Exploring Remote India From the Back of a Camel

In the parched landscape of India's western edge, a sandstone fort rises over the desert like a mirage. This massive structure marks the ancient city of Jaisalmer, the last major outpost before a tangle of barbed wire and military vehicles delineates the India-Pakistan border.

The border is invisible from Jaisalmer, and from certain angles the city seems untouched by time, suspended in the heat and dust of India's great Thar Desert.

Men in turbans walk through narrow streets of hand-hewn stone. Women in brilliantly colored saris sweep their stoops with twig brooms. Cows wander freely through the fort, where no cars are allowed.

In the 12th century, Jaisalmer was at the hub of caravan routes connecting India with Egypt, Arabia, and Central Asia. Now, it serves as a gateway to the Thar Desert for explorers setting out by camel or jeep.

I traveled here in search of a camel trek adventure. I thought it would be a good introduction to Rajasthan, an Indian state famed for its ancient palaces, temples, and tribal cultures.

Arriving by plane late one January afternoon, I set out to find other travelers interested in a 4- or 5-day trek. By the next morning, my guesthouse manager had found a travel companion for me. Within an hour, I was walking through the cobblestone alleys of the 850-year-old fort with a Dutchman named Cris. At the edge of town we met our guide, Patan Amardin, and his two camels.

Lunch at a desert oasis

As I climbed onto nine-year-old Raja, he lurched upward, unfolding his long legs and hoisting me high. I held the reins gently, since they were attached to goat horns that pierced his nostrils. We headed northwest out of town through desert scrub brush, watching the ancient fort grow smaller until it disappeared.

Our first stop was a small oasis where Patan unloaded and hobbled the camels. He built a small fire, then collected water for cooking from the same lake where livestock came to drink every day. Seeing green slime drifting through the water, I volunteered to filter it through my pump. I needn't have worried - all our food was boiled or baked thoroughly throughout the trip.

We continued northwest that afternoon, passing the crumbling sandstone walls of an abandoned village. Folklore holds that several hundred years ago, the reigning maharajah wanted to break caste rules and marry a beautiful Hindu Brahman in this village. Rather than give her up, the entire village and 80 neighboring communities fled into what is now Pakistan.

Over the next few days, we passed through several more abandoned settlements. I wondered if it was the maharajah or the harsh environment that had driven residents to retreat.

Tribal farmers swept by occasionally in brilliant orange turbans - one on a sleek brown horse, looking for lost camels, another striding by with a sword. Scattered huts of thatched adobe and stone housed families that eke out a living by herding livestock or sharecropping on small farms.

Patan walked through the desert in plastic sandals, leading my camel, telling me about his life. At 20, he had never been to school or traveled beyond Jaisalmer's surrounding villages. He said the Muslims in his community must pay a large sum (equivalent to $1,000 to $1,500) to the family of a young woman in order to marry her.

The only way around this is by trade - two men in different families can switch sisters. Since Patan's family is extremely poor and his sisters are spoken for, he probably will never marry. "Not possible," he says with a smile.

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