Sunday 2nd December
The bus to Jaisalmer left from the typically hectic bus stand, the 'booking office' a shed around which everyone crowded, and in no discernible queue whatsoever. I did what most Indians do and pushed my way to the front, lodging my arm into a space at the side of the window in order to lay claim to a spot from which I could get the attention of the ticket seller. I was asked to pay an extra 30Rs to store my luggage in the boot of the bus and I paid it reluctantly as it seemed that I was the only one asked for this additional charge. I'd prefer to pay this form of security so that I can feel more sure that my bag arrives at the other side too. At least if I pay the driver, then he'll most likely take more care of who has access to it as opposed to not giving a damn.
The journey started with almost half of the passengers who were making their way to Jaisalmer board the bus at the very last minute, causing a ruck of people to form in the middle of the aisle at the front. There was an awful lot of shouting, but, as I didn't understand what they are saying, it was difficult to know exactly what their emotional state was: are they raising their voices because they are angry or frustrated with each other, or is it just a way of being heard over the almost constant crowds? I have concluded that they just like shouting as it never gets any more serious than that.
Despite the constant stopping and starting, this was perhaps the most comfortable bus journey I have experienced so far. Although the bus had seen better and cleaner days (vomit stains line the windows and sides of many long distance buses, obviously some people are not used to this type of travel), the seat was comfortable and some of the scenery impressive. Jaisalmer is located in the Thar Desert, not far from the Pakistani border, and much of our route was through dusty, sandy landscapes, dotted with thin trees and scrub, and red sandstone brick walls. We also passed through a town called Pokaran which had been the site for the series of nuclear tests carried out by the Indian military in 1998, and which was followed by similar tests the following year by Pakistan.
I could see many different people as I looked out of my window on this journey, a fascinating sight: women and children made up in a vast array of coloured clothes, jewellery and make-up; old men with leathery skin and rapped in robes and orange turbans, some looking like pirates with their gold earrings hanging from their lobes. All of them were just going about their business and it made for an attractive diversion. It is images like these that I appreciate more than most, reminding me of just how lucky I am to witness these sights.
After arriving in Jaisalmer, I managed to get a room in a hotel in which I wanted to stay. I got to my room and, shortly after, went to check out the town and the fort that towers above it, in all its yellow sandstone glory. Whereas the forts in Jaipur and Jodhpur were uninhabited and merely housed exhitions detailing the history of former inhabitants, two thousand people live within the walls of the fort in Jaisalmer. There is not a great deal to see apart from views of the town and the surrounding areas, as most of the place is taken up by restaurants, hotels and shops.
However, for whatever reason, I was beginning to feel queasy, not too sick but enough for the smells of cow shit and the filth-filled drains to cause me more problems than usual. The thought of food was beginning to leave me nauseous as I tried to identify from what I had eaten during the course of the day what might be causing the problem. It must have been a kochori, a fried food that they sell at the many stalls and which must have been sitting about for a while before I bought it. The thought of it still makes me nauseous just thinking about it, and my attitude to these food stalls has changed since this period of sickness.
I tried to stave it off, but eventually had to get back to the hotel to get sick. I only hoped that I would make it on time, although it's not like you would get many strange looks if you emptied your guts onto the streets here. I didn't know whether the smells from the streets or the thought of the food I had eaten was going to be the catalyst to cause my stomach to turn over, but I knew it only needed the slightest of prompts. In the end, it was the smell of a spicy poo in the common bathroom toilet that I had the pleasure of using which finally tipped me over the edge. I hadn't been so violently sick since the last time I had drunk Stella.
I spent a pretty bad night feeling like crap, shivering, feeling nauseous and kept awake by the noisiest wedding imaginable taking place in a marquee beside the hotel. I just hoped that it was a temporary sickness.
