Night in the dunes #2 - Txting & Camel farts

We returned from our afternoon on camel-back sore but happy. The dinner in the little mud-hut compound was very good, one of the 3 curries was made of the Rajastani desert beans which became a favorite. A local band sat cross-legged on a sheet in the dirt & played fairly genuine local folk music. C & I really got into it though a French family with 4 teenage daughters was harder to convince. The maman looked as though she was terrified of the tabla player & what he might do to the girls with his exotic rhythms. We danced & hammed it up under the revealing starlight as the clouds cleared & the turban was passed around. The tabla call & response sequence with the clapstick players was mesmerizing.

I say 'fairly genuine folk' because after the dancers left Ramesh pulled the class thing on us. Our Delhi friend Emily had explained on our 1^st night that in India that not only do we visitors get lost in the caste system (3 main castes & 3000+ sub castes) but overlaid on that is a good old fashioned class system just as unfair as in the good 'ole UK. As part of "it's India, you'll never know what the f**k is going on" (a continuing series in 708 parts) Ramesh condemned the players we'd enjoyed so much as not from the right caste, playing home-made instruments, wearing the wrong clothes & generally being not up to much. We refused to let these details distract from the lingering sense of fun & prepared to leave again for a night in the dunes.

Ramesh lent me his 'cow-stick' (a 4ft rigid bamboo pole he uses to clear 'obstacles') & we packed head torches & warmer clothes & mounted up again outside the compound. The route to the dunes was the same as earlier but this time we were in complete darkness. As our eyes adjusted to the starlight we could just make out each other, our camels & the medieval camel cart with it huge wooden wheels trundling along ahead of us. This carried the French couple while their daughters rode like us. My colloquial French came flooding back as the cart camel unleashed an enormous fart right at their heads & they swore & cussed as the rest of us laughed.

The only sound other than our voices was the rhythmic tinkle of camel bells & the faint thud of hoofs on the sand, completely hypnotic. Riding my evening camel was more of a trial though, having no string stirrups to rest my feet in meant added terrible thigh strain to the list of ailments posted before as I struggled to stay on & avoid a plunge into the darkened thorn bushes.

The camels spread out on top of the dunes & we had our own crest on which to sleep. The young cameleers laid out a rug, sheet pillows & a thick quilt (jeez, we do it tough) for us before retreating 20m or so to settle in next to their charges. We settled in & counted shooting stars while the lads chatted & the camels burped & farted. Some disturbance later as a pair of hoons from the village scrambled up the dunes on a motorbike, narrowly missing camels, sleeping Francaises & falling off a 10m sand cliff. They were soon dispatched.

In space no one can hear you scream, in the dunes no one can avoid your text messages…Little Nokia bing-bongs & chirrups floated around for a few hours to my amusement & apparently I contributed as I found 2 txts on my phone in the morning, one from UK one from Australia.

It was a delicious night & waking from time to time was a real pleasure as the starscape tracked across the sky. Dawn was magical, soft light, soft sounds of Hindi chatting, yawns, stretches & hoiks. Bliss

And yes, camels do chew the cud all night.