Feelin' Hot, Hot ,Hot!!!!

  Bikaner, India
Tuesday, August 14, 2007

what a pretty face!

My watch read 6.05. I had obviously slept soundly on the overnight bus from the steaming plains of the Punjab to the (hopefully!) drier heat of Bikaner in Rajasthan... I knew that I was heading for a desert region but I still did a double-take as I looked through the window of the now stationary bus: the rising sun was low on the distant horizon, lighting up a vast desert landscape, and a camel peered in at me, while its wizened, turbaned owner lay sprawled asleep in the attached cart. Yes, I really was in the desert!

shadow 2

local women at start of camel trip

Two days later I was sitting astride my own desert beast. A Dutch guy, Mike, and I had hired a couple of camels and a guide for a 2 day trek into the Thar Desert. Naturally, you don't progress too far in just two days of plodding at camel pace so it was more rolling scrub than sweeping majestic dunes but it was still pleasant scenery, with trees scattered among thorn bushes around which groups of gazelles and antelopes were

sand and sky

village hut

playfully springing. There has been severe drought in this area for the past few years but this years monsoon has been more generous, with rainfall allowing the cultivation of millet. This staple crop, along with herds of goats and cows, forms the livelihood of the land labourers we met en-route: the women standing out in the vivid reds and yellows of their garments, splashes of colour against the faded desert shades; the children running towards us waving and grinning, calling 'ta ta!' (hello) and 'bottle?' (many of the kids spend their days as goat herds and seek empty plastic bottles to carry water with them on their long routes between villages.).

lisa and priscilla

  We named the camels Lawrence (after he of sand dune fame) and Priscilla (as in 'Queen of the Desert') and we bounced along on their crude wooden saddles, thankful for the hint of a breeze as the thermometer recorded 41 degrees. Oh for a cold beer!!!!! Our water bottles felt as though they were reaching boiling point and offered little required refreshment!

breakfast:SAND!!

the camel crew

The merciful breeze of afternoon had whipped up into a serious desert wind by night time and we had to crunch our way through dinner, reminiscent of childhood beach picnics, only with sand rice and dhal on the menu instead of sand sandwiches. We were to sleep in the dunes, in sight of a desert village of thatch-roofed mud houses, and its just as well I have few toilet inhibitions as it was nigh on impossible to find a pee spot without the grinning heads of children from said village popping up just as I thought I was safe ("ta

that bloody saddle!

rustling up lunch chappatis

ta! ...bottle?!"). There was a beautiful sunset and then, with the lack of light pollution, I believe the stars put on a stunning show but, lying on my blanket beneath them, eyes screwed tightly closed against the oncoming sand, I was oblivious. I slept heavily and woke at dawn, half buried in sand which had blown into every available nook and cranny: eyes, ears, nose, clothes... On the bright side the temperature had dropped to

sand ripples

kids and camels

a mere 38 degrees! Back in the rhythm of the camels' lolloping gait, we rode on for the day, with a welcome lunch and siesta stop under a blissfully shady tree, and reached Bikaner again in the early evening, where we located a restaurant serving 'special tea'...yes, somehow I've ended up in another feckin' dry state, haven't I?! But beer is still sold in certain establishments, served in teapots and cups for disguise. Hot and sweaty, caked in sand, bum literally rubbed raw from the camel saddle, it was the finest cup of tea to ever grace my lips!

bikaner old city entrance

saddhu choosing marigold offerings

So today I've been taking it easy (and trying to avoid sitting for any length of time, for obvious reasons...), getting pleasantly lost in the labyrinthine narrow streets of the Old City with it's gorgeous carved stone havelis (old courtyard houses); examining the exquisitely detailed wall paintings inside the Jain temple; visiting the spectacular fort, where I admired photos of the Maharajas and their stupendously curled moustaches

archway

selecting fruit

and was amused to see, preserved in a glass case, the special funnel-shaped silver soup spoon they used to avoid morsels getting caught in their immaculately groomed facial hair! Less impressive, though certainly bizarre, was the Karni Mata temple, whose devotees believe the hordes of resident rats are reincarnations to be nurtured... Barefoot is de rigeur in Indian temples and tiptoeing round the dim interior of this one, skin exposed

pots for sale

dried goods on sale

to the dark furry shapes scurrying round me, was somewhat unnerving! India is truly a land of contrasts: a few days ago I sat in the sublime Golden Temple, today I was guest in a temple of revered rats...