December 17, 1998
Jaisalmer, India
There have been very few times I’ve felt really far away from home. For some reason, I’m pretty much comfortable wherever I am in the world, but sometimes circumstances interfere and home seems very, very far away.
There was something refreshing about all this. There wasn’t a Santa to be seen, nor Christmas trees and certainly no one singing Silent Night. I really wasn’t in the mood for Christmas, what being so far from home, and this city was so magical in its own way that any Christmas fantasy paled in comparison.
By now in this first trip to India I’d gone native. I bought two outfits that men in India wear. Pajamas of a sort—one yellow and one green. Wash and wear. They were supremely comfortable.
On day two or three I decided to join a camel safari into the desert. Me. The camel driver. His son. A young couple from somewhere who spoke very good English. And three camels. This was supposed to be fun.
We set out in late afternoon. Camels are cantankerous beasts. And they smell. Riding one one is not comfortable. Up and down. There’s almost a sense of seasickness riding one. But I did.
At dusk we reached camp. The driver and his son did not speak English. But they were hard workers. They set up tents for each of us. Prepared dinner. The other gringos and I kept each other company.
The Thar is inhospitable, but spectacular—especially at night. The temperature dropped. Stars lit up the moonless night sky. The three gringos lay on our backs and tried to identify constellations. Orion dominated. The Polaris always points to home. Other than the embers of a dying campfire, there was no ambient light. The sky was a black pallet scattered with stars. We identified Venus and Mars, satellites airplanes and shooting stars.
I was not the happy camper I should have been. The sun was just risong on the horizon when dad got things going. Loud voices. Yelling at his son to do this or that or whatever. It was all Hindi to me. Dad tended the camels prepared dinner. I feared for whatever Indian germ got mixed up in the food. Delhi belly is real and it’s likely more dangerous than a Mexican equivalent.
We set off. Me on the camel, the other two on theirs. I got seasick almost immediately. Up and down, up and down, up and down. It was far easier to walk. I got off—carefully. Three weeks earlier on the Annapurna Circuit in Nepal I’d had a bad injury to the sole of my right foot. (That’s another story and was profound enough to be the basis of a sermon a year later.) I’d had the stitches out the week before in New Delhi, but was still using a walking stick.
Thank God for someone who knew where he was going. I can see how easy it is to get lost in a desert—or tundra. Nothing could be seen in any direction. Nothing.
More than anything, I wanted a shower. The luxury of a swimming pool. A bottle of cold Diet Coke. I December 17, 1998I’m not sure I could do that today. I’m not sure I’d even want to. But I’m glad I had the experience and that is enough. no idea what I asked of the camel driver, nor how I communicated with him, but he said a swimming pool was coming up and that I’d enjoy it. But when we got there, the pool, which was part of a temple complex, was stagnant green, with things growing on the surface. I don’t think he understand why this could wait.
Jaisalmer, India
There have bene very few times I’ve felt really far away from home. For some reason, I’m pretty much comfortable wherever I am in the world, but sometimes circumstances interfere and home seems very, very far away.
There was something refreshing about all this. There wasn’t a Santa to be seen, nor Christmas trees and certainly no one singing Silent Night. I really wasn’t in the mood for Christmas, what being so far from home, and this city was so magical in its own way that any Christmas fantasy paled in comparison.
By now in this first trip to India I’d gone native. I bought two outfits that men in India wear. Pajamas of a sort—one yellow and one green. Wash and wear. They were supremely comfortable.
On day two or three I decided to join a camel safari into the desert. Me. The camel driver. His son. A young couple from somewhere who spoke very good English. And three camels. This was supposed to be fun.
We set out in late afternoon. Camels are cantankerous beasts. And they smell. Riding one one is not comfortable. Up and down. There’s almost a sense of seasickness riding one. But I did.
At dusk we reached camp. The driver and his son did not speak English. But they were hard workers. They set up tents for each of us. Prepared dinner. The other gringos and I kept each other company.
The Thar is inhospitable, but spectacular—especially at night. The temperature dropped. Stars lit up the moonless night sky. The three gringos lay on our backs and tried to identify constellations. Orion dominated. The Polaris always points to home. Other than the embers of a dying campfire, there was no ambient light. The sky was a black pallet scattered with stars. We identified Venus and Mars, satellites airplanes and shooting stars.
I was not the happy camper I should have been. The sun was just risong on the horizon when dad got things going. Loud voices. Yelling at his son to do this or that or whatever. It was all Hindi to me. Dad tended the camels prepared dinner. I feared for whatever Indian germ got mixed up in the food. Delhi belly is real and it’s likely more dangerous than a Mexican equivalent.
We set off. Me on the camel, the other two on theirs. I got seasick almost immediately. Up and down, up and down, up and down. It was far easier to walk. I got off—carefully. Three weeks earlier on the Annapurna Circuit in Nepal I’d had a bad injury to the sole of my right foot. (That’s another story and was profound enough to be the basis of a sermon a year later.) I’d had the stitches out the week before in New Delhi, but was still using a walking stick.
Thank God for someone who knew where he was going. I can see how easy it is to get lost in a desert—or tundra. Nothing could be seen in any direction. Nothing.
More than anything, I wanted a shower. The luxury of a swimming pool. A bottle of cold Diet Coke. I have no idea what I asked of the camel driver, nor how I communicated with him, but he said a swimming pool was coming up and that I’d enjoy it. But when we got there, the pool, which was part of a temple complex, was stagnant green, with things growing on the surface. I don’t think he understand why this could wait.
We spent another in the desert. The three gringos repeated the routine from the night before. No one can tire of a black night under a canopy of stars in a desert with absolutely no light to interfere with the drama of the Milky Way and beyond. I remember thinking to myself…What is man that you are mindful of him? Small me against the splendor of creation.
We got back to point A. I took a shower and readied myself to head back to Delhi. It was a long journey, and far too much of it had to be on a bus. That is another thing the gringo in India needs to be aware of. It’s not Greyhound, and trains aren’t Amtrak. A goat was on board. I was the sole gringo. Six people sat in a row. Four in two seats, and two more in the middle aisle.
We spent another in the desert. The three gringos repeated the routine from the night before. No one can tire of a black night under a canopy of stars in a desert with absolutely no light to interfere with the drama of the Milky Way and beyond. I remember thinking to myself…What is man that you are mindful of him? Small me against the splendor of creation.
We got back to point A. I took a shower and readied myself to head back to Delhi. It was a long journey, and far too much of it had to be on a bus. That is another thing the gringo in India needs to be aware of. It’s not Greyhound, and trains aren’t Amtrak. A goat was on board. I was the sole gringo. Six people sat in a row. Four in two seats, and two more in the middle aisle.
I’m not sure I could do that today. I’m not sure I’d even want to. But I’m glad I had the experience and that is enough.
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