Out into the desert

I bid Jodhpur a fond farewell, after one lass makhaniya lassi and some fresh cucumbers. I bought myself a vegetable peeler so the range of raw things I can safely consume has widened greatly. Goodbye, Jodhpur! I'm on a color tour of India, from the Pink City to the Blue City to the Golden City.

I spent my few hours last night refreshing the Indian Railways ticket-status page, hoping to see my Jodhpur-Jaisalmer ticket change from "W/L 7" (waitlist; can't get on the train) to "CNF" (confirmed, hop that sucker!), back in the rooftop restaurant paying too much for dal fry and roti, listening to Canadians kvetch about being "over India". And the numbers changed, so I popped my backpack up on my shoulders, holstered my ukulele, and armed with iodine-purified water, toilet paper, and my new diary, I haggled my way to the train station for 40 rupees and hoisted myself up to the third-tier bunk that my patience won for me. Night train to Jaisalmer, 6 hours, 11:45 PM and arriving at 5:30 AM. Cold. The desert is cold. Because it's winter.

Shiva the farmer met me at the train station with his motorcycle, and in the pre-dawn chill we careened through the streets--me juggling backpack, ukulele, and shoulder bag--to his guesthouse so I could get a little bit more sleep before riding out into the desert. When I woke up there was water boiling for me to shower, and hot lemon-ginger tea for my sore throat, and we climbed up to the roof to soak in the sun and dispel the lingering chills of the night. Then Shiva went to deal with guests and turned me loose at the 500-year-old Jain temple complex to roam and entertain myself for the day.

Jaisalmer is peaceful and relaxed, my favorite place so far. The streets are narrow and the number of auto-rickshaws is low. It's quiet and there is less pollution than in any of the other places I've been. The stonework on all the old houses is incredibly intricate, and the Jain Temples were overwhelming in the beautiful craft and painstaking skill that went into them. It makes me want to study art again. Shiva asked me over tea on the roof if I like India--the big question that I'm not in any hurry to answer yet. I like pieces of India, the answer I came up with. I like the kind people and how beauty is so prized, how people surround themselves with beauty (painting the cows, the elephants, the cars, their doorways, their motorcycles, their skin with henna). I like the food. The rhythm can be fatiguing. The garbage is heartbreaking. But I love Indian art. It strikes me deeply as sincere and vibrant. I feel movement in the Jain sculptures and I feel song in the paintings on walls and papers. It feels sacred even when it's secular. So much feels holy here.

Yeah, Jaisalmer is nice. People walk most places. The buildings are all made of a honey-amber-colored stone that I've heard glows gold in the sunset, but I haven't gotten a sunset yet and we're hoping to ride out to the farm. I did buy myself a tiffin and a beautiful camel-leather fedora to shield my eyes from the sun. I feel like a pilgrim. I look like Indiana Jones in loose Indian ladies' clothing.

So I'm out into the desert for two weeks, no electricity, no plumbing, and (I think it goes without saying) no Internet. Just the sun and the sand and the chickpeas we're nurturing along.

Here I go!