**pics/vids added as of 6/1; post complete**
This last leg of the journey in Khuri and Jaisalmer was not nearly as as awesome as the time I spent in Khuri…
I got on the bus (it was about 30 minutes late) and started to hand my money to the driver but was refused. He said something like “driver.” Apparently, the division of labor here doesn’t permit the driver to collect the fare, that’s another guy’s job. And the driving and the fare collecting (which happens about 10 minutes after we start rolling again, because it’s apparently too much work to do it when people get on :)) require at least two supervisors. I am not kidding.
I laid my bag up near the front where there’s an area without seats. I think it might be for people travelling with their goats or what-have-you.
I find a seat next to a large, older man who gives me the Indian Head Wobble when tilt my head and raise my eyebrows and point to the vacant seat beside him. I sit down and am not thrown out, so I interpreted it correctly. I think to myself, the bus isn’t that crowded. I mean, it’s crowded for sure by Western standards, I think there were two seats left without someone sitting in them. However, only a fraction of the total number of people that arrived to Jaisalmer on that bus had boarded at this point.
We keep stopping and picking up more people. I’m thinking at some point the driver or the fare collector or one of the two supervisors is going to have to tell somebody, “Look, I’m sorry, but as you can see the bus is full. You’ll have to wait for the next one.” We don’t turn down a single person.
As women get on, they move directly towards the occupied seats. They just tell people to get up, and they do. They don’t even wait for a chivalrous soul to offer, they just tell the person to vacate the seat. At some point, I figure that the density of the people in the small bus (about a mid-sized RV) would prevent them from getting back to me, but I was incorrect. Before I can even get up, hands are tugging at me. After me, at least 5 other women squeezed into the area. One man stood up at his seat, and the woman sat down straddling his now-standing legs. Children over about 4 had to stand. In fact, two of them were standing on top of my feet.
At some point long past critical mass, somebody tells a man no more room inside, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t get on the bus. There’s a vertical metal grate on the back of the bus which he grabs a hold of as we drive away.
And more people follow.
I don’t know if anyone got on the roof or not, because at this point, I was trying not to pass out. The temps are so hot anyway, and then add-in at least 3x overcapacity (along with Indian’s cultural disrespect for Western “personal space”), and top it off with no air-conditioning on a slow moving bus which is stopping every few minutes.
I started contracting the muscles in my feet and calves to push the blood back up to my standing brain. My knees buckled twice, but not all the way, and besides, I would’ve remained in essentially the same position anyway. I was smooshed with full-body contact in every direction. I felt like I was sucking on a hair dryer.
Somehow, I ended up at the Jaisalmer bus stop, and only had to walk 20 yards or so til I found a rickshaw literally stopped in the middle of the street. I walked right out to him and asked him how much to the train station. He overcharged me by about 5 times despite my haggling, I’m sure he could see I was a paper tiger.
I was not, however, a paper tiger on my next ride.
I made it to the train station, where I wanted to check my big bag at the Cloak Room and found a non-descript line (in which most of the people were seated), waiting for the counter person. Yes, there was another counter open, and yes, they were not doing anything, but everyone was in the single line. I thought it was a waiting room of people and a short line of half a dozen people. But when the line didn’t move for about 10 minutes, I thought the better of it and sat down. Only after a few people had gotten through the line did everyone move a few seats like a cross between musical chairs and “the wave” you see at stadium games.
There was no way I was waiting for this.
I went out of the station and was approached by a tout. He wanted to sell me a cheap room and a desert safari. I told him no on the safari, and I only needed a room for 12 hours. I walked away from his 3 times because he would agree and then say conflicting things when I would try to confirm. He was messing with me and I was not impressed. Finally, I dug in, and told him, no safari, AC room for 12 hours for 300rs, and a free ride to get to it. After a few minutes, he agreed (and I confirmed it a couple of times).
On the way, he starts recanting, and at this point, I’m nearly done. I start to get out of the moving rickshaw. He says, “no… kidding. kidding. joke.” I tell him that he and I are going to have a serious problem, and it won’t be a joke, if we get where we’re going and the deal is not what he told me. Well, I told him that, plus an expletive or two and in my loudest and most aggressive tone I’ve had since I got here.
We get to where we are going, and he says he wants to buy whiskey and beer and we can drink together. Not a chance. I ignore him and go into the hotel and don’t even say hi. I say, neigh, almost demand in a loud, fast and forceful manner. “12 hours. AC. 300rs. No safari.” The tout that I had words with is speaking to the hotel man quickly and in Hindi. The hotel man, says, “everything alright? problem?” I say, I’ll tell you if we’re going to have a problem, and this time repeat with a question mark in my voice at the end “12 hours. AC. 300rs. No safari?” He says, “Yes. No problems, sir. No problems.” The tout says something along the lines of, “see, I told you so” but slightly more respectfully and a bit snider. I ignore him and go to see the room. It’s grubby, but the AC does indeed work, and I have a 3G cell signal, so I can plan my next move.
The hotel man says they have a restaurant. I go up to take a look and it’s a full US dollar for a piece of toast with jam. Talk about getting jammed. I’m not eating here, besides, when I walked into the “restaurant” no one was there, I walked directly into the kitchen like I owned the place. I found people in there and they greeted me, “Hah-low, sir. Hah-low. You want some food, sir?” The place was disgusting. I ordered a Fanta (man is that stuff good here) to get some sugar in the bloodstream, and a bottled water. “No problem, sir. I bring to room, sir.” Sounds good to me. Meanwhile, the reason they “bring to room, sir” is because they don’t have it, they have to go down to another restaurant or a stand somewhere and buy it and come back with it.
I have no idea what got into me, or why that tout got me so worked up. Maybe it was poor sleep and the low blood-sugar and the overheating on the bus and being tired of getting overcharged because I am a rich foreigner and the deliberate attempts to take advantage of me. I don’t know. I’m not proud of it, but I don’t regret it or feel bad about it either. It felt very natural to do what I did, even though it’s out of character for me to be an a-hole.
I cranked up the AC, figured out where the fort was in relation to where I was (thank you God for GPS enabled mobile phones!), and decided to take a walk around. I knew I needed something to eat, but the Fanta had staved off an emergency and bought me some time.
I get the cheapest padlock I think was ever made or purchased with my room key, and after having transferred whatever I could not live without into my camera bag, I kissed my stuff goodbye, locked the room, and headed North.
I take a picture of the sign of the hotel on the way out, because I have no idea what it’s called, and I might never find it again.
I head up and over some dirt alleyways until I get close to the restaurant that was written up in a guidebook. I find it with the help of some truly helpful Indians, but the restaurant is closed. Restaurants don’t have an opening time and a closing time. They much more likely have three of each. One opening and closing time for breakfast, one opening and closing time for lunch, and one opening and closing time for dinner. I usually take my dinner as early as I can, as I tend to sleep better with an empty stomach. However, dinner isn’t served here at 5 or 6 or 7. Dinner places in Jaisalmer (well, at the 5 restaurants I checked anyway) usually open around 8p, with the dinner rush between 9 and 11p.
So, the place I wanted to eat wasn’t open yet for dinner, so I headed up to the fort for some pics and to take it in.
The Jaisalmer fort is about a thousand years old, and it’s just amazing to behold. As possibly (not sure) the only living fort left in India (meaning, people still live inside the fort) it’s definitely one to see. There’s a whole town inside the fort.
I got some good pics and was hassled for a while by some persistent beggars/vendors.
On the way back down to the restaurant and leaving the main part of the fort, I have a seat on some steps just to sit and think for a bit. Along comes this dark old man (people here in Rajasthan are very darkly pigmented) with some type of instrument which he is playing. Normally the ruse plays out something like the older lady with the Indian flag pin at the India Gate (in the Delhi posts), where they do something for you, and then tell you to pay them.
This guy didn’t have that energy about him. He was just playing his instrument on the hopes that I would buy one.
I’m sitting there and he’s playing this thing that looks like a violin and a bamboo flute rolled into one. And it’s played with a bow. That had bells on it. I keep thinking, he’s going to want money, he’s going to want money, when I tell myself that I’m ruining the moment with my running commentary. So what if he wants money when he’s done. At that point, either you’ll give him some or you won’t. But that will happen then, when it’s time. Now is the time to enjoy the music.
And enjoy it I did. The sound of this thing is absolutely ephemeral. It sounds like there several instruments playing, though the bow is only touching one string. I am totally mesmerized by the sound. I know how the rats were lured away by the Pied Piper; I don’t think he had a flute, I think he had one of these thingees.
As I released the worry about the upcoming request for funds, I thoroughly enjoyed the music. I even got out my camera and video’d a little bit. The sound (as I listen to it on the laptop) doesn’t fully capture the depth and breadth of the sound, both probably in frequencies that the camera can’t capture and in the acoustics of the stone entry hall of the fort, but it will give you some of it. Pardon the rickshaw driving as close a possible to me about halfway through.
After he was done, he very gently said he makes these instruments for his living. I told him I couldn’t take one, and I wasn’t lying. I reached into my pocket and pulled out 20rs for him for the private concert, and he was appreciative. I patted him on the shoulder, complimented him on his playing and his instrument, and thanked him a few times for playing for me. A few namastes, and I started the walk out of the fort back to the restaurant.
Now, pulling money out of a pocket (even small bills) brings the vendors and touts like the scent of blood brings sharks in the sea. There were some bracelets that looked lovely in the bright sun on the woman’s dark arms. After a bit of haggling, I picked up 10 for 2 US bucks. They don’t look as good in my white hands under the hotel room’s florescent lamp.
I visited the restaurant again - should be open now, but wasn’t. I sat on some steps nearby and calculated my other options. Nothing was calling me, so I moved on. I asked at several restaurants (all of which were closed) and was pointed to Kebab Korner. They too were closed, but when I asked to see a menu anyway, to see if I wanted to come back, the cook arrived, and I ate some tasty eggplant with onions/tomatoes/garlic, 2 butter chapattis, 2 Fantas and a bottle of water (which is called Mineral Water here in India).
I’m digging on the Fantas. They are so small, though. About 300 ml and served in a thin glass bottle, and the man pops the cap off old-style in front of you, and usually provides you a straw if you’re a foreigner, so your lips don’t touch the bottle. I almost always opt for juices (as long as they are bottled), but only the upper scale places have them, and even then, they are usually out of at least half of the juices printed in the menu (when they have a menu).
I finish eating and settle the bill (about 4 bucks US), and on the way back to successfully re-finding my hotel, I pass a dog laying in a 10 inch deep sewage gutter (“sewers” are above ground). I actually said out loud, “what are you doing in there?” and the dog just kind of looked up at me kind of ashamed :). At first I thought he was stuck in there, and I thought, how in the world am I going to get this dog out of here, but then I realized he was cooling himself off in the black river of waste. To each his own.
I got back to the hotel (my stuff was still there), and after a little difficulty in payment (what? you already paid? to whom?), the tout re-appeared and told me to walk this way, there are plenty of rickshaws to take me to the train station. Apparently he didn’t like me any more than I liked him. Probably because the hotel refused his commission because of no safari. Anyway, what he told me was a bold-faced lie, as I walked most of the way to the train station, through a construction area, dodging people sleeping on the sidewalk and side of the road, and all manner of animals and their byproducts, completely, 100% unlit. Most of the way there (maybe a mile or mile and a half), I find another rickshaw sitting in the middle of the street. I negotiate largely unsuccessfully when he sees my large bag. I pay too much and get to the train station, happy that I don’t have to deal with the Cloak Room, and somehow manage to get on the right train, though the train and the coaches are both not marked, and the train number doesn’t appear on the station boards.
I have another side upper berth in 3AC which is pretty tight, but manageable if I don’t move my feet. The sheets are damp and I’m right next to the toilet, but it will do. The ride is uneventful and starts at 11:30p. The train man comes through saying, “Jodhpur” about 4:45a and we pull in to the real Jodhpur station two stops later, shortly after 5a. I crawl down out of the bunk thinking, “That was not enough sleep.”
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