In Jodhpur
Before I came to India, I'll have to admit that the second half of the tour (when Karen and I would be on our own) was the one that worried me the most. What would we do without the protection and organization of Shailendra, our guide, and the group?
Well, we certainly didn't have to worry - everything seems to be falling neatly into place. Shailendra helped us book a place to stay in Jodhpur as well as an early morning bus ticket (more on that later...), then at the hotel in Jodhpur, we met up with a lady who owns a guesthouse in Jaisalmer, and she told us about the upcoming Desert Festival. So.... on Jan 31 and Feb 1, I plan to be watching camel races in the desert. You know, unless something else comes up (we will do the rat temple between Jodhpur and Jaisalmer, for those of you who are keeping track). At any rate, we've been taken care of by fate or destiny or whatever and, though we have no set plans for post-Jaisalmer, we are sure that it will figure itself out.
So... right... the bus from Pushkar to Jodhpur was... shall we say "an adventure". First of all, we were awoken by the "boy"*, Omi, at 4:45 am. He also brought us some chai. Then, Omi walked with us to find a rickshaw to carry our bags, then we all walked to the bus terminal (well... maybe I could call it a dusty clearing between some buildings, 3 chai wallahs and 4 vegetable carts where buses tend to stop, not exactly a bus station) together, where he bought us more chai before putting us on the world's oldest bus. I swear it was held together with not much more than faith. (Where do old buses go to die? India.)
The ensuing 6-hour journey was rattley, bumpy and generally bone-jarring, to say the least. Being a local bus, we stopped at every single village, shack or tree in the desert to pick up women in fluorescent bright sarees, men in coloured turbans and sombre, dark-eyed children. No goats or chickens, I'm afraid. Needless to say, Karen and I stuck out a bit (because we weren't wearing orange, green and pink sarees, I guess). About 90 minutes into this trip, we stopped at a chai wallah. Karen and I hopped off, bought chai and lit up our cigarettes, then turned to face every single Indian who had been within a 40-metre radius, standing in a semi-circle, just watching us with friendly, curious expressions. A few brave 6-year olds tried a tentative "hello", before running to a safe distance away from us. Then, the bus honked, started up its engines and started rolling away! We had to run for it, without spilling our precious chai.
Back on the bus, an old woman in front of us opened the window and spat, sending her spittle back onto Karen's arm! This garnered us some sympathy from three men seated around us, one of which offered me some kind of weird paan masala to chew on. Yes, fine, don't accept odd coloured powders from strange men on buses, but you know... it was okay, but a bit like chewing on incense. Not that I chew incense that much anymore.
Right, so then we're on the bus and it stops in yet another small town. This time, a guy with a tray full of mysterious donut-like objects got on. One of the other men bought us one, it was an "onion something or other". Breaking the universal "Don't eat street meat in India" law, we dug in. Delicious.
As we rocked and rolled along, the bus driver made sure that his rather musical horn worked by testing it every 5 - 10 feet or so. For those of you who have already visited India, you understand that horns are blared from the moment the key goes in the ignition.
Right.. what else? Oh yeah. Then the windshield exploded. Or, like, shattered, like, right in front of the bus driver. In a surprising feat of driving talent, he managed to keep us on the road AND stop safely while dodging flying bits of glass. Another guy got on the front fender, broke out the rest of the windshield, and somehow fixed it all up with... uh... a sheet of plastic and sarees? I really have no idea.
We finally arrived in Jodhpur, were saved by the Mayor of Pushkar (the one who bought us our snack), got to our hotel, ate and are now wandering around the Jodhpur spice market after having enjoyed a delectable saffron lassi.
But, you know, other than that, nothing much to say I guess.
*boy: Whether he is 6 or 60, he is a "boy" - porter, bellboy, servant (in the past) whatever. He's an employee of a hotel, store or other business who runs errands, gets chai, and is absolutely indispensible. Karen and I have had some very memorable "boys" here.
Well, we certainly didn't have to worry - everything seems to be falling neatly into place. Shailendra helped us book a place to stay in Jodhpur as well as an early morning bus ticket (more on that later...), then at the hotel in Jodhpur, we met up with a lady who owns a guesthouse in Jaisalmer, and she told us about the upcoming Desert Festival. So.... on Jan 31 and Feb 1, I plan to be watching camel races in the desert. You know, unless something else comes up (we will do the rat temple between Jodhpur and Jaisalmer, for those of you who are keeping track). At any rate, we've been taken care of by fate or destiny or whatever and, though we have no set plans for post-Jaisalmer, we are sure that it will figure itself out.
So... right... the bus from Pushkar to Jodhpur was... shall we say "an adventure". First of all, we were awoken by the "boy"*, Omi, at 4:45 am. He also brought us some chai. Then, Omi walked with us to find a rickshaw to carry our bags, then we all walked to the bus terminal (well... maybe I could call it a dusty clearing between some buildings, 3 chai wallahs and 4 vegetable carts where buses tend to stop, not exactly a bus station) together, where he bought us more chai before putting us on the world's oldest bus. I swear it was held together with not much more than faith. (Where do old buses go to die? India.)
The ensuing 6-hour journey was rattley, bumpy and generally bone-jarring, to say the least. Being a local bus, we stopped at every single village, shack or tree in the desert to pick up women in fluorescent bright sarees, men in coloured turbans and sombre, dark-eyed children. No goats or chickens, I'm afraid. Needless to say, Karen and I stuck out a bit (because we weren't wearing orange, green and pink sarees, I guess). About 90 minutes into this trip, we stopped at a chai wallah. Karen and I hopped off, bought chai and lit up our cigarettes, then turned to face every single Indian who had been within a 40-metre radius, standing in a semi-circle, just watching us with friendly, curious expressions. A few brave 6-year olds tried a tentative "hello", before running to a safe distance away from us. Then, the bus honked, started up its engines and started rolling away! We had to run for it, without spilling our precious chai.
Back on the bus, an old woman in front of us opened the window and spat, sending her spittle back onto Karen's arm! This garnered us some sympathy from three men seated around us, one of which offered me some kind of weird paan masala to chew on. Yes, fine, don't accept odd coloured powders from strange men on buses, but you know... it was okay, but a bit like chewing on incense. Not that I chew incense that much anymore.
Right, so then we're on the bus and it stops in yet another small town. This time, a guy with a tray full of mysterious donut-like objects got on. One of the other men bought us one, it was an "onion something or other". Breaking the universal "Don't eat street meat in India" law, we dug in. Delicious.
As we rocked and rolled along, the bus driver made sure that his rather musical horn worked by testing it every 5 - 10 feet or so. For those of you who have already visited India, you understand that horns are blared from the moment the key goes in the ignition.
Right.. what else? Oh yeah. Then the windshield exploded. Or, like, shattered, like, right in front of the bus driver. In a surprising feat of driving talent, he managed to keep us on the road AND stop safely while dodging flying bits of glass. Another guy got on the front fender, broke out the rest of the windshield, and somehow fixed it all up with... uh... a sheet of plastic and sarees? I really have no idea.
We finally arrived in Jodhpur, were saved by the Mayor of Pushkar (the one who bought us our snack), got to our hotel, ate and are now wandering around the Jodhpur spice market after having enjoyed a delectable saffron lassi.
But, you know, other than that, nothing much to say I guess.
*boy: Whether he is 6 or 60, he is a "boy" - porter, bellboy, servant (in the past) whatever. He's an employee of a hotel, store or other business who runs errands, gets chai, and is absolutely indispensible. Karen and I have had some very memorable "boys" here.
posted by Ms Parker at
7:58 PM
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