Rajastan I
We all met on the houseboat in Kashmir, and now we are embarking on another journey through the western desert state of Rajastan. Sven and Remy, two Swedish boys, and Annika and Seena, two German girls, and myself are comfortably reunited in the Delhi tourist office at the wee morning hour of seven oclock. Of course, we are on time, but our driver Deo has an Indian wristwatch. We load our stuff ontop of his oversized white Jeep a little before lunch. We stopped for lunch at a local trucker joint on the side of a dirt highway: one order of mixed vegetable, one order of Dal (lentils), fresh salad (usually consisting of radish, tomato, and carrot) and 15 chapati. This became our lunch usual; every lunch spot offered the same menu but completely different dishes. Sometimes the Dal is yellow with bits of tomato and cilantro, and other times we eat dark lentils with heaps of chiles. No matter how the chef/mechanic prepares it, it's always delicious!
Our first city, Mandawa, was no great shakes, but it gave us an opportunity to get to know each other. We walked around the small market town, passing by havelis (outdoor mural paintings), flocking children, and fruit stands. Annika, dread-locked and pierced, lives in Freiberg, Germany, where she just finished college. She and Seena, a friendly and plain blonde, both studied education. Both are really sweet and mild-tempered; they make really great traveling partners. Sven and Remy are both nicotine-addicted housepainters in Sweden, who never went to college, but seem self-educated. For our first dinner, we ate at a vacant restaurant by candlelight (no electricity) with a view of a nearby Shiva temple. After a few beers for each of them, and a mix of lime soda and local Bagpiper whiskey for me, we all laughed about our eccentric driver and looked forward to the next two weeks together.
We all booked our trip through the same travel-companied family as in Kashmir, so of course we expected some glitches. The driver only has vouchers for our hotels, so our rooms are not guaranteed. There were some initial problems getting a decent hotel room, and I was getting defensive and nervous: What did I pay these swindling Kashmiris for?!?! I thought that entrance fees to the sights were included! But, the company was invaluable and we started to enjoy even the most frustrating moments. Even I was able to relax.
In Bikaner, half of us decided to pay the admission fee and enter the 13th century fort, while I decided to admire it from the outside. I started to walk around the fortress wall, and saw a flight of sunlit stairs that begged to be climbed. At the top, there lay wide road that snaked back and forth, up to the inner wall. I could see that if I climbed over the sandstoned fence, I might be able to reach the top and peer into the walled city. Sure enough, I crawled over, then up three flights of stairs, down one flight, around a corner (Be careful that the guard doesn't see me!), up and over another fence, and voila! Green! Squares and squares of green gardens with pink and red azaleas! There were circular fountains in the center, all encased by massive pink-sandstoned walls and pointed domes. Invigorated, I was amazed at what a little adventurous spirit could bring. Okay, back down before I get caught and thrown into an Indian prison for trespassing. Which way was it? Panic! There were so many view-blocking walls, I couldn't tell which blockade I climbed over. I worried that I would never get out, at least without someone finding me and subjecting me to ten years of hard labor. After twenty minutes of fruitless retracing, I managed to climb into the garden, and scurry out. Relief! I hid safely in the car, while the others were still enjoying the sight with a paid ticket in hand!
Our next stop, Jaisalmer and then to the desert in Khuri. Five camels sat on the sand, legs folded under their bellies. We each mounted our own camel, and up, their accordian legs popped open! Wee! We all took a two hour ride to a high ridge in the dunes and watched the sun set behind the waves of sand. In just a matter of minutes, the sand changed in color from camel to chili. Breathtaking. We took pictures and just stared out onto the landscape until our skin became cold with goosebumps. Back at the lodge, we gorged ourselves with Rajastani food and danced the night away to the sitar (guitar), tabla (drum), and wooden percussion slates. The brightly colored turbanned men showed us how to dance like real Rajastanis, flicking our wrists to the rhythmic drums and wooden slates. After we danced ourselves to exhaustion, we remounted our camels to our hotel: the desert. The chorta (small boys) built us a fire and piled blankets on top of us. We fell asleep under the stars, in mid-conversation.
Our first city, Mandawa, was no great shakes, but it gave us an opportunity to get to know each other. We walked around the small market town, passing by havelis (outdoor mural paintings), flocking children, and fruit stands. Annika, dread-locked and pierced, lives in Freiberg, Germany, where she just finished college. She and Seena, a friendly and plain blonde, both studied education. Both are really sweet and mild-tempered; they make really great traveling partners. Sven and Remy are both nicotine-addicted housepainters in Sweden, who never went to college, but seem self-educated. For our first dinner, we ate at a vacant restaurant by candlelight (no electricity) with a view of a nearby Shiva temple. After a few beers for each of them, and a mix of lime soda and local Bagpiper whiskey for me, we all laughed about our eccentric driver and looked forward to the next two weeks together.
We all booked our trip through the same travel-companied family as in Kashmir, so of course we expected some glitches. The driver only has vouchers for our hotels, so our rooms are not guaranteed. There were some initial problems getting a decent hotel room, and I was getting defensive and nervous: What did I pay these swindling Kashmiris for?!?! I thought that entrance fees to the sights were included! But, the company was invaluable and we started to enjoy even the most frustrating moments. Even I was able to relax.
In Bikaner, half of us decided to pay the admission fee and enter the 13th century fort, while I decided to admire it from the outside. I started to walk around the fortress wall, and saw a flight of sunlit stairs that begged to be climbed. At the top, there lay wide road that snaked back and forth, up to the inner wall. I could see that if I climbed over the sandstoned fence, I might be able to reach the top and peer into the walled city. Sure enough, I crawled over, then up three flights of stairs, down one flight, around a corner (Be careful that the guard doesn't see me!), up and over another fence, and voila! Green! Squares and squares of green gardens with pink and red azaleas! There were circular fountains in the center, all encased by massive pink-sandstoned walls and pointed domes. Invigorated, I was amazed at what a little adventurous spirit could bring. Okay, back down before I get caught and thrown into an Indian prison for trespassing. Which way was it? Panic! There were so many view-blocking walls, I couldn't tell which blockade I climbed over. I worried that I would never get out, at least without someone finding me and subjecting me to ten years of hard labor. After twenty minutes of fruitless retracing, I managed to climb into the garden, and scurry out. Relief! I hid safely in the car, while the others were still enjoying the sight with a paid ticket in hand!
Our next stop, Jaisalmer and then to the desert in Khuri. Five camels sat on the sand, legs folded under their bellies. We each mounted our own camel, and up, their accordian legs popped open! Wee! We all took a two hour ride to a high ridge in the dunes and watched the sun set behind the waves of sand. In just a matter of minutes, the sand changed in color from camel to chili. Breathtaking. We took pictures and just stared out onto the landscape until our skin became cold with goosebumps. Back at the lodge, we gorged ourselves with Rajastani food and danced the night away to the sitar (guitar), tabla (drum), and wooden percussion slates. The brightly colored turbanned men showed us how to dance like real Rajastanis, flicking our wrists to the rhythmic drums and wooden slates. After we danced ourselves to exhaustion, we remounted our camels to our hotel: the desert. The chorta (small boys) built us a fire and piled blankets on top of us. We fell asleep under the stars, in mid-conversation.
posted by Jfefferman @ 10:19 AM
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