2020 India – Jaisalmer
12th January 2020
We booked a taxi to take us on the four-hour journey to Jaisalmer. It would have been uneventful if not for one of my mystery stomach upsets. I won’t go into details except to say it happened five or six times a year; there seemed to be no cause; it involved some bad stomach cramps and I had to return to the toilet four or five times. It was always over within an hour and afterwards, I was back to normal and could eat whatever I wanted. I suspected it might be something to do with nerves but it was always in the morning and can happen when I am sitting around doing nothing with zero stress. At home, it was no big problem but I had always dreaded it happening while travelling. During that journey I felt the old familiar feeling in my stomach and as we were due for a coffee stop anyway, I was lucky to find a place just in time. I was also lucky that the toilet in the backyard was available and although it was not going to win any Toilet of the Year awards, it was acceptable. The only trouble was that the metal door frame was quite low and I gave my head quite a bash as I went in. I had told the taxi driver to get comfortable and that we would be there for an hour or so and I would of course pay him extra. There followed five more trips to the toilet and on every occasion, I banged my head on the door frame. On one occasion, two very friendly Indian men saw what happened and with great concern came rushing over to apply some weird kind of Indian therapy. It involved rubbing my bruised head very briskly which I assumed had something to do with stopping blood from getting to the area. He seemed such a kind man that I didn’t like to say anything but I was more worried about my bowels than my head so I waited until the last possible moment before telling him I had to go. By the time we continued on our journey, it looked like I had done ten rounds with Mike Tyson but it was hard not to see the funny side, which is just as well because Federika couldn’t stop laughing when I told her about the Indian head therapy.
In Jaisalmer we stayed in the Helsinki Boutique Hotel so I assumed there was a family connection to Helsinki. It was down a side road where there was a lot of open space and a few new buildings on each side. They were obviously developing the area so I had no doubt that in a few years it would be completely built up but for now, it was very pleasant. In theory, it should have been quiet but there was some kind of club at the end of the street and its owner thought his guests wouldn’t enjoy themselves unless the music could be heard in Australia. Fortunately, it was only on a couple of nights but it was annoying. I am all for, “live and let live,” but what about, “live and let sleep.”
Our hotel had a small restaurant but as it was in the open and on the roof it was much too cold to use at night or early morning, so we had to eat in our room. Neither of us was keen on room service as we liked the occasion of going to breakfast and dinner. We didn’t have a proper table in our room but there was a decent-sized coffee table which we ate from. I didn’t think much about it at the time and enjoyed my meal but the next day I had a backache from leaning forward to eat. It was hardly life-threatening but I had the niggling pain for a week afterwards. It was strange that I could do all sorts of heavy lifting without any problem and yet I hurt my back eating. It happened now and then and usually went away within a few days so I couldn’t complain.
When we first woke up it was raining but by the time we had finished breakfast the rain had stopped and as the temperature was very pleasant we made our way to the fort. Unlike most forts in India, it contained houses, restaurants and hotels so it was more like a walled town than a fort. After walking through the arched entrance, we were greeted by a man playing some weird kind of stringed instrument, the perfect introduction.
The fort was very busy with a great atmosphere and there were plenty of things to see. We hired a guide, which was just as well as without his stories it would have been just another big, interesting building. He showed us an entire floor with dozens of rooms which were just for the wives of whatever head honcho was ruling at the time. It was definitely not a good time and place to be a wife, not just because of being kept captive all her life but when her husband died, she was expected to throw herself on his funeral pyre. On her final journey, she had to put her handprint on the wall and there, underneath the gate there were lots of red handprints.
The guide was pretty good but we couldn’t get rid of him at the end of the tour. The few hints I dropped were unsuccessful so I employed my subtle “bugger off” technique. I asked if the tour was finished, thanked him, shook his hand and gave him a good tip but still he didn’t leave. With my subtle approach not working I wanted to employ the nuclear version but Federika banned me from using it so he ended up joining us for lunch. We had to offer him lunch but he declined. I didn’t know if that was down to conscience, or because he knew how bad the food was in the restaurant he had just recommended to us. It turned out that his persistence was down to his wanting to live and work in Europe. He had given up trying to get a working visa for the UK so wanted us to help him get into Croatia which would be a gateway to other European countries. Even if it were possible, it would have meant us being personally responsible for someone who for all we knew might have been an axe murderer. I was reticent about taking the piece of paper with his name and address on it because heaven knew how long it would take to find a rubbish bin in that part of the world but I remembered there were some goats on the way to our hotel and I knew they would eat anything.
The next afternoon we went on a camel tour. We were met by a driver in a 4×4 who drove us and two other couples to a meeting point. On the way we stopped at the ghost village of Kuldhara. There was a large, renovated building and all around were the ruins of hundreds of small stone houses. It was totally silent and totally spooky as all good ghost towns should be.
Legend had it that an evil government minister took a fancy to the daughter of the chief of the village. The chief refused and so the minister planned to go there and just take her as was normal behaviour in those days. Instead of letting him take her, all the villagers left, but not before they cursed the village so it would remain uninhabited forever. It was said that there were all sorts of ghostly things happening at night and someone on TripAdvisor even asked if it was safe to visit. There was also speculation that the legend was made up to boost tourism. Our guide, who you would think had a vested interest in perpetuating ghost stories told us it was far more likely that the wells in the area dried up and so it was a lack of water that drove people away. Truth is always so much more boring than fiction.
Not far down the road was a small lake where another phenomenon occurred. It had always amazed me how you could put a peach in an airtight chamber locked behind a dozen sealed doors and you can be sure the next day the chamber will be full of fruit flies. We were only standing by the lake for five minutes when suddenly a man appeared from nowhere and started playing a stringed instrument.
I am certainly not comparing the man to a fruit fly and I loved what he was playing but where on earth did, he come from? The nearest sign of life was 20 kilometres away. Did these people have the same instinct as fruit flies and know when a nice ripe tourist appeared? I really enjoyed our stop but I was happy to get away before more people appeared offering us a “special deal” on pashmina shawls made by their dying grandmothers.
We met up with a small group of people and preparations were made for our camel caravan. We were each shown to a camel which got down on its front knees while we sat on its neck. With very little to hold onto, it got up quickly and I was surprised to find myself still seated when the camel was standing. There were about ten of us that made our way slowly across the sand dunes. It was not the most comfortable ride I have ever had and we both had giant pains in our arses but it was a great experience. What a relief it was to arrive at our destination and an even greater relief to be told we would return to our hotel by car.
Our base camp was a small clearing where there were some vehicles waiting for us with supplies. One of our guides lit an open fire and put together a very basic set of ingredients and in no time, he produced an excellent meal. Some of the guests had booked an overnight stay so there were blankets laying around and mats where they would be sleeping on the ground. It got very cold at night so they were welcome to it but I was sure in our younger days we would have been up for it.