24 Hour

So, our plan was to leave Jodhpur two days ago, but, as I write this, we're still here. Jodhpur in our experience was nowhere near as nice as Udaipur, where we felt very at-ease with the small community-vibe of the old city and made two amazing friends (Akshay and GG, who both had very inspiring life stories and were extremely warm to us).

In comparison to Udaipur, Jodhpur is more crowded, less friendly, more polluted, and much hotter. We thought after seeing the fort, which--for good reason--is the main attraction, we would be ready to leave. But as we were planning how we'd get to Jaiselmer over breakfast at the rooftop cafe, I browsed through the comment book about one of the activities the hotel coordinates: a camel safari into the Thar desert.

At first we were hestitant; both of us had ridden camels before in Israel and thought that voyaging through sand in the high desert heat on one would be less than pleasant (most people don't even visit Rajasthan at all in the summer bc of the weather). But the guests' comment book showed that the safari aspect was the less interesting part of the journey: we would be welcomed by a Rajasthani village family who would feed and house us for the night. This sounded worthwhile enough, and we rationalized the heat when we saw that some people from the guesthouse had gone just days before, so we postponed our plan to take a bus to Jaiselmer and signed up for the so-called safari.

Shiba, the cook/driver at our little blue guesthouse, drove us two hours into the Thar desert in the house jeep. The ride, we thought, was bumpy and hot, but nowhere near as bumpy and hot as on our next vehicle (the camels!). A man named Gangaram, wearing all white--including a large, Rajasthani-style white turban)--met us with his two gurgling camels and his ten-year old son. Shiba left with the jeep, we mounted our camels, and off we went for an hour and a half long ride through sand, shrubs, dried-out farmland, and the occasional straw-thatched hut, with Gangaram and me on one camel, and Yotam and the boy on the other. The ride itself was okay: I struggled to make small talk with Gangaram, who knew only very basic English, while Yotam bumped along uncomfortably while being blasted in the face with minute long camel farts. The boy kept falling asleep during the ride, knocking his head against Yotam's back, saying "oh sorry, oh sorry" and then nodding off again. Shows how exciting he found it!

When we arrived at Gangaram's home, which is a square stone structure with four small rooms surrounding an open area, his wife had prepared us a delicious thali. We ate on the floor of one of the rooms, surrounded by posters of Indian gods and handmade trinkets. Little birds who had nested in the center of the home flew in and out, chirping loudly.

So far so good, but after lunch, I started to think that coming on the safari may turn out to be a bit of a bust: Gangaram fell asleep on a cot, and after the little boy finished showing us a few post cards and pictures other visitors had sent, he disappeared. Shiba (the jeep driver) was supposed to have shown up shortly after us, but was no where to be found either. Gangaram's wife (who was also dressed traditional Rajasthani) had introduced herself (her name is Tipa) but also seemed very busy. I would have liked to ask her what we should do but she didn't speak any English so I thought it best not to bother her. Another woman was in and out, but her face was covered by her veil and we weren't sure if that meant we shouldn't talk to her. So Yotam and I were basically left to ourselves. We didn't want to leave the house because there was nothing else around except for a few far off huts, and so Yotam followed Gangaram's lead and tried his best to nap through the heat while I wrote in my journal.

A few hours later, Gangaram woke up from his nap and took us back out on the camels for a ride around the surrounding areas up to a high dune where we could watch the sunset. We spotted a few other animals (an antelopeish thing, a deer thing, some heards of sheep and goats), and enjoyed the desertscape, which was hardly a barren sand-only thing one imagines but instead was spotted with the occasional unusual tree or spiney shrub. This time, Yotam got to ride his own camel, but Gangaram shared with me again (which, actually, I was glad for because my camel was somewhat unruly, letting out belchy roars every time he was given a tug at the reins). Gangaram himself had adopted many ways of the camels--burping, farting, and spitting nearly constantly--but he was a nice man nonetheless and did his best to answer my questions about his lifestyle and the desert area. Gangaram told us that in the desert people grow lentils, millet, and (strangely enough) watermelon. He had four sons and one daughter; by tradition his daughter had moved in with her husband's family, and they were joined by the wife of his oldest son (who was the veiled woman from earlier). I asked if the women ever rode camels, which gave him quite a laugh. ("Not even just once?" "No, no, no.")

After a few hours we dismounted on a high dune to watch the sun set. There, we were approached by three kids who were hearding some grazing goats. Two of the smaller goats climbed up the dune with them, and we did our best at communicating while the goats did their best at eating various items of our clothing (thankfully to no avail). The kids seemed mostly to be making fun of us (they would whisper to each other--even though we didn't understand anyway--and then uproar with laughter) but we enjoyed their company anyway.

The dune was near Gangaram's home so we decided to forgo the camel-mounting process (which is pretty trecherous because of the way camels stand up: hind legs and then front legs). When we arrived, Tipa was milking her goats (she hid two baby goats under a basket so they wouldn't disturb her) and she invited us to come watch her. Then we entered the house where Gangaram's daughter in law had made a small fire on the floor under a pot in the open area of the home and was cooking dinner. We watched and took a couple pictures, and she asked if she could look through my camera, which she seemed to really enjoy doing. Eventually Tipa also appeared, and she began to make chapatti bread, which is kind of similar to a tortilla in that it is a simple dough that is rolled out and fried (unlike naan, which is baked) and is eaten with most every meal. As I watched her knead and ball the dough I couldn't help but think how many times in her life she must have done this and how automatic it was to her. It reminded me very much of my Grandma and Tantie making spanakopita or bourekas; each one identical, like they were from a little factory. Tipa invited us to help her, so we both joined her on the floor and rolled out dough into circles as she blew on the fire through a tube to keep it going. Ocasionally, the two baby goats would clumsily find their way into the house and try and eat some of the food, and Yotam would do his best to shoo them away, which Tipa thought was pretty funny.

When dinner was prepared, Shiba arrived, explaining that the jeep wouldn't start because of the heat (or something?) and that's why he was late. While we ate Shiba told us a little bit about himself: he is 23 and has been working since he was 12. He never went to school, but learned English from working with tourists. He is from a village outside Jodhpur, but lives at the guesthouse to work to support his wife and 14-month-old daughter, who still lives in the village. Apparently he really likes working for the guesthouse, and between that and being a private driver from time to time, he makes enough money and is able to give 20% of his tips to charity ("for good karma") and added that most drivers he knows do the same. He told us some random proverbs he knows or made up. "24-hour, no bathroom, no shower." was what he had to say about visiting the desert. He also bestowed upon us some other wisdom: camel milk will prevent mosquito bites and malaria but is too hot for women to drink, village people have guests eat first, then men, then women (children kind of just eat leftovers through the day), chapatti when made of millet has to be flattened by hand, and the daughter-in-law wears the veil when other men are present, for modesty's sake. He also told us that we'll get hassled a lot in Jaiselmer (by tourist shops and the like) and that we're better off going to Pushkar, which he said is way more laid back.

After dinner, we head up to the roof of the home where the little boy had set up two mats for us, and struggled to sleep through the heat, but enjoyed the stars in our insomnia.

At dawn a peacock crowed from a nearby tree, and the two baby goats found their way to our mats and one hopped right on top of me. For breakfast we had porridge, chai, and onion chapatti, then we said our goodbyes to the family, and head off with Shiba in the jeep, feeling dirty and sore (but still stopping at a couple pretty impressive temples that on the way--one that is said to be 2,500 years old). We felt anxious to get back to the little blue guesthouse but glad that we had this experience, and maybe just as glad that we weren't headed towards the bus to Jaiselmer but instead towards a cold shower and a blissful, 4-hour, air-conditioned nap.

And if all goes well with bus booking, tomorrow we'll be off to Pushkar!

(**actually though, but the time i've posted this we've come and gone from Pushkar: we're now in Jaipur, with our next destination in Chandigarh, Punjab.)