My camel farts in your general direction (a lot...)

If you're a beardy traveller in Rajastan, then you have to take a camel safari. It's a rule. No-one knows quite why, but it is. And as a rule, the most popular place to start from is Jaisalmer, in the extreme West of the state (just about 100 Km from the Pakistan border.) However, we had been hearing some complaints recently that the camel treks from Jaisalmer could be a bit of a rip-off, with many hotels "organising" treks, in which the hapless tourist would end up sharing a camel (which is not very comfortable) and without a decent guide, not to mention a disgruntled camel driver, who is being paid sod all by the hotel / agent, who had simply gone out on the street and flagged down the first passing camel and told its owner "ere, take this lot out in the desert for a few days, will you? Here's sod all money, make sure they're alive when they get back 'case they haven't paid their hotel bill yet" (in a Yorkshire accent, probably.) So, when we were recommended Bikaner as a quieter starting point, which is about 200 Km Northeast from Jaisalmer and a day's train ride from Jaipur, our previous stopping point, and Mr Vijay Singh as a guy who knew how to organise camel safaris, we decided that that would be the best bet. Our journey from Jaipur to Bikaner was somewhat disarming as an Indian family insisted on sharing all their food with us and wouldn't even accept an offer of peanuts in return. We arrived in Bikaner late at night and had pre-booked a room at a hotel called Bhairon Villas, which the Beardy Traveller's Guide said was the funkiest place in town to stay. They were not wrong. Bhairon Villas is one of what Rajastan calls its "heritage hotels." These are mostly renovated houses, forts and palaces and most of them that we had seen so far had been in the James Bond category, when it came to room tariffs; not so Bhairon Villas. At a measly 700 Rupees a night (10 new English pounds) the rooms, although small, really are perfectly formed and decorated with pictures and drapes from times past, with beautiful carved wooden window frames and doors. For only 30 pounds a night, the largest room in the hotel is available, which is actually an enormous suite, replete with hunting trophies and period (or possibly mock-period) furniture. The best part of all (predictably) was the roof terrace, with wonderful views over the palace and fort complex and an ample store of cold beer (although the waiter was a little hard to locate at times.) The management at Bhairon villas had a card for Vijay 'The Camel Man' Singh and use him as their 'agent of choice' for arranging treks out of Bikaner. Having arranged a meeting with Vijay, we set about seeing just how well stocked the bar was...

During our first meeting with The Camel Man, he certainly seemed to know his stuff, as well as offering us a free tour of the city sights in his jeep. His rates are a little higher than we had heard from Jaisalmer, but he seemed pretty knowledgeable, so we booked up with him. Vijay seems to have a finger in just about every tourist pie in the region. Aside from knowing EVERYONE (who all seem to be some obscure part of his family) he has a tour agency, which looks after, amongst other things, overland trucks. For those of you unfamiliar with this particular travelling phenomenon, overland trucks (or 'wankers', as we came to know them in Tanzania) are lorries converted to carry 20 - 40 people in open air style through developing countries, so that they don't have to catch the bus, poor things. We had only ever heard of these operating in Africa, but it would appear that they are now making their presence felt in India. Perhaps due to his business links with these 'Overlanders', Vijay appears to have spent considerable time around Australians and says 'no worries' altogether too much, but that's OK, so long as he doesn't start calling me 'cobber' and Andrea 'Sheila' we'll get on just fine.

Having sorted out our camel safari itinerary, Andrea immediately came down with a case of the runs, which delayed our start by a day, but did give us the opportunity to meditate on the sensibility (or otherwise) of committing to sitting on a pile of spitting fur with legs for 4 straight days, when we could be sitting at the bar in Bhairon Villas and just pretending that we had gone on safari. "Let's not and say we did" was a suggestion made more than once ... A chat with a returning couple (of Scots) gave us the confidence required to leave the next day, with only mild trepidation.

The first day was, in a word, excruciating. I have never before been so convinced that my arse was going to fall off and spent the last hour of the afternoon on the camel cart, nursing a sore spot, where I had previously been unaware of having a spot. Bloody agony and not a little embarrassing, as both the girls appeared to have next to no problems, although Andrea did later admit to some butt related tenderness by the end of the day. The set up was a little more than I was expecting. We had been joined on our trek by a Swiss lady called Vanessa and so the total tourist party numbered 3. Why then, you may ask, did we have a further 7 people along with us? Simple. 1 camel driver per tourist camel, 2 other camels pulling carts, upon which all our stuff (tents, clothes, food and that) were to be carried, each with a driver and finally 2 guides, who looked after our every whim and desire and said 'thank you' almost as often as they said 'you're welcome.'

We have noticed in India, that names are almost always impossible to remember. Rules regarding what constitutes a syllable seem to be infinitely flexible (and stretchable) and so we found ourselves completely unable to remember the names of our camels ... for they had them. Instead, we set about the task of deriving our own names. First up was Vanessa's, which was named Pachino for the scar on his face. Then Andrea's camel Priscilla who, although technically a male, showed none of the rampant horniness displayed by all the other camels when around other (lady) camels and had a habit of kissing both its owner and the other camels (about which some of the other camels were less than amused) and was undoubtedly the prettiest camel on the trek, all of which led us to the shaky conclusion that Priscilla might be a bit of a queen ... of the desert. My camel, due to its characteristically belligerent nature, and protruding bottom lip, was named Smudge. Actually, due to the fact that my camel's testicles were noticeably larger than its brain pan, the name Elv was suggested more than once, but rejected on the basis that bringing to mind an image of the milkman's kahunas every time I talked to my camel was not something I was prepared to put up with for half an hour, let alone 4 days. Our 2 cart camels were named later, one Hoover (for his eating habits) and one Horndog (due to his attempts to make up for Priscilla's lack of interest in the female camels by bellowing all the louder and blowing its tongue out at anything vaguely female looking.)

Camels are the most amazingly flatulent animals and like nothing more than to let rip with a minute long concerto at every opportunity, they go to the toilet a surprising amount too, but one thing that they don't seem to do is spit. This I don't understand and can't explain, except to suggest that either Indian camels are particularly well behaved or the spitting stereotype comes from their action of blowing up their tongues (which must have some sort of sack in them, although I was careful not to get close enough to check first hand) when they're horny, which was (Priscilla excepted) all the time. Apparently winter is the breeding season; imagine a 7 foot tall flatulent dog when all the local bitches are on heat at the same time, and you will just about get the picture. Now imagine having to saddle up and ride that same 7 foot tall flatulent dog and you will have the rest of the picture. We were unable to ascertain from our guides and drivers if our assumptions about camel spitting were correct or not. Their knowledge, whilst encyclopaedic, seemed to encompass only the three local varieties of camel. They gave us some VERY strange looks when we asked them about camels with 2 humps...

So, the first day over, we all relaxed by the fire and our able guides and drivers whipped us up a sumptuous vegetarian meal. I was a little sceptical at having to spend 4 days without meat and had only been placated by the promise that the Hampi debacle would not be repeated and that beer would be available. I figured that, if all the guys were veggies, then I should probably just put up and shut up. It was some time before I realised why we had no meat with us. Imagine how a chicken would smell after 1/2 a day in the desert sun, let alone 2 or 3. Actually, I had been a little concerned about our camera equipment in the sun but needn't have worried too much. At this time of year the ambient temperature in the desert is surprisingly low, you really notice it when you sit in the shade for a rest. The temperature appears to plummet 20 or 25 degrees in just a few seconds and as for when the sun goes down ... bring a blanket. So long as you keep things covered, then, they won't go much above about 20 degrees. Leave them out in the direct sunlight, however, and you will have a lump of molten plastic on your hands before too long. I would not suggest this trip in the summer, when the only escape from the heat comes at dusk.

The average day's ride went something like this;

9am

Wake up (slowly) and emerge bleary eyed to find breakfast ready with lashings of ginger tea, toast and omelettes (with chilli in)

10am

Saddle up camels and head out in the general direction of the horizon

10am till 12pm

Ride camels over sand dunes etc and through villages, where children group around you in abject confusion at 3 white folks turning up in their town riding camels and scream "dada" (welcome) or "aiba" (give me a pen) at us. This was a little weird, as Vijay sends most of his treks on the same route, so these kids see foreigners every week, not that you'd know it from their reaction. Actually confusion did turn to mirth and then to fear on one occasion when some kids realised that Priscilla didn't like having rocks thrown at her and was liable to rear up under fire. Andrea was not amused, but our guide got everything under control, apparently by saying something quite threatening in Rajasthani and reminding them that he knew their parents (everyone seems to know everyone here) and would be back the following week with some more tourists and a stick for any naughty children who throw stones at defenceless camels and foreigners. More often, though, they just wanted to know what country we were from ... and if we had any pens or possibly 5 rupees.

12pm

Stop for lunch (for 2 1/2 hours) At this point the guides and drivers would break out the food and prepare a mountain of vegetarian dishes (mostly at the ear poppingly hot end of the spice scale) whilst we sat in luxury, under a tree, supping on a cold(ish) Pepsi or a cup of ginger tea.

2.30pm till 5.30pm

Riding camels again, this was the real arse breaker after the tenderising affect of the morning. If we were lucky, it would be broken by a visit to a village and an opportunity to 'de-camel' and stagger around like a Texan for a few glorious minutes saying "Oh, yes, that's interesting", whilst thinking "God my arse hurts, I think my back's going to break if I get back on that camel again" after which you would get back on the camel and it would be (slightly) less painful than you had feared it would be.

5.30pm

Arrive at campsite (ie patch of uninhabited desert, normally just outside a town) and de-camel for the night. Break out the beer and complain about soreness of behind whilst guides and drivers worked tirelessly to prepare yet more (and hotter) Veggie curries whilst having a good giggle amongst themselves about all the stupid things we had said and done during the day. Watch the sun go down, smoke some cigarettes, crawl into bed to avoid the arctic night time temperatures and be serenaded to sleep by the dulcet tones of 5 flatulent camels, each with an incurable case of the horn (Priscilla excepted, of course, [s]he was just flatulent.)

This routine was broken on the second night, as we were camping near a group of gypsies, who came over to regale us with their (quite astonishing) musical prowess. On that particular evening, we had all been offered the opportunity to visit the local village, just outside which we were camping, after the day's ride. Both Andrea and I declined because we were tired and in need of a little solitude (you'd be surprised how little of it there is in the desert) we just fancied sitting watching the sunset with a beer. Vanessa trotted off into town and, five minutes later, what appeared to be the entire male population of the village came and sat on the next dune over to stare at us. So much for solitude.

On the third morning, we were invited to visit the school in the same village, only to find (after we arrived) that we were to be 'guests of honour' at their Republic day celebration. Further embarrassment, when I was introduced (as Mr George!?) to give a speech! Marvellous, I had a 4 day stubble, some fairly inappropriate facial hair (I'm currently sporting an 'untidy blond Lincoln' look) and no idea what to say. Fortunately they then asked Vanessa and Andrea up to speak, so I didn't feel quite alone in my mortification. The knowledge that none of the kids could understand a word I was saying, given the fact that only the teachers spoke any English, also helped immensely.

On the final day we were taken to the place where they dump all the dead cows (so THAT'S what they do with all the dead cows...I figured that they ate them on the sly...) which wasn't very pleasant, although we were, at least, up wind and a way(s) away. Our trip ended at the Camel Research Centre, just outside Bikaner, where we were able to see many more horny male camels (lots of lady camels about) and see a baby camel, which had been born only an hour before. Funny thing that; new born animals, with the exception of the kangaroo which looks like a red hairless rat when it's born, tend to be quite cute. Camels aren't, they look really weird. Their heads are WAY too small for their bodies, bringing to mind some form of deformation, and their joints are all WAY too big for the limbs that they join together and are stiff, giving the newborn camel the appearance of a furry walking table with an undersized head (even for a table.)

Our trip over, we were ferried back to our guest house to find that, whilst we were 'guests of honour' at the school for Republic day, an enormous earthquake had hit Bhuj, in Gujarat, about 800 Km from Bikaner, which had already raised a death toll of 16,000 and was expected to top 20,000 before all was over and done. The earthquake was felt in Bikaner and damaged the fort in Jaisalmer. We were left wondering if we had really been on another planet those days in the desert and that solitude is always relative.

So long for now,

James (and the Smudgerino)