Entries about tourist sites

OK, so this blog entry is... what... seven months overdue? As one friend wrote, "So did you ever come back? Last I read you were still in Nepal!" Yes, obviously we did come back, but getting settled in a new city and a new life has taken a lot of time and energy. And, I'm a procrastinator -- sue me.

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“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...”

Our first and last experiences of Nepal (and some in between) were in the Kathmandu valley. Home to over a million people, this bowl between the Himalayas to the north and the Mahabharat Range to the south is Nepal's biggest urban area, combining the historic cities of Kathmandu, Patan, Bhaktapur, and others. Landing here in an airplane is not for the faint of heart: final approach requires a pretty sharp bank and steep descent once you clear the valley's ridge!

The Kathmandu valley from Swayambunath Stupa, a Buddhist shrine overlooking the city

We stayed in Kathmandu long enough that it really began to feel home-like and kind of got into the groove of Nepali life, or at least life with the new friends we made from the missionary organization that our friend Kim had recently left. They were kind enough to look after us for the couple of days we waited for Kim to arrive (she had been delayed due to the closure of the Bangkok airport by pro-democracy protesters, in possibly the only case where I have been annoyed by those calling for liberty...). After so many months on the road, it was great to be among like-minded friends and just hang out, cook spaghetti and watch "The Office." Our friend Anna took me to the Nepali church she attends, which was a fascinating experience; unlike the Indonesian church we attended with my uncle, the music here was entirely indigenous, which I found very interesting.

Nepali men in traditional topi hats, taking it easy in Kathmandu's Durbar (Palace) Square

And there was something about the Nepali people that we were really attracted to. They are beautiful, with the dark skin and hair of their Indian cousins, but almond eyes reflecting their country's proximity to China. And they are very genuine, easy-going and friendly. With dozens of distinct ethnic groups and languages Nepal is truly multicultural, and it's one of the few places on earth it seems to work with almost no ethnic or religious strife. We started to joke that Nepal was India Lite: one-third less pollution, one-third less hassle, and two-thirds fewer cows in the streets.

A hauntingly beautiful Nepali girl in Kathmandu's Thahiti Tole Square

Kathmandu is a city with a lot of problems, though, along with Nepal in general. Although not as bad as Delhi, the air pollution is pretty bad. Like most large cities in the developing world, poverty is rampant, especially on the outskirts. We crossed a bridge over a stream in Bhaktapur where women were bathing and filling water jugs just downstream from a bloated goat carcass. And human trafficking is rampant, with young girls being kidnapped, or even sold by their families, into sexual slavery in Indian brothels.

“It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness...”

Kathmandu is the cradle of Nepali culture -- if such a thing exists in a country this diverse. The valley is home to the Newar ethnic group, a sophisticated culture of merchants, farmers and highly-skilled artisans, and the historic cities of Kathmandu, Patan and Bhaktapur are full of their architectural gems, with multi-tiered temples and brick townhouses with ornately carved doors and window screens.

Patan's Durbar Square: temples on the left, palace on the right, Himalayas in the distance

The façade of Bhaktapur's Royal Palace, from Durbar Square (yes, each city has one...)

The famous carved wood Peacock Window on the Pujari Math monastery in Bhaktapur

The three cities were originally independent city-states that competed architecturally with each other in the valley until they were united (read: conquered) by Privthi Narayan Shah in the 1700s. Nepal remained an absolute monarchy until 1990, when King Birendra made the country a constitutional monarchy. Democracy didn't come easily, though, with lots of ineffective governments and a Communist insurgency that started in the mountains and gradually grew in power, sometimes hassling hikers on remote Annapurna mountain trails. Tragically, things didn't go so well for Birendra, either -- he and the entire royal family were gunned down by the Crown Prince Dipendra in a drunken rage over a woman his parents had forbidden him to marry.

Ironically, Dipendra reigned for three days while in a coma, sealing his fate as the nation's most ineffectual leader

The new century hasn't been much better for Nepal politically. Birendra's brother Gyanendra took the throne, and dissolved the government in 2005 after several years of a new prime minister every few months and an increasing Maoist threat. Pro-democracy demonstrations forced him to restore the parliament, which in turn dismissed him in 2008 and abolished the monarchy. Elections saw the Maoists take control, making Nepal one of the world's only nations with a democratically elected Communist government. The former king was given 15 days to vacate the Royal Palace so it could be turned into a museum. I suppose it's better than the guillotine, if you're going to fall victim to a revolution.

Popular hopes ran high that the Maoists would bring stability to Nepal.

“It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity...”

For a country that has had such difficulty in getting its act together politically, Nepal is remarkably stable, religiously. In a primarily Hindu nation that was the birthplace of the Buddha and is home to numerous Tibetan refugees, Nepali Hindus, Buddhists, and even minorities of Muslims and Christians coexist with remarkable peace (though not so much for the goats we saw sacrificed in the streets of Bhaktapur on a Hindu holiday).

The iconic Swayambunath Buddhist stupa, with its mysterious eyes of the Buddha on the base of the spire

Red-robed Tibetan women at the Bodhnath stupa

Buddhist prayer wheels at the Bodhnath stupa

Tibetan Buddhism is interesting and very different from the Buddhism practiced by the orange-robed monks of Thailand and Cambodia. Prayer services in the gompas (monasteries) are accompanied by loud banging drums, gongs, and discordant trumpets. At sunset, the whole community turns out to walk in circles around the stupa (always clockwise) in combination of prayer and social gathering.

It's fascinating to be able to experience this unusual culture in Kathmandu's Tibetan community at Bodhnath. Including the rather bizarre traditional cuisine of momos (Chinese style dumplings) and butter tea, which is exactly what it sounds like -- tea made with melted yak butter.

I thought it was disgusting, but Kim was able to choke it down...

Hindus are visibly the most dominant religion, but Buddhism developed out of Hinduism, and in Nepal the two have in some ways blended. A common sight in Kanthmandu are wandering sadhus, or holy mystics. They take a vow of poverty and wander around in robes with painted faces, seeking enlightenment and alms.

Hindu temples in Kathmandu's Durbar Square

A Hindu ceremony in Patan's Durbar Square, where wives are burning sacrifices for their husbands' health

Hindu sadhus sitting outside a Kathmandu temple

Real sadhus are less common, however, than ones who are focused more on getting paid by tourists for posing for photos. These guys were clearly of the economic variety. I prefer the miracle of the telephoto lens, personally.

One of the most interesting facets of Nepal's de-royalization campaign involved a mere girl, the Kumari Devi, Nepal's very own living goddess.

Sajani Shakya, the Kumari from 2001-2007

Chosen from among numerous candidates and believed to be an incarnation of the goddess Kali, the Kumari Devi (or royal Kumari) is worshipped, paraded around the city in a big annual festival, and blesses the king. She and her family get to live in a beautiful home near the Durbar Square and she is venerated until she hits puberty, at which point a new one is found; she gets a big dowry, but that's somewhat offset by the fact that it's not considered good luck to marry a former Kumari -- supposedly, you die coughing blood. Not exactly a turn-on for most guys.

The house of the Kumari, very quiet since the abolition of the monarchy

Of course, because the Kumari is so closely linked to the king, the ascension of the Maoists and the end of the monarchy left her future very uncertain. Ultimately, the Maoists appointed a new one just before we arrived, making a decision formerly reserved for the royal priest. I believe at the time we visited, she was living in her house, but not making any public appearances.

“It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness...”

For everything that is fantastic about Nepal, there are just some things that make you shake your head in wonder. It's a country plagued with institutionalized inefficiency and corruption. For example, guidebooks practically beg you to avoid flying Royal Nepal Airlines, which is notorious for delays, cancellations, and general bureaucratic mismanagement. If you want to get where you're going, they urge you to fly foreign carriers, or one of the private domestic airlines like Cosmic Air or Yeti Airlines (hey, it's owned by Sherpas!).

Another example: this is one of the most mountainous nations on earth, and there is the potential for enough hydroelectric power generation to light up not only Kathmandu, but the entire country and probably half of India as well. And yet, twice a day, every day... the lights go out. Scheduled rolling blackouts; each neighborhood knows what time each day they'll be relying on candles and batteries. It inevitably happens when you want to take a shower, or cook a meal.

The Browns, an America family at our guesthouse, having a dinner with "necessary romance"

“It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair...”

All of this was supposed to get better, of course, when the Maoists made the leap from insurgents to the ruling party. The idealists on the Nepali left assumed that now that the right people were in charge, everything would be better. Hope springs eternal, but as is so often the case in these situations nothing really changed. The government was just as inefficient and corrupt with the guys on the other side in charge. The poor were still poor, the electricity still went out twice a day. And a few months ago, the Nepali electorate voted the Maoists out of power, in favor of a coalition government comprising basically everyone else.

(See, procrastination can have its benefits. If I'd written this post back in January...)

Living with this, as well as the religious belief in karma, kind of creates a sense of fatalism in the Nepali people. Your flight was overbooked? The power's out when you want to watch TV? Your new government's as bad as the old one?

You shrug your shoulders. "What can you do?"

“We had everything before us, we had nothing before us...”

And our time in Kathmandu concluded our trip. We set out on a very long trip home, flying from Kathmandu to Bangkok (where the airport was thankfully open again), had pad thai, a massage and a too-short night's sleep, and then flew from Bangkok to Taiwan to Los Angeles and onward to our new home in Houston. There was nothing left of our amazing journey but memories, and a new life ahead.

We came home to a country that had undergone a revolution of its own while we were gone. Like the Nepalis, hopes ran high for some that a swing to the left would solve our great difficulties. It remains to be seen whether the result will be different.

Re-entry was interesting. Lynn, of course, spent the better part of December and January flat on her back with a particularly virulent strain of giardia that required three weeks on antibiotics that turned her tongue black and her skin yellow. And the jobs we'd hoped for at the theatre company in Houston failed to materialize thanks to Hurricane Ike and the economy.

But just like Kathmandu's rolling blackouts, you find ways to create light even when it's dark.

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And so ends the travel blog. Check back again soon, though, for some coming attractions with lots of photos:

• "The Best Butchering of the English Language on Asian Signs"

• "Dead Stuff We Saw on the Road in India"

• "Faces of Asia"

...and maybe more!

Thanks for reading.

I really hate trendy business jargon. I cringe whenever I see a website that proudly proclaims that they “leverage technologies” to do this, or employ that “paradigm,” or whatever. One trendy word a while back was “synergy,” the idea of a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. It got badly overused, but it’s still an important concept.

After checking out the wildlife and hot elephant polo action in Chitwan, we headed back to Kathmandu for the weekend (I’ll be covering all of our time there in the next post). Early on Monday morning we caught a flight on Yeti Airlines (truly -- it’s Sherpa-owned, and one of Nepal’s best!) to Pokhara, the trekking capital of Nepal. Resting beside a beautiful lake at the foot of the Himalayas’ Annapurna range, this is a Mecca for outdoor enthusiasts of every kind. We stayed at a guesthouse in Lakeside, one of the world’s hugest backpacker ghettos, stretching for a couple of miles along (well, obviously) the lake.

A Nepali REI

Lakeside is one long string of trekking equipment shops, souvenir stands, used book stores, travel agencies, money exchangers, and restaurants featuring the same menu: Indian and Nepali dishes, Chinese, and “Continental,” which is sort of a catch-all category for hamburgers, pizza, pasta and even Mexican. It’s kind of interesting that Nepalis seem willing to take a culinary shot at making anything; this is a tradition that goes back to the ‘60s and the days of hippies overlanding from Europe through Asia in search of enlightenment and cheap pot, and finishing in Nepal. Some smart Nepalis realized that all these westerners were starved for variety after months of curried lentils and vegetables in Pakistan and India, so entrepreneurs that they are, they started opening travellers’ cafes that served everything under the sun -- but made with locally available ingrediants, so it never comes out quite like you’d expect. Thus, you order “Tacos de pollo” from the menu, and what comes out is a big hard corn shell stuffed with diced chicken and kidney beans, laid on its side and smothered in not-particularly-spicy tomato sauce and cheese like an enchilada, and sprinkled with parsley rather than cilantro. It's not bad, it's just not quite right. It’s sort of a reverse-synergy: the whole is somehow slightly less than the sum of its parts.

It was a misty day when we arrived, so we decided to spend the afternoon looking around the non-ghetto part of the town, attractively dubbed Old Pokhara.

Nothing much happening in Pokhara

Truth is, there’s not really much to see there. It took all of about ten minutes to mosey down the street called the “old bazaar.” There were a few shops selling baskets and cloth and other staples to locals, and that was about it.

Not exactly burning up the cash register

But hey -- no one comes to Pokhara to see sights in the town anyway. The sun came out and mists parted the next day, showing us what they do come for...

Rooftop view

We took a colorful rowboat across the lake...

All those years as a boyscout come in handy once in a while

...and climbed to the Peace Pagoda at the top of the ridge south of the lake for the view of Mt. Machhupachhare (don’t ask me how to pronounce that) and the rest of the Annapurnas in all their glory.

The Annapurna mountains over Pokhara’s Lake Phewa

Machhupachhare

Mountains display a synergy of their own. Really, they’re just incredibly huge rocks. But you put a bunch of these huge rocks together, and you get a sight that defies words. I mean, what can you write about mountains? They’re big. They’re beautiful. They make normally rational people want to climb them. I wish there was more that I could say, but really you just stand there looking at them and saying to yourself, “Yup, this sure doesn’t suck. I am so blessed to be looking at this.” And you take some photos, knowing that there’s no way a camera can capture the view, or the feeling of looking at them. They are simply beyond words. We go to see them, as one climber sagely put, “because it is there.”

Speaking of “normally rational,” the following day we drove around the lake and up to Sarangkot at the top of the cliff, where I proceeded to run off of it and fly back down.

The knowledge of Craig, a Zimbabwean paraglider, is all that stands between you and certain death

Nepal rivals New Zealand as a magnet for adrenaline junkies, and while I’m normally pretty sane, I really wanted to try paragliding. In Pokhara, you can do tandem flights with a seasoned pro, so I strapped on a helmet, and off we went.

You take a big rectangle of nylon and a bunch of ropes, a strong mountain wind, and the mind of a man who can sense the air currents with his whole body, and you create an amazing synergy.

It’s called flying.

Following a brief stop back in Delhi after visiting the Taj Mahal in Agra, we flew to Kathmandu, the capital city of Nepal: the twelfth and final country in our Asian odyssey. From the beginning of our research for this trip, we had a sense that Nepal might be more than just logistically the final destination, that it may just be saving the best for last. And that has proven true. This small strip of a country nestled between the dusty northern plains of India and Tibet’s Himalaya mountains is an amazingly diverse place with incredible scenery and dozens of people groups united by their good-natured love of visitors. It’s really easy to fall in love with Nepal.

We were meeting an old friend, Kim, at the airport when we arrived. Unfortunately, Kim’s route from the USA took her through Bangkok -- during the week that pro-democracy demonstrators occupied the airport, forcing the cancellation of all flights into and out of the country. She was routed through Singapore instead but got to Kathmandu two days late, so we spent a couple of days just relaxing at our guesthouse. When she did arrive, after a day of recovery time we immediately took off for Nepal’s Terai region, the fertile lowlands along the India border. This semi-tropical plain is home to half the Nepali population, the birthplace of the Buddha, and our destination: Chitwan National Park, Nepal’s most-visited patch of forest.

Lynn and Kim, proving that it IS in fact a jungle out there

Called “Royal Chitwan National Park” until King Gyanendra was deposed a couple of years ago and the country went on the biggest demonarchialization drive since the Reign of Terror, Chitwan is a former hunting preserve for the kings of Nepal and is a great place to see a variety of wildlife. We took an early-morning canoe trip down the River Rapti...

Nothing but the sound of birds and the lap of water against the boat

...and headed into the forest with our guide, Lalu...

The finest in Nepali jungle engineering -- don't fall in, there's crocs down there!

...in search of “big game.”

Rhino poo, and it’s fresh...

Among the creatures we encountered were:

Curious langur monkeys in the trees

”Marsh Mugger” crocodiles sunning themselves on the riverbank

No, this bad boy wasn’t in the wild; he was in a pen, captured after having tasted human blood. Still beautiful, though...

One-horned Indian rhinos grazing in the forest -- this was a treat, these guys are really rare outside the park

And, of course, we saw (and rode on) elephants. We visited the Elephant Breeding Center near the town where we stayed. It’s quite a sight, with mothers and babies.

Elephants in the mist (well, smoke actually -- they produce a lot of poo that needs to be disposed of!)

Who could resist that face?

The unexpected highlight of the trip to Chitwan, though, was going to watch the U.S. team compete in the World Elephant Polo Association tournament!

The finest in pachyderm polo action

Yes, there is such a thing as polo played on elephants (they use a standard ball and mallets with really long handles), and yes, the United States does have a team -- the New York Blue.

How can you not want to hang with a team whose uniform features blue Chuck Taylors?

We happened to be on the same flight from Delhi with these guys, and we decided it was our patriotic duty to come see them play. Basically, they’re a bunch of drinking buddies who decided it was a shame that we didn’t have a team, so they formed one, practicing on top of SUVs to prepare for the tournament.

And the truth is, elephant polo is a blast to watch! We cheered and chanted “USA! USA!” like nationalistic hooligans, and were rewarded for our efforts with a resounding victory over the Indian Tigers.

Mounting up behind their mahout (elephant driver)

The referee tossing the ball to start the first “chukker” (period)

Racing after the ball with India in hot pursuit

It’s anyone’s ball!

Gooooal!

If you’ve been following our blog since the beginning, you know that I like to find a larger lesson in what we’ve seen and experienced, and finish each entry with some sort of pithy observation. Well, apart from noting that the polo players wore something like pith helmets, I really can’t come up with a witty closing for this post. So I’ll leave it at this:

It doesn’t get much better than good friends, the beauty of God’s creation, and eight elephant-borne dudes with sticks trying to whack a little white ball between two posts.

India is a country that is rushing head-long into the 21st century, and there are definite conflicts between tradition and the modern world. This is perhaps visible nowhere more than in romance and marriage. November happens to be wedding season in India, as it is astrologically a very “auspicious” season of the year. Everywhere we went, almost every night we heard or saw weddings taking place.

And trust me, there is no way that you can miss an Indian wedding. In the West, we tie a few cans to the bumper of a car and paint “Just Married” on the back. In India, there is a procession through the streets with the bride riding behind the groom on the back of a white horse (or even an elephant if you can afford it, I suppose, as we saw several times in Delhi). They are both dressed in incredible finery, with ornate bejewelled headbands for her and a big turban for him, and they are preceded by a marching band and followed by a horse-drawn cart with a generator for the string lights carried by the merry-makers. It’s a huge, festive party, and I really wish I had some pictures to share, but I never had my camera along when we came upon one!

But we noticed one odd thing, and this comes back to the cultural differences: the bride was always a lot younger than the groom. In the case of one wedding procession we passed in Jodhpur, the groom was about 25, and the bride appeared to be maybe 15. The whole concept of getting married that young, and probably by the arrangement of your parents with the groom’s, just doesn’t jibe too well with the Western ideal of how romance and marriage work. And it also doesn’t automatically sit well with young Indians, either. Many are being influenced by the relationships they see in the movies, and “love marriages” are becoming much more common than they used to be.

From Jaisalmer, we traveled eastward to two larger Indian cities where we observed a lot about love in India, both historic and modern: first to Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan, and then to Agra, home to India’s greatest icon.

Jaipur is called the Pink City, and upon entering the old part of town, it’s not difficult to see why: everything, from the city gate...

...to the buildings of the back alleys...

...is painted a lovely warm terra cotta pink. Jaipur may not be the most peaceful or beautiful or dramatic city in India, but the color creates a nice unifying quality that is very attractive.

The city is best known for the famous Hawa Mahal, or Palace of the Winds: an incredibly ornate and stunningly beautiful architectural confection attached to the Maharaja’s palace.

Interestingly, it’s almost just a façade: only one narrow room deep

The Hawa Mahal was built so the women of the Maharaja’s harem could remain secluded while watching the outside world go by. This custom, guarding the virtue of women by protecting them from outside eyes, is called purdah, and is still practiced to some degree today in more conservative segments of Indian society. The Hawa Mahal is fronted with windows filled with fine laticework that shielded the Maharaja’s wives and concubines from the attentions of those going about their business in the streets below.

A short way outside the city is the Amber Fort, one of the most graceful and stately in Rajasthan.

It’s a long climb to the gate

Like every Indian castle, the Amber Fort features two main areas: the public and private rooms where the Maharajas held court and lived, and the zenana, where the women resided. The rules of purdah ensured that only eunuchs served the ladies, and only the Maharaja himself could enter the zenana. This sounds incredibly restrictive and sexist, but it was all in the spirit of protecting the women. Or so we are told.

Today, however, the relationship of the sexes is influenced far less by courtly honor than by the silver screen. India is the world’s most voracious market for movies, and the Hindi film industry has come to be known by the nickname “Bollywood” (after Bombay, or Mumbai, where most are produced). You think the American movie industry is important in our culture? It’s got nothing on Bollywood. The day after the Mumbai terror attacks, the front page of Delhi’s English-language paper, the Hindustan Times, was covered with quotes from... Security officers? Politicians? Nope: Bollywood actors and directors. They’re huge -- looming larger in Indian culture than just about anyone other than Gandhi and the Hindu gods.

Bollywood films are really interesting. They are almost all romantic comedies of the “boy and girl (who are both stunningly gorgeous) meet, fall in love, are separated by some obstacle that they eventually overcome and get married in the end” variety that almost never comes out of Hollywood anymore. They are extremely clean, as India’s censors allow nothing more than chaste hand-holding and longing looks, even after the wedding. And most interestingly, they are almost all musicals, with syrupy balads, soaring duets, and big, flashy production numbers -- all of which may or may not have anything to do with the plot. A really terrific English-language example of Bollywood style is British/Indian director Gurinder Chadha’s Bride and Prejudice, an Indian adaptation of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice that is well worth checking out.

In Jaipur, we decided to go to the historic Raj Mandir Cinema to catch the latest Bollywood offering.

Indian Art Deco at its best

I have no idea what the title means

The movie was a real treat, and seeing it surrounded by Indians who were all curious whether we followed it -- we didn’t understand a word but we didn’t really need to -- was a blast. Prem (Sonu Sood) and Chandni (Eesha Koppikhar) meet in a music competition, fall in love and sing to each other a lot, but can’t get married because her father dies and she has family responsibilities. Prem becomes a music star and Chandni opens a music school, and years later things finally work out for them. Not exactly profound, but good fun.

Interestingly, since the censors are so strict, it forces the directors to find other ways to build romantic tension since the characters can’t just jump in the sack. So they are much more creative; this movie had a really wonderful scene where Prem sings to Chandni as she sleeps on a train. There is a terrific moment when a gust of wind blows aside her sari, exposing her foot. Sonu Sood’s acting and the cinematography in that moment were amazing; I never knew that the sight of a toe could be so erotic. It was very effective!

From Jaipur, we headed to our final destination in India: the big, ugly industrial city of Agra, which just happens to be the home of quite possibly the most beautiful building in the world...

...the Taj Mahal. You’ve seen it in pictures, but pictures really don’t do it justice. And it does change colors throughout the day:

Brilliant white at midday

Dusty rose at sunset

Soft blue at dusk

The Taj Mahal is also the world’s greatest monument to love. It was built by the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan in 1631 as a tomb for his wife Mumtaz, who died giving birth to their fourteenth child -- now that’s devotion. Quite romantic. A fitting end to this examination of love and marriage, Indian style.

And to our time in India.

My apologies to anyone who considers our last post a case of over-sharing. I thought it was a pretty humorous situation, even at the time it was happening. But now, back to our regular travel blog with its astute observations and pithy thoughts on India, rather than disgusting diarrhoeaic details...

There is no easy train connection between Udaipur and our next stop, Jodhpur. Rather than risk a public bus when we were still not at 100%, we decided to splurge on hiring a car and driver to make the six-hour trip. Let me tell you, the roads in India are a real experience. Some time in the future (probably when we are back and have a more reliable and speedy internet connection) there will be a post of photos of stuff we saw on the road to Jodhpur. And I mean, ON the road to Jodhpur. Driving in India is not for the faint of heart. Even being a passenger requires some guts -- or a blindfold and Valium.

Jodhpur is magnificent. Lying on the edge of western India’s Great Thar Desert, it seems torn from the pages of a history book. With the huge and imposing Meherangarh Fort guarding bright blue houses tumbling down a rocky red cliff, it is Rajasthan’s most dramatic city...

Jodhpur: you can almost hear the echoes of the Maharajas’ horns

...and also one of India’s noisiest and most chaotic. The tangle of narrow bazaars in the old city accommodates a ridiculous amount of autorickshaw, motorbike, bicycle, human, and bovine traffic, and the cramped alleyways reflect and even seem to magnify the incessant horns.

Watch your step -- “cow chocolate” everywhere

In search of a little quiet, we took a jeep ride out into the countryside with Deepak Choudri, a local guide. Deepak is from a region that is home to a sect called the Bishnoi, and he runs tours that raise money for economic and social development, and support local artisan cooperatives.

That’s a vintage 1959 U.S. Army Jeep that he’s restored

The Bishnoi are farmers and herders who traditionally live in grass-roofed mud huts and are very conservation-minded, protecting the endangered trees and antelope with their lives if necessary. We took a drive out among the villages.

Bishnoi village, now complete with solar electricity

Traditionally, Bishnoi women wear elaborate jewellery as a symbol of marriage

We stopped and had chai (sweet, milky Indian tea) with a local family Deepak knew. They spoke almost no English, but the teenage daughters, Sharda and Neema, had a great time getting Lynn all dolled up in local fashion -- Indians really seem to find fair skin fascinating.

Bishnoi fashion plates -- the latest in desert couture

From Jodhpur, we took an overnight train to the end of the line: the remote outpost of Jaisalmer (JYE-sahl-meer). Rising like a desert dream from the dusty Rajasthani landscape, Jaisalmer really feels like another world.

”Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore...”

Only 100km from the Pakistan border, Jaisalmer is ancient. Within its massive sandstone fortress, the oldest inhabited fort in the world, lie dozens of golden havelis (traditional merchant mansions built around courtyards).

Echoes of the silk road caravansarais of the past

As one might expect from its proximity to Pakistan (a fact you cannot forget due to the frequent roar of Indian Air Force jets on patrol), the city has a distinctly middle-eastern flavor. There is a definite frontier-town feel in the air; the streets are a little dustier, the saris a bit brighter, and the turbans a touch whiter than anywhere else. This feels like India’s wild, wild west.

Everything you need for outfitting your expedition over the dunes

However, Jaisalmer is anything but undiscovered; the whole fort seems to exist for three things: selling food and beds to tourists, selling jewellery and textiles to tourists, and especially, selling camel safaris to tourists.

The main square of the old city: autorickshaws, cows, and carpets

No one comes to Jaisalmer without going off on a camel safari (ranging from an afternoon to a week), and we were no exception. Choosing a local outfit called Ganesh Travels that is owned by its camel drivers, we joined a small group that drove out into the desert to meet up with our new humpy pals.

Sweet ride, dude -- tricked out with the cool nose spikes and all

You ain’t lived ‘til you’ve mounted a camel

I am here to tell you that riding a camel for two days is excruciating -- there are no stirrups, so it’s just you, your *ss, and the camel bumpin’ along the sands. My thigh muscles will never be the same. But it was great fun. Our drivers, Mr. Khan and Mr. Ramadan, were hystically funny. Both of them grew up in the area and have been camel drivers with Ganesh for years (“Camel College -- plenty knowledge!”). One camel in our group had serious need of some Tums, frequently letting loud and particularly sour farts...

“OH my GOD! Camel naughty -- make desert perfume!”

They had a rhyme for everything... “No chapati, no chai, no woman, no cry.” “No hurry, no worry, no chicken, no curry.” I have no clue what the point was, but they cracked us up, bantering as they sat around the fire making vegetable curry and chapatis (whole wheat unleavened bread).

Chapatis, fried over an open fire then finished in the ashes -- gritty goodness

The Great Thar Desert is desolate but not barren -- in fact, it is the most densely populated desert in the world. There are many villages inhabited by goat and sheep herders among the scrub brush and acacia trees. During the annual monsoon, the desert blooms and they grow wheat where only a few short months later it is just rocks.

Waning daylight in a Thar desert metropolis

We slept among sand dunes under a pile of blankets -- it gets really cold in the desert. But sunrise over the desert with a cup of hot chai brewed by a turbaned camel driver over an open fire is a pretty darn special morning.