Back on the road, and it's turned out sunny again. Down here, at the front of the bus, I have a clear view of the road in front and a rail to rest my legs on. Sometimes, I wish I didn't have a view of the road in front, and it is then that I enjoy reflecting on the previous days as I write my diary.
This becomes an increasingly great challenge as the road conditions deteriorate, and the trees become further apart. Parts of the road have disintegrated into potholed gravel and in the villages we pass through it is difficult to discriminate between the bounce of the frequent road humps and the potholes. The countryside is changing too, as we head for Rajasthan. Crops disappear and are replaced with desert and dunes. The colours of the saris change too, from mainly deep jewel and autumn colours to a beautiful, crimson red. Often, they are wearing the tail of the sari down over their heads, covering their faces. We start to see camels as the main beast of burden. Huge dromedaries, with that smug smile on their faces and their regal gait as they command their place on the road. Nothing is too heavy for them to pull and everything is beneath them. As we reach Bikaner, they are everywhere. Bikaner is India's camel capital and claims to be the world centre for camel expertise. Our hotel here , also exceeds our expectations. Grand and colonial with a beautiful central courtyard where we can enjoy dinner.
But there is much to do before dinner. A visit is planned to the local 'fort'. But this fort is more of a palace than a military barracks. Bikaner does not seem to be on the main tourist trail yet and the fort is fully accessible. As we are guided around from room to room, we can touch the intricate and detailed paintwork which adorns every wall, every ceiling, every door, even the floor in some places. Each corner turned brings something new and fascinating. Hidden corridors with fretwork windows so the ladies could watch and gossip about the comings and goings of the castle without being seen. I worry that, with increasing numbers of tourists, the paint will become worn and artefacts destroyed. But it because it is so accessible that it is so enjoyable. After the castle, Amanda and I decide to visit the 'camel farm' or National Institute for Camel Research, but we are disappointed when we get there. These animals are not the glorious beasts we have seen in the streets. There is little evidence of any real research or information on any results. Just 3 barren corrals with a group of mangy looking examples in each. In the 'musem', there is the carcass of an aborted foetus, some bags and pictures of camels at work. Dejected we return to our vehicle. Our driver takes an interesting route back to the old town, where we will rejoin the others. It seems that the 'off road adventure trail' has been thrown in for free. As we turn into a track across some waste land, the driver pulls over for 2 men at the side of the road. Doors are opened and, without a single word being spoken, there is an exchange of something we cannot see. Then we carry on across more waste land, then into a small village with narrow, windy streets. This way and that way, till we lose all sense of direction. The driver's mobile goes several times and there are brief exchanges as we continue. It didn't seem this far to get to the camel farm. We start to imagine we are being kidnapped. Maybe we have been traded for camels? As the sun starts to disappear beyond the horizon, and our imaginations soar away, we finally come to a halt. There, in front of us, are all our Oz bus buddies.
This becomes an increasingly great challenge as the road conditions deteriorate, and the trees become further apart. Parts of the road have disintegrated into potholed gravel and in the villages we pass through it is difficult to discriminate between the bounce of the frequent road humps and the potholes. The countryside is changing too, as we head for Rajasthan. Crops disappear and are replaced with desert and dunes. The colours of the saris change too, from mainly deep jewel and autumn colours to a beautiful, crimson red. Often, they are wearing the tail of the sari down over their heads, covering their faces. We start to see camels as the main beast of burden. Huge dromedaries, with that smug smile on their faces and their regal gait as they command their place on the road. Nothing is too heavy for them to pull and everything is beneath them. As we reach Bikaner, they are everywhere. Bikaner is India's camel capital and claims to be the world centre for camel expertise. Our hotel here , also exceeds our expectations. Grand and colonial with a beautiful central courtyard where we can enjoy dinner.
But there is much to do before dinner. A visit is planned to the local 'fort'. But this fort is more of a palace than a military barracks. Bikaner does not seem to be on the main tourist trail yet and the fort is fully accessible. As we are guided around from room to room, we can touch the intricate and detailed paintwork which adorns every wall, every ceiling, every door, even the floor in some places. Each corner turned brings something new and fascinating. Hidden corridors with fretwork windows so the ladies could watch and gossip about the comings and goings of the castle without being seen. I worry that, with increasing numbers of tourists, the paint will become worn and artefacts destroyed. But it because it is so accessible that it is so enjoyable. After the castle, Amanda and I decide to visit the 'camel farm' or National Institute for Camel Research, but we are disappointed when we get there. These animals are not the glorious beasts we have seen in the streets. There is little evidence of any real research or information on any results. Just 3 barren corrals with a group of mangy looking examples in each. In the 'musem', there is the carcass of an aborted foetus, some bags and pictures of camels at work. Dejected we return to our vehicle. Our driver takes an interesting route back to the old town, where we will rejoin the others. It seems that the 'off road adventure trail' has been thrown in for free. As we turn into a track across some waste land, the driver pulls over for 2 men at the side of the road. Doors are opened and, without a single word being spoken, there is an exchange of something we cannot see. Then we carry on across more waste land, then into a small village with narrow, windy streets. This way and that way, till we lose all sense of direction. The driver's mobile goes several times and there are brief exchanges as we continue. It didn't seem this far to get to the camel farm. We start to imagine we are being kidnapped. Maybe we have been traded for camels? As the sun starts to disappear beyond the horizon, and our imaginations soar away, we finally come to a halt. There, in front of us, are all our Oz bus buddies.
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