Day 10-12: Jaisalmer
"Stories exchanged, advice shared, firm friends made"
Another city, another contrast. From the train window we see the landscape change from red and rocky to uninterrupted stretches of golden dust as we approach Jaiselmer, tiny and remote in the Great Thaar Desert. The local joke, oft-repeated, for any journey longer than the end of the street is "What, we're going to Pakistan?" There's nothing but sand dunes between us and the border, a couple of hundred miles West. There's nothing but desert a couple of hundred miles in any direction.
Its remoteness and inhospitability (finding water has always been a challenge) has been instrumental in helping Jaisalmer thrive over the centuries. With easier, more accessible targets elsewhere in in Rajasthan, the town was less troubled by the Mughals. Jain people settled here. Wealthy, peaceful and pious, persecuted by the Mughals they found refuge in the fort town and repaid the maharaja, Jaisel, by commissioning a large and impossibly intricate temple complex, guaranteeing good employment for the town's army of renowned stonemasons for three generations. Carved and polished sandstone reliefs cover every inch of every storey of the temple and havelis, inside and out and all the gods are represented in microscopic detail. Predictably, we find ourselves referencing Indiana Jones a lot and no more than here where we could be on the set of Temple Of Doom.
The Golden Fort dominates the town, high on a ridge and as the sun sets and brings out the colours of the yellow brickwork, its name seems justified. The town is attractive and pleasant, the people charming and the air warm, dry and clean (I'm no longer coughing like the consumptive heroines of Victorian novels) but it is the desert that intrigues us.
Excitedly we share a jeep into the dunes with an aid worker attached to the American State Department and a Chilean family, the kids in the last weeks of their year-long global adventure, the mother flying out to join them. Stories are exchanged, advice shared and firm friends made.
The sand rolls unbroken to every horizon and the mercury climbs, though the locals wryly assure us - sweating as we are - that this is the cool time of year. We visit an eerie ghost village, abandoned over three hundred years ago, drifts of sand collecting in the corner of silent rooms and unattended shrines. The story is that a local noble, catching sight of a beautiful lower-caste villager, demanded her for his own and rather than give her up, the 80 families of the village packed their houses overnight and melted into the desert.
Happy Hump Day!
From there to an oasis, quiet and peaceful, the surface of the water only disturbed by frogs lazily breaststroking in circles.
Not long after this we exchange our rattling jeep for a more traditional mode of transport. Camels. Side-eying us diffidently, yawning and snorting, exposing teeth like cracked and yellowing piano keys, the camel wins no prizes for natural beauty. Flaring nostrils, slow-moving with a shambling gait, feet like dinner plates and a contrary attitude, any comparisons with the author will be treated with disdain.
I liked my camel. Doubt he thought much of me.
“Camels have a very democratic approach to the human race. They hate every member of it, without making any distinctions for rank or creed... They long ago plumped for a lifestyle that, in return for a certain amount of porterage and being prodded with sticks, allowed them adequate food and grooming and the chance to spit in a human’s eye and get away with it.”
Plodding across the sand on weirdly-articulated legs, soundtracked only by the camel bells (and camel digestion) it was a serene experience and one we'll hold with us for a long time. As the sun set, we dismounted for chai and pakora and chatted as the shadows lengthened. A little sad not to be spending the night under the stars like some of our companions (scorpions notwithstanding) we climbed back into our jeep for the long, boneshaking journey back to the fringe of civilisation. Any whimsical serenity we may have built up was swiftly wrecked by our driver blasting bhangra Elvis covers as we hammered down dusty roads at 70 mph. Fun, though.
As enthralling as our time in the Thaar desert was, another moment has left a lasting impression. With an hour or two to kill before our next early morning train (eventually leaving at 3:00am) we strolled through the nighttime warren of streets in this small town with no particular destination in mind. Spotting a sign dislodged a half-remembered recommendation from the back of my mind and we entered an empty haveli and made our way up to the roof to be met by Lalla, the bashful young owner of the charmingly appointed guesthouse. Offering us a menu, he mentioned that if we preferred we could follow him round the high roof’s crumbling parapet to a special seat. Intrigued, we did and were astonished to find a single table and two chairs on their own nestled amongst the sculpted spires and beautiful minarets of the temple we had been in that morning. We sat quietly until near midnight, lit only by candles and sipped cold sodas while taking in the extraordinary vista, invisible from anywhere else. A Jain himself, Lalla lets backpackers sleep on the roof for no fee, pleased and proud to be able to share his secret view. A lovely moment.
"Make sure you don't freak out at the same time"
Our third pit-stop in Rajasthan and once more its different again from the place before and in turn from the place before that.
This time we're in the middle of the desert and everything is the colour of sand.
This one, unlike the other forts we've seen is a working fort, with dozens of havelis - sandstone mansions reflective of the prosperity which Jaisalmer once had during the days of the Silk Road. But in addition to the lingering sunset views and what I think has been our best meal to date (stuffed tomatoes) Jaisalmer was really all about the camel (and quite a bit of sitting on silk cushions reading on our hotel terrace).
A woman in Rajasthani dress in a haveli window
The Jeep ride into the Thar desert proper (away we're promised from the 'toursits' - ha and toward the dunes) was enjoyable in itself, joined as we were by an American in India (working in Delhi for the Embassy - responsible for foreign aid and also a week away from welcoming Ivanka Trump...) and an extremely joyful Chilean family.
After visiting the ghost town of Kuldhara - ghosted both in the ancient and more modern sense... The story goes that all its villagers abandoned it one night rather than give over one of its young women to the then prime minister who had taken a'shine' to her. But back to the camels and pretending to be Lawrence of India.
After some initial 'hump' orientation the following few hours were packed solid with vistas I've never seen before - sand dunes and blood orange sunsets.
Our guide even brought beers in a cool box and cooked pakoras on an open fire and we sat drinking in both the beer and the first in four decades sights (less sounds, it's pretty quiet in the desert). And we also left the desert with an invitation to stay over in Chile when we're there in 2019!)
The evening saw us follow the guide book to two places absent of first gin (once a hotel now closed up) and then people so we followed our noses instead to a very pretty converted Haveli where we my Geordie radar led us to a couple from Ponteland, celebrating their sixtieths with a month long tour.
Our 12.45am train was only 3 hours late this time but Jaisalmer boasts the prettiest station we've seen so far so why complain. As one local put 'the only thing about Indian trains you can rely on is the punctuality of their lateness'.
Onto our final J town in the series - Jodphur. This one is blue.
PS. Some advice from the Chilean couple we met who had been travelling together for 6 months. From her: patience and from him: make sure you don't freak out at the same time.