Camels and Cows

I've spent the last few days in a state of self-loathing, still kicking myself for signing onto an arranged tour. The sights, sounds and smells of this incredible country are just as striking but being delivered from place to place in an air-conditioned car takes away all the adventure and challenge. Haggling over fares with touts and drivers, trying to figure out timetables, knowing where to swap trains and how to get to the bus station at 5am is the great challenge of backpacking. In a moment of weakness I've swapped that for ease and convenience. At any rate I've convinced myself now to stop worrying about it and get on with the experience, slightly sterilised though it is for the time being.

I spent my last two days in Udaipor, another of the Maharaja's outposts from times gone by. A magnificent palace/fortress dominates the skyline just outside the town, from there you can look down across the city and its two lakes, one man made with another incredible palace (now hotel) perched on an island in the middle. There are another two major palaces in the town, one in particular has the most incredible displays of wealth imaginable. Entire rooms plated in precious stones and mirrors, magnificently opulent artwork and weapons encrusted with gems. Step outside these places and India is as confronting in it's poverty as anywhere else in the world.

Today we (my driver - I feel so dirty saying that - and I) drove from Udaipor to Puskar. Lunch was at a tiny little roadside cafe, the likes of which can be found on any highway in this part of the world. I suppose they are a grittier microcosm of the British or Australian roadside stop. There is one counter which sells sweets, crisps, bottled drinks and the tiny little packets of chewing tobacco the locals are so fond of. Another area prepares meals to order and serves them on makeshift tables with mismatched plastic furniture. In place of a Premier Travel Inn there is a collection of racks with netting in between them where truck crew (there is apparently always more than one person per truck) can sleep.

I find it quite incredible that the road, one lane each way through a semi-desert landscape, was so busy. There are tiny villages every couple of miles along the road, many no more than shanties (with shanty huts and shanty shops). Everywhere there were people walking beside the road, women barefoot in their bright saris and the men in dusty work clothes trekking around the landscape going about their daily work. Marble quarrying and processing seems to be the major industry and at the thousands of yards selling huge slabs of the stone there were men cutting and working the rocks and women with baskets on their heads carrying away the smaller and broken bits. Veer, my driver, tells me that these women probably make about 40rs a day (50p) while the men driving the trucks can earn around 4000rs a month. Still a tiny amount by our standards but it beats carrying rocks on your head.

With typical 'developing world' ingenuity every conceivable form of transport is used here. There are the typical Indian trucks, large rigid vehicles with incredibly ornate paint and decoration but today alone I've also seen cargo and people towed behind camels, cows, horses, farm tractors, homemade mini-trucks and other people. Every large vehicle has ornate text on back instructing 'Honk Please', which no one seems to need reminding of. The horn is often used in substitute of the brake here, 'I could stop or I could honk the other vehicle gets out of my way' seems to be the mentality. Anywhere where there are vehicles you will hear an assortment of horns, almost universally ignored by the locals, attempting to blast their way through the trucks cars and cows which block the roads.

I'm not quite sure I understand the Indian relationship with the cow. I know the Hindu's consider them holy (a cow being the highest reincarnation a person can hope for) and indeed we passed a festival of sorts today with thousands of cattle and people clustered around some temple by the side of the road. Some of the cows were decorated with tassels, tinsel and paint, others just stood around (probably quite bemused in a bovine sort of way) as people ran about doing their religious duties. On the other hand I've seen cattle towing carts and ploughs (these cows were almost certainly jealous of their venerated cousins). Cattle wander into towns and onto highways and everyone drives around them ignoring them, even if they are blocking a major intersection, as one fat little grey cow was in Udaipor as we were leaving.

Despite the trucks, horns and cows we made it to Puskar. As it's in the middle of both the Camel Festival and a Hindu pilgrimage time and the place is rammed with pilgrims, priests and farmers. Our car was stopped outside the city limits (for security or congestion, no one seemed to know) and I got to my hotel on motorbike. I've been given a brief tour of the town and festival (loads of Camels, unsurprisingly) with a guide (part of the package) but will head out on my own tonight to see what’s happening in town.

Greg
Puskar, Rhajistan, India
09 Nov 2008