As the afternoon reaches its mid point I call the fort quits and head off to the intriguingly named Camel Tattoo Presentation.  Last night, when the chef at my hotel described it as camel dancing, my curiosity was peaked.  He jokingly said that they would be jumping around from all of the pain.  I imagined a sort of branding, but still completely missed his joke and play on words until I saw the event in person.  

Rather than permanently marking the poor animals, they are only subjected to an embarrassing field display by the Indian Army’s Border Security Force Camel Team. The first act is the camel-mounted marching band; complete with tubas, trumpets and drums. The conductor leads his troops onto the field for a small routine before taking the sidelines to provide accompaniment for the camel-riding color-guard. Memories of high-school band are dug from deep within and thrown out onto that field with the simple moving geometric patterns. I was half hoping to see some tough camels brave the needle for some new ink, but here I find myself a bit disappointed and mislead as I walk from the dusty coliseum.

See all of my photos from Day 2 of the Desert Festival

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For my second morning in Jaisalmer, I give the dusty festival a rest and take the time to investigate the huge fort dominating the city. On top of a minor hill in the center of the town, golden sand-stone walls reach a modest height. A cluttered collection of beautiful Haveli buildings peak out over their edges, tempting with promises of a grand world of history waiting within.   

I ascend the cobbled path through the series of gates and push my way through the relentless touts. This city has obviously been well-explored and all the citizens are well acquainted with tourism. I feel rude ignoring so many calls of “Hello! Friend!”, but I know it will lead nowhere if I give them a second of my time. I manage through the thick of it and find a few areas of solitary pleasure and more than enough photogenic gems.

See all of my photos from Jaisalmer Fort

On a rare change of heart, I decide to heed the call of a man deep in the heart of the fort city. He invites me into his 400 year old Haveli and explains the significance of it’s many architectural features and history. After the short tour is over, he thanks me for visiting and kindly says goodbye at his front doorstep without asking for anything in return. I’m glad to have had the faith in the encounter, but I wonder how many unique opportunities like this that I have previously missed. Still, the endless barrage of touts, beggars and hustlers has worn down my typically outgoing nature. I know that most people approaching me are only looking for a few rupees, but times like this only bring up the question as to where the line should be drawn.

See all of my photos from the Shyam Bhaki Haveli

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With an early rise and start I leave my hotel and walk past the entrance gate to the fort. It beckons and tries to lure me inside, but I press onwards through the golden city. Ubiquitous yellow-gold sandstone bricks compose most of the intricately carved buildings. The typical medieval streets are complete with errant cows, erratic traffic and everything else Indian. But I find little time on this walk to soak up the atmosphere. The excessive tourist hassle does little to detract from the charm of this fascinating place, but I maintain my brisk pace through the army of touts and finally arrive at the Jaisalmer Desert Festival.

Camels and people alike crowd the large dusty field in a stadium just outside the city. The feeling of excitement permeates the air as a camel-mounted brass band brings their final song to a close. The festival has begun and I arrive just in time to catch the opening folk dance by a cadre of colorfully clothed women! The festive atmosphere takes hold and I already have confidence that this is the best place to be at this very moment.

Over the next few hours I wander the grounds and gawk at the spectacles of the event. Amongst the crowds of spectators is a full compliment of extravagantly costumed characters. Throughout the day each and every one is called to the stage for their fifteen minutes of fame. Burly men in white regalia, excessive jewelry and some outrageous facial hair compete for the prizes of ‘Mr. Desert’ and ‘Best Moustache’. Beautiful women clothed in bejeweled red saris, caked on makeup and even equally excessive jewelry are all hoping to win this year’s ‘Miss Moomal’ title. It is like a beauty pageant, costume contest and prom court all rolled into one.

The surreal event is appropriately accompanied by Indian classical instrument renditions of popular Bollywood songs but to make it even stranger, children destined to be the future Mr. Desert and Miss Moomal contestants are brought to the festival in camel-cart dioramas. These elaborate scenes of elegant embroidery and furniture frame the ornately costumed kids as they lounge around impersonating the historical figures of Mahendra and Moomal.

Before the final dance routine of the day, I am extremely pleased to see the Moustache Competition. About twenty men share the stage and sport their vast varieties of facial hair manipulation; from the thinnest twirled ‘stache to the bushiest beard. My vote goes for the man who has mutton-chops stiffly gelled to form two spiky fans protruding from his cheeks!

See all of my photos from Day 1 of the Desert Festival

Non-stop amusement and sheer childlike wonder fill the day. The decision to cut Jodhpur short in favor of Jaisalmer has already paid off. I can’t imagine what the next two days of this festival has in store for me, but I already know it is the highlight of my trip to Rajasthan.

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As the first words of the Jaisalmer Desert Festival fell upon my ears, the interest had already been thoroughly implanted. Along with a series of other bizarre events and a good share of camels, this event is too atypical to pass up! With the information that the gathering begins tomorrow, I don’t hesitate to pack my bags and board an overcrowded bus leaving in the early evening.

See all of my photos from Jodhpur

Around eleven we enter what seems to be small scale urban development. Many short buildings gradually crowd around a large castle city glowing orange against the dark night sky. We pass several large illuminated fountains and I wonder how they can waste so much water in this parched land. I imagine it could be sewer water, pumped out from underneath the fort. But I don’t see any more of the city this night and I don’t do any more than crash onto the bed.

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When I rented it they told me how much petrol to put in for the trip, so I am completely taken off guard by this surprise. I can only assume they were talking about a one-way trip, but this communication mishap left my journey half a tank short of! A dreadful creeping fear that I’ll be stuck on a desert road starts to take me while I search the dusty horizons in hope of salvation.

Luckily, another biker rides along side and offers me a lift to the petrol station a few kilometers away. We return to my bike with a liter of fuel, but before I have the chance to thank him, he starts demanding a gift. It seems that nothing less than my whole backpack will appease him and he begins to get a bit aggressive. I start the motorcycle and quickly depart away from the threat. This person offering help only as an opportunity for extortion is a bit depressing and a real contradiction to the standard of random kindness I’ve found elsewhere in India. I increase the distance and keep looking over my shoulder to see if he is following, but he never appears.

A dose of petrol and another hour on the road, the bike stalls out and won’t start. At first I wonder if there is a gas leak, but there is still liquid in the tank. Then engine is warm, but not overheating. Further investigations find that the spark plug is cracked and that feeling of being deserted in the desert creeps back. What curse does this bike have on it anyway?

Life seeks to balance the equation using my new motorcycle problem to show that the Rajasthanis are not all bad. The road has a few buildings a kilometer back, but before I start my walk to them another biker pulls up on a similar motorcycle. He happens to have a spare spark plug and is willing to give it to me for an insignificant price! I thank him profusely and finish the ride back to Jodhpur. I am still happy to have taken the motorcycle today. The problems I’ve encountered have only made it more adventurous!

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Just before the falling sun clears the horizon, I make a stop at the Umaid Bhawan Palace for a couple quick photos. It’s a nice place, but the stress and long riding have worn me out. I decide to call it a day and head back to the rental place, but I’m distracted with a diversion on the way when I spot a large structure swarming with locals. The modern building is fronted by an outdoor food court with a festive atmosphere and just calls to me, so I pull into the crowd of other parked vehicles to investigate further.

Inside, I find a bargain-price discount super-store, kind of like Walmart. But there is no haggling involved here, and the relatively low Indian prices make this a worthwhile shopping stop. I browse through the assortment of weird clothes, fancy linens, miscellaneous books and coveted souvenirs and stock up a small bundle of favorites. Satisfied with my new acquisitions, I cheerfully make my way back to the parking lot… where I find the motorcycle in absence!

A kindly police officer informs me that it was towed for being in a no parking zone while I glare back to the lot where I left it. There are still a ton of other cars and motorcycles just as before. I don’t want to provoke him any further by requesting the explanation as to why it was singled out, so I grudgingly take his advice to visit the police impound lot.

What a day. I’ve been craving some adventure, and here it is. Complete with speeding through the desert, odd cultural situations and enough obstacles to fill a day with challenge. Fortunately, the police waive the $100 fine and I am allowed to make my way back to the hotel. On the way, a smile lights my face as I imagine meeting my friends over beers on the rooftop and having to answer to “How was your day?” Even when it seems difficult, life is still pretty good!

See all of my photos from the Umaid Bhawan Palace 

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I broke free of the urban limits and started the 135km into the barren region. I push the bike into top gear and pull the throttle back to full power. The machine picks up speed and for the next couple hours I’m clocked at 100kph, with the mildly potholed road virtually smoothed out under its spinning tires. Pulling into the dusty outskirts of a tent village at noon, my speed lowers as I’m forced to dodge the plethora of camels on the road. This must be it. I find parking besides a food tent inside the fair, beside a food tent which I look forward to sampling later.

The event lives up to all expectations. The flat, dry desert plains are dotted with sparsely distributed brush and the occasional shade-giving tree. Occasionally a minor tornado rustles by with a wake of tumbleweeds. Scruffy looking men in multicolored turbans huddle around their makeshift tents. Camels are abundant to say the least, and there are quite a few horses, goats and other four-legged animals to fill out the roster. Their owners appear to take an immense pride in customizing their mounts with vivid harnesses, intricate hair cuts and dyeing. One was even stylized with a black Mohawk!

I am the only foreigner crazy enough to attend this desert animal-market, and consequently this attracts a growing tail of children that won’t leave my sight for a single moment. Remarkably, none of them seem to speak any English! The faint calls of “One Pen” and “One Rupee” are replaced with strained efforts to utter the world “Hello”. I wander for a while, watching the men negotiate for camels and then make my way into the restaurant where at least thirty people watch every moment of my meal. From the look on their faces, I must be the most exciting thing that’s happened to the Naguar Camel Fair. I am totally out of place here and the whole impression is quite remarkable… I love it!

see all of my photos from the Naguar Camel Fair

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The city of Jodhpur; a sprawling Indian urban center parked in the center of desert packed Rajastan. A towering 15^th century fort perched atop an extraordinarily steep rock hill looms over an array of twisting medieval city streets. Hailing from an era of Brahmin priest caste settlement, most of the buildings are painted varied shades of blue. A few sparse pastel red and lemon hues thrown into the assortment of block-like structures help bring the whole scene together similar to a bizarre geometric painting.

I arrive early in the morning and work my way through the winding alleyways, along the open-sewers and past the excessive compliment of cow droppings. After checking into a cheap hotel and dropping off my pack, I pick a random direction and set off to explore. Several hours of wandering at whim discovers tons of hidden treasure; unlimited buildings bathed in pallid colors, friendly locals going about their day, persistent children following for blocks and a few adrenaline pumping encounters with vicious street dogs. The walk is completely charming, but otherwise unremarkable; just another first day in a new city. I don’t exactly feel jaded and it is nice to be back out in the unknown again, but I’m really craving some adventure or purpose that isn’t satisfied with mere familiarization.

See all my misc photos of Jodhpur

Desperate to satisfy the urge drawing me to the massive landmark in the center of town, I take an uphill hike to Mehrangahr Fort. After a breathless climb to the 1^st of seven colossal iron gates, I am already enchanted with the magical stronghold of old Maharajas. For at least few hours, a constant surge of tourists overtake my slow progression through the fully stocked armory, several large courtyards, royal bedrooms and entertaining courts of the palace. The fort is extremely well maintained, as well as it is also well explained by a portable audio guide. The visually pleasing architecture and odd collection of fascinating artifacts are complimented with a basic education in the history and culture of Rajasthan.

But eventually I escape the crowds and find some solitude sitting on the edge of the old battlements. My other companions are the historic collection of cannons won in past wars, their long idle barrels point out over the 125m cliff. I follow their aim to see the desert horizon encompassing the small stretch of cerulean Jodhpur. Even from this bird’s-eye perspective the city seems to have no plan other than paint the buildings blue and make the streets twist and writhe in any direction they please.

See all my photos the Mehrangahr Fort

From the walls of the castle and to the streets of the city I can see a few similarities and simple comparisons to the smaller historical European ones that I’ve visited. Walking street level, enclosed by looming low-story buildings feels like an analogous experience. There are many street markets and hole in the wall businesses operating alongside street vendors and their varied interesting patrons. Everyone is walks or rides 2-wheelers to navigate the narrow cobbled roads, but there is the occasionally camel and it is definitely a lot more colorful!

There are enough obvious distinctions between Indian and Western cultures, but seeing the uniform threads that tie human development and existence together becomes easier in each passing city I visit. Stretching back into history, relatively isolated societies seem to have developed in a remarkably parallel progression. Over the last few months here, I still have a few distinct lines drawn in my own cultural heritage but feel more akin to than Indian people than I could have imagined when I originally dreamed of this ‘exotic’ land. It seems as if being alien to the nature of human race comes only from the minds of madmen or hidden in the stars.

See all my photos of the Sardar Market area

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Along with my newly found peace in the universe, I have also found complete confidence in the face of even the most dreaded toilet. My improved balance casually defeats the shaking squat guantlet of the Indian railroad’s toilet cabin trial. Now it’s a casual easy process as I can conduct my business, setting fire to a small and cheap bidi as a quick inscence if necessary. All previous fears are long gone, and my encounter with the boss has long since past and they both have left me with the appreciation and acceptance of this timeless toilet style.

This photo is pre boarding… afterwards, I fear to bring my camera in there.

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