The Golden Temple

We rolled into Amritsar like we have in every other city here in India: dirty, exhausted and ready for more. We had traveled 21 hours north from Agra, the home of the Taj Mahal, to spend several days in Punjab, the land of the Sikhs. Known as the breadbasket of India, Punjab supplies over 70% of India's wheat, the staple commodity that makes all the savory Indian rotis possible. It is also famous for another, more sacred, reason - the Golden Temple.

Throughout the world the Sikhs are perhaps the most easily recognizable religious group because of their long, bushy beards and precisely wrapped turbans. Their religion, however, is largely a mystery to most people outside of India, who often mistake them for Muslims because of their dress. It was because of this confusion that many Sikhs suffered intense brutality after 9/11 in America. Sadly, that kind of persecution has long been a fact of life throughout the Sikhs' short history in India. We didn't know this, of course, when we arrived to Amritsar, but as we were soon to find out, the Sikhs are more than happy to share and discuss the ways of their religion and lives with anyone willing to lend an ear.

As Jen mentioned in our last blog, Indian cities are often divided between the "Old" and "New" cities, and it was to the frenetic and dizzying chaos of the old city that we headed when we arrived in Amritsar. Our hotel was sandwiched between dozens of small shops, tucked away in a small alley filled with noise from sun-up to sun-down. Accustomed to the liveliness of Indian cities at this point, we were nonetheless astonished by the sea of bodies pouring down the road outside our hotel. Consulting our spindly, beedie smoking hotel manager, we discovered they were pilgrims and visitors making their way to the Golden Temple.

Not wasting anytime, we unloaded our bags in our room, grabbed a couple of scarfs and handkerchiefs to cover our heads (our LP conveniently reminded us that head coverings are a must in any Sikh temple), and dove into the inexorable tide flowing down the road. Just a hundred yards away, behind a large, simple gateway, sat the massive temple complex bustling with activity. Following the crowd in front of us, we discarded our shoes at a locker room and hurried towards the sound of chanting emanating from within the complex.

We walked gingerly through a long, shallow pool of water at the main entrance, past pilgrims prostrating themselves on the ground and entered into the complex proper. Stretching out before us, in all directions, was a world so dramatically different from the one we had just left behind that we were stunned into paralysis. Several thousand pilgrims moved along a marble walkway in a clockwise direction. Circumscribed by their march stood a massive holy pool, directly in the middle of which was the brilliant reflection of the Darbar Sahib, or Golden Temple. A slow, harmonic chant filled the air, bringing to life a pervasive, other-worldly presence. Sikh men bathed in the pool, splashing water upon their bodies and colorful turbans. Women and children sat in happy conversation watching and waiting. Groups of young men and old men, families and lovers, all strolled quietly along gazing out at the simple, yet radiant temple.

Originally founded in 1577, the Golden Temple is considered the holiest shrine of the Sikh religion. Despite being blessed by the enlightened Mughal emperor Akbar, the temple was attacked and destroyed by another Mughal in the mid-18th century. After being rebuilt, the great Sikh leader Maharaja Ranjit Singh added golden roofing to turn it into the present day Golden Temple. The complex itself is a spiritual mecca, attracting upwards of 40,000 pilgrims and visitors a day. Sikhs come here to pay their respects to the original copy of the Sikh Holy Book, the Guru Granth Sahib.

In the 15th century, Guru Nanak founded Sikhism because he was not satisfied with either Hinduism or Islam. He attempted to consolidate the best of both religions and set about creating a faith based less on deities and divinity and more on pragmatism, equality and living a wholesome life. For several centuries, various Sikh Gurus upheld this ideal and wrote their teachings down for later generations to study. Then at the end of his life Guru Gobind Singh, the 10th Guru, declared that everything Sikhs needed had been recorded into the Granth Sahib, and thus anointed the holy book the last, and eternal, Guru.

Today, while the original Guru Granth Sahib is housed within the Golden Temple, copies of the holy book are found within every Sikh household. Many Sikhs treat the book as a real person, covering it when it is cold and protecting it from dust and the like. It provides all of the spiritual direction for the Sikh religion, and is respected as a source of knowledge rather than as a God.

As I said, we didn't know most of this when we arrived to the Golden Temple. Perhaps judging by the look of bewilderment on our foreign faces, a Sikh man with a bright blue turban and an easy smile approached us as we walked around the holy pool. After inquiring about where we were from, he swiftly adopted the role of impromptu tour guide and set about informing us of everything that had seemed so bizarre moments before.

Upon hearing that we had yet to visit the kitchens at the complex, he beckoned us to follow. In every Sikh temple throughout the world food is offered to any visitor, regardless of race, religion, or creed. Known as Guru-ka-Langer, this practice represents Sikhisms' inherent generosity and tolerance. Further, Langer provides Sikhs with an opportunity to help serve their community and strangers as they work together with their fellow followers regardless of class or gender.

Now, I know what you're thinking: if there are over 40,000 visitors to the Golden Temple everyday, how is it possible to provide this traditional service to everyone who wants food? At least, that was on my mind as our Sikh friend led us through the dining halls towards the kitchens redolent with all the sweet, pungent aromas of India.

The first room we entered in felt like a furnace. Three enormous machines stood in the middle of the room, one vigorously humming with activity. Small balls of dough were being pumped out onto a conveyor belt where they sped along to be flattened and finally hurled into a massive gas oven. Gliding to the end of the belt, they popped into a large wicker basket. Several women swiftly buttered these chapati and sent them on their way to the hungry crowds outside. From there we toured the hand-made chapati station where a dozen more men and women swiftly rolled chapati with wooden spools on marble blocks. Two pairs of Sikh men flipped dozens of chapati atop metal sheets resting above burning coals. Apparently all the food is prepared both traditionally and with modern efficiency.

Moving deeper into the kitchens we saw several massive vats of dhal and sabzi simmering above gas flames. A Sikh garbed only in a Kurta stood stirring the giant metal pot with a ladle over seven feet long. With some urging, I tried my hand at the task and found it exhilarating and difficult. What a treat. Everywhere were the normal staples of an Indian meal busily being prepared, but on a psychedelically large scale. We saw pots of chay the size of a baby swimming pool steaming above wood fires.

Obviously, we had to try the food that we had just "helped" prepare. We trailed behind our guide into the massive dining halls along with several other hundreds of hungry bellies. Grabbing a plate and spoon we sat down in a long row of fifty people, ogling the dozens of other rows of hungry people slurping and gulping down the tasty, vat-prepared lentils. The food was good. No, excellent. Volunteers slopped ladles of dhal and vegetables onto our plates at dizzying speeds. Just as quickly, the diners ate their food in record times, and before we knew what was happening, people were getting up with empty plates in less than five minutes. We hurried to catch up and left the hall with deliciously painful guts. We had just watched about a thousand people be fed in minutes; the Langer kitchen at the Golden Temple has been operating like this 24/7 for over four hundred years.

We spent the rest of the day digesting our food and taking in the whole experience. Our Sikh friend left us and we watched as the white marble slowly changed colors as the sun began to set. The Golden Temple itself took on a life of its own, shimmering with an aura of mystical light. The chanting turned to song as the sun set and we sat lost in a trance as the singing of the holy scriptures bathed us in sweet melancholy. I pondered nothing and everything at once, while the temple seemed to breathe slow, even breaths.

We stayed for the closing ceremony in an exhausted way. At 10:15 a group of holy Sikhs began to prepare a massive golden palanquin to carry the Granth Sahib from the Darbar Mandir to its resting place in the Akal Takhat. They adorned it with marigolds strung into beautiful garlands and placed several pillows inside the palanquin to make the short trip comfortable for the holy book. All the while the men chanted in perfect unison. Then, with eight men, they carried the palanquin on their shoulders down the marble walkway to pick up the book. Dozens of pilgrims bustled around them, lending a hand with the weight and watching in awe at the spiritual procession. We waited at the resting place for several minutes. Then, still to the sound of chanting, the large group came back with the holy book and with swift agility placed it onto the head of a Sikh who carried it up the steps and inside the main hall. There, behind thick glass doors and with hundreds of squirming bodies trying to watch, the Sikh put the book to rest with surprising gentleness. We watched as wooden doors closed and the Guru was left to slumber.

We left the temple that night much as we had that morning we arrived in Amritsar. This time though, there was a little more magic moving our feet as we stumbled back to our hotel, exhausted and ready for more.

Iconic India

Basking in its magnificence

Guess what this is

Sunrise over the Taj

It was even better with coffee

Jen at the Agra Fort

The world's largest sundial

*Note: Check out the pics of our last post below!

It was 6am when we rolled into Jaipur on the night train from Udaipur. Disoriented from lack of sleep (per usual on the Indian railways) we fortified ourselves with the ubiquitous cup of chai before plunging into the raucous throng of rickshaw drivers. Jaipur, the captial of Rajasthan, is a large, loud city and so we where happy to discover that our guest house, while plagued with mosquitoes, was at least located in a quite part of town. Since we only had a day there, we decided to venture straight back into the fray after dropping off our bags.

Many Indian cities are divided into two general sections: the "old city," often fortified by an intimidating wall and filled with narrow, winding alleyways, and the "new city," which entails the modern sprawl which has grown up in the surrounding areas in recent decades. It's easy to imagine why the the old city tends to be the most interesting part; that is where we headed that morning. After entering through a beautiful, towering gateway we were bombarded by a whole range of stimuli so common in this country. Rickshaws, cars, and motorcycles honked and screeched incessantly; shop keepers screamed about their wares in a vain attempt to attract attention; the harsh sun shone down on the city's pink buildings and glistened off massive heaps of dried red chili peppers; strangers stopped to ask us "Hello? What is your country? Where are you going?" or simply to oogle us; cows of all shapes, sizes, and colors stared up at us with their luminous brown eyes as we glanced at the ground trying to avoid their piles of shit; our nostrils were filled with the conflicting scents of piss and sweet spices; and all the while we were literally pushed and shoved by the mass of humanity coursing down the long lane.

We located a minar, or tower, in the middle of the old city and climbed it's tightly spiraling ramp up to the top. We gazed down at the semi-organized chaos below. The old city of Jaipur is laid out in a grid with a long boulevard down the center. The quadrants on either side are roughly categorical: there's an area for textiles, one for perfumes, one for spices, one for jewelers, etc. While this kind of thematic layout is common in India, it seemed to be particularly well executed in Jaipur. From our perch we spotted an gigantic triangle rising up near the city palace. A man told us that it is part of an old observatory. Since it looked so out of place, and therefore intriguing, we decided to go investigate.

The observatory was built in the 17th century by the astronomically inclined Maharaja Jai Singh. Entering it's courtyard is like falling down the rabbit hole. And into a modern art sculpture garden. Huge, enigmatic structures surround you. Their clean, curving lines and simple tan and brick coloring make them beautiful to behold. Gone was the glitz and glamor of Indian design. They were just pure form. At first glance you'd have no idea what they were. Some have huge, round surfaces; some had stairs leading to nowhere. As we found out however, they are all large scale astronomical instruments designed to perform various functions such as finding the angle of a celestial body from the earth. One instrument was the world's largest sun dial.

The afternoon and evening were spent wandering the crowded city streets, eying the merchants' various wares, and occasionally entering into an intense bartering bout over a traditional Rajasthani scarf or piece of jewelry. We finished off the night with a couple of tasty South Indian dosas (spiced potatoes wrapped in a crispy crepe and dipped in coconut chutney) and attempted to get some sleep while mosquitoes buzzed around our heads, devouring Nathan. Good thing we brought plenty of anti-malaria medication...

The next mornig we bid goodbye to Jaipur and the state of Rajasthan as we jumped on a bus. It was bound for Agra, which is located just three hours south of Delhi in Uttar Pradesh, India's largest state. The city is home to Agra Fort, the largest of the mighty bastions built by the Mughals during the zenith of their empire in the 17th century. However, the Agra Fort is only a side show to the city's main attraction: the one and only Taj Mahal.

By mid- afternoon we were climbing the staircase of our guest house up to the rooftop restaurant. I stared out over the city and the Taj - the icon of India - stared back at me. Though I could hardly wait to rush right up to it, we were saving the trip there until the next day. Instead we headed off to the Agra Fort.

The Fort, surrounded by thick red sandstone walls 20 meters high and 2.5km in circumference, is a massive place. Though the British destroyed many of the interior buildings when they converted it into a garrison (you gotta love imperialists), the palaces, courtyards, fountains, and intricately carved walls which still remain are more than enough to transport you back in time and bring to life the opulent world of the Mughal kings. Several hours dissipated as we strolled through the grounds and fantasized about a bygone era. Satisfied, we returned to our rooftop restaurant where we put up our feet and sipped cold beer as we watched the night descend slowly upon the Taj and wrap up the magnificent structure in darkness.

Up with the sun the next morning, we studied the changing light on the Taj over breakfast before heading to its main gateway. We'd come to Agra expecting to pay 750 rupees each to enter the Taja Mahal's complex. That's roughly $15 each - a small fortune by Indian standards. But as luck would have it, we'd unwittingly arrived on World Heritage Celebration Day when entrance was absolutely free. Feeling flush, we sprung for a guide and were led through a towering red sandstone archway into the gardens surrounding the Taj. Some things in this world are famous for good reason. The Taj Mahal is one of them. I can easily say I have never seen a structure more beautiful, more perfect, or more awe-inspiring in my life.

They call the Taj the ultimate monument to love. When Mughal emperor Shah Jahan's second wife, Mumtaz Mahal, died in childbirth in 1631, he was so heartbroken that he decided to build her the world's most extravagant mausoleum. Twenty-two years later, after some 20,000 people had labored non-stop around the clock, the Taj was completed. You can take a look at the pictures, but none begin to do it justice. The entire complex is built with astounding symmetry. The domed white marble mausoleum is sculpted and inlaid with stones with such delicacy and perfection that it is almost incomprehensible. Its sheer beauty is overwhelming.

Though I could ramble on, I'll spare you further accolades and leave it at this: we could easily have spent the whole day simply staring at the Taj Mahal. As it was, we whiled away the morning there before time got the better of us and we had to head to the train station.

Let me take this moment to paint you a small picture. Our train was delayed by several hours (suprise suprise). While loitering around the station we ran into two Danish girls trying to get to Delhi. After chatting for bit, we thought we'd kill some time by playing a game of cards. We sat in a small circle on the ground listening intently as the girls explained how to play Hearts, innocently minding our own business. After a few minutes, we all sensed a change in atmosphere and swiveled our heads upwards. There, standing above us and staring at us with an direct frankness only Indians are capable of, was a crowd of a good solid 20 people. And that, my friends, is what traveling in India is like every single day. One begins to truly empathize with the gorillas at the Woodland Park Zoo.

Eventually the train arrived, we clambered on, and were headed north to Amritsar, in the far west of the state of Punjab. But more on that later...

A blue city, a floating palace, and James Bond

Woman paying tribute to a Maharana's many widows

Traditional Rajasthani Desert Dance

A wandering baba

Check out this guy's moustache

A happy fruit-wala in Udaipur

Sunset over Lake Pichola

City Palace (featured in James Bond)

Jodhpur's massive fort

This Lassi tasted like India

The Blue City - Jodhpur

When Jen and I had finally finished clearing away the fine desert sand from behind our ears and between our toes, we were both skeptical that we would find anything half as awesome as a camel ride in the Thar desert. We were pleasantly surprised.

Leaving behind Jaisalmer and its golden castle, we took a bus eastward to the Blue City. An apt name for Jodhpur, which is covered by indigo buildings crammed haphazardly together behind an ancient sandstone wall. Perched above the busy lanes and spicy bazaars is Mehrangarh fort, an impregnable fortress standing vigil over a city and people that haven't quite accepted the modern era. Cows still brush elbows (hooves?) with rickshaw-walas and skirt through colonial era alleyways made claustrophobic by the incessant clamor of horns, bells and shouting urchins.

We spent only a day in Jodhpur, touring the massive fortress and sipping makhaniya lassis that imbibe all the aromas and flavors of India. The fort itself was founded in 1459 by Rao Jodha and in over five hundred years its walls have never been breached. Walking through the main gate it is easy to see why. The structure sits atop a hill over 300 feet tall and the thick sandstone walls climb another 100 feet higher. We wandered through the palace, letting ourselves become lost in history and fantasy. Like Jaisalmer, the Maharajas of Jodhpur lived lives of decadence, ruling from behind thick walls amid ornate halls filled with riches. We decided that the Rajput kings must have had the coolest royal life of any royalty in the world.

The next day we arrived by bus to Udaipur, the so-called "Venice of the East". I've never been to Venice, but certainly Udaipur is the most European of any Indian city I have yet to visit. Centered around a massive man made lake nestled in a valley of rolling mountains, Udaipur is the home to three magical palaces that once housed the fearsome Maharanas of Mewar. Of all the Rajput kingdoms, only Udaipur savagely fought to maintain its independence for 76 long, bloody generations. More recently, Udaipur made its world debut in the James Bond flick "Octopussy". As politically incorrect as its name is crass, the movie features all of the palaces and alleyways of the beautiful lake city. Guilty as charged, we succumbed to the lure of Hollywood and spent an evening sipping beers and gazing at the sparkling lake as Bond casually blew up palaces on TV (after 3 months of travel, beer and TV felt like paradise).

Seeking a little more adventure (or, perhaps inspired by Bond's shenanigans), we decided after a couple of days it was time to get our own wheels. Now, for anyone who has been to India knows, or can probably imagine, driving on Indian roads is not for the faint of heart. Roadrules are an afterthought and defensive driving a humorless joke. You compete with bicycles, cows, pedestrians, dogs, rickshaws (bike and auto), trucks, cars, more cows and everything else that is spilling into the street (and that means everything). Not surprisingly, we spent a good deal of time debating whether we wanted to drive there, on a scooter nonetheless. Eventually, I summoned my courage and headed to the rental shop next door to our hotel.

We rented the best bike on two wheels we could find (...for 300 rupees/six dollars) and hopped on a 25 year old, rusted scooter that drifted to the left when I wasn't paying attention. After checking out the machine, we hopped on the bike (with helmets of course) and I timidly creeped into the street. Immediately forced to jump into the fray, I was soon dodging and weaving simply to stay alive. I managed to make it to the petrol station to fill up and then take off again out of town for some serious cruising. We headed to the mountains and lost ourselves in our new found freedom.

In the afternoon we made our way to a government sponsered tourist trap called Shilpgram. Designed to expose tourists to "traditional village life" there were several replicas of villages from western India. We hired a guide named Dinesh who enthusiastically droned on about everything Indian. Perhaps impressed by our Hindi, or maybe because we were the only visitors that day, Dinesh invited us to have dinner with his family that night. We happily accepted. He picked us up at 8 pm on his silver motorcycle and took us to a new neighborhood just outside the Old City. Upon our arrival we were greeted by his entire family: aunts, uncles, cousins, daughters and sons, grandparents and neighbors. The women cooked our food while we were entertained by the children in Dinesh's room. When dinner came out, we happily dug into the heaps of home cooked dal, bathi (Rajasthani balls made of wheat and lentils), corn chapati, bhindi, butter lassi, and vegetable pakora with as much gusto as we could muster. What a feast! We ate and ate and ate, sticking to the golden rule of traveling that the more you eat, the happier your host will be. It worked.

The next couple of days were spent meandering the streets and bazaars of the Old City. We saw silver shops full of women clad in dazzling saris and duppatas haggling over jewelry. Old men drinking chay on dirty doorsteps trying to look important. Fruit-walas chasing away flies. Basket weavers slicing bamboo. Tea merchants counting rupees. Young children shouting. Vats of old gulab-jaman soaking in sun-heated syrup. A painted elephant carrying two foreign children. Rickshaw-walas selling joints. Cows grazing. Old women carrying pots and bags on their heads. And two white foreigners taking photos and gawking at it all.

We left Udaipur happy and exhausted, ready to venture forth to Jaipur and then the one and only, Taj Mahal.


PS. Again, we apologize for no photos. The only internet cafe we have found doesn't have anti-virus software and we are afraid to upload pictures after our near-total loss of all our photos in Jodhpur (we got a virus). So, check back soon, we promise to get some up asap! Much love to everyone.

Sand Castles and Camels

Morning chay in the desert

Women on the sand dunes

Nathan and the two guides

It's camel time!

Traversing the Thar

Jain Temple in Jaisalmer Fort

Stylin': Jen and Ailey at Jama Masjid in Delhi

Us and our English class

Jumping for joy in forests near Sonapani

It's Holi!

Sunrise over Sonapani

Us in front of our cabin and the mountains

Just over a week ago we left behind Sonapani to begin the last leg of our journey. We had enjoyed several days of relaxation before deciding to travel earlier than we had originally planned. The high season had started in the foothills as vacationing Delhi-ites fled the heat of the plains to the south and consequently the staff was too busy for us to teach English. It was not a sad departure because we will be coming back to Uttarakhand in a month to trek to the Pindari Glacier.

Besides, all of India was calling us anyway. Which proved to be something of a head ache when we were trying to choose all the places to visit in our last six weeks. In the end, Jen's desire to ride a camel through a desert combined with my fond memories of Rajasthan made the land of the Maharajas the winning choice. So we boarded the night train from Kathgodam and headed south once again to Delhi, a necessary stop along our westbound journey.

While in Delhi we visited with our friend Rashee again and enjoyed our first taste of non-Indian cuisine in over a month. Ravioli and red sauce never tasted so good. The next day we meandered through the crowded alleyways of Chandi Chowk again, this time with our two new friends Cam and Ailey from none other than our hometown of Seattle. They had both come to Chirag to complete field research for the masters thesis for a program arranged by my 2006 Indian program director. We had a blast showing them around and getting lost in the hectic hustle and bustle of Old Delhi. That night we boarded a train and headed west to Jaisalmer, the golden city.

As you might be able to predict at this point, our train ride was interesting to say the least. I'll spare the details, suffice it to say "ticket" in India is merely a formality best suited for foreigners like us - the local commuters know better and just get on the train at the station right outside Delhi proper. We had a "cozy" first four hours with about 14 Indian men in our berth made for six.

The next afternoon after our fun 22 hour ride through the desert, we arrived in Jaisalmer. Throngs of touts greeted us at the station as thick as flies on a hot summer day (which it was). We pushed our way through to an auto only to be joined by a tenacious tout who couldn't take no for an answer. We drove around the old city and unloaded at Hotel Renuka, a small family run establishment we found in the LP. Despite the pleas of our insistent little friend, we followed our intuition to the hotel, where we were greeted by Sunny the owner.

That afternoon we strolled the lanes of the town and soaked in the sites up in the old fort. The Jaisalmer fort was founded in 1156 by the Rajput King Jaisala after he met an old wise man that relayed an ancient prophecy passed down from Krishna telling of a time when a great king would found a great kingdom on the hill Trikuta. Originally the town lived entirely behind the fort's walls, but nowadays only 25% of the old city's population still resides atop that sacred hill.

I had come here two years previously, but still the city left us both speechless. Everywhere one looks there are intricately carved flowers, peacocks and delicate symmetrical lattice work upon doorframes, windows, and balconies. The city itself is alive with the sounds of hawkers, children, cows and motorcycles. Residents bump elbows with foreign tourists while shopkeepers continuously intone their sacred mantra of, "Hello, where from? Please come in, seeing is free - make your eyes and your pocket happy together!" As long as you keep walking it's easy to pretend they're not shouting at you.

The next day we toured the Jaisalmer palace; it comes straight from fairy tales. Almost a thousand years old, countless epics have unfolded within its walls. The most tragic being the traditional jauhars. Due to undying chivalry and valor, the Rajputs that lived in Jaisalmer in ancient times were unwilling to surrender in battle. Three times in the fort's history conquerors forced the hand of Jaisalmer's warriors to die in battle. Prior to their final fight, the men would preside over the holy ceremony of Jauhar, where women ritually clothed would burn themselves alive in suicide to save themselves from the hands of their enemies. The men, afterwards, donned sacred saffron clothes and rode to battle to their death. This tradition helped to make the Rajputs' prowess as fierce fighters the stuff of legend even in the times of the Moghuls.

In the morning of the following we day we embarked upon our own epic - three days and two nights in the Thar desert. We left early in the morning and drove 35 kilometers into the desert where we met our two guides, Easera and Amba, and three camels: Rocket, Michael Jackson, and Johnny Walker. They were named by Americans - go figure. We rode for about two hours in a cool breeze; Easera told us we were lucky because the weather was good. However, our luck wasn't to last for long.

At lunch we set up under a tall mesquite-like tree for the afternoon to cook and escape the heat. Easera and Amba collected fuel wood and fried up sabzi and chapati with three stones over a bed of coals. They deftly made fat chapatis, or desert roti, that I so fondly remembered from my last trip. After lunch the wind began to pick up and blow sand into every crack, cranny, and crevice of our bodies. It was miserable, but we passed the time playing cards...and chasing cards.

By mid-afternoon, with the wind still blowing, we climbed back onto our humped-steeds and set off with the sun blazing. I rigged a haphazard turban with my scarf and settled into the not-so-comfortable sway of Michael Jackson's lumbering stride. We soon strolled towards a vast wall of rolling sand dunes. A flock of babblers raced beneath the camel's feet while a shrike chirped a lonely desert song. The dunes, as we had feared, were shedding layer upon layer of fine sand into the wind that cut into our eyes like glass.

Just as we were contemplating making our trip shorter, our guides directed us behind a giant desert shrub that provided refuge from the lethal gusts. Then, to make things even better, a lone figured garbed in sand-colored clothes approached through the desert grass lugging a massive burlap sack filled with ice-cold beer. I know what you're thinking - in the desert? Yes, truly. I recalled over two years ago my similar luck - refreshments brought to your fingertips (brought often over two hours away by foot) in the middle of a desolate land.

Our moods soon lifted, obviously, and we settled in for the evening as the wind slowly quieted down and the evening unfolded around us, sipping beer and watching our guides prepare dinner while the desert turned a radiant gold and then a deep dark purple. That night we slept under the Milky Way.

The morning sun broke over the horizon with a fiery crackle the next morning and soon we were out of bed frolicking in the dunes again. We sipped chay as the camels stumbled back into camp with a fully belly after a night of heavy grazing. We departed our camp and went swiftly to Kanoi, a nearby village teeming with goats, broken stone, and brilliant saris. There were almost no men, except for a handful of goat herders and others who made a life off the camel industry. According to the beer-wala who had visited us the night before, all men leave their wives and families to work in Gujurat, Pushkar, or Mumbai in the furniture industry. Otherwise, there are no jobs for them in that run down village. Even Easera admitted that he only made 1000 rupees a month...that is less than one dollar a day.

It is a hard life for these Rajput descendants. Our path through the village was followed by shouts for school pens and rupees. A woman collected cow-patties to prepare a fire and seal cracks in the walls of her home. Families trudged a kilometer in the heat for water. It brought up mixed emotions in both of us, some pity and shame, but we too quickly left behind the village to learn more.

That afternoon we ate lunch like the day before: under a vast tree and with lots of desert roti. We played cards and napped. We also saw a flock of peacocks - massive, regal birds with the most vivid gold, blue, and turquoise plumage I have ever seen. They flew with a radiant golden aura. We were mesmerized as we followed them in the blasting furnace. Marvelous.

We galloped across the Thar that afternoon for hours. I laughed gleefully, not so much from joy, but the exhilarating pain of being so alive. The camel bounced and leaped over rock and shrub, sand and field. My stomach followed suit. We raced another safari (and won) and shouted like cowboys from some dusty old western. Our only soundtrack the incessant flatulence of our over-fed camels.

When we arrived at the dunes our bodies were broken from the sun and the humps of those leggy creatures. WE made camp and watched the sun set. Desert doves hooted a melodious chorus across the land. We gazed in rhapsody, our muscles pounding and faces blazing, at the setting sun while soft sand wraths glided over our feet. We could almost feel the cogs of time grinding in reverse.

At dinner we tried our hand at making chapatis. A beer-wala emerged from nowhere to sell h is treasure. We bought rounds as our misshapen roti burned over the coals. With too much spice, we feasted in the desert darkness and shared stories. Then, with our bellies full and a cool breeze blowing, the four of us sang and danced in the moon light. The desert men chilled us with their foreign warble and seductive beat; we returned the favor with nasally Dylan.

Before retiring for the night we shared our binoculars with our guides and we moon-gazed together. I told them that 40 years ago a man walked on the Moon - they either didn't believe me or didn't care, I think the latter. We fell asleep and woke up again tired, sandy, and happy. We rode the camels back to the far-off road and parted ways with our trusty steeds and helpful guides. The next day we came to Jodhpur, but that is another story...