of the camel safari unfold. It is unquestionably worth it if you want get a feeling for how a desert lives, as the sun beats down on parched, broken red rocks and yellow sand. You feel the heat, the rugged desert vegetation, the silence, emphasized by the whoosh of the soothing wind, and the
Dunes
The desert really only had small mounds of pristine dunes, but it is possible to frame a photo that makes it look like that's all there was. seemingly-endless 360 degree vista of the bone dry landscape. After a few days out there, most people aren't terribly eager to put their sore behinds back in the saddle. I was certainly eager to eat food not seasoned with a pinch of sand, and I had had just about enough of sand in the eyes, a treatment I would recommend you reconsider if you were thinking about trying it.
So I rather welcomed my return to the civilized outpost of Jaisalmer after three days in the desert. I was nearing the conclusion of my Rajastan tour. The only major destination that remained (other than Pushkar, which I decided I would forgo) was Bikaner, a large and uncharismatic city in North Rajastan, popular for its proximity to Deshnok, home of the intriguing, revolting and photogenic Karni Mata, or "Rat Temple". I probably would not have made the five hour bus ride just for that, except that it offered me a way to get out of Rajasthan without going all the way back to Delhi, about 15 hours from Jaisalmer, and a place I didn't need to revisit. From Bikaner, I could go north to the city of Amritsar in Punjab,
Girl
The village kids *love* to be photographed. and thereafter head to the mountains that I had been fantasizing about as beads of sweat dripped down my brow (ok that was a lie - Rajasthan is so dry that sweat almost never stays on yous skin long enough to bead up like that. It just sounded better than "as perspiration evaporated from my forehead").
A most peculiar thing happened on my last night in the Golden City - a sandstorm blew in as I was walking around the reservoir (read: puddle) at the edge of town. The smell and the feel of the air as the wind blew in, and the way the clouds looked reminded me strongly of the pattern that we observe back home on the East Coast just before a rain storm blows in. "It must be a coincidence" I told myself. "There's no way that it's actually going to rain here in the middle of the desert in the dry season". Well, perhaps it was just a freak coincidence, but it was about fifteen minutes later when I started to feel the first drops coming down amid the swirling dust and sand. For a while, a mean dust storm scoured me with sand
Villagers
Curious kids from a desert village. while the sandstone drank up the raindrops so quickly that you could hardly see the pattern on the ground. I met a friendly 68 year old retired Indian gentleman at the lake who took me on a tour of the outskirts of the city. We stopped in a surreal thousand year old structure which, he explained, served as a way station for Jain merchants to rest as they traveled along the trade road. We sat in the derelict structure while the sandstorm erased Jaisalmer, and he read my palm. It all felt very mystical, though don't think his conclusions about my life beat the prognostications of the magic eight ball paperweight. I got a photo with him standing under the gate of Ganesh (wonder what Ganesh, a Hindu deity, is doing in a Jain temple? Lines between different religions are fuzzy in India) where it is said that, if you wish for something three times while standing under it, it will be granted to you within the next few months. I remain hopeful.
It rained heavily all night and most of the next day on the bus to Bikaner (while I was eating dinner the night before I left,
Jain temple Carvings, Jaisalmer
More incredible Jain marblework. a power line broke just outside the restaurant where I was eating. The street was illuminated in the most incredible stark, blue-white glow, like a hundred arc welders. The power died, and I had to get back to the hotel in the dark while rain coursed down the streets of the desert city). The Rat Temple is a place where a large population of holy rats lives and scurries, nourished by the generous offerings of the devout which are for sale in the courtyard in front of the temple gate. The temple is visually shocking and smells pretty foul, and you are required to remove your shoes, so it's tough to avoid occasionally treading on the dried rat food, pigeon and rat poop. The story of why the rats are holy is a bit convoluted, but involves a great storyteller dying, and the goddess Karni Mata trying to reincarnate him, but, a human form being unavailable, a rat body was substituted in its stead. Several rats jumped over my foot, and I glimpsed the rare white rat, both of which are signs auguring good luck, so I left pleased. Bikaner also has a splendid palace (now almost entirely
a luxury hotel) and imposing fort, but I'll be honest with you (if you want to just find out about this place, read a guide book. This is about sharing the *experience* of travel) - after three weeks and nigh dozens of palaces and forts, I was a little numb to them, so I'm not going to give them a gushing review. But they were quite worthy.
I tried to book a train to Jalandhar, near Amritsar, but I learned at the always-delightful train booking center, that I would have to wait seven days for a seat. So I opted for a bus, which is always waiting with open arms to welcome you after being scorned by the National Railway Service. Like trains, you can get, believe it or not, a couchette (bed compartment) on a bus. I couldn't imagine how they did it until I saw it: imagine a regular bus, two bucket seats on either side of the aisle, but jack the roof up by about a foot, and build an extra floor about a foot above the seat tops, above which is a row of beds running the length of the bus. They are just about
Me 'n Vyas in the Way Station
I'm with the mystic I met in the sandstorm at the edge of Jaisalmer. high enough for an average height person to sit upright with hair brushing on the ceiling, and have their own windows and a privacy curtain to block the view from the aisle. I was to be on that bus for about twelve hours, ending up in Ludhiyana in the state of Punjab. A four hour bus ride from there would render me in Amritsar, the home to the holiest temple in the Sikh religion and a splendid sight to behold.
So, on Wednesday, April 19, at 8:30 PM, I boarded the overnight bus bound for Punjab. A little background for those who were as ignorant of of Indian ethno-geography as I was - Punjab is, first of all, the bread basket of India. This is something you would have to be pretty dense to miss, given the innumerable miles of grain fields, and countless tractors that the bus slalomed around on the ride. It is quite pretty, and a welcome change from the arid climate of Rajasthan. Also, 65% of the residents of the state are Sikh, a very different religion from the Hindu religion dominant in most of India. They have a tradition of principled militarism, and honor
great fighters and martyrs who died fighting for the cause of their religious freedom. One of the religious symbols worn by Sikhs is a dagger. Punjab has its own language, its own script, and is a powerful force in Indian (and world) pop culture. They invented Bhangra, Punjab's answer to hip hop, and a genre which has made all the way to the airwaves and dance floors in America by an artist called Panjabi MC, among others. After a militant separatist movement that occupied the Harmandir Sahib, or Golden Temple (the holiest Sikh temple) was violently put down by prime minister Indira Ghandi in 1984, two of her Sikh bodyguards assassinated her. Since then, the separatist movement has died down.
I pulled in to the city of Amritsar at about noon the next day, and saw a truly different part of India.
Until the next bat-time, I hopt this finds you all well.
I am now back stateside, temporarily, and still equivocating about where to go next. Suggestions welcomed. Also, I'd love to see all my friends while I'm here, so please call me.
Sincerely,
Dan
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Joan (Mom) Riegel
non-member comment
So what did you wish for?
So--what did you wish for? C'mon, you can tell me!