Having extricated myself from a blissfully relaxing three weeks in Pushkar, I find myself marveling at the lakeside wonders of Udaipur. This serene city with a mild traffic problem for a city its size where the James Bond film "Octopussy" was partly filmed is a charming delight of culinary and alcohol indulgence after eggless, meatless, and alcohol free Pushkar. Along with a new found Dutch friend I am exploring the temples, old city streets, palaces, and Lake Pichola's serene setting from rooftop restaurants and lakeside ghats. Despite staying in a deluxe room outside the city center with cable TV and actual clean cotton curtains for $1.75 a night, the traffic outside tends to be a challenge to deal with especially when a truck starts blasting its horn at 3 AM snapping me awake and inducing a mild stroke.
The last few days in Pushkar I managed to explore some of the temples and lakeside ghats with their requisite devotees. However the main highlights would have to be the 3 hour camel safari into the desert around Pushkar with its ass pummeling camel trot and the pick nick in the middle of nowhere with a cheeky langur monkey and a pushy Brahmin.
With our days idol and leisurely BA, David, and I decided to take a camel ride out into the desert with Rachel opting out because of her nearly healed broken leg. We stepped out of our home away from home to walk across town to the other side of the lake and have a choice of the camels we wanted. After eyeing them briefly I decided on the nearest one as to me they looked mostly the same as I lack the skill to discern and bad camel from a good one. The three of us mounted our mean tempered steeds and with bony overexcited 10 year old boys to help us steer we set off.
After about 30 minutes of steadily walking out of Pushkar into the sandy expanses punctuated by scrub brush and the occasional mango tree defiantly pushing its branches towards the azure sky, I had my first experience with a camel trotting. It is essential to understand the size of a camel and the saddle provided me along with the energy level of the children controlling these neatly clipped beasts. The saddle itself is a piece of iron with leather stretched over it with some pillows to hide the sharp bits. Although perfectly suitable for a slow sleepy amble through flat terrain it does lend itself well to the intensely bouncy long legged stride of an 8 foot at its shoulders camel. At first it felt fairly bearable as I clutched the front of my saddle pulling my groin towards the front end to keep my ass from slamming down to repeatedly on the shoddy saddle. However, with the young frenzied children racing each other with us mainly as hapless witnesses to their games the steed became increasingly uncomfortable.
After a break and some photo ops an hour out of town, we remounted and headed back around the other edge of the hill facing Pushkar. The sun was slowly sinking into the earthy expanses of desert casting a pallid dusty glow over the twig huts and small herds of goats pecking at the spiny shrubs. After more competitive trotting and cantering my ass was starting to feel like a slab of well tenderized steak along with my hands slowly turning red verging on blisters from holding on. The kids with us seemed to be having a fantastic time singing at the top of their lungs as they performed tricks by standing on the saddle while trotting and making hairpin turns with the camels nearly launching me into the sand below several times. With cries of chai emanating from their smiling mouths we gratefully stopped at a lean to hut to have some piping hot milk tea while enjoying the view of the disappearing sun in the desert amongst its parched hills.
After our rest break I braced myself for further ass whopping to the delight of my own personal 10 year old driver. The more I winced and tried to avoid the pain that came with camel racing the faster my moghli drove the camel forward up along dunes and through prickly shrubs. The pain in my ass and thighs began to sting and it felt like I had an industrial sander taken to that region. I begged for mercy and eventually my wee boy seemed to understand my cries of protest to going faster. After arriving back in Pushkar I dismounted joyfully with the pain pulsating throughout my lower regions. My organs felt liquefied from the violent jostling which felt like I had been shaken so thoroughly that I might vomit if even tapped gently. The one thing I did learn was that camel riding is for the foolish that have never experienced an animal so uncomfortable to ride as to induce both loathing, vertigo, and ass pain that lasts days after the excruciating ordeal is over.
Several days later we decided to go on a pick nick which Marya, the hotel owner, had been talking about for days. Despite her insisting on cooking, organizing transport there, and coming along with us she managed to not show up, forgot to cook, and left us to find our own way to a goat herder friend of hers that we did not know. The surprising thing after my torturous experience with camels was that we decided to take camels out to her goat herding friend's house in Punchkunt. Yes, yes that may not be how one spells it but that is how it sounds. We did decide on taking a camel cart instead of having our own steeds which was a wise decision made from experience and forethought.
After bringing the camel cart driver to have Marya explain the location of her friend's house, she informed us that she would join us in an hour after finishing up some important business around town. After procuring fruits, rolls, biscuits, and sandwich related items, BA, Rachel, Julie, and I set off at a leisurely pace in our cart covered with pillows and blankets for added comfort. An hour later we found ourselves at the end of the road in Punchkunt lost. In typical Indian fashion the driver had forgotten the directions and even the fact that we were supposed to go to someone's house. Exasperated we tried to ask around for a goat herder's house without avail. We sent the camel and its dimwitted driver back to Pushkar having decided that if we just waited there that Marya would eventually find us and take us to the rightful location of our desert excursion.
Within 15 minutes of sitting in a shady spot under a banyan tree we were accosted with the usual questions given travelers. "Where from?" What's your good name?" and "Would you like to see my shop/temple/agency?" After answering the required barrage which happens at least a dozen or more times a day, we were of course told what is best for us. The Brahmin priest that had come over in his orange loin cloth and Shiva sandalwood head tikka insisted that surely sitting on concrete near his mini temple in the blazing afternoon soon was better than sitting underneath a comfortably cool shady banyan tree. After turning down his offer politely I continued to feed the dog food quality dry bread biscuits I had bought to the litter of 8 puppies and their milk laden mother milling fearfully but hungrily around us.
The Brahmin seeing that we would not move location changed tactics. He told us of the temple he was building and insisted we buy the required cement. As outlandish commands and firm requests are common in India especially with the handicap of having white skin, we brushed this off with a laugh. As we make remarks about the continued absence of Marya amongst ourselves while making cheese and butter sandwiches a giant langur monkey jumped up from beyond a wall and stared at us menacingly. Before we realized the mistake of having our food around he made a dash for us baring his teeth. As we jumped up briskly and backed away with fear of being bitten, he grabbed a sandwich. At this point we grabbed rocks and began throwing them at him in order to scare him off with BA accidentally missing the langur. A yelp resounded from behind the langur as a puppy scurried out of rock throwing range. The langur being agile and fearless dodged the rocks and came back for the other sandwich before scampering into the banyan tree above us. He looked at us lazily with his penis fully out as he savored his cheese sandwich meal. We decided to move as the pick nick was taking a turn for the worse.
Moving further up the hill we began losing hope of Marya arriving. We made fresh sandwiches with rocks ready to repel the next bold langur. A herd of wild peacocks appeared out of the tangle of cacti and thorny bushes as we lounged about continuing to rebuff commands to buy cement. The Brahmin of course was not giving up hope at our weak western wills buckling underneath obviously superior Indian guile and tenacity. The conversation turned ugly when we asked to be left alone with the Brahmin insisting we "cielo" or "beat it". As we were just enjoying ourselves and he did not happen to have authority over us we ignored him and instead took a brief stroll around the cacti making sure not to go anywhere near nor glance at his temple. After returning unbitten by snakes from the walk we had given up hope of Marya showing up.
We walked to where we had been dropped up by our dim witted camel cart driver and could only procure a glorified wheelbarrow for Rachel who could not walk back to town because of her healing broken leg. So abandoning all modesty she sat on the wheelbarrow with everyone eventually taking a go at a ride. Stopping for ice cream we eventually arrived back at Diamond Lodge to find Marya still there. She had apparently gone out to see a new possible location for a guesthouse and had accidentally drunk an overly potent bhang lassi (hash like yoghurt drink) and been too knocked out to meet us. As this was nothing unusual for Marya we dismissed this with a shrug and went upstairs to watch Harry Potter.
With my days in Pushkar over I am back to traveling India and discovering its charms and irritations. My days are slowly coming to a close as I have bought my flight to Warsaw leaving Delhi May 1st to spend the summer in Poland before resuming further world gallivanting. With 6 weeks left I still have Gujarat and the rest of Rajasthan to explore while hoping to spend my last two weeks up in Kashmir floating on a houseboat while chowing down on Kashmiri food. Right now the weather is slowly getting unbearable as I extricate myself from a Pushkar induced torpor. Things continue to delight and amuse as I continue my travels through India while furthering my understanding of the people I meet here and the beguiling lives they live. Every day it becomes more evident that I will have to continue returning to this country as it is engrossingly addictive and unlike anywhere else in the world.
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