Camels give me the hump

Hello there,

Hope everyone is well.

The final day in Pushkar renewed my faith in all this Puja Hinduism malarkey. Jayne and I wandered around the lake to where it was a little less busy and sat on the steps of the Ghat watching Indian families worship at the lake without too much intrusion from money-grabbing faux-priests (only in India would you commonly get Priest impersonators - can you imagine cockney dodgy geezers slamming around their BMW 3 Series dressed in long black robes and dog collars in the hope that they could pilfer the collection tray).

I watched a lady in her fifties and a younger girl, maybe about twenty, walk down towards the lake. I assumed that the younger girl was her daughter and that they were mourning somebody -perhaps an anniversary of a death - as the older lady was crying and the younger girl put her arm around her. They stood there, a hugging pile of poorly matched saris and poured their flowers into the lake. As they came back up the steps the older lady was crying and smiling, slightly embarassed, wiping tears from her face as if they shouldn't be there, shaking her head with what seemed to be a sense of relief or renewal. It seems to me that for many Indians faith or spirituality is something that really gives them succour and protects them from the harsher aspects of existence.

That night as we lay in bed a great humming rose up from one of the many temples. It sounded like an enraged bees nest but was I presume the sound of many people "omming" (conjugate that verb if you will). Soon the sound of a priest chanting lifted itself above the hum and clackety rhythms of drums and castanets and reverbrating cymbals that accompanies this worship.

The next day was dominated by a camel safari. At 3pm we left our hotel and were taken to an old building that seemed to have once been some sort of stadium. Inside were seven camels. Jayne's camel, who proved to be slightly schizophrenic, was called Baba. My, evidently male camel, was bedecked with beads and ribbons. I wanted to call him Campy but was informed that he had originally being christened quite fittingly as She-Ra. Riding a camel is something of a wobbly affair - the opposite movement to riding a horse. Our camel men were quite entertaining if a little over ready to laugh at the disabled (there was a dwarf in the other group to us). They were also quite openly racist. I pointed out an unusual black camel to my camel guy. Unfortunately this camel was sitting only a few metres away from a black man. Slightly confused my camel guy replied "yes that man is very black isn't he".

Jayne had something of a renegade camel guy who liked to stand up on his camel and jump off Frankie Dettori style. Eventually he let Jayne ride the camel on her own - something she proved quite adept at except when the camel would unpredictably break into a sprint.

We were sad to leave Pushkar - we had made some good friends there and the chef at our hotel, Raju, was excellent. A master of card tricks and Jayne's best friend while I lolled around in bed.
What slightly surprised me was Raju and Bopal's (his young assistant) love of slightly dodgy american teen sitcoms. A love only surpassed by their passion for the Mr Bean film which is apparently shown nearly every week in India. They were also big fans of Takeshi's Castle - but that is quality programming.

So that was Pushkar - next stop Jodhpur - an ancient fort and at last a beer!

James and Jayne

PS Comment on the blog! Go on you know you want to.

PPS If anyone wants to email me my address is mrjamesmurray@hotmail.com. I have had one email since I left - which is pathetic compared to Jayne's million.