Deserted headland, on way to our hut

We have arranged to escape the hotel (having had our laundry done) and negotiated an out of season discount on one of a number of tiny beach huts laid along the headland cliff. Our hut is up a steep slope but has a gorgeous sea view and lots of privacy. It is very basic with just a table, a bed, a bench outside on the ‘veranda’, an electric light and a fan. There is a small toilet next door shared with our neighbours and a trough full of spring water for showers. We’re camping now.
The mattress is a bit damp since it hasn’t been cleaned up for the start of the season yet. A dose of Lizzie’s sample-perfume over the mattress is enough to make it appealing to lie on! We head off for curry and a host of items from a little shop including playing cards, candles and incense sticks. Then we sit out on the veranda, covered in unromantic DEET but with candle lit ice-cold beers and a palm-fringed view of the sea below. Can’t say fairer than that.
Our neighbours are a Dutch couple who’ve been touring Africa for seven months but have come to India to finish their year off work. We tell them Goa is an easy place to start.

Getting back to nature

We spend the days walking along the headland, sun bathing, crashing through jungle, bathing in cool pools and enjoying the many cafes. All around us people are building their chalets and restaurants for the new season. We’ve come at the right time for it all to be friendly and convenient but for the beaches to be empty enough to enjoy the paradise for what it is.
I brave the shark steak (fresh) at the “Lake Paradise” which turns out to be absolutely gorgeous. I’m well impressed but Lizzie still thinks it’s a bit fishy. We find a handy English book swapping service so trade our well-read and well-travelled volumes for fresh challenges. The time passes quite slowly when just relaxing in a place and the pressure to move on is gone. The feet are itchy but it’s a pleasant way to end the holiday.

Goa, sunset, off-season

Goa is a region of India which, unlike the rest of the country, gets more than it’s fair share of package tourists. Not wishing to join these at their high-rise resorts (although the season is young) we have selected a small fishing village called Arambol on the coast where we are hoping to stay for the last week of our holiday. After arranging a train ticket back to Bombay on the 28th, we board a local bus and prepare for all manner of difficulties in getting out to Arambol by public transport.
The bus station at Mapusa is over-crowded and extremely complicated. Eventually we end up on a bus we think is going near where we want to be. It turns out to be a good choice and uses a ferry to get over the wide-mouthed river estuary which most of the other buses circumnavigate. From there we make our own way the last 13km by auto-rickshaw through green and flat farmland.
Arambol is a quiet little village set by a palm-fringed beach. The weather is cloudy but otherwise idyllic. We install ourselves in a mad little beach hotel run by a Portugese/Indian woman who warns us about drug raids in the area. The fellow guests are uncommunicative.
There are a number of excellent bars and cafes and very few tourists around. Life in Arambol is all about enjoying food and drinks and watching the sun set. And fighting mosquitoes: we stock up on coils and sprays to rage war.
The next day we find a secluded beach along the headland and sun bathe there. Clear blue sky, crashing waves and hot, hot sun. We are just about alone until the peddler boys come through with coconuts, sarongs and henna tattoos for our purchasing pleasure. We decline but they insist on sitting with us for ten minutes incase we change our minds.
Later I’m forced to tend my sunburn over a cool beer in the “Lake Paradise” beachside restaurant while the sun sets on another peaceful day.

Sacred cow?

It is 5.30am. Outside it is raining. We have caught up with the southward progress of the monsoon and it is not a pleasant find. We are on a bus which has been on the go since 4pm yesterday, with one stop for ice cream at 11pm believe it or not. We’ve made a friend on the bus – a mischievous looking teenage boy – who says he has a friend with a good hotel in Udaipur and he is going to stay there too. Would we like to join him? Regardless of whether or not it is a great hotel, what I like about his scheme is that he can get us to it at this time on a freezing cold and wet morning when hoteliers everywhere must surely be in bed. How any of the other Westerners on the bus, who are sceptical of his offer, can hope to find a different hotel without a lot of hassle at this time, I don’t know. We don’t hang around long enough to find out.
After a teeth-chattering rickshaw ride, we arrive in a dark alley and discover that as well as it being black as night outside, Udaipur has a power cut. We end up having a rather comic welcome to the hotel by two people whose faces we can’t actually see. Somehow, out of chaos, a room and a candle are found for us and we gratefully fall soundly asleep.
At 11am when we wake up again, it is still raining. Hard. Udaipur looks thoroughly depressing compared to the glorious dry heat of Jaisalmer. We begin to wish we’d stayed up there longer. Our hotel friend promised us a window view of the Lake Palace – a fabulous maharani’s hotel, the spectacle of Udaipur and the backdrop to the James Bond movie ‘Octopussy’ – but all we seem to have instead is a wet building site.
We head off to explore, aimlessly and hungrily. Eventually we come across a small restaurant where we can relax. We have decided our prime objective now is to get to Goa (further south and on the coast) as quickly as possible. The route involves an unappealing 16 hour bus to Mumbai, then a ten hour train to Goa. Given our current exhaustion and disposition towards buses we give in to an idea which we have been harbouring: we could fly to Goa. A quick visit to the Indian Airlines offices (after getting lost and being rescued by the Geographer – how annoying…) confirms that this is a good plan and we can leave the day after tomorrow for $140. We still have to stay the night in Mumbai but planes don’t have bumpy back seats.
We spend the evening on the roof at the hotel for a pleasant dinner and compulsory Octopussy showing on a video with poor tracking. Not the best but still interesting. The hotel ‘owners’ seem to be a rabble of exuberant young lads, our friend being one of them. They are quite funny at times, sinister at others.

In control of my beast

The night is not too cold but blankets are definitely required. In the morning, sunrise brings the heat early. My morning ablutions are of note, not only because of the fantastic “open” view nor because they are solid for once. No sooner have I laid my turd than a big black “dung” beetle is making a valiant bee-line for it across the sand. He hacks a lump off with his claws and rolls it away like a giant snowball in the sand – proudly taking it back to his family. I’m happy to provide and with automatic waste disposal like this, who needs flushing toilets?
This morning all the camels have got the hump. They chew cud noisily. We get tea, toast, eggs and oranges for breakfast which is fantastic. Then we strike camp and move off again. This time the pace is quicker and Dadya regularly gets the camels to move at a fast trot, which is far more painful on the bottom. In fact it reminds me a lot of the back seats on the buses. Lizzie later admits that the bouncing sensation is quite pleasurable but I don’t agree – it’s painfully bruising – especially when I fall off and have to have my camel re-saddled.

In the middle of the desert

At lunch time we arrive at a small settlement of huts – a real desert village. We are invited in to a very small but incredibly comfortable and tidy mud hut where a woman and her many children is cooking around a fire. Presumably part of Dadya’s extended family, she prepares food for us (in exchange for using the supplies we brought) while we play with the children. I can’t get over how clean and pristine a mud hut can look. Not that I’ve thought much about it before. There are even cupboards and cabinets made out of mud (or more likely, camel dung). There is also a lot of textiles and thick blankets. I don’t know how many people sleep in this hut but it must be cosy. Sharing lunch with these people is possibly the closest I’ll ever come to seeing how people live so differently to me. It is a magical time, away from the tourist trail and away from everything we could call ordinary life.
We snooze in another ‘shed’ outside and at 3pm we’re off again. After a short trek back to the road, we gladly relinquish our camels but reluctantly leave the desert and head back to Jaisalmer with aching muscles and half a ton of hot sand in our pockets.

Majestic prehistoric hissing camels

We rise later than expected at 6:20am and by 7am we are in a jeep on our way out into the desert. Our clothes look remarkably clean today. This is because yesterday we made use of the laundry. You hand in dirty clothes at 11am, and at 8pm they come back – clean, ironed and folded. Fantastic. And they are really clean – even my socks have been ironed. In fact I think my shorts have been washed with rocks – not to be recommended for delicates. Six pieces of clothing for 60p. I’m also wearing a pair of white Ali-Baba pants, purchased yesterday and the height of desert fashion, in an attempt to prevent sun burn.

Dunes!

In the early morning light, the scrub of the desert is beautiful and cool. The single-track metalled road stretches away into the sandswept distance. Passing another car involves driving in the sand. We are close to the Pakistan border here and see various signs of military activity including fighters flying overhead. We stop at a couple of peaceful monuments on our way and then at a gravelled layby we meet our two camels and driver “Dadya” with his camel. He says good morning like an old colonial and seems to understand lots of English even if he can’t speak much.

Scoff time

The camels are magnificent prehistoric creatures built for a life of hardship in the desert. When sitting down they are about as tall as me. With our bags and food and water stowed on theirs backs, and us squashed between them on blankets, they rise majestically (in two angled heaves) and walk, or lurch, slowly in line. They have nose pegs and ropes and basically you point their faces in the direction you want to go. At first I find it extremely wobbly and painful – particularly at the prospect of two days of the same lurching, rubbing motion… But soon I learn how to relax and find a comfort of sorts. The scenery is bumpy scrub – small prickly bushes – and it gradually gets hotter. Dadya sings songs to the world in general. It’s all rather haunting but incredibly beautiful. There is plenty of time for private meditation.

Our camp and sleeping under the stars

By 11am, I’ve got a sore ass. In the distance are some larger trees and I’m assured we can stop there for water. When we finally arrive, I am desperate to get off. Camels sit down in a complex quattro-lurch as four sets of joints bend and compress. We lead our camels stiffly to a well where they drink like Hoovers and we sit under the helpful shade of a tree. Some other men and camels join us for lunch.
They offload the saddles and bags and give the camels nose bags of straw to eat. I take some wonderful photos of them. The midday sun is absolutely scorching. We have to be in the shade and apparently we’ll siesta like this until 4pm – it’s too hot to move, even for camels. So we lie down while lunch is prepared by Dadya. We get green oranges which taste great and bananas, curried vegetables, chepatis and noodles. Absolutely delicious and cooked in front of us in the sand on a wood fire – hastily made from driftwood in the desert. Life here is basic and simple.

Lizzie, sunset

We snooze in the shade until it moves over us, then we all troop round and snooze some more. At 3pm they wake us with cups of Chai (tea) and then we get going again. The others leave us at a road and we continue into the real desert. It is just us three – we haven’t seen any other people around, especially not tourists. The scrub has gone now and we come across the breath-taking dunes themselves – sand dunes as far as the eye can see. It is a wonderful sight and one I have never before experienced. At one point we dismount and walk into the dunes on our own which is enchanting. It is a bit cooler now. A dishevelled man appears from across the desert with a wet bag full of 7Ups and Pepsis. It reminds me of something out of Monty Python. A man who we’ve never met has walked miles into the desert to sell us drinks: you can’t fault the Indian entrepreneurial spirit. We can’t resist so we buy one each and one for Dadya. They’re warm but this is the desert and drinking our mineral water is like drinking from the hot tap anyway.

Tim, sunset

We carry on – more dunes – and finally at 6:30pm reach a flat area where we will sleep tonight. There is a small hut but we’re sleeping out under the stars. Whilst watching the sun set gloriously over the dunes, another Pepsi seller tries to cash in. Can’t believe it: you think you’re all alone in the Indian desert and then people spring up from nowhere with American drinks. Wouldn’t fancy trying to be a hermit: you’d never keep a vow of silence for want of telling all the drink sellers to piss off. This one goes away disappointed and we feel inexplicably guilty.
Dinner, in the dark, is the same as lunch but with rice this time and still delicious. Then it is time for bed. We lay out our mats in the sand some distance from Dadya and the hut and lie together staring at the stars. It is absolutely the best view of the sky – no light pollution to spoil it, just black sky and a cool breeze. Waking up in the middle of the night to the eerie quiet and the ceiling of stars – crisper, cleaner and more perfect than I ever imagined – will be a memory I treasure for ever and one I have dreamt of for years.

Screaming camel with the hump

Jaisalmer is in the desert. The early morning air is clear and cold and there is sand everywhere. A comic sight greets us at the station. Lined up outside are a set of jeeps and solemn porters standing in front of them, each holds a flag as a representative from each hotel in Jaisalmer. They offer free transport to their hotels in a bid to “win” the most tourists. Naturally, presented with such choice, all of us travellers stand cautiously before them, studying our guidebooks to see which offers the best deal. We plump for the Hotel Renuka which sounds good and get in the jeep.
It’s a great choice. It is square and white like all the buildings here but is clean and friendly. Soon we are showered and ready to face the heat of the day. It is hot. The first port of call is, unfortunately, the doctors. I have already had a second rabies jab (in Jaipur) and today is time for my third. Unfortunately there is no private doctor in Jaisalmer – only a government run hospital. In India, “government” means “hopelessly under-funded and very crowded”. But we go there in high spirits.
At the hospital, I join the end of a rather long queue of hopeful, sick people as if the doctor only turns up once a week. There is quite some confusion over where to actually go but eventually I get to see Dr Dobe (DooBee). Once again, the doctor’s room is a free for all with everyone piling in to see what I’m to get done to me. The Doc tells me to go and get my injection from the sister. So we locate a nurse in a white sari and explain the deal. She doesn’t seem to get it.

Jaisalmer fort

We are standing in what can only be described as a concrete cow shed. The walls are plain breeze block. There is a queue for injections which we’ve just jumped. The scene is this – on the floor, a bucket of water with syringes soaking (not boiling) in it and on the window sill a piece of newspaper with a load of needles (maybe used) on it. She first goes to get one of those from the bucket – thank God I have my own clean ones. For a minute, the three nurses present don’t seem to know what is happening or what to do. The vaccine is inactivated: you have to mix some powder into a salt water ampoule (provided) using the syringe and then shake it. There are moments of confusion when I think she’s made a mistake and wasted the vaccine but then she manages to mix up a small amount. I’m scared. This is not an ideal injection – just one look at the state the needles are in is enough to get anyone concerned. Anyway, she does the business and I get out – glad to be alive. My syringe goes back on the pile. I am very glad not to have to have any kind of surgery here – standards seem atrociously low.
Our next stop is much easier – a drink and then money changing. Then we do a bit of market research on arranging a camel safari in the desert. We’ve been looking forward to this as a highlight of our trip since neither of us has really seen a desert or ridden a camel before. There are many safaris to choose from although most are quite similar. The cheapest ones are not worth it since basically you begin to compromise on how much food and water you actually get to take with you which isn’t good. We opt for a two day, one night safari arranged through the hotel.

Cycle rickshaws around town

They are very good about it and will keep our bags for us. It is just the two of us (very romantic were it not for the sand) and a driver and we will sleep out under the stars. A jeep will take us out to the real desert and we will trek the camels from there. I can’t wait. 950 Rs each.
We go to the fort which is alive unlike the others we’ve seen and straight out of Arabian nights. We sit out on the roof and watch the sun set on this the truly “Golden City”. The fort is majestic and when the sun has gone, the walls are lit up yellow. Beautiful.

People watching

Walking around this morning, looking for a camel-cart to photograph, Lizzie gets a load of hassle off two young boys who follow us. She tells them to go away a couple of times but they follow and keep pointing and touching her. I sense we’re walking into the wrong part of town and they are very persistent. I let my annoyance turn to rage for the first time in the holiday and grab one of them by the arm. My comment of “Oi! Wanker. Piss off” is probably not a fully recognised international negotiating phrase but it seems to do the trick and they run off laughing. It feels good but they were probably only having a bit of fun.
I decide to have my shoes mended. My boots have been with me all over and when the sole thinned last time, a little man in China managed to fix them nicely with some old tire rubber. Now a little man in India gets to continue the good work. He files down the sole, cuts a rough piece from some rubber and applies glue. Then he sits and fans himself while it hardens. All the while he sits on his haunches – a position which any of us would find very painful very quickly. Then he nails the new piece in place and sands the edge to match. A perfect job. Except that when finished he decides to give the boots a good old polish as only Indians know how. I try to point out to him that the boots are actually suede leather but I have trouble communicating this so I watch, devastated, as my precious boots get turned burgundy coloured and as shiny as patent leather. Thinking only of where to take them to get them dusty as quickly as possible, I pay him and we leave. I spend the rest of the day feeling like some clean-cut Austrian hiker in dancing shoes.

Having my shoes mended

Trying to get back to the hotel, we enlist the help of an auto-rickshaw driver. He offers us a price of 40 Rs which is way too high, so we move down the line of queuing drivers and auction them off against each other. This is real Capitalism – true market forces in action. When I have been pulled and tugged towards different vehicles enough times, we settle for 20 Rs, leaving the first man looking disgruntled and rapidly rewriting his pricing policy. An amazing contrast to our first day in Delhi.
Later we board the train to Jodhpur, sorry to leave Jaipur behind. The train is stuffy and cramped and four and a half hours seems to take an age. When we arrive the streets are dark, unfamiliar and sinister. In addition our chosen hotel is booked out and it is raining. We finally get a place in a nearby hotel, the Soner, which isn’t the lap of luxury but once we’ve got rid of the cockroaches isn’t bad. Sleep in a DEET Mosquito Repellent-induced heatwave.
We don’t intend to stay long in Jodhpur (blue city – everything is blue) because there’s not a lot to see. There is even less to see when we discover that the magnificent fort is closed for the day because they’re making a film. So we settle instead for a day out in the stinking heat shopping for cooking accessories, followed by an escape on the late night sleeper to Jaisalmer (golden city) tonight. I buy some souvenir copper-bottomed cooking pots which I’ve always wanted. We sleep the afternoon off – tiring heat – and end up in a small restaurant for dinner with a large group of Italian tourists all trying to order Spaghetti Bolognaise. I just can’t believe it.
The train has the smallest beds ever designed. My feet and ankles are in air. It is also incredibly hot. It is midnight and yet my shirt is sopping wet. I sleep surprisingly well despite this though and the journey is over by 6am before I’ve even noticed. Sleeping is definitely the best way to travel.