I spent my weekend at a Camel Festival in the desert of Rajasthan. Southwest of Delhi- it is true Indian scrubland- quiet rolling dunes, punctuated by gnarled trees, wind-swept bushes and an expansive sapphire sky. The air is clear and clean- a sharp contrast to the choked atmosphere of capitols and freeways. I took the Rajasthan Sampark Kranti Express, a 12 hour journey from the nation's capitol into the outskirts of Eastern India- not far from Pakistan- not close to anything similar. I rode in a sleeper car with 2 other foreign travelers: Maya, a 50-somethings world traveler from Germany who has spent a good part of her life traveling throughout Asia and Sven, a 33 year old Belgian straight from Gent who has somehow managed to find a job that lets him take 5 years off at a time, pays him enough to travel constantly, and holds the position for his return.
Maya was an unusual and strangely engaging older woman- divorced, extremely assertive, articulate and fascinated with women's rights to the point of aggression. What intrigues me about Maya is her take on traveling- what is worth seeing, what do you avoid, why... she hates beggars and refuses to give money. She will not visit the Taj Mahal because it is too touristy, instead searches out the festivals NOT listed in the Lonely Planet and Rough Guide. She avoids "anything spoiled" but insists on sleeping in hotels that only foreigners can afford. She hates eating with her hands, thinks her hair got too dusty in the train, and despises Bollywood. But this is her 5th trip to India- what makes her return, that's my intrigue. Maybe you lose your resiliency with age- I hope mine only gets better.
Sven, on the other hand, was much more soft-spoken and adaptable. He's been traveling for years- and many times, his travels last that long. He is quiet and reserved, interested but seems to be hesitant. I invited him out one night to make a tour of the town before heading in to the hotel- he politely refused, being called by a comfortable bed and his tv. My hotel rooms don't have tv's... but he did indulge in a ladoo before calling it a night.
Bikaner- Northwestern Rajasthan- if India had an Old West, this would be their Tombstone. Wide dirt streets lined with low-rise buildings in saloon-style design; ornately carved balconies led onto by wooden, double-hinged doors. Directly above was an old western sky- large and blue, streaked with flecks of cotton candy clouds. If it wasn't for the flashing Om signs and 18th century wall surrounding the old city, complete with turrets and onion-domes, I could have seen myself somewhere in Wyatt Earp's Texas. It's a beautiful scenery, so different from city life. There are hawkers and over-zealous rickshaw wallas of course, but this is life lived outside of tourist scams, big business, and government planning. 25,000 people inhabit Bikaner- main business is wool and farming, helped along by the indisposable camel- the star of my Rajasthan festival.
Every year, the city of Bikaner hosts an "international" camel festival to celebrate local history, culture, and camels. Sitting in the bleachers, I watched as over 30 camels paraded onto the stadium field- dressed to the nines in some of the most fantastic camel costumes I've ever seen. Draping fabrics, sparkling mirrors, garlands of flowers, body paint, and hair-doo's... these camels were here to impress. The men riding them were equally impressive, decked out in white Raj-style outfits straight off the set of Aladdin- red turbans, huge scimtar swords, curly moustaches, and serious bravado. There was traditional Rajasthani music, dancing, a camel dancing and a camel milking contest... it's definitely as entertaining as it sounds. I was even informed that they think camel milk can cure diabetes... I think it works by keeping these people from shoving their faces with sweets. And what festival is complete without a Mr. Bikaner competition and of course, a Mrs. Bikaner contest- unfortunately, they haven't adopted the swimsuit segment yet... swimsuits made from saris...
And these are just the highlights- the days are filled with unexpected meetings, annoyances, camel-drawn wagon hitches, new foods, gas, site-seeing and unplanned wanderings. I found a sweet treat called Boody, small deepfried drops of besan flour dipped in a sugar syrup and served with dried purple flower petals... beauty found even with food- blending tastes, sights and fragrances even in roadside snacks. I was invited into a man's house to drink tea with him and his older mother- a generous and sweet family who loves Americans and makes the best cup of instant coffee i've ever had! People here love to practice their English and reel with delight when you spit out some Hindi- an extremely friendly and approachable people, 99% with pure intention. I made friends with some local boys, who, remarking how emotionally dead our culture is, gave me some advice on romance (I didn't point out the fact that they aren't even allowed to date, let alone try out the efficacy of their poetry that drips emotion). Here are a few examples:
"A strange desire to live around you-
play with your cheeks rather than locks of your hair.
Live to be wrapped around you like a diamond around your body."
"A very strange your act will kill me
Must control on these lovely act and innocent face or you will
corrupt yourself."
Some of the grammar didn't quite match up- I left it for literary effect. Oh yeah, and I was told to have a tear in my eye- and ONLY say these words if I truly felt them in my heart. I'm not sure if i'll ever be back in Bikaner- if I happen to make my way to this western sand town next October, I have a wedding invitation to cash in on. If not, I'm confident the camels will keep dancing and Mrs. Bikaner will always stay beautifully covered.
