Khuri to Jodhpur: Seven peppers, one lemon and a massage

Indians tend to be hippies, not in the pachatolie using, free-loading, Widespread Panic following way, but in their even-keeled, optimistic approach to life. In fact, I am pretty sure hippies stole their best ideas from India: flowing floral skirts, 5-day music festivals and the willingness to let it be. Any request, however big or small, is answered with “not a problem” or “everything is possible”, never an American “we’ll see” or “hell no”. Indians find luck in everyday existence, not just in rabbit’s feet, leprechauns, and beating the house at Caesar’s Palace. It’s luck when a rat runs across the floor, you sneeze, you walk counterclockwise around a temple, you step in crap, or if you get married according to your zodiac. Doors to houses are adorned with lucky images of Ganesh, swastikas (ancient Hindi symbols that Nazis epically misappropriated), and, my favorite, seven chili peppers and one lemon threaded together in the door jam to protect the household.

It was hard not to feel lucky when we left Khuri and made a quick stop back in Jaisalmer, our favorite city. We stayed just long enough to offend a silver dealer by refusing to buy his lovely but pricey jewelry and get an ayurvedic massage, an Indian phenomenon where you get treated with special oils from head to toe, even in your hair. For time saving reasons, we were excited the massage parlor could take us all at the same time. We were a little less jazzed to find we would all be in the same room. We got over it, after all, we’re all friends here and for this cheap of a deal, I would probably agree to use the counter at McDonalds as a massage bed. We left Jaisalmer for the final time, relaxed and hydrated but with enough oil in our hair to fry a blooming onion.

We headed to Jodhpur, the “Blue City” and namesake of the MC Hammer looking riding pants. The trip took forever, but Phool Sing, our driver/guide/new BFF, gave us a break by stopping at a tea stand where we were entertained by a 11 year old boy who could sing like and angel and a holy man who asked for American coins so he could make a ring. Erin gave him a penny and I gave him a quarter, wondering if he had really thought through his plan to sport George and Abe themed bling, but happy to honor his request. India has Louisiana like open container laws, so we stopped for roadies at Phool's suggestion, getting beers in thug-sized bottles to spice up the last few miles of the trip. We kept the party going when we got to our hotel and took our (still greasy) selves up to the gorgeous rooftop restaurant for cocktails and floral soap flavored hookah. Three hours later we had solved most of the world’s problems and wandered to our room. Tomorrow we head to Udaipur, one of Rajasthan’s most beautiful cities. Lucky us.

Jaisalmer to Khuri: Must love camels.

The “Golden City” of Jaisalmer was quite the hot spot on the trade route years ago and evidence of the city’s former wealth is visible in the intricate architecture of the havelis (merchant houses) and a fort that makes the one in Bikaner look like Smurfette’s mushroom house. About 100 km from the Pakistan border, Jailsamer is known for its silver jewelry, beaded and mirrored textiles, and Jain temples. Unfortunately, the fort is sinking like Venice, due to the 5,000 folks inhabiting the fort every day crammed into the many hotels, shops and restaurants.

Our tour guide was Bhagwan Singh, an educated, well-traveled gentleman, as proud of his hometown as Duke fans are of Coach K. He was kind and helpful but had the mannerism of a drill sergeant when it came to pointing out the sights, giving us little swats when we weren’t paying attention and unabashedly using the locals as exhibits to his lessons. His tour went a little like this.

Pay attention!...look at the beautiful architecture…you only see in Jaisalmer!.....please watch the cow dung…walk left!...see her? Muslim! Beaded top and dark sari….probably poor …..Hindi women wear bright saris…that beautifully made only in Jaisalmer!...careful for scooter...The man that built haveli is very wealthy. Opium trader! Illegal now….now only tea…Pakistan not a problem anymore; we have a fence….it’s electric...there is a military base here just in case…..She is married, see all her bangles? She wears every day. Then she will burn them with her husband. Probably soon, she is old….pink turbans only for merchants...khaki turbans for carpenters…I said khaki! Not green!...careful for the Pig!

After our tour we stopped at a co-op textile shop, where we stocked up on pillows and coverlets like we were planning to open a Pier One at our next hotel. We then headed west to Khuri, with loads of architectural knowledge, very few rupees, and 13 beaded pillows en route to DC via India Post.

In Khuri we took a much-anticipated camel safari out to the Thar Desert. Each of us shared a camel with a guide, who sat behind us in the saddle and used clicks and kicks to steer. My camel, Sia, was lovely and sweet; my guide Raji was flirtatious and wasted. The views were spectacular- antelope herds running across silky sand dunes, women in colorful saris carrying baskets on their heads, and quaint villages dotting the skyline. We played catch with charming kids who resourcefully hustled us out of hair pins when they figured out we left our wallets at home. It would have been perfect if Raji weren’t holding on to my hair like reins, reeking of booze, and singing off key. We stopped at 5:30 to watch the sunset and while we waited for the red ball to drop we ran through the dunes doing cartwheels, handstands and jumps, at Kristen’s direction, lady-like and poised as always. Raji watched us flip around, drinking from Kristen’s water bottle, with my pashmina wrapped around his shoulders, occasionally using the edge of it to wipe his mustache. Awesome.

After the ride, we returned to Khuri to stay in our hut, equipped with a dirt floor and a thatched roof and little cots that a prison probably rejected because they were too uncomfortable. The lack of creature comforts was overshadowed by the fantastic food, pretty courtyard and the memory of a desert sunset that looked like the cover of a National Geographic magazine. Even Raji ultimately redeemed himself by bonding with me over our shared love of dogs as we returned to camp. He revealed that it was his adorable pup Lepu, that had been following us during our trek, cutely chasing down an antelope, and snuggling with Sia the camel at sunset.

“Are you married?” he asked.

“Yes,” I lied for convenience’s sake.

“Too bad,” he replied, “I love dogs. And camels.”

Me too Raji, me too.