We were going to just get up and explore Jodhpur ourselves but instead got talked into a 'Village Safari'. We were given the impression that it was a way to really see what life is like in rural India. On our way to the jeep I was recognised in the street by a man building a road who must have been at the wedding. Now I truly am famous.
We went with a Russian guy called Alex, Leo and a French couple called Thomas and Virginia who were in their last two weeks of their own year-long trip. On the way we spotted a number of wild animals, including a couple of types of antelope.
Our first stop was the site of an execution/sacrifice of 363 Bishnoi people in 1730 because of the Khejri tree. I can't explain as well as I'd like to at this time of night so here's an axtract from http://bishnois.wordpress.com/
So it is told, the Maharaja of the area had plans to build a princely palace and needed a substantial quantity of firewood to produce lime. He sent forth his forces to a large population of Khejri trees, in Khejarli, to cut them down. Amrita Devi, a loyal Bishnoi mother versed in the teachings of Jambhoji, faced the soldiers and proclaimed that anyone wishing to cut a tree would have to first cut through her. Weaponless in her protection of the trees, it is said that she hugged the nearest Khejri, forcing the axe-wielding soldiers to cut through her neck. Incensed at the loss of tree and fellow compatriot, villagers came from all around to face the Maharaja’s army. By the end of the massacre, 363 Bishnois had given their lives in sacrifice to save green trees. Appalled at the situation and overwhelmed by the dedication of the villagers, the Maharaja passed a decree legally protecting green trees, which stands to this day. Furthermore, it is highly likely that the term ‘tree hugger’ originated 280 years ago when Amrita Devi demonstrated a mother’s love for our hero, the Khejri tree.
This site was a really peaceful place but the monument was locked up. There were peacocks and antelope wandering about - being followed by the snap-happy Alex who didn't stop to listen to the tale.
Next we moved on to a 'Bishnoi village' - which appeared to consist of just one man and his family. The Bishnoi have a strict principle of protecting all animals and the environment and many work long and exhausting days. Opium is still really important in Bishnoi religion but is now outlawed in India. They are allowed to use it but they are not allowed to grow it so are forced to buy it.
When we arrived, the man performed a traditional opium tea ceremony. Sitting on a camel-hair carpet, the man, curly whiskered and quite impressive in his crisp white outfit (including a 12metre long turban), sat crossed legged before a small wooden contraption comprising two strainers, two beautifully carved wooden urns, a pestle and a small metal container holding water.
He dug deep into the hidden folds of his shirt and produced a piece of opium, about the size of a lump of sugar. The opium was bound with sugar to form a solid lump - as much from the need to make it cheape than because of the indian taste for super-sweet tea.
He then went through a complicated process of straining and mixing until he was satisfied with it. The 'tea' is traditionally taken in the cupped hand and drunk from the palm.
The guide made a big deal to us about how poor these people were, and despite evidence to the contrary in his wife's colourful and elaborate clothes and her clear taste for gold jewellery, Matt and I left a big tip. Just before the next truck-load of tourists turned up and we were quickly ferried away.
Next we were taken to the guide's house for lunch and to see how camel-hair carpets (famed for their resiliance and the fact they never need washing) were made. Lunch was served in round hut with a straw roof and we watched a woman patiently make chapattis and cook them on the fire.
Next, we were taken to a nearby outbuilding where the guide's brother quickly explained how the carpets were made and then offered us a range of them to buy. We were quickly getting the measure of this tour and politely declined. Alex did express some interest as he was planning on possibly starting a business, to accompany the one he already has a speciaist 'dog apparel'.
After that we were taken to another house where they made pots and other clay goods. There were piles of identical pieces, all stacked up perfectly an reaching way above our heads. We were shown how to make pots and then asked if we wanted a go. Since the French people were clearly getting annoyed and since we all knew what was coming after, I volunteered to give it a go - if we were going to have a thinly veiled tour of shops, I was going to have some fun. Despite the man's clear instructions, my attempts were rather feeble and the results were quite pathetic, though it was kinda fun.
We were asked whether we wanted to go to a recycling place but when he guide explained it further, it was a recycled textiles factory. Now, the mention of 'textiles' normally fills anyone who's been in India for more than a couple of days with dread and a deep-seated need to flee, but majority ruled and we gave it a bash.
After a cursory look at where the textiles were made and a quick explanation, we were then seated in a room and subjected to a parade of articles from bedclothes to scarves, accompanied with the usual mantra: 'very cheap, very good quality'. None of us were interested in buying (except maybe Alex) but the French guys chatted and giggles amongst themselves and dared to challenge the prices. After getting rather exasperated at their insistence that identical items were available in Europe much more cheaply, the guy in factory was very sharp with a guide and was clearly telling him to get us out of there.
The guide was rather sulky on the way back and dropped us off in the middle of town rather than at the hostel. Everyone seemed a bit rattled and so we mostly ended up going in different directions -though Matt and I soon bumped into Alex again as we struggled to find our way back to the hostel.
After a chat with Alex and a discussion of his dual Moscow and Toronto lifestye, I switched on the boiler in our bathroom so the water would warm up for a shower and went to the internet cafe. I was widhed 'Happy Valentines Day' by strangers and had my hand shaken a number of times.
I was joined shortly after by Matt, who told me that he was pretty pleased that he hadn't used the bathroom as the heater pipe had exploded and sprayed very hot water everywhere, creating an interesting sauna effet on our room. The hostel staff seemed unconcerned. After doing a bit more research, we were told by the internet guy that he would kindly only charge us for one computer, even though we had been sat using it together!
We met up with the French guys again and popped into the town for samosa and beers. We were too late for the typical 'English wine and beer shop' but did persuade a bar to let us have a take-out.
We sat on the rooftop, with a beautiful view of all the major attractions (which were all lit up and glowing) and chatted about their round-the-world trip as we tried to pick-up recommendations. They hated China, listing all the things they found wrong with it, including: everything being regimented, the people not wanting to speak to tourists, the fact that everyone constantly hawks up phlegm (much worse than here apparently) and constantly farted in public, as well as many other things. They absolutely loved Tibet though and, since I already wasn't keen on going to China, we tried to explore ways of seeing it on our single-entry Visa, though we eventually had to conclude that it might not be possible.
We went with a Russian guy called Alex, Leo and a French couple called Thomas and Virginia who were in their last two weeks of their own year-long trip. On the way we spotted a number of wild animals, including a couple of types of antelope.
Our first stop was the site of an execution/sacrifice of 363 Bishnoi people in 1730 because of the Khejri tree. I can't explain as well as I'd like to at this time of night so here's an axtract from http://bishnois.wordpress.com/
So it is told, the Maharaja of the area had plans to build a princely palace and needed a substantial quantity of firewood to produce lime. He sent forth his forces to a large population of Khejri trees, in Khejarli, to cut them down. Amrita Devi, a loyal Bishnoi mother versed in the teachings of Jambhoji, faced the soldiers and proclaimed that anyone wishing to cut a tree would have to first cut through her. Weaponless in her protection of the trees, it is said that she hugged the nearest Khejri, forcing the axe-wielding soldiers to cut through her neck. Incensed at the loss of tree and fellow compatriot, villagers came from all around to face the Maharaja’s army. By the end of the massacre, 363 Bishnois had given their lives in sacrifice to save green trees. Appalled at the situation and overwhelmed by the dedication of the villagers, the Maharaja passed a decree legally protecting green trees, which stands to this day. Furthermore, it is highly likely that the term ‘tree hugger’ originated 280 years ago when Amrita Devi demonstrated a mother’s love for our hero, the Khejri tree.
This site was a really peaceful place but the monument was locked up. There were peacocks and antelope wandering about - being followed by the snap-happy Alex who didn't stop to listen to the tale.
 |
| Opium tea? Why not. |
When we arrived, the man performed a traditional opium tea ceremony. Sitting on a camel-hair carpet, the man, curly whiskered and quite impressive in his crisp white outfit (including a 12metre long turban), sat crossed legged before a small wooden contraption comprising two strainers, two beautifully carved wooden urns, a pestle and a small metal container holding water.
He dug deep into the hidden folds of his shirt and produced a piece of opium, about the size of a lump of sugar. The opium was bound with sugar to form a solid lump - as much from the need to make it cheape than because of the indian taste for super-sweet tea.
He then went through a complicated process of straining and mixing until he was satisfied with it. The 'tea' is traditionally taken in the cupped hand and drunk from the palm.
The guide made a big deal to us about how poor these people were, and despite evidence to the contrary in his wife's colourful and elaborate clothes and her clear taste for gold jewellery, Matt and I left a big tip. Just before the next truck-load of tourists turned up and we were quickly ferried away.Next we were taken to the guide's house for lunch and to see how camel-hair carpets (famed for their resiliance and the fact they never need washing) were made. Lunch was served in round hut with a straw roof and we watched a woman patiently make chapattis and cook them on the fire.
Next, we were taken to a nearby outbuilding where the guide's brother quickly explained how the carpets were made and then offered us a range of them to buy. We were quickly getting the measure of this tour and politely declined. Alex did express some interest as he was planning on possibly starting a business, to accompany the one he already has a speciaist 'dog apparel'.
After a cursory look at where the textiles were made and a quick explanation, we were then seated in a room and subjected to a parade of articles from bedclothes to scarves, accompanied with the usual mantra: 'very cheap, very good quality'. None of us were interested in buying (except maybe Alex) but the French guys chatted and giggles amongst themselves and dared to challenge the prices. After getting rather exasperated at their insistence that identical items were available in Europe much more cheaply, the guy in factory was very sharp with a guide and was clearly telling him to get us out of there.
The guide was rather sulky on the way back and dropped us off in the middle of town rather than at the hostel. Everyone seemed a bit rattled and so we mostly ended up going in different directions -though Matt and I soon bumped into Alex again as we struggled to find our way back to the hostel.
After a chat with Alex and a discussion of his dual Moscow and Toronto lifestye, I switched on the boiler in our bathroom so the water would warm up for a shower and went to the internet cafe. I was widhed 'Happy Valentines Day' by strangers and had my hand shaken a number of times.
I was joined shortly after by Matt, who told me that he was pretty pleased that he hadn't used the bathroom as the heater pipe had exploded and sprayed very hot water everywhere, creating an interesting sauna effet on our room. The hostel staff seemed unconcerned. After doing a bit more research, we were told by the internet guy that he would kindly only charge us for one computer, even though we had been sat using it together!
We met up with the French guys again and popped into the town for samosa and beers. We were too late for the typical 'English wine and beer shop' but did persuade a bar to let us have a take-out.
We sat on the rooftop, with a beautiful view of all the major attractions (which were all lit up and glowing) and chatted about their round-the-world trip as we tried to pick-up recommendations. They hated China, listing all the things they found wrong with it, including: everything being regimented, the people not wanting to speak to tourists, the fact that everyone constantly hawks up phlegm (much worse than here apparently) and constantly farted in public, as well as many other things. They absolutely loved Tibet though and, since I already wasn't keen on going to China, we tried to explore ways of seeing it on our single-entry Visa, though we eventually had to conclude that it might not be possible.
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