JAISALMER, India (Sept. 14, 2008) -- It's depressing how optimistic I can be.
Despite having spent six days or so at the start of this trip rattling down all types of roads in Rajasthan, I had the sunny idea that riding on an overnight bus from Udaipur to this strange desert town would be relaxing. In preperation, I slid my book in my pocket and climbed into the sleeper compartment all the way in the back of the coach bus.
The sleeper cabin was a bit snug; my feet touched the far wall and there was about an inch of space between my head and the wall, enough to put my hand between the wall and my head. My shoulders touched the side walls. One side was glass that slid open to the aisle below. There was a curtain over the widow. It was like a coffin turned on its side.The bed was a cushion wrapped in heavy plastic with a bump at the end for a pillow. The sleeper compartments hung over the normal chair seats.
Not too bad, I thought.
Then we started moving. You know that event in the winter olympics where the guy goes down the half pipe course on a sled? It was like that as the bus dodged traffic, hit big bumps, stopped suddenly and then took off just as fast. This was all happening in the dark.
For seven hours.
Reading was impossible and sitting up at all was dangerous since every third bump was enough to send my head slamming into the top celing. All I could do was lie there.
The saving grace of my temporary coffin was that the window on my left slid open to the outside and so I spent the hours staring up at the stars and watched the moon float behind clouds over open fields. Occasionally I would stick my head out of the window to watch the towns fly by. It was like riding on the top of the bus.
Every few hours we stopped for a bathroom break and to stretch. It was during the first stop that I climbed out of my coffin and saw that the middle asile was filled with people without seats sleeping and sitting. The most colorful bunch was a group of red-turbaned shepards dressed in white toga-like outfits.
We had boarded at 9 and changed buses at 4:45 in the morning in Jodpur. As is common as a Westerner abroad, I made friends with another traveler, a woman from Germany and so we watched each other's luggage and I kept the rowdy Indians away from her and prevented any "Eve teasing," as they call it.
The second bus from Jodpur to here was even worse. It didn't help that I lost my ticket. But me and my new friend just refused to get up from our seats when they tried to make us move.
Finally, we arrived here in town and were assaulted, not an exaggeration, by drivers wanting to take us to hotels in town. I made my way through the crowd of drivers who were grabbing my arms and yelling in my ear and standing in my way. I was cussing back at them and saying the next one to touch me was getting punched.
I made it to an SUV I had prearranged while still on the bus.
"There's still one more," I yelled to the SUV driver. "A girl! Blonde!"
It was like some kind of crisis situation in a third world country. Actually, it was exactly like that. Once inside the city, however, things improved.
The place is baking hot but there's a nice breeze and the people are friendly and not as pushy as other places.
About the time that bombs were exploding last night in Delhi I was riding a camel named Babbaloo around some sand dunes outside of town and then watched the sun set. It's nice to be far away from the danger of idiot losers who bomb markets, but the odds of me being hurt while in a car here (or anywhere really) are much higher than being around when a small bomb goes off in a massive city like Delhi.
And so that's another reason for avoiding the hawkers and con-men who hang around the markets. And for not riding in cars and buses in India.
Take care,
Brett
