Local Boy in the Photograph

Monday 17 November 2008
Jodhpur – Khuri

So we wake up fairly early and head out on the road to Jaisalmer. The start of the journey is strewn with a fair number of hills and the odd quarry, which in the morning mist and low sunlight look like alien moonscapes. I manage to take a few pics at the second one we pass.

The single carriageway road is pretty empty and there's nothing much to mention apart from plenty of cows, goats, dogs and this time sheep that frequently litter the road on our way. We have about 50 km left of the 250 or so to go to Jaisalmer when the front left wheel punctures.

We stop at a petrol station and take it off, but the spare was punctured a few days ago so we need to find somewhere that has a new one. Raj heads off with another tourist driver that stops to help and I get to hang out with all the cool kids at the petrol station.

It's actually not to bad as being the token honky in these parts all the locals gather round as per usual and want to talk to you. Of course that can be slightly complicated when you don't speak Hindi and they don't speak English. But also there are a bunch of trucks parked outside the station, so I get to take pictures of their adornments as well, which is something I've always wanted to do but found it hard when they're normally bearing down on you at full speed in the opposite direction. One guy took a pic of me in front of the lorry. I also take pictures of the locals with me, in front of the lorries. I think he wanted a tip from me but I couldn't understand him and he wasn't that forceful so nothing happened.

While I'm waiting another tourist driver stops by and checks to see if everything's OK. He can't exactly do anything to help but I do get to practice my usual German with his customers. “Warum kanst du sehr gut Deutsch sprechen?” asks the guy. I don't know. I'll never make a linguine. Eventually a guy who looks like a skinny version of Shoaib Akhtar turns up and he does speak good English, so I chat for a bit with him.

I end up showing him pics from my phone and my camera, which seems to be a good way of making friends with the locals. They like to see the Thai girl and in this case pictures of other locations from Rajasthan and my SE Asia trip. He likes my sunglasses so I take a picture of him wearing them. There's a respectful bond between us and as a result he wants to show me his lorry and I sense a Kodak moment with me in the driving seat.

It's worth pointing out at this stage that lorry drivers in India – or Rajasthan at least – are not the equivalent of those in England. The age range is pretty broad and they come across as pretty much the same as every other person in India. It may be that the subtleties aren't clear to me, or that given the wage levels here it doesn't make that much of a difference, but all in all they're not the fat, old, Sun-reading clichés that I would expect those in the UK to be. Having said that, I don't think I've ever met any UK truck drivers in the flesh so I may be horrendously prejudicing them. Or maybe not. Additionally I later read that these guys are the most likely to have AIDS. When you're on the road all the time, the only nookie you can get is with the oldest profession. Much like Raj I guess.

The other thing to mention about “Shoaib” (he told me his real name but it was very quick and long and all I remember is that is ended in Singh) was that he was a Christian, which is a first for me in India. Not that I ask everyone what their religion is, but I've asked a few. You can always tell a Sikh more or less, and most of the time the Hindus from the Muslims (and if not by face then by name), but I had it doubly wrong for Shoaib, as he looked like a Muslim, had a Hindu / Sikh name and wasn't any of those.

Anyway so he showed me his truck and he took my picture, and just then Raj returned. He'd had to walk back from the tyre place but remarkably wasn't in that much of a bad mood. Once the tyre was fixed I said bye to all my new friends and off we went.

On the outskirts of Jaisalmer Raj stopped to get the tyre that was now the spare fixed. This was fortuitous as after that we headed back into the desert to a camel camp and about 30 minutes in the front left tyre punctured again. It wasn't long until we had replaced that one and shortly after we were at the camp near a village called Khuri.

I say camp but it was really a series of small buildings with thatched roofs on the edge of the desert. The real miracle was that this was the first hotel / place of sleeping that I had come across that had not only toilet paper but also a towel already in the room, without me having to ask for it (and in some cases being charged for the toilet paper). A miracle!

Anyway shortly after settling in I was off on a camel again. I'd learnt a few things about how to ride these ships of the desert since the last trip so it was a lot more comfortable, and as a result we could actually go at running speed, unlike every other person that we met. And I can understand why they call them the ships of the desert. For a start they stand tall above other desert paraphernalia, much like ships and their masts do, they carry goods, they move slowly, and they sway languidly from side to side. There is a certain romance to it, and you can easily see the similarities.

There were a lot of people in the desert. This is obviously prime camel safari country as there was a good 30-50 people trekking roughly the same route. Luckily the desert was big enough for us all. We all settled somewhere on a long dune ridge and watched the sunset. I managed to spot three rare desert deer and even a desert fox, which was a surprise. I took a whole raft of pictures which look like they've come out well. Another highlight is that I managed to barter a beer seller down from 170 to 120 INR which I'm particularly proud of as he was driving a pretty hard bargain.

Back at “camp” I started chatting to a friendly Flemish couple and joined them for dinner. Raj turned up and I quickly noticed he was drunk. Obviously days with a “y” in them are exceptions to life-long promises too. Anyway a bit later I was chatting with him and another tourist driver who was a Sikh and had those honest, slightly hooded, slightly mournful eyes that some Sihks do. Monty Panesar has them but the mournfulness is replaced by a wide-eyed joyfulness with him.

With Raj being drunk and the Sikh driver being sober, and honest, through a few jokes and logical inferences I found out a few things about Raj that I'd often wondered but now had essentially confirmed. You see, Raj is a fun guy to be with, but more than a little insincere like 99% of his countrymen who are constantly trying to rip you off. Raj had made a big deal about us both being Rajput, as we are, and indeed as are other people I'd met who are had done as well. But he'd also used that as an excuse to avoid questions or try to convince me of some point or another, which made me doubt his veracity on more than one occasion.

I've veered from enjoyment to distrust, from sympathy to outright disgust at his behaviour on this trip, but when you're relying on this guy to take you around the country for 12 days you have to make the best of the situation. I guess what I now had confirmed is what I'd always thought – I shouldn't trust him too much and he doesn't deserve too much of my sympathy.

As the conversation with the tourist drivers inevitably degenerates into lewder topics, they end up asking me how long my “lan” is. They claim theirs are eight inches, so of course I tell them mine is 12. They ask me to prove it, but of course I fob them off. I didn't expect (a) that they'd take me seriously and (b) that I'd be asked that question in India.

Shortly afterwards, pissed as a fart, Raj drives off to visit a prostitute, and tries to convince me to come along. Frankly I expect girls to pay for me, badum-tish! So I decline his generous offer. I wander out and look at the stars I see the Milky Way, the Pleiades and Orion is lying low along the horizon. I try to wait to see a shooting star, but although I think I see a few flickers in the corner of my eye, after a while my neck starts to hurt and it's a good time to head home.