Travelling to Bikaner on the local train was always going to be long, slow yet interesting experience. I arrived at Jaisalmer station much earlier than the departure time, as everyone advises in India, only to find out I was far too early. With 90 mins to go, I painlessly got a ticket for 90p without the usual horrendous queuing experience that I have grown accustomed too and found the train already sitting at the station 80 mins before departure. As it was a beautiful morning with a splendid view of the fort in the background against the brilliant blue sky, I decided on having a snooze on board whilst awaiting the rush of passengers. Only a trickle of people arrived and ten minutes before departure, a band and a red carpet was rolled out on the platform opposite. “Not for me?” I asked a humourless businessman from Bikaner sitting opposite. “No!” He glared. “Its for the palace on wheels and the rich tourists...”  Sure enough the Palace On Wheels (a luxury tourist train) arrived a few minutes later and a few large well healed tourists alighted to band music and red turbans. We left quietly on the track behind and out of sight. The train trundled through the desert scrub, stopping at every town we passed. Few people got on and it took 4 hours in the increasing midday heat to reach Bikaner. There was a tuk tuk waiting at the station and within minutes I was being driven through the sandy, dusty city streets to the Vinayak Guest House. There I met Jitu and his wife and was shown a small room out the back, over looking a small garden with a nice terrace. Great value for $5 and soon Jitu and I were discussing what to see in my planned three night stay. I had decided to stay in this Guesthouse, primarily because Jitu was a qualified animal and bird specialist. He quickly put together three trips encompassing many destinations I had wanted to visit, but felt were probably a little bit out of the way - so this was great. The next morning I was up at 5.30am to begin the first jaunt starting with a local birdwatching destination that Jitu had come to know through his research. Jodhber, was some thirty minutes south of Bikaner, and our destination was a narrow road that wound through several Bishnoi reserves towards a little village. This road offered secluded retreat and a great opportunity to view a lot of wildlife unhindered by man due the protection of the Bishnoi landlords and their belief in no killing/harming of animals or plants. From the very beginning we were blessed with a rush of species from Bee-eaters, Partridges, Desert Gerbils, Desert Lizards, Vultures, Antelope, Indian Rollers, White breasted Kingfishers, Owls, Raptors... the list was endless. At ten o’clock we stumbled across some camel herders, with their troop of 200 camels including some of the local Bikaner Camels with woolly eyes and hairy deep brown coloured skins. The camel handlers were friends of Jitu and offered us some chai made with salty, fat free camel milk on a little camp fire rustled up in minutes. Actually this was surprisingly delicious. At a secluded water hole, we spied the rare Yellow Spotted Desert Pigeon, but unfortunately I could not get a photo. More Raptors and desert fowl were spotted plus a Hoopoe, my favourite desert bird. We then travelled to where the vultures were congregating, an area where the lowest caste, the Untouchables live. Here in little more than a rubbish filled shanty village, the Untouchables (so called because of their isolation by the rest of Indian society) skinned the hide off dead cows, carted here from the city and left the carcasses to the vultures. Here Jitu wanted to show me the mounds of plastic each representing one dead cow. These mounds littered the landscape like a monument to man’s excess and an illustration of our impact on others. “Many animals suffer and die from their contact with plastic bags. Many Indians do not know that the cows eat plastic bags or they just simply ignore this truth. However this area (which is not visited by many Indian people) illustrates the consequences.”  This bizarre area with its pungent putrid smell, the Untouchables starring at us in the distance, ravenous huge flocks of vultures circling, packs of aggressive feral dogs and clouds of buzzing flies in 35C heat - all contributed to an intense apocalyptic feeling. It was all deeply thought provoking. The small mounds of plastic, each representing a dead cow, will long stay in the memory. How the untouchables live with no water or electricity in these conditions was beyond my comprehension. It put all my whinging about the sights and smells of India at the start of my trip into perspective. “I will now refer to plastic bags here as cow killers and refuse them every time,”  I told Jitu. ‘Easy to promise, difficult to keep that promise,’ I could almost hear him think. He also explained the dire effect of the Acacia tree, introduced by the British to the area and now suffocating the local plant life. “Nothing eats it, not even the camels, and its dominating everything, suffocating the local plants. This situation is already a disaster.”  He went onto add, that local country remedies made from local spices and plants are also dying out as young people are not interested in these anymore, and the recipes are being lost as the older generation dies. All quite depressing. Later on and on an empty stomach, we headed south to visit the Karni Mata Mandir 17th century temple. It was dedicated to a 15th century mystic, who the priests believe was reincarnated as a rat. Consequently all rats are holy and are fed and worshipped at this temple. Consequently they swarm all over the temple grounds and are considered lucky, especially the five white ones. This was an interesting visit. The temple goes on about its daily business whilst thousand of rats scamper around on the floor in all the rooms, on - well everything, except you. Bowls of sweets and milk, plus grains are left out for them. Its lucky to have one touch you, luckier still if you see a white one. I thought this would be unsettling, but it was not, although instead of bare feet I did wear socks, as advised, against the dirt (no shoes allowed in any temples here in India). No rats touched me although at times that did seem inevitable as there were so many. The temple itself was interesting although it is somewhat over-shadowed by the rats. The temple carvings were exquisite, of course many of these were of the rats. Tucking into lunch afterwards seemed a little incongruous, especially a few meters from the temple, but then I was hungry. None of the Indians in the street cafe seemed to pay a blind bit of attention to that concern! After lunch we proceeded to the Camel Research Centre where Jitu works in the afternoons in a souvenir shop, to supplement his income from his guesthouse and tours. This gave me the opportunity to wander around, look at the museum (which was surprisingly interesting), ogle at the baby camels, watch the afternoon arrival of the herds and sample some camel ice cream (delicious). I also went off with Jitu’s excellent driver Karen, to look for Hoopoes and Kingfishers and later we all went to see the Desert Fox. It was a great day and I was not sure the next day could live up to it, but again it was an early morning start at 5.00am for our long road trip to Khichan (Please see previous blog). Khichan was a long 200 Km round trip and we needed to be there around 8.00am to see the Demoiselle Cranes arrive, flying through town. We belted out of an empty Bikaner with Karen driving, expertly and safely (all a tall order when trying to locate wandering cattle and feral dogs before sunrise on unlit streets). We took one break near the strangely named Bap for breakfast and chai tea at a cafe advertising ‘the taste of the highway’. As we ate, we watched the cows walking up to other restaurants and being fed chapatis - obviously a tradition. When we arrived at Khichan the birds were already flying into town, in low formations over the roofs of the houses. We went to meet Seva Ram and watch everything from the roof of his house, a responsible distance from the gathering birds, so we would not disturb them. The noise was deafening, the spectacle incredible as these birds circled landed took off and jostled for position, all the time waiting outside the walled off block where the villagers had spread their grain. Eventually the leader arrived, and a batch of several hundred hoped over the fence to begin the feast, with the others looking jealously on. ‘Maybe there is a pecking order,’ I thought. Every so often a dog or cow or villager trekking to the communal toilets outside the walled area would frighten the birds in the waiting group and almost all the feeding and waiting birds would scamper in a huge cacophony of wings and screeches, only to circle and return and begin the build up all over again. It was mesmerizing seeing these huge creatures flying just over our heads. The whole experience was like a chaotic, busy airport over run with airplanes. Seva Ram appeared an unassuming man with an obvious love for these birds. He showed me his awards from the Indian Wildlife Community and the paper cuttings from his dispute with the Electricity Board of india. He still receives no income or money for his work with the Cranes and looses in his pay packet when he takes his frequent days off to help with the organisation or help injured birds (please see previous blog). The sacrifices he, his family and his community have made for the cranes are amazing. We spent two hours on top of his home viewing the cranes and their comings and goings. Then we drove down to one of two lakes, to see them their on the waters edge and in the sand dunes. Then it was time to leave. I said goodbye to Seva Ram and gave a donation. We stopped again at the “taste of the highway” which was in the middle of a Muslim area. Opium smuggling across the boarder is a big problem, explained Jitu. “The camels here are well trained by the smugglers, so the opium can be packed on the camel in Pakistan and then the camel sent alone across the border. No need for a rider, as it will find its way on its own.” I had a rest that evening before off again at the crack of dawn, this time north toward Shekhawati, via Tal Chappar Sanctuary. This was a long journey made a little more uncomfortable by the roadworks and the resulting chaos and dust on the first main road we took. 80 kilometers took three hours, sometimes at a crawl through clouds of dust on a one way temporary dirt track packed with buses and trucks fighting for the right of way. I imagined this would be infinitely more exciting at night in the pitch black on the return journey. “They always do this before an election” mentioned Jitu. Off the highway we travelled through rolling vegetation covered sand dunes and little villages. The monsoon this year had been long and hard and it was still sporadically raining, five weeks after its supposing cessation. Consequently the countryside was very green. Villagers had carts, tractors and camels piled high with goods on the way to market. Others struggled with vast water tanks on small trucks. Shekhawati is an area of 300 square kms, covering many small historical towns which are home to the famous decorated Harvelis of the historical merchant families of this area. We were planning to visit some, but first was an excursion to the Tal Chappar Sanctuary for some bird watching and to view its famous Blackbuck Antelope. I had seen these in Salawas, but here there was a greater concentration and wide open spaces so there were great opportunities for photographing the young males fighting, which I particularly wanted to do. Unfortunately when we arrived, the park HQ informed us that Tal Chappar had experienced a night of torrential rain making it impassable for our jeep, so walking was the option (fine anyway) but walking was only permitted in a small area. As it turned out that was not a problem, as I saw the fighting males quite close up, plus finally took some great pictures of a Hoopoe. The Antelope were outstanding though and put on a great display for me. On a negative note one Antelope was fed biscuits at the entrance to the park, by visitors and guides. Unfortunately encouraging abuse and ill health in wild animals (this was a huge shame to see this). After a street food breakfast and chai it was off first to Fatephur in Shekhawati, where we met a friend of Jitu’s, who was to show me some Havelis. We started first with one right in the centre of a flooded Fatephur, which had been bought by a French lady and renovated over the last six years. She had done a great job and although the streets were a mess of flooding, building work, rubble and rubbish, inside it was tranquil, clean and beautiful. She was not there, but a French student showed me around, pointing out the traditional merchant family uses and the painting and the art work. It was a cross between Islamic and Hindu styles, all painted beautifully and with many ornate carvings of wood and bone. The huge wooden doorway had a tiny third entrance, to make all visitors bow very low before entering the grandure of the house. The Merchant would observe the comings and goings from a tiny room on the first floor, obscured from the arrival’s line of sight. The first courtyard had a reception room to the right and a family room to the left. The second courtyard was dominated by the ladies living quarters, plus the kitchen and dinning rooms. The French owner was an artist and she displayed some of her and her family’s art in the rooms at the back, whilst collecting antiques and other old furniture to adorn the refurbished rooms. It was all elegant and interesting. We left Fatephur after that Haveli and drove to Mandawa, an altogether more sedate place, quiet and relaxed. We enjoyed a quick lunch and then I went on a walking tour to visit some un-restored Havelis. These were all still owned by the Merchant families, but lived in only by their caretakers. The owners were now residents of Mumbai and Delhi remarked Jitu only returning once a year to their beautiful houses. Everything was left up to the caretakers, who either looked after the places well or badly. The first was like an old farmhouse. The basic painted Haveli building was just like the French woman's, but left to ruin with animals and children running riot. Others we a little better, but none of the standard of the French Painter’s. We took in a fairly ordinary historical steep well and then it was time to brave the pot holed highway back to Bikaner. Four and half hours of dust chocking pot-holed mayhem. With the long distance sightseeing out of the way, it was now Bikaner’s turn and my last morning involved an early morning start into the old town. I was not sure what to expect from Bikaner itself. Jitu said it was excellent, however I had read little about it, so was not expecting much. Jitu had organised a tuk tuk to take me around town as I was somewhat short of time. It arrived driven by a man called Mama (yes I tripled checked that one). Mama turned out to be another honest excellent man and he immediately took me into the old city via the impressive old gates. We went straight to see the silver jewelry smith area. This was not to see the artists, but at 6.30am in the morning, as the workshops were being cleaned, Untouchable women gather to pan the sewers waste water from the shops to get small pieces of silver. Sad.The Old City was a narrow maze of towering grand Havelis, all cut from red desert sandstone and beautifully preserved. All were shut, some boarded up, but it was eery quiet and a little magical in these early dawn hours. The odd cow would rumble past, sometimes a camel pulling a cart, but generally it was peaceful. We stopped and looked at two renovated Havelis. Both sumptuous one was now a 5 star hotel complete with Merano Glass and Italian marble. From there the Old City then transformed into the market and Muslim quarter, with little old shops with fold out counters onto the narrow streets. Market stalls were squeezed into narrow alleys. Here, there was not a tourist shop in sight, but it was a shame to rush through these streets with Mama, as they were so interesting. Hairdressers, tailors, bakers, sweets makers, newspaper shops all fused together with vegetable market sellers. We later encountered Mosques so full that Friday prayers were conducted in the narrow streets as tuks tuks and cattle squeezed past. Into the Hindu quarter and the religious fervour was maintained albeit with different chants and processions. It was a shame to finish, but I had an appointment. Mama dropped me at the University of Bikaner where I had a meeting with the Dean and Vice Chancellor, before I was asked to speak at the opening of a University Wildlife Photographic Exhibition. There were four of us on the podium, the Dean, Vice Chancellor, Director of the Camel Research Centre and me - Mr Richard (an unfortunate typo). I was asked to address the invited 600+ guests with the other three, luckily not in Hindi, which I did, echoing Jitu’s environmental work and his campaign against plastic bags. Then I spoke about my enthusiasm for Wildlife Photography. It went on a while, and afterwards I was interviewed by the “Times of India” for a piece, and spoke with many students. It was great, but I had to cut this short and dash back to the guesthouse, where Mama was waiting to rush me off to the Junagarh Fort. With only 40 mins to go before my train left this turned into a rush around one of the regions most interesting forts, certainly eclipsing Jodhpur in my opinion. This 16th Fort was heavily influenced by Mogul design and is beautifully preserved due to the arid climate. Yellow, red sand stone with white marble it is a times spectacular and the palace inside is ornate and intricate. I had to rush around but it was excellent, with great views and very clean artwork. Back outside Mama was waiting to whisk me off to the station where my train was waiting to take me to Bharaptur - my intended final stop in Rajasthan. Bikaner had been a sensation and Jitu and his wife were the perfect hosts.