(So we are finally back from Rajasthan and have some access to the Internet. I will post what I've tried to keep up. Hope you enjoy. I will also try and get pictures posted soon.) In the morning we get on the road to Pushkar, 120 kilometers of mostly 4 lane tole road, in slight rain, past the big marble quarries in Kishangarh, and the endless truck stops for the big Tata rigs pulling cargo on this highway that goes to Jaisalmer. When we turn off on a small old paved road, we snake around ranges of very green hills, up some rises into Pushkar. Nestled between two peaks, each with a temple for Brahmin's wives, Savitri and Giatri, Pushkar is a small town that surrounds the lake bordered by temple ghats. Brahmin made the lake by throwing a lotus into it... and after we find our hotel we walk through narrow muddy streets into town to circle the lake and to find a public ghat. We do, meet a friendly enough brahman-wanna' be who blesses us for money: prayers, hand holding, some chanting, some looking around, salts, sugars, petals, and powders. All of it very sweet and dear, in front of Brahmin's lake. When the praying is over (and I've been gently scolded for the tenth time to use my right hand) we take the whole concoction in the metal plate to the lake and throw it toward the center. We say our own prayers in silence, then hear the countless bells, and drums, and chants. We put our shoes back on and walk across the wall at the end of the lake (after taking our shoes off again...) All these rules in this holy place - take your shoes off within 50 feet of the lake, no public display of affection, no meat, no eggs, no onions, no smoking, no drinking, no talking except for kirtan response, and be sure to let go of your rupies, - be holy, behave. We try. It's been a long hot season without rain or tourists, and now with the rain comes the tourists, and everyone's happy. We're happy. We're trying to behave.Walking home we pass a yoga studio and meet Yogish, the teacher. And Ramu, the camel man. Leslie and Phoebe arrange for class and we all arrange for a camel ride. This morning we meet up with Yogish before practice and take tea. The walk to town was quiet and dry, and now the clouds are threatening. Yogish asks if we met Ramu and when we tell him yes, and that we planned to take a camel ride tomorrow, he asks if we want to hear a joke... "So a few years ago, a brahman from here met up with a young French girl, his student. They fell in love he said, and he wanted to marry the girl and go with her to France. When his wife did not agree to the divorce, he slit her throat, and hired Ramu to help him bury her body in the desert. They put her on a camel and took her body to the desert. If it hadn't been for the brahman's daughter seeing them, they would have never found the body or known. They were arrested and sent to jail. The pregnant French girl said she would wait for the brahman forever, but when he was sentenced to 20 years, she left. It was all over national TV. Ramu was convicted of only helping, so he was let out of jail after a few months. When he came back he took up his usual habit of walking down streets greeting everyone, 'Good morning, Ram Ram.' And one morning, my wife and I were sitting on the steps and Ramu came by, 'Good morning, Ram Ram, would you like anything?' and I asked my wife, 'What size camel would you like?' But he is a good man." He is a fine man This morning we walk through Pushkar waking up, people stretching and sweeping up from the day before. It's dry and cool and very pleasant, we find the yoga studio, take tea with Yogish. Phoebe and Leslie stay for practice and I drift back to the lake then try to find my way home as it starts to rain. I make a few wrong turns and then realize it is raining harder, and then the whole day turns into a blanket of water. The rain is so hard you can't discern individual drops. It's like being inside a bowl of water. I find shelter under an empty awning and wait it out. A solid hour of the hardest rain I've ever seen, and people are whooping and cheering and showering (with soap and shampoo) in the street. Even the cows and dogs and pigs wait it out with me under the awning. When it lets up to a slight downpour I start back on my way, and 10 steps into it am knee deep in the river that was a street. OK, This is OK, and then a tractor with two young men comes by,they ask if I want a ride. Not laughing at me at all, just laughing and happy it's raining as hard as it is, they point out their fields, filling with water. Happy day! Phoebe and Leslie come back from practice, we wait out the rain, then float our way back to town to meet Ramu for what we think will be an hour on camels. It turns into a 4 hour safari, out of town, around the back side of the Savitri temple mountain, out into the Rajashtani desert. It's silent, and scented and beautiful. 3 camels, three boys, us, and Ramu, walking behind, calling out the occasional instruction the boys in training miss. We rest a few times, sit and tell stories, marvel at the expanse of desert that starts here. Ramu takes long treks to Jodhpur and Jaisalmer, 10 days, 2 weeks, 'tents and food and fire' he tells us. "Once a Japanese man bought a camel to take to Jaisalmer alone. He only bought food for himself, some bananas, some oranges. No grass for the camel. On the third night he was sleeping and the camel was standing, and when he woke up, he said, 'Nice day. But where is my camel my bananas?' All that was left was his mineral water and toilet paper. He walked back to Pushkar and asked me where is my camel? I helped him find it and he didn't want to take it to Jaisalmere anymore. Wanted to sell it back. We bought it back for 9,000 rupies. He paid 12. Some Japanese people are clever, some are not. He picked up some goat shit and thought it was hashish. Rolled it into a cigarette but couldn't get it lit. He was not so clever." Our safari ends with a beer run on our way back to town. No alcohol sold in Pushkar, so Ramu asks if I wanted a beer. I've had some experiences on this trip tracking down beer, but none top this; we're parked with the camels while Rumu sends the boys to the Government store, and we wait with gipsy children and shepherds, sheep, more camels and the wayward motorbikes getting ready for Sunday night, the holy night. No rain, no wind, we wind our way through the back streets of Pushkar, three white folk astride Ramu's camels. Everyone knows Ramu (he's famous after all) and calls after him. The backside of Pushkar is stunning, and we're eye-level with the squat 2 story buildings, looking straight into the home lives of these Pushkaris. No one seems to care. We are striding home, to the barber shop where I hope to have a shave. To the children calling after Ramu, and the bench where we finally dismount, pay the man and move on. To the rest of the world, still praying and burning incense for the fragrance, and tourists for their rupies. Life is good. We walk home avoiding the receding lakes that look more and more like streets, even in the dark. We'll catch our breath, sleep, meet up with Ramu tomorrow.
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