Jaisalmer

My loves

I am in Jaisalmer, a lovely town in Rajastan, perched on the edge of the desert. Its focal point is an old, golden, walled fortress on the hill, overlooking the sandy scrub plains which stretch towards the western border of India. I am staying in a hostel within the fortress walls, lost among a labyrinth of narrow passages twisting from one beautiful haveli to another. Hawkers and vendors, with every type of trinket, line the streets. It is hot and humid, especially as you clamber into the fortress, up the steep drive through the fortified entry gates.

My arrival in Jaisalmer was not so exotic. Once dropped off in the old fort after my rather unpleasant bus journey, I was taken to a guesthouse and shown a room. It was pretty basic: a mattress on the floor (ie no bed) and boasted the view of a particularly fine example of a neo-classical building site. But I wasn't too fussed. It only cost 50 rupees (about 60p). And all I wanted was a shower. I was lusting after a shower. Just to get out of my horribly dirty clothes; wash the menthol from my hair (after than massage I mentioned a couple of days ago); and just cleanse away the dust.

But... no water. Or electricity. I wasn't too bothered about the electricity. It was water I wanted. "Eleven o'clock, ma'am. We have water", I was told. I waited, torn between staying or going to find a nicer place. I was tired. At twenty past eleven, I could bear it no more. I wanted a shower, damn it! Within five seconds, I was a lodged at a second, infinitely nicer hostel and jumping into a (rather pathetic -- but it was water) shower. Bliss.

Then I went to refresh myself on some lassis, and take in my surroundings. I immediately met Richard and Belen. Or rather I butted in on their conversation. Richard is a rather good-looking lawyer in the army. Later -- when we went for a wander around the city -- I watched enviously as he haggled with far greater expertise and aplomb than my, rather pathetic, attempts. Indeed, he mocked me ferociously for paying 50 rupees (the price of the first room, mind you) for some "stones" (actually some rather pretty fosilised shells from the desert acquired from a young boy at the cenotaph). But bearing in mind he ended up paying for them, I don't think I did so badly! ;) (I await further mocking.)

Jaisalmer is lovely. Last night, I had a super meal and a few beers, at the top of the fort, while lightning lit up the sky. And then I slept like an absolute baby.

This morning, I hooked up with Richard again. After a stroll around the city, we took a automised rickshaw to Gadi Sagar - a lake on the outskirts of town. We had the option to hire a pedalo (in the form of a hippo, no less) but decided against it. Instead, we were capitivated by a chap playing a ramnahtah (?): an instrument made from a coconut shell, a bit of wood, taut camel hair and wire. There was also a bow, made out of a twig and some more camel hair. This ramshackle contraption produced the most exquisite sound: a sweet echo emanated from the coconut shell and lingered. The man had been playing since a child, as it was his caste. It was strange to think that this talented player was asking for a few rupees from passing tourists.

It was then a short ride to the cenotaph. There the security man -- clearly a Bailey in the making -- asked to take Richard and my photo. He had us posing, "Stand closer. No. Closer. Bit to the left. No, to the right", taking shot after shot. When we asked to take his photo, he preened proudly and ran his black moustache several times through his fingers until it was standing suitably to attention. On our return back into town, Richard managed (goodness knows how) to persuade the rickshaw driver to let him drive. I have never seen anyone looked more shocked or dismayed as the driver when Richard shot off in the rickshaw, leaving the two of us behind. The man turned to me, mouth gaping in fear, "It has no brakes", he gasped, and ran off after Richard, shouting, whistling and waving his arms... Doing everything in his power to attract Richard's attention and make him pull over. But Richard, the meanie, had disappeared, waiting until he was around a corner, out of sight, before doing a u-ey and putting the poor chap out of his misery!

But we paid for it later, for within seconds of the rickshaw driver retrieving his vehicle and resuming control, we blew a puncture. There was retribution in the offing: Richard was made to pick up the tuk-tuk while the driver changed the wheel.

But it is interesting hanging out with a chap. Immediately, the attention is drawn away from me: he received the shouts to come into shops, and the attempts to be drawn into conversation. It made a refreshing change! But Richard has now resumed his travels and is on his way to Calcutta. Only 20 hours or so by train. Fun.

Anyway, I am now off to book a trip into the desert for a couple of days on camels.

Much love

A