Desert calling...

So there I was, in the middle of a field, sweat running down my sunburned nose, trying to deposit iodine solution to the nose-rings of to camels, as their handlers desperately fought to keep them under control. How did this happen? Let us rewind a few days, as I write this on my pda on a packed train to Mumbai, with three people looking over my shoulder- despite their lack of English...



After leaving Prasad and his friend following our week around Rajesthan, I had headed north to a small dusty boarder city called "Bikaner". Here, I arrived after an uneventful train journey early as the city woke up and quickly elicited the services of one of the street 'wideboys', Lucky.

For a small sum of 500 rupees, approximately 7 pounds, he offered to show me around the city, and drive me over 120km to two local sights, a rat temple and camel breeding farm. There was a catch though [Mum, look away now].

Lucky only had a motorbike.


So there I was in a small desert town on the northern boarder with Pakistan, following the more alternative tourist path. Following a full day of sightseeing, including a temple which worships rats (which are believed to be the souls of x-believers)

From Hadyn's Travel Blog Photo Dump (India)

I checked into a family run guest-house, costing slightly more than 1 pound 70 per night, including a free bottle of "Kwality Kwencher" water. The accommodation was of a similar standard. Roaches, mozzies and noise at 3am from a local temple come as standard!


That evening I ate with the family, conversing with a very interesting doctor from Pune (where Prasad lives). We discussed many things that evening, ranging from cycling to bedside manner, finally resting on his impending camel trek. At the end of the conversation it was agreed that I join him for the first couple of days of his trek. Unfortunately, it was not to be.



In the early hours of the morning, I awoke with two very urgent needs. One needed a bucket, one a toilet. I shall spare the gory details, but over the next 36 hours, I moved about 5m from the bed (the toilet was 5m away), used the bucket ~20, and the toilet ~30 times. Nice it was not. I hope it shall remain the lowest point of my trip.

Following the delay, I decided to set off on the camel trek despite not feeling all that dandy. With two camels, a camel cart and no less than three guides, of which only one spoke a smattering of English, the Hadyn camel train was rolling out of town. Following a 90 minute drive into the desert, we would head to a small village about 20 km deeper into the sand.

Camels are foul, smelly, ugly beasts, this much I remember from a trip in the Sahara when I was younger, but mine was really ugly, even by camel standards [so ugly, I included its photo at the start, with a sunset to offset the ugly-ness, a pile of sewage would have done similar though....] If it were a human, it would be Anne Widdicome. And it was naked. It does have one redeeming feature that Anne does not have though, its ears were quite cute and furry. This still didn't make up for the smell.

After only an hour I needed to get off. Sitting astride this camel was akin to doing the splits on a washing machine full of bricks. I asked if i could get off. "Yes" was the reply. 50m later, I asked again. "Yes" was the reply. 50m later, I asked them to stop. "Yes" was the reply. 5m later, I asked them if it was okay to jump. "Yes" was the reply. So I jumped off a 9ft high camel, moving over uneven terrain.



"Sir, sir they cried". In my mind I had done a very adept dismount, complete with 'combat roll' to keep me on my feet. In reality, I had done a very ungainly dismount, complete with half a break-fall directly into a ditch, bursting my water bottle all over me in the process. Luckily no one but the camel saw. Practise needed.
After what seemed like eternity of butt-pain, punctuated only by a break in a field to take lunch over an open fire, we came to our destination camp. Here I quickly went about setting up a fire using a flint and steel I brought along for the jungle, showing my guides not all white tourists don't have a clue about the outdoor life. I then headed off about 500m over to another camp we could see in the distance.

Here I met 4 Germans, who spoke about as good English as I speak German, so we could got by ok. I then went about showing them navigation using the night sky - a great party trick if you ever need one, and we passed away the late hours staring into the darknessas their guide listened on intently...

Day two consisted of more trekking including visiting a remote hamlet, where being white, I drew quite a crowd (yes, those sunglasses are mine!)



There I showed them the fire lighting and tried to describe a bear through acting (i was wearing a Bear Grylls shirt, complete with picture). I also taught the crowd the English for water, tree and camel. They did a bad job at teaching me the three in Hindi, as I can only remember water, which I already knew. It was still great fun and I think the pupil was to blame.

We then stopped for some lunch over in a field not far away from pick-up point. Whilst gathering wood, one of the guides managed to give himself a nasty splinter, so I offered an antiseptic cream from my rather extensive first aid kit to help him out. On seeing this level of medical knowledge, and probably the fact that my first aid kit equals that of any local ambulance, the two owners of the camels started gesticulating wildly at their noses and pointing towards their camels... Which brings me to my opening statement.



As my train continues its winding journey through India, the crowd watching my pda dissipates. It is time for me to get some rest amongst all in the second lowest of 7 train classes - costing 6 pounds for a 24 hour journey. Only 18 hours to go, with shouts of 'chai' filling the air. Should be interesting!

Currently I'm chilling in Mumbai after having met up with Rakesh and his family. I shall tell you more, later...