Rajasthan Camel Safari – Day 3

Having injured my back falling off the camel, sleeping on the hard-packed sand in the dunes was traumatic, to say the least. I shifted and repositioned and sought some relief from the pain, but your back is your back, and it is hard not to move it when your are trying to sleep. I spent much of the night staring up into the crystal-clear sky examining the spirals of the Milky Way, which seems startlingly close without the light pollution so common in the developed world. Off to the side of the blanket, a dung beetle worked its way across the sand illuminated by the stars.

Eager to get some sleep for the long ride back to Khuri, I decided to try lying on my stomach. I carefully turned my body over and delicately lowered myself favoring my back the whole time. Somewhat relieved, I started to drift off again. I must have unconsciously moved my arm forward towards the edge of the blanket, perhaps even on to the sand. Suddenly, a shocking, piercing pain in my little finger. I bolted up, ignoring the resulting back pain. Something had bitten my finger, and it was starting to swell. An extreme burning in my hand was starting to move up through my arm. I thought that I had been bitten by a snake at first because it was so painful.

I screamed for Thomas to wake up, and together we located the flashlight and closely examined the finger. No apparent fang marks. We searched around for what had bitten me, but we were unable to locate anything. The burning continued up my arm and, all of a sudden, the right side of my face started to swell up. Thomas dove into our bags looking for antihistamine pills.

After taking a pill, the swelling started to go down, although the bite remained as painful as ever. We were never able to find what had bitten me, but the guides suggested it might have been a scorpion. Assuming that I was not going to die, I went back to sleep. Strangely, my throbbing finger somehow allowed me to ignore the back pain, so I actually managed to sleep through till morning.

I awoke around 6 AM, somewhat refreshed, although my back and finger hurt as much as ever. In the wonderfully cool morning air, I walked out along the dune ridge to take in the views; you could see miles in every direction. Determined to enjoy the rest of the safari, I gobbled down a huge breakfast of left-over curried vegetables and rice sprinkled with ants, and we set out on camelback once again.

Low on water, we rode away from the dunes looking for a well. After an hour or two of rocking back and forth through the scrub, we came to a small settlement with a well and several small family compounds with the same beautiful mud-washed architecture that we had seen on day one. Our guides suggested that we visit the families, but initially, Thomas and I both declined fearing the same behavior we had seen in the first village full of mafia children. He urged us on and promised there would be no such behavior from these families.

We cautiously approached the compound, somewhat unsure of how to walk into someone’s house uninvited. A couple of women, their faces fully covered in sheer veils, eyed us suspiciously from one of their huts. (In northern India, Hindu women also veil their faces. Nobody we have asked actually knows why, but we assume it is a remnant of the historical influence of Muslims on northern regions of the country.) An old desert woman wearing coke-bottle glasses emerged from a hut and glared at us. From a distance our guide noticed the awkward situation, so he came running over to introduce us. Once he began translating, the family suddenly became quite hospitable and invited us to sit in their hut and drink some chai. Three children suddenly appeared out of nowhere and, shyly, came over to sit next to us and watch the foreigners, otherwise known as desert television.

[SinglePic not found]Unlike the residents of the first village, the whole family was quite curious about our camera and encouraged us to take pictures free of charge. Everyone gathered around the digital display to see themselves staring back, and they laughed and screamed happily. While photographing the family, one of the younger boys with a scruffy head of hair and a funny smile followed behind me with an old tin can up to his eye, pretending to take photos along with me. The boy was so fascinated by my camera, that he stayed by my side the entire time. Touched by his fascination, I showed him how to hold the camera, and he took some pictures himself. He was thrilled. (Why do I think that kid will end up being a world famous photographer one day?)

The older boy noticed my binoculars hanging around my neck, and asked to see them. Thinking they were a camera as well, he looked the binoculars over expecting to see a digital display, and seemed quite confused about how this “second camera” functioned. I told our guide to explain that they were binoculars, not a camera, but suddenly realized that our guide had no idea what binoculars were either. Our guide looked through them and, pretending to understand what they were, he launched into a long explanation to the family. I have no idea what he told them, but when I looked through the binoculars, they were totally out of focus. I focused them and handed them back to the oldest boy who suddenly started shouting excitedly in his language (not Hindi). I assume his explanation was a little more accurate than our guide’s.

After smiling and shaking hands and thanking the family a dozen times for the chai, we climbed back on to our camels and continued on our way. We traveled through a series of sandy valleys moving quickly, often galloping to cover some distance on our trip back to Khuri. Although it was already late in the day and the heat was building, we saw dozens of gazelles as well as a desert fox running along the base of a dune ridge. Birds of prey sat high in stick-like trees. Eagles and vultures circled above, and colorful birds fluttered around dodging danger in the tangled desert growth below. Strangely, delicate red blossoms and tiny yellow orchid-like flowers decorated the thorny bushes, a fanciful artist’s afterthought. Visitors who look quickly at the desert only see a sea of brown, but those who look closer see a masterpiece of nature.

Yes, the desert safari is what you make it, and ours was an adventure. We came to the Thar desert looking for an off-the-beaten-track experience – it was little more than half a day’s ride from Khuri, just beyond the first sadly abused settlement. Wildlife and scenery were our priorities, and looking closely, we found both in plenty. We had hoped to encounter unstaged Rajasthani culture, and although we also bumped up against the staged version, we found very authentic experiences with a kind herder and a curious desert family. But a true adventure is unscripted, and any visitor to Rajasthan seeking an authentic experience must keep that in mind. Sandstorms sweep the desert, accidents can occur, and poisonous critters creep through the night. Without the challenges, you, too, would be left feeling like you were on a ride at Disneyland. But more than anything, the Rajasthan desert safari is about the camels. The ships of the desert are also the comics of the desert. Lips, buck teeth, and eyelashes on a mountain of bony legs, gurgling and spitting and roaring their complaints through the night, they had me laughing out loud at their antics for three days straight. If nothing else, the desert safari is worth it for the camels alone.

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