From Jodhpur to Varanasi

After just a few hours in Jodhpur we moved on to our real intended destination; Jaisalmer. Coincidentally, this meant re-meeting yet again with Hannah, who had been hanging out in Jaisalmer for a good while. I said my goodbyes to Jen and Becky, and on the second day joined Hannah and a couple of Americans to visit a school for unprivileged children. Over recent days Hannah had become close to the owner of our guesthouse, Dhanna. Dhanna played a big part in the running of the school, and so I agreed to come along and witness the good work, a concept lost on so many privileged Indians. However, whilst seeing the school was interesting, the woman currently in charge was very pushy, and only wanted our money. We had hoped to offer some time helping the kids learn English, but that had not been possible at the time we arrived. We left the school in appreciation of what was trying to be done, but disappointed in the attitude towards visitors.

The following day the Americans, three Germans and myself embarked on a camel trek recommended by Hannah and run by Dhanna's guesthouse. Jaisalmer is the most famous place for camel trekking in India, and it certainly felt a lot more professional than the ad-hoc trek we had done in Pushkar. Right from the start it felt a lot more safe; falling off didn't feel too likely. Everybody had their our own personal camel, and the food was of a very high standard considering we were out in the desert. The trek was much more secluded too, we were clearly a long way away from civilization.

The atmosphere in the camp that night was not as good as on my Pushkar trek, but the actual trekking was a much better experience. However, as soon as I climbed onto Papoo the camel on my second day, I realised that there was a challenge ahead of me. Riding a camel is painful, and my bottom was already weary from the previous day. Of course, I wasn't the only one feeling the pain, but our group fought on.

With a days experience behind us, our guides felt that we were ready to push our camel skills a little further; our camels began to run. We had done a little running on day one, but this time the sprints were much more lengthy. This was bittersweet. It was certainly fun, especially at the higher speeds, but the faster Papoo ran, the more my pain increased. My soar thighs rubbed against Papoo, and my back felt very tired and stiff. Every one of Papoo's strides hurled me in the air, crashing my bum back down again in preparation for the next imminent flight. Riding a running camel is an experience I glad I have, and an experience I'm glad is behind me.

Towards the end of the second day my group prepared for one last sprint. I was exhausted, and along with Manuel from Germany, we kept our camels at walking pace. However, as the group began to mingle in with the trees in the distance I had a change of heart; I wanted to run with Papoo one last time. Making Papoo run, however, had been a challenge; You are suppose to whip camels with the reigns to make them pick up speed, but in the past I had failed to make an impact on Papoo's pace. This time, though, I was successful. With just a few light whips Papoo picked up speed, and Manuel was left behind.

The group in the distance had gone quite far now, but as the pain began to increase I slowed Papoo down. The group were nowhere to be seen, and looking behind me I saw no sign of Manuel. Me and Papoo strolled through the desert alone, but it felt great. Beforehand, Papoo had just followed the camel in front, but with just me and my camel in the gaping sands, I had a reason to steer, hopefully re-finding our friends somewhere over the hill. However, it was unclear where our group was. After a short while a group of camels were could be seen to our right, but I was unsure whether it was my group; my group had originally ridden much further left. I was still wondering which way to go when my decision was made for me; Papoo steered right. It was only after a little while, and after the distant camels had disappeared over the hill, that I realised that I was lost in the desert and had just left the decision of which way to go solely on the will of a camel.

Luckily for me, Papoo was correct. Over the hill my group were resting under a tree. Although Papoo seemed to prefer munching on the local shrubbery rather than joining his mates, we eventually rejoined our friends. Manuel was a few minutes behind. It was here that I climbed off Papoo for the last time, and here that I retire my camel riding days.

Occasionally on my travels I find myself at a crossroads; a point in time when I have little or no idea where to go next. After a little research I decided that it was time to head east to Varanasi. I also am now strongly considering a trip into Nepal. I therefore booked my train east, and by coincidence again, Hannah was booked onto the same train, albeit in a higher class. The train started in Jodphur though, and so on Sunday we caught the five hour bus east. It was actually a shame that we had just one night in Jodphur. The market place had a really great atmosphere at night time, and it would have been nice to explore the city in the daytime too. Nevertheless, my ticket was booked, and on Monday morning we headed to the station. At 9:30, the proposed 25 hour journey to Varanasi began.

When I first arrived in my carriage, there was a man sat there who spoke English. After just a few minutes a beggar crawled in and began to tap my leg. Beggars are very common in India, but this one was very persistent; he stayed with me for five or ten minutes, despite me paying him no attention. I began asking the man about his opinions on beggars and what the moral thing is to do. He backed up what I already thought was the case. This boy could walk perfectly fine (although of course, some beggars are genuinely disabled). The boy crawls into the carriage just for affect. It is mostly foreigners who hand out money because the locals know better. The man next to me estimated that the boy would earn about 250 rupees a day, quite a nice sum, much better than many genuine working Indians earn. He was not so poor, but he was also not making a positive contribution to society. The boy also seemed interested in my bag of fruit I had bought from the seller outside the train. However, the man confirmed to me that he was not hungry; any fruit I gave him would be sold right back to the seller. After giving the boy very little attention, he eventually crawled on. Minutes later a second boy crawled in, this time only lasting about 30 seconds before giving up. Not long later I was also pestered by eunuchs (men cruelly castrated at birth and destined for a life of begging), and some drummers (who at least were entertaining people with music to earn their rupees).

The man next to me disembarked when the train set off; he was only saying goodbye to his non-English speaking relative. For most of my journey I was surrounded by non-English speaking locals, except for when I payed Hannah the occasional visit many carriages further up the train. I spent most of my time listening to my IPod, drinking chai (lovely Indian tea), and hopping off the train at every stop to buy some local snacks. I quite enjoyed the ride, but after we passed Jaipur my mood briefly sobered. A local pointed out to me the derailed train besides the tracks. A good few people had died just days early in a train accident; not an uncommon event in India.

The rest of the daytime went smoothly; I met Hannah for a bit, and lent a local my IPod for a short while. However, he seemed disappointed at the lack of Hindi music in my collection. In the evening another local with good English took an interest in me. The usual rigmarole began; a series of questions, including the occasional bemusing one ("What are your strengths?"). We were suddenly interrupted by a man in the adjacent set of beds, up on the top bunk. He asked if he could have some water, because he was thirsty. This bemused me; water could be bought regularly, and he could not be a poor man if he was riding the train. With a spare bottle in hand, I handed him my open bottle and kept alert. He leaned to the side out of sight, and I noticed he had a friend hiding next to him. They clearly were doing something with the bottle, but whatever it was they were not drinking. After just five or ten seconds they handed me my bottle back. From now on I was on-guard. After pausing for a while to analyse the situation, I openly and clearly poured the contents of the bottle out of the window. Druggings are rare but not unheard of in India, and thievery on trains is equally a problem. A white person is a prime target, and a journey to a popular backpacker destination such as Varanasi is prime territory for thieves. I was not scared; violent attacks are very rare indeed, but I did not feel like losing any belongings - or for that matter, taking an extra long sleep on my train.

The man from the upper bunk clearly took an interest in me, and he soon moved down to sit opposite me. He liked to stare at me too. After a while he engaged himself in conversation with the man I had been talking to, and despite not understanding Hindi, it was totally clear who they were talking about. The man next to me informed the suspicious man of the places I had been to and was going to, and he even mentioned 'Software Engineer'. At this point I also began to arouse suspicion with the man I was talking to; he had been asking me which bunk I was in and whether I was sleepy. I began to fear a long night of having to stay wide awake, but luckily things changed. The very suspicious man left his bunk, walked up and down the train once, and never came back. I wondered if he was looking for another westerner. I slept on my belongings, and gradually gained more trust in the man sleeping near me. I now think that he was harmless, but without wanting to sound paranoid, I remain extremely skeptical about the intentions of the man who asked for my water. In the morning though, both me and my belongings were fine.

The 25 hour journey continued in Indian time. By this, I mean that it arrived after 29 hours had elapsed; my longest journey of the year. Me and Hannah are now in Varanasi; a very old, holy, and fascinating town. As we sat in a cafe just moments ago, a chanting crowd could be heard from outside. They sounded celebratory, but my interpretation was surely wayward. The crowd soon bounced past the window. With them, they carried the deceased body of a woman. This is Varanasi. I'm sure I will have much more to say on this in my next blog entry.