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Published: April 6th 2014
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I have never ridden a motorcycle before, and the chaotic streets of India aren’t exactly the first place that I would opt to try. That’s why the title of this blog should in fact read, “Motorcycling AND SCOOTERING in the Thar Desert.”
The Thar, or “Great Indian” Desert occupies an area of over 200,000 km
2 and forms a natural boundary between northwest India and Pakistan. It is home to a wide variety of wildlife, notably Indian gazelle that are practically tame because they are fed and protected by Bishnoi tribes. The Bishnoi are a Hindu sect that cherish all forms of life. Remarkably, some Bishnoi women have even been known to breastfeed and raise young baby gazelle’s that have become lost from their parents.
The Thar Desert is on the tourist map for it’s desert forts and camel safaris, operating largely from the cities of Bikaner, Jodhpur, and Jaisalmer. In 2010, when I took my Taiwanese wife Emily on a camel ride in the desert surrounding Jodhpur, I realized that camel riding is not for everyone. Emily was so frightened by the camel that it could actually sense her fear, turning around to face her instead of
looking forward as it was navigating steep sand dunes. Similarly, my sister Leanne doesn’t possess an ounce of trust for large mammals. A camel safari on this trip was out of the question. Personally, I’m indifferent to the experience, and the photographer in me would rather be on the ground shooting the animals, not balancing precariously on one of them.
Leanne’s partner Matt is, however, a motorcycle enthusiast, and on our first day in Jaisalmer he was already comparing prices in different shops for hiring a bike. To me, riding or driving any motorized vehicle on the streets of India is like tempting death itself. I’m still not one to turn down an experience, though. I just went for the scooter, a vehicle I am familiar with riding, instead.
Filling up and finding our way out of the small town was a simple enough task, though we were quite suspicious that we were overcharged for the petrol. With no destination in mind, we just drove and did our best to get lost in the network of small roads leading away from Jaisalmer. The city’s famed sandcastle fort shrank behind us as we found ourselves amongst flocks
of camels, fields of millet, and cruising past tiny villages where children herded goats.
Stopping at a solitary Hanuman shrine, we heard a man shouting coming from a nearby hut that appeared uninhabited. Confused for a moment, we realized he was asking us to remove our shoes before we approached the bright orange statue, according to Indian custom, even though we were outside standing on dirt. Before we departed, the man asked us to enter his hut for tea. Another man sat inside cross-legged, with his face painted bright yellow and raspy beard flowing down to his bare chest. He wore a string of pearls and snow white scarf over his shoulders. “A shaman” pronounced our host. “You can take his picture for a small donation.” I’m a sucker for photo ops; I never mind handing over a few rupees for a good shot.
On we cruised, past miniature villages with dusty, smiling children, and then pulled in at an abandoned desert resort with picturesque sand dunes. My sister has adopted my father’s love for breaking into abandoned buildings to “check them out” and see if there’s anything worth stealing left behind. After Leanne did her
thing and Matt tested out his bike skills on the dunes, we pressed forward.
We eventually arrived in a larger cluster of desert resorts. Most looked abandoned, but it could just have been that we were riding in the peak of the 40-degree-plus daytime heat, made bearable only by the fact that we had wind blowing on us constantly as we rode. Most of the resort staff were likely snoozing somewhere in the shade. Hungry for a meal and needing water, we pulled into one of them and ordered a feast of a meal, served to us in a bright, airy room buzzing with flies. Looking inside the resort, there was no sign of any visitors or staff members other than the ones serving us our meal.
Looking it up later, we realized that we may have stumbled upon Khuri, a center or desert resorts located 48 kilometers southwest of Jaisalmer. We will never know for sure, nor do we truly care.
On the return journey, with Leanne sitting behind me on the scooter, we were forced off the road by a bus carrying dozens of people on it’s rooftop that refused to slow down
or share the road with us. We took a little tumble in the sand but suffered no injuries. Don’t tell my mom.
Sunburned, with sand in unmentionable places, and ready to call it a day, we retraced our route back to Jaisalmer for a much-needed sundowner in the shadow of the great Jaisalmer sandcastle fort.
To see my other blog on Jaisalmer, visit "The Golden City: Sandcastle in the Desert"
For more of my photos and travel stories, or to buy my book "Taiwan in the Eyes of a Foreigner", visit www.nickkembel.com
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Jen Cleaver
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NICK!!!! Don't share contacts, don't get but by beach kitties, and DON'T GET RUN OFF THE ROAD BY BUSES!!!