revisiting tourism 101

i left the black cloud that was hanging over me in pushkar and pressed on to jaisalmer. i'd already been warned this place was going to be too touristy for my liking, and being obsessed with the desert as I am, was also informed that it would look nothing like the sahara which had been my first experience and the one to fuel my love for all things unending and sandy. but, i had already come this far and had my sites set on jaisalmer from day one. my backpacker ego was also gnawing at me a bit. i'd already taken a flight, which breaks every hard core traveler rule in the book. somewhere in the back of my mind, i knew i wouldn't return home with anything of value to report if i didn't somehow make myself totally miserable in transit somewhere along the line. so off i went.

i took an overnight "private" bus. while i'm sure at some point in time these were exclusive buses meant for the tourists who paid a premium for the seats, they are now run down rattling beasts stuffed to the gills with any passenger along the bumping road with a few extra rupees to line the pockets of guys running the affair. i had purchased a sleeper berth. again with ample warnings, i was told i was going to freeze. i didn't manage to get my hands on a blanket ahead of time, but did bulk up with two shirts, a sweatshirt plus my fleece, a hat and long underwear. i was feeling particularly proud of myself for having the insight to bring this stuff to the desert, and was sure i wouldn't suffer the previous travelers' fates. but five minutes into the trip i knew it wasn't going to be enough. the still air was probably around 45, but we were moving quickly. no window on any indian bus closes completely, so there was a stiff wind coming in to cool me further. to make things a thousand times worse, i slickly dumped a quarter of my water bottle onto the bed as i climbed in, soaking the entire left side of my body down to my underwear when i laid down. within minutes i think the windchill in my compartment had to be close to 38 degrees. 10 hours. awesome.

needless to say i didn't sleep. the horns on these buses wail all night long. and really, not sure wail is accurate.. it's more like the proud blaring of a peacock, singing with the cheesiest of circus tunes that announce their arrival to anyone within earshot. and god forbid two buses simultaneously approach, as it starts off this competing frenzy of jack-in-the-box insanity as the drivers seem to jockey for some unknown prize. for a moment i thought of my grandfather in the late 70's with his giant white cadillac that had something similar, and how he'd laugh as he'd blast away annoying everyone on the streets. the exteriors of the buses are also so dazzlingly brilliant with bright colors and prominently portrayed tassels hanging from anything offering an appropriate perch, that i also couldn't help think of a favorite National Geographic segment that featured a bird's mating dance, where it squawked and strutted it's best to attract a mate. you laugh at these segments because they are somehow so over the top, and you know the bird is pouring it's ever living heart out, but it just looks so ridiculous that you can't help but feel embarrassed for it. but aside from the horns, there were the people. there isn't much personal space in india regardless of your geographical, physical, and/or vehicular predisposition, and i was grateful for the glass sliding door of my compartment or i would surely have had someone spooning me, but it did nothing to stop people from yelling and bumping against the glass every few minutes- all night long- as people got on and off and took up residence in the aisles once the seats were full. the glass was sort of a one way mirror, so several times i opened my eyes to a man's face staring intensely but unseeing into mine, two inches away, as he straightened up and feathered back his hair.

i arrived into jaisalmer at 6am in a big knot. i had worked myself into a shivering fetal position and covered myself with what clothes i was able to pry out of my bag that had been left under the masses in the main aisle of the bus, which was mostly my pajamas and a tshirt. i unwound myself, put my things back into my now brown dirt and shit covered bag and prepared to get off the bus. i could already see about 15 faces jostling to get a better view of how many goras the bus had delivered that they might whisk away to their hotel. i was ready. i was prepared. i am an experienced traveler and am aware of the tricks. just tell them you have a reservation, find your guy and head straight there. to go with anyone else could mean a circus or an extra tarrif on your hotel room paid to the guy who cunningly brought you there.

"room madaam? room? i have a nice hotel!"
"yes, i also have a nice hotel! come, i will show you.. only looking!"
"very nice hotel! nicest prices, you will see! only five minutes, I will show you!"

"no, thank you, I have a reservation".

"madaam, who is your reservation?"

"jaisalmer view hotel".

all heads swung to one of the cabbies and they pointed at him "this is your man. he is from jaisalmer view!"

they grabbed my bags and put me in the back of a jeep. along came four other tourists. i pretty much figured at that point i made a rookie mistake. no way were we all going to the same hotel and i should not have announced my destination. i made it too easy. tired and cold, i allowed myself to be driven inside the fort area, where i was NOT staying thinking maybe (but knowing better) that it would be a multiple stop journey that would take me where i wanted to go. we were going to be there a few minutes while the others checked out the rooms, so i stepped out to peek inside and catch my first glimpses of 800 year old interior architecture. as soon as i turned, they took out my bags and the jeep drove off. i totally deserved it.

it took some convincing that i did indeed not want to stay in their craptacular "family run" hostel with it's brown, ripped up mattress on the dirt floor. the 12 year old boy that was doing such a fine job of selling his establishment started mocking me when i insisted i be delivered to the hotel i'd reserved. "i have a reservation, i have a reservation.. what do you want, a four star hotel??".

it was the first time i'd been treated with anything but respect in India and it took me by surprise- even more so that it was coming from a youngster. i was also really tired and just not in the mood for more games. "look you little shit.. get a rick for me now, take me to my hotel and let's be done with this. i am not staying here." he gave a little head wave, which sometimes is akin to our "suit yourself" shoulder shrug (except when it means 10 other things within different contexts) and disappeared down the stairs without a word. i walked outside to be greeted by another boy that i had seen earlier peering into the jeep as i was being carted off from the bus station and again as my bags were dropped off the jeep in front of the shady hostel. he said he'd get me where i wanted to go. i looked at him and snarled "why should i believe you". he just laughed and said, "come".

the indian art form of defusing bombs... really, it seems they are rarely set to blow in the first place. there seems little need for anger here and it also strikes me as so.. incredibly out of place. there is only need for patience. i don't know if it's a deep rooted cultural thing or if it's just something that has evolved out of necessity to keep the crowds forced to live so close together from murdering each other, but only once have i heard anyone in this country even raise their voice at another. things that would start fistfights and prompt a stabbing at home invoke a chuckle and perhaps a slap on the back, followed by a cry for "chai!". with the boy's wise little smirk, happy glint in his eye and his soft spoken command, the sum of the entire morning's events were behind us i was suddenly embarrassed for my behaviour.

we walked to the edge of the fort were several rickshaws descended on me for business. the kid spoke something to them in hindi but it was unclear what was happening. in the confusion, a small indian man with bright eyes and beaming smile pulled along side me on a motorcycle and announced proudly "I am from jaisalmer view!". i don't know exactly what it was, i beamed back at him like i'd at last found the long lost friend i'd been searching for.

"get on!"

"on the bike? i can't.. i have all my stuff, we'll fall over."

"I am INDIAN! get on!"

i tried. with my 25 lb camera bag on my back some onlookers tried to wedge my larger travel pack between me and my driver. it wasn't gonna happen. i've seen the rear passengers on these bikes carry a dozen cases of water bottles over 5 feet high, stacks of marble building materials, hundreds of pounds of recycled cardboard roped together, bales of hay and even livestock- but it just isn't in my genes.

"yeah, but i am as white as a ghost- and with this heavy backpack i'm going to fall off like a turtle". the little crowd that had already gathered to watch the gora try to get on the bike and understood enough english laughed, and someone hailed a rickshaw for me. much safer, i piled in and finally made it to my hotel ready for a nap.

(speaking of naps.. part 2 coming soon..)