Come on Camel Let's Go Desert

As much fun as the Holi festival was, the city of Jaipur itself was pretty unremarkable. It was huge, and Fish and I didn't really dig the vibe, y'know what I'm sayin? Plus, we had an acquaintance to reconnect with; a French girl I had met a month and a half before on the beach of Gokarna, a place that is very near to what my definition of paradise would be; more topless women would've done the trick, but I hear in Brazil they have them in abundance so at least those places exist somewhere. Anyways! What was I saying? Something about Paradise? Shoeless dancing around a fire? Meat on a stick BBQ'd just the way you like it? Warm ocean water cleansing away worries cares thoughts? No, no, I was talking about Jaipur: a massive, dirty city in the middle of the desert, and us leaving it.

We were off to meet Lisa. She was hidden away in a wonderful little hippie hideout called Pushkar, a small town with narrow streets, a beautiful ghat (which is a huge square pool situated in the middle of town, old whitewashed buildings surrounding it), and pretty much all you could want. Well, everything but meat and beer (needless to say, Fishman wasn't to pleased, luckily for him we didn't stay long). It really was a nice place, a small desert village with narrow streets and tall square buildings, bustling with tourists and those wishing to sell them things. It was there I saw my first camel, huge things those are. We stayed two days, and decided that together we would head to Jaiselmer, a place far off in the desert, about 50 clicks from the Pakistan border, where a massive red fort has sat on a cliff overlooking the town for almost a thousand years.

Now, Jaiselmer is likely one of my favorite places that I've visited so far. It's just so impressive. Not only that, but the fort, despite is age, is still living. What I mean to say is that people still live inside; children play cricket in the narrow lanes, clothes dry on lines over our heads; cafe's, offices, restaurants all reside within its walls. It's really it's own little town within a town, and it's where the three of us stayed. The outside of the fort was impressive enough, but inside was majestic, balconies of stone ornately carved existed wherever you looked up. The rooms that the three of us stayed in were easily the most luxurious, while also being the cheapest, and the staff was warm, friendly, and made sure they had loads of cold beer ready for us (they quickly learned Fish and I's habits). At night, you could eat in a restaurant atop one of the turrets and look out over the city. I could have stayed there for days. Could of, but what brought us to Jaiselmer wasn't really the fort, it was the ability to jump on a camel and go off into the desert for a couple of days and have a look around. Three days, to be exact. Along the way we met a peculiar German man named Elmar who would join us on the trip, he had a peculiar way of speaking and an accent that Fish and I spent the rest of the week mimicking. We were to meet with the rest of our desert troupe the following morning and start off. Despite this Fish and I drank several beers and played cards until 2 in the morning, as we are wont to do.  

Along with Fish, Lisa, and myself there was two Scots and an American joining us. We were to drive out of town about an hour and rendezvous with our guides and their camels. During the drive I fell asleep holding 24 eggs and nothing terrible happened.

Okay, so it's 9 am and I'm staring at a 10 foot camel who is munching on his own teeth. The camel makes this really pleasant *crunch* sound, like biting into fresh vegetables, every time he bites down. I can feel the heat creeping up on us already. I've decided to use a white t-shirt as a pseudo-turban, and it helps. My camel's name was Tiger and he yelled a lot as the camel men loaded him with cargo for the trip. It was either *crunch* *crunch* *crunch* or braarrwaarrggurrghh!! After listening to the grunts of camels for a few days, I'm convinced the people who make movies involving big monsters/dinosaurs/etc. used camel recordings and just tweaked them to fit the particular monster/dinosaur/angry woman. Bwrawarrgguuurrrr!

Camels have the astounding ability to appear eminently wise and incredibly stupid at the same time.

Anyways I'm standing there staring at this camel making all sorts of terrifying sounds and am told that now I am to jump on top of it. Sure man, whatever you say, up I go. Naturally, with my additional weight, Tiger makes more protests, but to no avail. I pat him on the neck and tell its all good buddy, you're with me now, and if you don't shut up I'll get a stick and beat you with it. After a few days, as I began to learn camel-speak, the two of us grew to appreciate each other.

We were off into the great bright wilderness of the north Indian desert. It didn't take long before my inner thighs were chaffed and sore, but the bleakness of the surroundings more than made up for it. The landscape was primarily red dirt, with small shrubs and the occasional tree, and there were small hills that divided the flat desert valleys. Surprisingly, there was no real sand though, or very little of it; it was just really dry ground. There were loads of wildlife flitting through arid landscape too; vultures (huge birds!) we're seen on a distant tree before they swooped off; gazelles, looking very similar to small Canadian deer, scurried about, afraid of everything; I saw a small red fox saunter through the shrubbery, completely disinterested with us; there were all kinds of birds, an occasional dog (they're freakin everywhere in India) and of course, goats, but we'll get to goats in a little while.What was a very bizarre addition to the landscape was an endless stretch of huge, 50m tall wind turbines. The turbines made this eerie wooshing sound that seemed to complement the silence, to complete our feeling of isolation. We walked through the desert for several hours before settling under a tree and setting up for lunch: cauliflower curry and chapati cooked over a fire, with a nice hot chai to wash it down. After lunch we waited out the hot afternoon sun under the shade of a tree, lazily falling in and out of sleep. For the next three days I did very little other than sit on a camel or lay on the ground, with the occasional stroll from one tree to the next. Oh yeah, while in the desert Fish and I helped kill something, but that comes later.

At around 5 or 6 in the evening, we finally approached what appeared to be a sand dune. Judging from the surrounding area, it's a bit out of place. But it was a perfect spot to set up a fire, roast some chappati's, and settle down for sleep. The sun went down and the stars came up. It was truly a beautiful environment to exist in. Utter silence but for the occasional mew of a camel and the snap of the fire. We had warm blankets and comfortable conversation, warm beer and cold chapati's, and, of course, the brilliant starry sky. It was beautiful, there was no doubt. Seeing sand dune and star, with a chewing outline of a camel right before I closed my eyes for sleep, is a memory I will long keep with me. It was cold at night, but that's the desert, hot hot days and frigidly cold nights.

We awoke just before the sun rose, and watched it light up the desert as we sipped our morning chai's. Back on the camels, we sauntered once again through the desert. One of the conversations that floated around the night before was the potential to buy a goat and eat it over the fire (we were told it was a vegetarian desert trek, and it was, until the potential for some truly carnivorous actions were presented to us). I mulled this option over for most of the day. We would kill it, clean it, disembowel it, then chop it up and cook it, oh, and pay for it too (of course). Did I want to do that? Goats had been a mainstay of the landscape since we've been out here, and I had to admit, these tiny little desert goats were pretty danm cute. Did I want to kill one and eat it? Yes, after careful consideration, I did, in fact, want to kill a goat and then eat it. You see the way I figure it is I'd been a meat eater all my life. And for the most part I'd found that meat in a grocery store in neat little packages. This was my opportunity to erase the massive disconnect I have with meat and live animals, and if I couldn't handle the raw reality of death that surrounds every chunk of meat I eat, than I shouldn't eat it at all. Okay then, a goat's fate has been sealed.

I gave the camel man some rupees and he was off in search of a goat. We set up our camp for the second night and awaited our dinner. There was a nervous tension surrounding the camp. Apparently, this was a bit of a secret service provided by the camel men, they wanted to make sure that no one told home base about it, because they might get in trouble. Some of the girls weren't too happy about the idea, and so naturally the camel men were concerned they would rat them out. Nevertheless, the deed was carried out, and at around 8 o'clock, long after night had descended, we heard the faint bleating of a goat being brought to its demise. This bleating naturally aroused sorrow with the people against the whole thing, so we set up a smaller camp away from the rest, one out view and (somewhat) out of earshot.

I had my headlamp, a camel man had another, and Fish had a small travel lamp--it was under LED light that we slaughtered a goat in the desert. I held its legs, a small bunch of leafs were placed under the goats head. I silently thanked the goat, and then, without any ceremony or 'a few words', Mr. Khan the camel man brought the blade to the goat's throat and began to saw. The goat kicked but I held him in place. The goat screamed, loud and shrill, twice, as the blade cut deeper into his neck. It occurred to me that the screams were uttered not from the poor goats mouth, but from his open throat, ugh. A few quick saws later and the head was off. I held one leg, Fish another, and we raised the newly-dead goat up while Mr. Khan peeled the goat's hide off like a sock. Then we punctured his skin. I pulled out his stomach, which was full, and tossed it. It felt like a big rubber balloon filled with jello. Next came his intestines and kidneys and etc., all chucked into the sand. Then, almost like magic, the goat transformed from animal to meat; into recognizable chunks of (nearly) grocery-store meat.

Mr. Khan quickly chopped up the meat and over a fire we cooked up goat curry along with BBQ'd legs. And God damn it all, the goat was delicious. It was really good. I ate until I could barely get up. We drank whiskey and beer and ate the freshest goat of our lives.

Okay then, I guess I'm a carnivore after all. Mr Fish had no compunction over the death of the goat, and while I experienced a moment of horror when breath still shot out of the decapitated goat's body, I was okay with it too. I'm allowed to eat meat now, and continue the cycle of death, without remorse. Hooray.

I'll finish on a lighter note. On the first night, while we were in awe of the stars and of us being in the desert, a camel man sang us a song. It was an old camel-man song sung by the men of the trade for generations, and it was beautiful. Afterwards, he sang a more modern rendition. You are aware of the song barbie girl? well, so were the camel men: 'I'm a camel man, in a camel laaand ...and then... Come on camel let's go desert ah ah ahhhh yeah'. Ugh. That song remained in my head for days. Horrible. So, please, do your best to imagine it now: Under the desert stars, around a desert fire, a high pitched, poorly sung cover of Barbie Girl,  performed by Tiger and the Camel Men. (ah ah ah yeah)

Intestines still fine.

Let There be Paint

Well, So long Goa! Fish and I left you, so long, keep on rocking the world that is only moderately free. The two of us have got on a plane for drier climes, into the desert, into a place called Jaipur, into Rajasthan. Ah, Rajasthan, where camels pull rickshaws and carts full of vegetables, computers, and business suits, all destined for the same market; where goats, cows, dogs and vultures all compete for the same city scraps; where huge, ancient forts loom on cliff sides and overlook bustling cities; and where one of the craziest of all the Indian festivals is celebrated in full force, one in which Fish and I have arrived just in time to take part in. I'm speaking, of course, of the Holi festival. A festival of colours and mayhem, where normal cultural barriers are shed and people celebrate together in full force. It starts early, around 9 o'clock in the morning. People start with going to temples, praying, then throwing a huge array of colours at everything and everyone. Afterwards they take to the streets. It doesn't take long before you are absolutely covered in paint from head to toe. Pink, Green, Orange, Red or Green, all extremely vibrant and all used as ammunition against everyone else. It's madness, it's India.

Luckily, I had a white shirt and a pair of white pants (thanks Adam) just for the occasion. Around 10 o'clock Fish and I strode outside, unsure of what to expect. It was eerily quiet. Not many people were on the streets, and at first it seemed like just another day. We walked by a group of teenagers, who were clean, we eyed each other suspiciously. Then a man drove by in a scooter with pink hair and a green face, and purple down his shirt. Farther down the road, a man selling cigarettes and chocolate bars was covered in orange. People were standing around smoking, faces as sombre and plain as any other day, they were just bright pink. As we were walking, two guys named Sonu and Dave drove up on their rickshaw and offered us a lift. We said sure! Take us to the action! We arrived at a temple, but unfortunately we were just a bit late, people were streaming out absolutely smattered in a  vast array of colours, laughing and singing. Damn, I thought, we're still completely white. None to worry. It being Holi, we would get ours. Sonu had to visit his family and asked if we'd like to join, yeah, that sounds fun. We were brought to his uncle's place, but not before buying a bag of orange powder and a bag of green. When we got out of the rickshaw a large crowd of children awaited us, smiling devilishly. There was a slight pause, like the moment before gunslingers yell 'Draw!' ... oOoOoooo Wah wah wah ... Wham! they pelted Fish and I with powder of all colours. We retaliated, and the little buggers scattered down the alley. I stopped, and so did they, giggling while slowly coming forward. I attacked again, and they quickly scattered once again. We must of done this 3 or 4 times before I felt a gush of water on my head; someone behind and a huge pail of pink paint and doused me from behind. The watching crowd roared with laughter, 'we got him!'. I laughed and the kids quickly took this opportunity to chuck another barrage of paint in our direction. As Fish was laughing at me, he quickly was taken by surprise, pink paint covering him from head to toe.

Okay, back into the rickshaw we go! Over to another friends place. This time we went inside. We were offered some tasty food, whiskey, and, of course, lots of paint. And while we were certainly the main target amongst the people there, we had our fair share of chances to return the favor. What you do is get two handfuls of paint and approach someone, when they see you coming, smiling with a glitter in your eye, they will smile back and let you smear the paint on their cheeks, maybe some on their head too, it's considered auspicious, and the more paint the luckily you are! Fish and I were very lucky. Afterwards, we headed to the roof for a 'shower'. This 'shower' was in fact more giant pails of pink paint that would be ceremoniously dumped on both Fish and myself. Again we said our farewells and moved on to the next place, which was another friends house, this time two of them came along with us. There were now 6 of us in that small rickshaw, all covered in a wide variety of colours. I felt seriously like I was in a clown car that was late for the circus.

Now, Holi is not all fun and games, there is an unpleasant side, which isn't indicative of India but of humanity in general. When lots of people start drinking early in the day, some of those people get violent. We were all in the rickshaw when we past a group of around 12 people, all splashed in different colours, literally beating the shit out of each other. It was clear this was not some kind of 'friendly tussle', they were really going at it. We drove by, they didn't notice us, and the last I saw of them a man had fallen and no less than 6 of the stomped him, he lay flat and motionless. There was nothing I could do and Sonu the driver clearly was not interested in doing anything. We moved on, a period of silence followed. But when the picture of six people driving down the street in a rickshaw, completely covered in paint but with silent and sombre faces appeared in my mind, the ridiculousness of it caused me to laugh out loud. They looked at me and laughed, it was okay. On to the next stop.

Another family friend, this time he was sick and so not entirely in the mood for celebration. We sat in his front yard and drank beer, and though as to instill some sense of merriment, the man we have visited pulled out two large speakers and a tape deck, and blared hindi music into the air. A few of us (well, me) got up and danced for a few minutes, but we just couldn't feel it. We sat back down and said nothing as raucous hindi music cascaded over us. Yet another surreal moment in India. Ten minutes after taking the music system out he it brought back in and covered it with a blanket, clearly what was intended to happen had happened, and we went inside and watched cricket, while children peered at us from the doorway.

We left, and around 2 o'clock the festivities had more or less stopped. People had cleaned up yet had a faint tinge of pink to them, and the cows and dogs that wandered the streets were still dotted with various colours. All in all it was a incredible surreal, joyous day, filled with lots of laughs. I should mention I don't have any photos of the event, which is regrettable, but I simply didn't want the camera to get ruined with the paint and water I knew would be everywhere. I do have a cool little video I took with my Ipod of Fish and I post-Holi, which when I figure out how to get it from my Ipod to the internet I will be sure to expose to the world.

Intestines still fine.

The Good Folks of Starco

It was still dark when Fish and I stumbled to the train station, tired and slightly hungover.We were on our way to Goa. After finding our train we entered our compartment and sat down, wishing for a pillow and some peace. The train began its slow march towards Goa, and the train was quickly filling up. I had just fallen asleep when a man showed up waving his ticket and yelling. It turned out we were in the wrong compartment, so after getting nice and comfortable we collected our things and trudged down the traincar to our rightful place. In our seats sat a trio of Germans and an Englishman who sounded just like a character in a David Firth cartoon (a incredibly bizarre internet phenomenon that only the most twisted would enjoy). No matter, we sat next to them with a smile and a nod, and as time passed and I felt more human, we began to talk amongst each other. The usual 'where ya been? how long? where ya from?' kind of stuff that usual fills the silences between travelers who are just meeting each other. Later on, I met a danish cat named Martin and an American couple, Graham and Jenny. They were all nice to talk to and it turned out we were heading to the same beach, Anjuna. With that came the fast friendship that arises when traveling, and which is one of my favorite things about it.

In the middle of our journey the train stopped, and stayed stopped, for quite some time. As we were standing outside on the platform, unclear as to the reason of the delay, I realized I had no idea the names of the Germans, so I asked. "Alex" he said, and I replied "Oh nice, me too". He looked at me with a grin that suggested there was more to this story, and he said "Yeah we have the same name, exactly the same name, I am Alexander Meyer, nice to meet you". And so it was that the first Alex Meyer I meet that isn't me is a German man who had been sitting in my seat, on a train in the middle of India. Serendipity, I love you.

The night we arrived Martin, Fish and I walked down to the beach. It was quite late and the beach was empty. We walked to the edge of the water, the tide splashing at our feet. Then we went in a bit more, then a bit more, and then when Fish suddenly shoved Martin into the water it was on. The three of us fought and tussled, getting soaking wet. I felt alive. After we found some Indian guy's and drank whiskey.

The is my second time in Goa, and I spent it primarily drinking, dancing, and sitting around swapping stories and good times. Mota Matchi and I met a load of good people. And while some of the parties there were really great, other ones lacked the necessary volume of people needed to create the right ambiance. The venues themselves, however, were beautiful; gorgeous open air dance floors ringed in palm trees that looked down to the beach. In part, I felt I missed out, the busy season had come and gone and police were shutting places down as early as 9:30pm. Ah well, such is life. What I enjoyed more was the camraderie between the people we met and at our guesthouse. There was Noel, a jolly Goan man who had sailed the world on an oil tanker and has been to ports in every continent. He had a big, infectious laugh and an easy smile, he taught me how to play Backgammon and then proceeded to win 50 rupees off me, the bastard. He was also convinced that there were some big things coming, the Japanese earthquake was more than enough proof for him. He's convinced we humans have only 9 months left before the Earth finally chews us up and spits us out, permanently. There was Martin, a Danish Columbian who is a DJ and told me endless stories of the music festivals in Denmark and the rest of Europe. Roskilde, Glastonbury, Melt, on and on. He'll get me a job at Roskilde which will get me in for free ... nice, my ass is going to Denmark. There was Aicha, an older scottish woman who has been the frontwoman for a punk band for the past 25 years. I loved her because of her gentleness, her easy smile, and her voracious appetite of books. And while she does carry a deep sense of serenity about her, you can tell while on stage she's an angry Scottish punk witch and noone would dare cross her path. We spent lots of time discussing favorite authors, and life as a punk rocking gypsy. There was Anna, a mysterious German girl who walked everywhere barefoot and had a rainbow in here hair. Of course there was Mr. Tony, a British hippie who'd been everywhere and seen everything, he was very wise and very funny. I liked to listen to him talk and enjoyed the way he would say words like RajaSTHAN and Rupeee.

When Fish and I finally left Goa for the north, a day before the infamous Holi festival, it was with the 5 of them sitting at the gate of the guesthouse, hugs and goodbyes and smiles. Easily the most pleasant farewell I've had the pleasure to experience. It like I was saying farewell to family, and that I would return and they would be there, waiting, with a cold beer and a pot of hot tea, and we'd all play backgammon and discuss old times. Heh, Life is Good.

And so are my intestines (wish the same could be said for ol' Mota Matchi, I think he still hates me a bit for getting him on that plane in the state he was in).