Little John was his name and selling camel safaris was his game. He set me up with a one-night "non-touristic" camel safari in the dunes of Desert National Park, meals and music guaranteed. We had to get moving if we were going to make it time for sunset, so I hopped in a Jeep and embarked on our 50km journey into the desert...
(you can see Jaisalmer fort in the background)
Along the way we spotted caravans of wild camels, dotting the sun-scorched landscape.
We met up with my guide, Matar the Camel Man, and he introduced me to the beast of an animal that I would be handling the next couple days.
It became evident that the journey would consist of only Matar and I, so I saddled up and followed my trusty guide into the wild unknown.
After three hours of cumbersome bow-legged bouncing, we began to worry that our arrival to the sand dunes would miss sunset. You see, the Great Indian Desert doesn't sport vast dune seas like the Sahara; instead, each cluster of dunes is like a hidden gem, out there in the bush waiting to be discovered or conquered. So we picked up the pace, made it over one last ridge, and alas, there it was! Our own personal pocket of dunes, magically nestled under the setting sun.
Swept away in exhiliration, I sprinted toward the dunes like a child running to touch the ocean for the first time.
Chaco tan
A very happy me
Wild desert dogs who came to give me company and beg for some affection
Back at our campsite, I found Matar preparing some Indian 'magic chips', rice, cauliflower curry, and handmade chapati right there on the dunes. We enjoyed our meal, getting to know each other better and slowly watching the moon and stars emerge above us.
Matar the Camel Man is 23 years old. He has been doing camel safari's for the past 11 years and as a kid, Matar grew up tagging along with his father who was also in the camel safari trade. Matar never learned to read or write, but has picked up a considerable knowledge of English throughout the years. At age 21, Matar (who grew up in a traditional Muslim family) came home from work and was unexpectedly introduced to his new wife, who was handpicked by his Father from a remote village way out in the desert. Instead of starting his own camel safari business with his savings as planned, Matar was forced by his Father to get married and start having children. So now to make ends meet, Matar works for a different safari company for low-wages and a harsh work schedule; he works in the deserts outside Jaisalmer 26 days straight a month. The other four days are spent at his small village 50km north of Jaisalmer with his wife and 8-month old daughter. Matar hopes to save enough money to one day open his own camel safari business.
The camaradarie Matar and I shared that night was special. Both the same age but from altogether opposite backgrounds, Matar and I talked about life and God and struggles and dreams like we had been best friends for years. Before bed, we sat by the fire and Matar chanted some local desert songs while I just laid in the sand looking up at the brilliant stars, lost in God's majesty.
I awoke to the 'ting ting' of camel bells and a luminous glow in the early morning sky. Nature's alarm clock - the camels - had woken us up just in time for sunrise.
After a delicious breakfast of papaya, pineapple, biscuits, grits, and chai, we saddled up the camels and embarked on our three hour journey back to civilization.
The jeep picked me up at a 'gypsy' (untouchable) village, and I said my goodbye to Matar. I told him I'd send him some pictures that he could one day use to advertise for his safari business. One last goodbye to the camels, and I was off to Jaisalmer.
Jaisalmer fort was constructed in 1156A.D. and found its wealth through its strategic location along the camel-train routes between India and Persia. Over the years, Jaisalmer's remote location also kept it pretty much untouched by outside influences. A giant sandcastle rising above a golden city and desert landscape, Jaisalmer seems to be taken straight out of 'Aladdin' or some 'Arabian Nights' fable. Craggy alleyways, massive gates, and intricately carved havelis (old mansions of rich merchants) adorn the inside of the fort walls. All carved from beautiful golden sandstone, Jaisalmer fort also harbours a royal "Rajput" palace and seven sandstone Jain temples.
Clearly, I had some sight-seeing to do in the two hours of spare time before my bus left to go back to Udaipur at 3:00pm.
25% of Jaisalmer's population live inside the fort
Jain carvings
Gods galore
Old Havelis
Merchants in alleyway
I made it to the bus in time for departure. Safe and sound in my little sleeper compartment, I was ready to be on the road back home again. I fixed the outer and inner windows to allow for steady airflow, sat back, and watched the scenery pass by.
Passing by one of the many festivals celebrated here in India
Every five minutes or so our bus would stop and pick up local villagers standing by the side of the road (mind you we are in the middle of the desert). I intently "people-watched" out my window as families said their goodbyes and started the long journey back to their respective homes. Losing my mind in thought, I continued to sit back and admire the sprinkling of brightly colored saris amidst the freshly harvested village farms.
The sun started setting and a cool breeze entered my sleeper chamber. I had survived one more day of desert heat. However, the bus was becoming more and more crowded and sticky with every stop. There were probably over 125 people crammed on this thing now. People were passing luggage over themselves trying to maneuver between sweaty armpits to the exit. An overwhelming sense of guilt came over me as I sat their sprawled out in my personal compartment eating rice chips, rocking out to my ipod and snapping photographs outside. Irritated eyes were staring at me through the tinted plastic window, so I motioned "come on up!" Three boys hopped up and joined me. They told me they were all brothers who had traveled to their Uncle's shop in the desert to work for the weekend. That was about all I could get out of their broken English, so instead of talking, we got acquainted by showing pictures of our families and spent our time sharing music with eachother.
Nine hours later, our bus ended up arriving in Udaipur. It was 5:30 Monday morning. In a daze, I stumbled off and scanned the desolate city streets for a rickshaw ride back home. I was in no mood to barter, so I grabbed the first available tuktuk for 100 rupees. "Bedla - Shanti Niketan Colony" I uttered. He gave me the Indian head wobble in agreement, and I climbed in. As we puttered away my eyes glazed past the dozens of sleeping bodies on the side of the road. I reflected on the events of the past couple days - a sense of relief came over me. I was officially on the homestretch.
