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| Friday May 09, 2008 |
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Story & Photos by Tim Leffel
This was the beginning of our three day, two night mini-safari into the Thar Desert of India, in the dry northwestern state of Rajasthan. For our butts' sake, we decided to pass up the opportunity of seeing more sights by taking a longer trek deeper into the desert. We didn't regret it. Any comparison to horse riding is faulty, especially when an obstinate camel decides to take off running, leaving you bouncing along on top his hard back, a sensation roughly akin to repeatedly landing on a broad tree trunk. The first day's lunch was standard Indian fare: vegetable curry, chapatis (flat bread), and hot tea prepared over a wood fire, followed by some fresh bananas. After eating we rested in a small patch of shade, waiting for the intense midday heat to ease up. In the late afternoon we set off again, passing farmers, herds of goats and camels, and small settlements of stacked stone or baked mud huts. I reflected on what a quiet, solitary life it must be out there, away from even the basic diversions of an Indian village. The camels generally knew the way, so we had plenty of time to think as we moved through the countryside, our chattering dying down as the pain to our backsides increased. It was easy to soak up the warmth and get lost in the scenery as we padded along, the only sound being the tinkling bells around the necks of our camels. A Helping Hand
We watched the fiery red sun go down over the flat horizon as we had another meal, exactly like the first except for the addition of rice. We talked about our travels--each of us in the midst of different itineraries--and our impressions of India. In this country, every traveler has a few colorful stories to tell, even if they just arrived two days ago. We soon lay down to sleep in the open night air, seeing more stars than anyone ever does in the presence of electricity. After a night of rest, our inner thighs were also complaining (though less audibly), but we had to grin and bear it as we navigated through new hills and ravines. We stopped at a lush oasis so the camels could drink. While the others let us dismount first, Donna's camel headed straight for the water, leaving her sitting on top in the middle of a pond.
An hour later we stopped at a small stone hut for lunch, drinking warm "Thums-Up" and "Citra" sodas, not aware that the crafty proprietor expected us to pay more than double the normal price for them. As we departed three hours later, we were still haggling with him. He got on his rickety bike and followed us all the way to our campsite (a two-hour ride), exasperated that these "rich tourists" refused to readily hand over their cash. Eventually he accepted overcharging us only 50% and sulked back home, hoping the next batch of visitors would be fresh off the plane from home. The Thar desert is semi-arid; there are no endless stretches of shifting
dunes devoid of life. Our second night's camp gave us a close taste, however.
Golden-brown dunes, rippled from the desert breezes, surrounded us at
our final stopping point. We set out exploring the topography, climbing
the dunes and sliding down the other sides. A few other travelers had set up camp nearby. We met a lone Japanese university student who was collecting sand in tiny glass bottles. "These are gifts for my friends at home," he explained, "a piece of the desert for them!" We ate the now-familiar meal of curry and chapatis, relishing the packets of cookies I had saved for two days. We listened to the fire crackle and watched the landscape's light patterns change in the sunset. Venus and Jupiter appeared in the pale sky before millions of stars spread out above us. We rolled out our sleeping bags and talked, devising ways to barricade ourselves against the big black beetles occasionally scurrying past. At dawn, we arose to the smell of spicy Indian tea and devoured some toast with jam, despite the sandy texture. We packed and said good-bye to our camels, tipped our guides, and boarded a jeep back to the guesthouse. It took us less than an hour to cover the distance we had crossed in the past two days, with ruins and villages zipping by us at late 20th century speed instead of history's speed.
What you need to know to go on your own
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INDIA
- The turbaned guide smiled behind his thin black mustache as I spread
my legs wider than I'd thought was possible. Without warning, I lurched
forward toward the ground, then rose several feet into the air as my full-grown
camel stood up, snorting his oversized nostrils and batting his long eyelashes.
The imposing Jaisalmer fortress receded into the distance behind
us as we shuffled into the shimmering horizon, carried along by loping
spongy feet. 
Five
of us departed Jaisalmer together: Mandy and Marie from Ireland,
Sarah from Seattle, myself, and my wife Donna--five very white faces guided
by two local men and their boy helper. Covered by long pants and shirts,
hats or turbans, and plenty of sunscreen, we rode for several hours in
the morning before taking a long lunch break. The guides would then remove
the saddles and packs from the animals and hobble them with short ropes
around their ankles: they could walk around and graze, but not run off
into the distance. 
An
hour later, we stopped to set up camp for the evening, but were chased
off after a heated argument between our guides and a man who appeared
from behind a nearby dune. Apparently he was a farmer; he claimed that
this barren patch of wilderness was his land. So, we rode to a different
site. The boy guide took care of the camels while the older men readied
a fire and went to work on dinner. 
We
awoke at dawn and watched the sun arise on the opposite horizon as we
rolled up our sleeping bags. When the saddles were strapped back on, the
animals complained loudly with a jarring noise that reminded us of Chewbacca
from Star Wars.
The
rest of us lay in the grass and I watched my camel's strange eating habit:
a grass cud stored away earlier would visibly travel three feet up his
throat to his mouth, where he then chewed slowly, his jaw moving horizontally
like some grinding mechanism in a mill. 
Jaisalmer
seemed positively bustling after our journey, despite the Arabian Nights
atmosphere of centuries-old stone ramparts, wagons drawn by camels, and
robed men wearing bright turbans and curled pointy shoes. We took a soapy
cold shower, threw on some clean clothes, then sat down to a big meal.
For me it was a very "western" lunch of macaroni and cheese with tomatoes--I
couldn't face another chapati for days. 