Day in the Thar Desert at Bikaner

Day in the Thar Desert at Bikaner

Friday 14 January

The jeep drove alo9ng a straight road with army barracks on either side. One is reminded againa of the proximity of the Pakistan border.

I was booked into Vijay's Guesthouse. The owner was an affable, albeit a little unctuous man, eager to borrow my Guide Routard to photocopy the pages on Bikaner (Rajesh had booked my room). It was Rajesh who had suggested that I should go on one of Vijay's camel trips into the desert and the fact that I thought a camel ride was not good for my hips was no deterrent: I was to be supplied with a cushioned cart pulled my camel!

So after a short sleep and breakfast I met my fellow travellers, two pleasant couples, one Dutch the other Swiss, and we set off for the camel park, some kilometres out of town.

Indian camels are quite different from the ones we saw in Northern Nigeria. In particular, they don't seem to be so bad tempered! One rather disconcerting habit, which I gather is something to do with it being the camel mating season, is that there is suddenly a disgusting deep gurgling noise and the camel spews out what looks like a giant frothy tongue, but is possibly a soft palate. Will have to look up camel's anatomy and mating habits sometime...

My cart was (relatively) easy to climb into and there were indeed lots of cushions. The cart slopes downhill, so I soon learnt that the trick was to face backwards.

Each camel came with a camel man. Then there were three carts: mine, one for the cook and one for the other travellers luggage. And there was an interpreter/waiter. So all in all, there were eight employees for us five cEuropeans. Positively colonial!

The desert is not deserted, nor indeed totally arid. Like Shekhawati, it is sandly flat with dunes, a fair amount of scrub plus the jahnti trees (the relative of the baobab).

After a couple of hours we came to a village. While the camel men gave water to the camels, we were given tea by a village woman (I think her husband is a camel man). We were shown their simple but clean mud hut bedroom, complete with the usual simple posters and decorations, as well as religious paintings, on the walls. I suspect this a regular tourist stop, but it was interesting all the same. Again, I was struck by the similarity with Nigerian compounds: simple whitewashed buildings with doors and no windows and a walled courtyard which is really the centre of life in the compound.

Another couple of hours and we stopped for lunch: a trestle table was assembled complete with table cloth and the cook delivered a complete and delicious meal.

Off again for the longest stint, past more villages and children, who here call out "da da" as well as the usual "hello. what is your name? The people are visibly sim pler and poorer. Indeed, even the adults came out of their houses or stopped to watch us go by, clearly the only entertainment for the day.

The villages are surrounded by small fields of millet (now harvested leaving sandy empty patches), wheat, mustard seed, chickpeas etc. We stopped at a large house surrounded by a "park" complete with "lawns" (rather like hours at the end of summer!), red flowered bushes (photo to come) and of course the statutory couple of cows wandering round the lawn. This belonged to a rich merchant in Bikaner and the only inhabitants are the house guardians. It was useful sharing my cart with the interpreter, as he could answer all my questions. He explained that the merchant didn't inherit the land: he had bought it all from pooer peasant farmers who couldn' t afford to invest in a well. He then built a well and now makes money out of the farms with, I think, the original farmers now working for him as tenants. The wells are 40 feet deep and cost 70,000 rupees (about 900 quid) to build. The government gives a 50% subsidy and there are apparently various NGOs which can loan the remainder. Pity there was nobody around to help these poor peasant farmers form a cooperative.

Soon we saw quite a few antelopes and a few desert birds. There were plenty of holes in the dunes, indicating the presence of other small animals. The overall impression was one of blissful peace ofter the pandemonium of Indian towns.

As the sun was setting we came to a pretty set of dunes and struck camp beside them. The camels were released from their harnesses and had a great time rolling round in the sand before tucking into food. While we wandered off to watch the sunset and look for the inevitable discreet bush (hard in a desert!), the cook and his companions were preparing yet another delicious meal.

But we were tired and cold (particularly me) and soon collapsed in our tents (old fashioned ridge tents, but luckily as I had one to myself, I had enough room to move around - getting out was tricky). Luckily were were given lots of bedcovers, as the temperature went down to about 8 degrees - a big contrast to the mid-day sun. The mattress was hard however, and I did not have too good a night.

Bikaner to Jodhpur to Jaisalmer

Saturday 15 January

Jodphur station tells you that you are in a big city: there is a mass of humanity everywhere and a large army of porters, rickshaw drivers and others eager to "help" me. First setback is that there is apparently no left luggage, despite everybody telling me that there is always one, provided you have a rail ticket. So I was faced with whiling away about six hours encumbered by my two bags.

I decided to have an early supper at a restaurant recommended by the Guide Routard - "Jodhpur Genie". I showed the location to a rickshaw driver (the guidebooks dont have addresses - most people dont seem to have addresses - they are simply "near" somewhere) and he seemed happy enough. We negotiated a price and he set off, and we went round and round frenetically busy roads, with him stopping at intervals to ask for directions. Nobody seemed to know this restaurant (and the word "Genie" didnt help). He tried several times to deliver me to other restaurants, and at one stage looked like giving up on me. I persisted and we found it (Restaurant Jinny) - and it was closed! So, I went back to one of the others, which I had recognised as being OK from the guides, but out of my usual price range (as it happened my bill came to all of 3.70 pounds!).

"On the Rocks" is designed to suit India's young, middle class I reckon. I was in a leafy garden, with several blazing fires. The clientele seemed to be half young Indians, arriving mainly on motor bikes, and half tourists (everything but English - I reckon I have seen many more French and Italians than English on this trip). The place was oozing with uniformed staff (mostly very tall and thin - I wonder where they come from?) and the food was good, though sadly I still did not dare depart from vegetarian, despite the tantalising tandoori dishes on offer. Many of the younger Indian men were seated inside the restaurant, where the music got louder and louder as the evening progressed, and was increasingly accompanied by loud clapping and cheering. I did not dare look inside to see what if anything was going on!

Another rickshaw to the station. I am beginning to get the hang of the Indian traffic system. It is quite simple really: cars are at the top of the pile (particularly if army) and everybody gives way to them. Motor bikes seem to be higher than rickshaws, mainly because they are faster and can squeeze through improbable gaps. Rickshaws - are a law unto themselves - in theory they give away to cars, but they seem to dart around whereever they see a gap, whether to left or right of the oncoming traffic. On this particular evening my first driver specialised in driving up the edge of the wrong side of the road, facing the oncoming traffic. Cycles, of course, give way to rickshaws, and pedestrians give way to absolutely everything, even cows. Roundabouts are interesting; the trick seems to be to treat them as an inert obstacle rather than a method of controlling traffic, and we frequently take a simple right turn rather than go round them. Main junctions are also interesting, as there is absolutely no system at all, it's every driver for himself. The amazing thing is that so far I have only heard one minor altercation between drivers. Most of the time they look quite calm, apart that is from the incessant honking of the horn. Cows are another interesting obstacle as they seem oblivous of the rest of the world and seem to frequent crossroads rather a lot.

Back at the station I made my way through the teeming crowd in the huge entry hall, to the "upper class" waiting room, upstairs (looking down on the main hall), showed my ticket to the huddle of ladies at the entrance and prepared to spend the last couple of hours in the dingy, bleak waiting room, together with an assortment of other passengers, including several young European backpackers.

When it was time to board the train, I realised that the Jodphur to Jaisalmer line doesn't have 2nd class a/c, so I was with everybody else in second class sleeper. This means six compartments on either side of an open-compartment and two more along the other side of the gangway. Luckily I was on the bottom berth (which has less headroom than the previous sleepers, so I kept banging my head).

A word about Indian train loos. They have been surprisingly bearable. Smelly, yes. But not unusable and always with working water. The squat loos are definitely more hygenic in these circumstances. Nevertheless, I'm glad I brought lots of travel wipes to give my hands a double wash!