Jodhpur, Jaisalmer & Camel Safari
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
Jaisalmer, Rajasthan, India
Jodhpur (The Blue City): Let's just call it that, because honestly, coming from Jaipur, to Udaipur, to Jadhol, it's impossible not to confuse Jodhpur with Jhudaipur . We were in a nice guest house in which 4 of us had luxury suites complete with windows looking out on the city, a television, a hot shower, a few sofas, a king sized bed, a coffee table, and mosaic floors. I was not one of these 4. Our room was a bed, two shelves, a light switch (complete with occasional non-functioning capabilities), and a boarded up window. I couldn't find the bathroom and Sam and I discussed the possibility of peeing from our third floor room into the perfectly positioned lobby fountain, the maitre d'hotel was not amused and directed us to the bathroom, which, low and behold, was on the other side of the boarded up window. It ended up all being insignificant as most of our time was spent out in the dense streets of the blue city, exploring all the alleys, buying bagged milk, finding beer scented shampoo, attempting to infiltrate various 5-star hotels, and playing chess with the locals at street corners. Exploring another fort, with another excellent view.
Entry to Jaisalmer (which, by the way, auto corrects to Hairstyles): My bargaining philosophy changed momentarily upon arrival in Jaisalmer when greeted by an ad for pan masala (popular spicy tobacco chew) that read "#1 most expensive pan masala- switch to the richer taste in life", presenting an often implied yet avoided principle of marketing stating that the more expensive a product, the better the quality . This fueled a revelatory spark that would found the idea of "reverse bargaining". A hypothesis that if you increased the price from the vendor's original offer, the quality will increase, and that the only reason the belt I'd bought had a plastic buckle, was because I'd bargained. Upon putting it to the test, the vendor raised an eyebrow when I offered 220 rupees for a 200 rupee box of Gulab Jamun (a local milk based dessert stored in syrup). He went to shake my hand, too eager to make the trade, so the previous offer was retracted and replaced to 250 rupees, marking, if my calculations and hypothesis were correct, a solid 25% quality increase. It so happens that they were not correct and I'd wasted a few dollars in the spirit of science. And that was that.
The City of Jaisalmer: The desert city in itself, as we would come to learn, revolved entirely around markets contained and surrounding the fort. All houses orbited around the central fort, roads split off every exit in a spider web of markets . People had three reasons to be in Jaisalmer: waiting to go on a camel safari, working the marketplace, or being hopelessly, tragically, lost. The markets prided themselves in teaching us about bargaining and observing quality of various wears, insisting that they don't want to push us to buy anything, but that their prices are the best in town. However, with my previous escapades, my mind was unsure as to whether or not one should bargain. The answer was found in the shop of an Indian man by the legal name of "Al Pacino", though he insisted I add, "of the Desert". Al Pacino of the Desert's shop was warm and friendly, lined with magic sheets labeled with several attributes they brought upon purchase, such as: make your boyfriend less ugly shirts, every kama sutra position possible magic bed sheets, no need for viagra magic bed sheets, and my personal favorite, make your palm tree grow overnight magic bed sheet, which begged the question as to whether you had to put the sheet outdoors or run the risk of a full sized palm growing indoors during your sleep . Al himself was a friendly man who offered us tea and didn't push any of us to purchase. He told me to look him up online, and sure enough he showed up on trip advisor as well as couchsurfers. He told me of his two sons, the elder of which was studying mechanical engineering, and the younger of which would use his older brother to get girl's phone numbers. We talked momentarily of Diwali, the Indian festival of light, and how the main pyrotechnic event was tomorrow evening. He offered to bring me to a fireworks market after he got off work. In the half hour left before meeting up with the group to visit the fort, I checked his couch surfing profile. His self written bio instructed me to ask him about the worst thing he'd ever seen. It was at the fort that Katherine, Griffin, and I were split from the rest upon being distracted by a bakery. A few slices of apple crumble and banana Nutella cake later, we were ready to explore. Katherine and Griffin began with the bookstores, I began with the bathroom. The bathroom had no flush, only a sink, and flooding the whole room, despite my best attempts, was not a valid strategy . The store owner told me they had no bucket, and to continue trying to flood the bathroom. 5 minutes later I came out unsuccessful and out of stress, purchased a water bottle, chugged the whole thing, and filled it to use as a bucket. This would prove to be a flawed technique as many more toilets would be required that day. Meanwhile, the others had done a few rounds of all the boutiques and come out with a leather journal and a book about why Jesus was, in fact, an Indian. Getting lost further into the fort, we found a platform with an old cannon with view of the whole city. Many of us would come back here for Diwali.
The Truth About Al Pacino: Al Pacino was a jolly fellow, greeting anyone with a firm handshake with his large paws and a smile, standing tall, legs apart and hands on hips as if only missing a cape. His laugh would make the shop vibrate and fill any room with a homey feeling. He'd brought a Tuk Tuk to bring us to the fireworks market after our time at the fort. On the way, I asked him about the worst thing he'd ever seen . The sky blackened, clouds gathered above, lightning shook the skies, as he stared right through me, remembering a distant memory. "I once saw a man stick his head out of a train window, and have it blown up against a tunnel wall... exploded... like a watermelon". I asked if the man had survived. He patted me on the back and shook his head no, much like the person from the train wouldn't have been able to. As if entranced by the dark mood, he went on about how he didn't like owning a shop anymore. Too many people involved. "Much like my love life", he added, explaining that he had a secret lover apart from his family with which he had one child. They see each other once a week. The other woman is also married. He explains how he found a way to earn more money than working in boutiques, collecting heavy interest on loans given to less fortunate shopkeepers, keeping them in debt. He said that this way, he could make upwards of 1 million rupees a year, 20x the average income of the state. When I asked him why he did these things, he simply replied "such is the life of Al Pacino" . We'd arrived to the fireworks market, which was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by parked motorcycles. A bazaar reserved only for explosives and lights. In the words of Apu from the Simpsons, "what better way to show your love for a country than blowing out a large piece of it". Al Pacino trotted around picking up various fireworks and bringing them back to the Tuk Tuk with us. On the way back, he lightened up speaking of his farmhouse and how he'd bring me a watermelon after the safari. (Which he did, but I was never able to collect.) Back at his shop, he laughed and blew a few rockets into the air, leaving me with a warm hug, a handshake, and a phone number. That's how I met my first Indian mobster.
Diwali: The festival of lights. The night of November 11th when nobody could get any sleep from the constant blowing of fireworks whose sound cut through the room walls like a lightsaber through pre-melted butter. Sean, Sam, Jeremy, Elliot, Austin, and I went up to the cannon to watch as the whole city exploded in streams of light all the way up to midnight . At some point, local children joined us to toss firework bombs over the fort wall. A real BLAST to watch ;)... ;)... winky face... I'm writing this at 2 am. Regardless, best Diwali of our lives. We even got some midnight food, keeping with the traditional "pick a dish at random" strategy, over a game of monopoly. Jeremy ended up winning, but I got a solid last place.
Day 1 of Camel Safari: This morning was started with a camel FAQ in which we learned that the desert would have no wifi access, and even more preposterous, our camels lacked electrical outlets. Our models weren't new enough, or maybe we hadn't payed for the luxury options. Air conditioned seats, for example, would have been a nice add, or maybe thigh massaging saddles. Still, Sean insisted on observing and ranking the camels available to us by "height, color, smile, and aerodynamics" before picking one at random. Another criteria soon became apparent. One of the camels, soon to be nicknamed "Bubbles" by Katherine, repeatedly frothed from the mouth and made a sound that can only be likened to someone drowning whilst simultaneously gurgling scorching hot mouthwash, a sound I hope to one day reserve only for the most frightening of nightmares . Bubbles would proceed to slingshot its tongue out, flailing it like a failed tongue ejection attempt. At that moment, I realized this display should probably be the inspiration for the next Alien VS Predator movie. We would avoid this camel. Apparently this was a mating call and nobody had informed Bubbles that our pack consisted only of male camels, and his show had an inverse effect on humans. He, however, was not the only aptly named transport. Jack's "Rocket", was an unfortunate example of this. As the rider behind Rocket, it was soon understood that the name came not from the blistering pace it failed to achieve, but by its methane fueled thruster jet. A few weeks prior, a guide had told us that camels were the animal of love, adding "but in my opinion, if you love the smell of camels, you love everything". I didn't love the smell of Rocket while rocking through the hot desert for hours before lunch. Having the saddle stretch our thighs for all that time made our time back on land had us looking like a pack of sailors searching for sea legs . The real difficulty, however, came in finding your camel again. The only recognizable one was Bubbles, but soon enough, one farted, and thus Rocket was found and the pieces of the locomotive were slowly gathered. So we continued through the desert on our trusty steeds all the way to the dunes of dinner. Time there was spent running up dunes, falling down dunes, flipping around dunes (or trying to), burying eachother alive, making sand angels, going exploring, dancing, gathering wood, and making music. The sky matched more of a natural Diwali.
Day 2 of Camel Safari: A few of our camels have gone mysteriously missing, and although we have enough for the trek, I cannot help but fear for the safety of my group. Yesterday night's peaceful place of rest is now peppered in previously hidden snake holes. The only logical conclusion is that our transports were dragged by the colony of serpents down into the deepest depths of the desert. I worry that their taste of camel flesh will evolve into a vampiric appreciation for human blood . In the meantime, we will sorely miss Bubbles and the others lost this day, commemorating their brave sacrifice by attempting various swims down the dunes, such as the breaststroke, and my own variation of the backstroke in which the swimmer cocoons him/herself into the cool morning sand, visualizing a metamorphosis of sand into water and body into octopus, gently propulsing their limbs that have now become tentacles across the landscape. Some call this silly, I call it a spiritual experience that leaves you thankful for joints. One I implore you to attempt at home. A subtle difference you may observe at home is a lack of desert, and, by extension, a lack of scarab beetles. Scarab beetles are much like year 2000 nokia phones in that they are impervious to the harshest of conditions, even when flipping our over-hundred pound bodies directly onto them, they simply sunk into the sand and mockingly skittered off as if left on vibrate. Learning to do flips brought back memories of the two divergent life philosophies my rabbi had taught me, "if at first you don't succeed, try try again" and "if at first you don't succeed, skydiving isn't for you" . Flipping is a solid blend of the two resulting in consecutive faceplants emerging from a refusal to give up, you try again, yet manage to repeatedly beat yourself into a dazed state... maybe that's why there were so many night stars. I will conduct further experimentation on this matter. Another, more shocking, abundance of the desert was that of the watermelon. Of all the possible plants to grow, it's the one whose name contained what deserts lacked most that sprawled across the landscape. It's not often one hears of an invasive watermelon crop, and the method of irrigation eludes me. Possibly miniature spy plane? Regardless, there they were, and what a nice snack to have. A few hours of trotting on further past rotting carcasses and water holes led us to our evening dunes, expansive enough for everyone to exhaust themselves before being kept awake by camels shaking their bells, a bit late to join the music party.
Day 3 of Camel Safari: Status Update
The team is exhausted from the night commotion . Friendly faces have become that of viscous berserks as we fought over the last stock of "Parle-G" butter cookies. With rations of junk food running low, some resorted to bananas. Desperate measure for a desperate time. Struggling for survival, everyone grabbed a few water bottles, some snacks, toilet paper, matches, some musicals instruments, and mounted their fat camels, head low, spirits lower. Our private cooking convoy then left to meet us at our lunch location. A few select riders were handed their own reigns under the beating sun. Miraculously, we all made it, eating our plates of food before taking a jeep back to Jaisalmer. As a side note, I got into a staring contest with a local stranger and he confronted me asking if it was because he was Indian. I reassured him that it simply emerged from awkward eye contact and that I'd had plenty of opportunities in the past month of our time in India to see many many Indians. This seemed to shock him. Sean had an equally odd experience when a man tried to, without warning, hand Sean his baby to take a picture of them. Sensing his hesitation, the baby cried and never got the photo.
Alex Bismuth
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