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‹ Previous (14/08/2008) LUNA Next (2008-10-13)› ‹ Previous (2009-09-03 - India) TARA Next (2009-09-26 - Iran)› Pakistan Karimabat (see on map) 14/09/2008:
The last days in Lahore I decided together with Alexandra (whom surprisingly was also thrilled with the idea) of going on the motorway of Karakorum, that would separate us from David and Maria, with whom we thought to meet for Christmas in the south of India. On the other hand, this visit at the heights would allow us to avoid the heat and to let us take care of some skin irritations that are provoked by constant heat, sweat and humidity. We start to go towards Islamabad with a certain fear, for it did less 48 hours that the talibans had tried to murder the president of the country, shooting from the road at few kilometres of the capital. Besides, our autocaravan is now much more obvious, although we also expect if we meet some talibans to confuse us with a Pakistani lorry (quite unlikely). In any case, the main danger was a storm of rain and wind of an intensity that we had not witnessed since Cameroon. At night we reached Manshera, after having crossed different villages that formerly had been dominated by Sikhs but at present were occupied by the Pashtuns, an Islamic tribe with a strict code of conduct who occasionally get to radical positions or to talibanism. In Manshera they did not, probably for this reason, let us sleep in a gas station nor in the parking place of a hotel without surveillance and they suggested us to park next to a police control. The day after, with the sun up, we followed the journey towards the north, going straight a road among terraces of rice and of corn crossing 1670 m of altitude, that in spite of the relative little height, we were feeling dizzy and made us stop an hour to take a nap. Following the curved road without haste, we reached mid-afternoon Thakot on the edge of the large river Indus, where we thought to go up on a small road to a small town, but the last rains had caused landslide and the road was temporary cut. So, tired, we have just reached Besham where we slept in the closed parking place of a hostel. The third day of journey it could be said that we entered the real Karakorum highway, going at all times going above the fast Indus river and maintaining the balance in the wall of sheer stony precipices. Little after going out of Besham, the colour of the rock changed from grey to greenish, telling an interesting story initiated about 50 million years ago. 130 million years ago, the Indian continent came off the supercontinent Gondwanaland, travelling adrift about 80 million years until it was startling with the Asian continent, catching in the middle of the collision a group of volcanic islands that had a colour of rock more greenish and full of shining minerals. The highest mountainous massifs of the earth: the Himalaya and the Karakorum, were formed thanks to this collision, which has not been finished, for the Indian subcontinent keeps advancing about 5 annual cm into the Asian continent, provoking the continue growth of its mountains (7 annual millimetres for the K2) and numerous earthquakes (in 1974, thousands of people died in one of the worst earthquakes of the recent times). As the road rose, the vegetation (among this the marihuana growing freely regardless of the asphalt) disappeared and the ground kept turning more sterile, except for small green areas where the earth should be different and was cultivated extensively. Meanwhile Alexandra did not stop of commenting that the inhabitants of the Karakorum lived in the paradise, as in her country, surrounded with mountains and gathered together in small villages. At night we slept in a police fort in Chilas and on the following day, when following the path, we start to be able to observe the big treasures of the Karakorum highway, its high mountains and the petroglifs. From Chilas, in many points close to the Indus river we could see the petroglifs, drawings and inscriptions recorded on big rocks some of which date in the first century, representing Buddhist temples and images of budha. In spite of the altitude of the mountains of the area, the Karakorum was (and is) a natural route that connected China with India and the Middle East, being crossed since the first centuries by commercial caravans that established the origins of the silk route and that extended through the valleys the dominant religions, first the Buddhism and centuries later the Islam, which comprises the whole of the current population. Also as we advanced towards the north East, some of the highest mountains of the Karakorum started to appear in front of our astonished eyes. First, the ninth highest mountain of the earth and said to be the killer mountain, was on our right, Nanga Parbat (8125 m), because during the second world war it killed up to 31 members of 4 different German dispatches. The Majesty of the Nanga Parbat remains magnified by its vertical position, one of the most sharpest elevations of the earth, that in only 27 kilometres is going up 7000 metres (from the river Indus up to the summit). Also the peak Rakaposhi (7788 m), which we started to observe in the north, impressive by its vertical growth, that only in horizontal 16,5km is raising up to 6000 meters ( from the Hunza river up to the summit). But not all the show was pleasurable, since in numerous times, the asphaltic road was corrugated or evident signals of passed rock falls, but these complicated crossings of the road were not the worst thing, because in a given moment we observed a great dust cloud falling from the top of a mountain. We stopped undecided, but immediately advanced us a lorry and so we continued, circulating under the cloud of dust and going out on the other side after little while. So, more convinced we followed the course towards the cascade of dust that kept falling, but we discover horrified that besides dust small rocks bounced on the ceiling of the autocaravan, and scared that no bigger fell, I pressed the accelerator in depth until we went out on the other side of the dust cloud with only a fright as misfortune. Little after this fright, in the afternoon of the fourth day, we arrived to Gilgit, the biggest town of the North of Pakistan, that had to belong to India during the partition of 1947, prevented by a revolt that revoked the decision of the local maharajá. In Gilgit we were two days, the first buying stuff in the bazaar, the following morning visiting a relief of budha sculpted in a stony wall in the west of Gilgit and extending my visa for Pakistan, in the afternoon fixing the protection of the car that vibrated and on the following day changing a tube of the oil of the servo steering, which i had already fixed one time in Lahore but it still dripped. Surprisingly, after two working hours, the service did not want to charge me anything, we were their guests they told us. In the afternoon we went out of Gilgit crossing an insecure suspended bridge, for the main bridge of the Karakorum highway had fallen, and we went towards the north, leaving behind the river Indus that was going to search the waters in the highest summits of the Himalaya and going to the valley of Hunza river, that reserved for us the great snow peak of Rakaposhi and of other mountains more in the north. After passing the night in a parking place of a school, the day after in the morning we arrive to Karimabad, the main touristic attraction of the Karakorum, that has an interesting fort dominating a small town full of trades and hotels in front of the majestic mountain of Ultar II. Karimabad had been the capital of the kingdom of Hunza, that since the fifteenth century had competed bloodily with the neighbour kingdom of Nagyr, due to an unsatisfactory inheritance that the previous king had divided the kingdom between two of his children. Anyway, it seems that the kingdom of Hunza was more victorious, and proof of that is the fort of Altit, more in the north and in reconstruction, and the fort of Baltit that we visited as soon as we arrived Karimabad. A local guide was put in charge of showing us the three levels of the fort, commenting that the Tibetan aesthetics was owed to a wedding in the seventeenth century of a prince with the daughter of the governor of the valley of Baltistan (nearer to the Himalaya), that brought craftsmen to improve the construction. Thanks to these improvements, it surprises the superior plant, with marvelous sights on the valley from pretty balconies and rooms worked with wood. When lowering from the fort, Alexandra wanted to enter each of the small shops that there were in the main street, although the shop assistants opened them especially for her, because we were almost the only tourists. One of these shop assistants explained us that every time there were less tourists, for the unstable situation of Pakistan, but especially since the 11 of September (which year?) The occidentals like to celebrate anniversaries, but end up remembering the day but not the year). Anyway, the tourists should not worry for the possible presence of talibans from Gilgit, for the inhabitants of the valley of the river Hunza are ismaelits Muslims, a sect developed from the shiits created by the disagreement about which son had to succeed the sixth mullah. On the contrary to the Shiits, the ismaïlits have continued with the succession line of mullahs until the present day, up to Aga Kan IV, who lives in Geneva, and is owner of a big fortune, that he destines to different social projects to carry out through the area. The ismaelits have a faith more personal and less established regulations, because of that they are more opened minded (expression used by one of them) and open with the new cultures. And for example they explained to me that the fasting during Ramadan is a personal option and that many eat and drink at home, out of the sight of those that want to fast. Anyway, in spite of the few tourists, we did make friends with two Australians Brendan and Caroline, with which we decided to dine. While we dined they explained us that when they were young (now they were about 50 or 60 years) they travelled for about 10 years, overland and on sea, all the world. And when explaining their memories on India and Pakistan they told us that they were the two only countries of the world that had not changed in the last 30 years, with the same bad smell and dirt, except for the mobile telephones. The day after I made a trip with Brendan, Caroline and some Japanese to the glacier of the Ultar II peak, a good hike through a path that crossed different precipices, Karimabad being at about 2500 meters and the glacier breaks at about 3250 meters. The day after we followed the route of the river to the north, visiting before some pretty mosques exquisitely decorated with wood cut into the village of Ganish, after Karimabad. We slept in Gulmit village where there were numerous apple trees with apples as good as those of Romania (according to Alexandra). So, while Alexandra stole apples (in some cases with licence of the owners), I did another hike up to another village above and the ruins of a castle while I kept crossing with very curious and nice peasants. And finally, I have done today the last excursions. First we have directed with the car a little more up to Passu, where in theory we had to observe a big glacier arriving up to the road, but instead of that we have only seen the broken road. Afterwards I have done a hike from Passu next to a lake under a big glacier that fed a river (in fact, the Karakorum is the part of the earth with more glaciers apart from the polar regions), and later, i walked a little on a suspension bridge on the Hunza river that was horrible to cross over, for there was only a wooden cross street every half a metre, insufficient to prevent the eyes from nailing the look in the turbid waters. Rawalpindi (see on map) 18/09/2008:
We got out of Karimabad late but with haste, for Alexandra had decided to extend her visa in Gilgit, not to remain short of days. We went with time to arrive before two o’clock, the hour that the offices of the police closed, but in accounts of the small road through which we had passed as we went out of Gilgit, we followed through the main road, but after about fifteen kilometres, without any type of indication, we found that the road ran in a fallen bridge. Then we understood why they had diverted us through the small road when going out of Gilgit, and although we renegade this small road, we had to turn about fifteen kilometres behind to take it. And in the same way that the previous time, we had to cross a suspension bridge that frightened a little, because with the heaviness of the auto caravan it became quite deformed. With everything that happened we arrived late and we decided to stay until the following day, while I made use of the afternoon to stick the last adhesives on the autocaravan. The following day we arrived around ten to the offices of the police, but as we feared, they made us turn every hour because the responsible person had not arrived, up to one o’clock, until Alexandra could collect the passport with the extension of visa. We got out already eaten and with desires of doing kilometres towards south, but the unexpected had yet to come. An hour after going out of Gilgit we found a rank of lorries and cars stopped in road, in a point in which the road was cut in a stony precipice. We stopped behind the queue and went out to ask why they were stopped, but nobody present seemed to speak English, so, I continued to curve up to the place from which I could observe the cause of the retention walking about fifty meters through the road: a big rock of about 4 or 5 meters of diameter had broken off from the mountain blocking the road together with many other rocks of considerable measures. When I arrived it should have passed about 20 minutes that the stone had fallen, and already there was a group of men trying to put stones of one aside of two meters of diameter to empty a corridor between the wall and the big rock, but when seeing that they could not move a big stone by these means, they decided to start to pile stones up to create an abrupt path on the big horizontal stone and for the side of the rock large of 4 or 5 meters. After little while a motorcycle passed, afterwards tried it a tractor, getting the towage blocked , but raising its weight among different people it could be unblocked and continue. And in the same way they kept trying it 4x4, that got used to scrape a side with the big rock, and even small cars, which remained hanged on the horizontal rock consequently scraping the basses. An hour and a half later, a big machine came with the intention of demolishing the big rock, but this gained the pulse to the machine and they had to go to warn the Chinese that were working the road more above to come and dynamite it. Meanwhile, the 4x4, cars, tractors, minibuses and small lorries of both sides kept fighting to decide who was blocked first on the rocks and went out afterwards thanks to the brute force of the volunteers. And naturally, between the people that looked above that did not fall more stones, and the rest that strolled from one side to another, the first jams of cars caused by the impatience of the drivers that if they saw a free hole they entered, without thinking that the cars in contrary direction would not have space to pass. And finally, after about two hours and a half, the Chinese arrived with a big drill and the explosives, and as by art of magic, the cars and the people kept being moved away from the surroundings of the rock until they left about 50 meters for one side and the other side deserted, moment that the technicians made use to detonate 3 charges, but these were not sufficient because the machine could not take out the obstinate rock, and the Chinese had to introduce two more explosives in the rock so that this crumbled up considerably. Happy because shortly we would go out of the bottling, I expected the machine to start to put the most manageable rocks of measure aside, but surprisingly the digger was not put in progress. In the darkness, I asked some men who were there smoking what was happning and where were the people, and they told me that the driver of the digger and the rest of the people were eating, the hours of fasting of Ramadan had already finished. So, we had to wait for about fifteen minutes that the digger was started off and another hour ans a half that took to release a lane, moment in which all the engines went on to continue in a fast way with the planned stretch. Was eight and, among horns, we also added ourselves to the parade up to the following village, where we parked in a sort of deposit that had the doors of the courtyard open just for a moment so we could see inside. The day after we woke up early to follow the journey along the waters of the indus river. We did quite a lot of km and only at the end of the afternoon, reaching Besham, we had some small fright, when, in the middle of a storm, on two different occasions, on the asphalt to less than two meters in front us fell stones of the measure of a hand. For luck none fell on our autocaravan and we could reach Beshan without any incident, where we have spent the night. And today also we have done quite many km, reaching almost Islamabad, although in the morning we had about four hours to visit the valley of Alai, where we could not go the first time because of the rain and the fall of the land. The narrow road towards Alai raises a vertical kilometre from Thakot (close to Besham), close at all times to the Indus, of which about 20 kilometres of circuit can be observed from the summit of a cliffs, with marvelous sights on the valley of the river. From the cliff I have done a small walk up the mountain up to enjoy still better sights, but from there I have observed that in a hill a little more down, the show already would be insuperable and I have started to go down the small road. But a boy from above has warned me that the path was dangerous (he only knew how to say the problem word). I have gone up again, but as he did not offer me any alternative and more info I have tried to continue down the small road a bit. But the shouts of "problem, problem" have made me stop again and look behind. Then, making gestures to try to be more understood, he has represented the posture of shooting. Then I have understood and have asked "taliban?" , and the boy, happy to have been made understood has exclaimed: "yes, taliban!, while he indicated me a home down for where it passed the road. And naturally I have turned and decided not making the photo, in exchange for not risking receiving some bullet in the head. 20/09/2008:
Rawalpindi is a city more old, important and bigger than the close Islamabad, even if the latter is more known because it is the new capital of Pakistan, built in the 1960s. Anyway, few monuments of interest remain in Rawalpindi, due to its turbulent history, favoured by its strategic situation. In any case, we did not come to Rawalpindi to visit the city, but to see how they decorated the Pakistani lorries and to write an article that i had asked for on this subject. Anyway, when we arrived to the centre of Rawalpindi they commented us that it was Friday and that all the factories would be closed. So, we went close to the mall for where we walked a while to look for a calm place to park. After two weeks without treading on any big city, we decided to go out to dine, but when going out of the car arout 7 in the afternoon Alexandra became alarmed by the possible explosion of a bomb or the imposition of the state of siege, for together with the noise of some distant siren, the streets were almost totally deserted of cars and people. But when arriving to the restaurant (an American fastfood), this was full to burst and we immediately understood that it was the hour when the fasting is finishing for the Ramadan and people are at home or in the restaurants. And while we dined at a table between happy families for following rigorously their religious tradition, it was the best moment to learn from Alexandra the meaning of the Pakistan word, a name suggested by a student of Cambridge few years before the partition with the meaning: "the land of the spiritually clean and pure". Today, in the morning I have taken a taxi with a nice taxi driver that after asking a good while in different points of the city, has been able to leave me in the place where they fixed and decorated lorries, a wasteland with different shops and crowds of new and broken lorries in the surroundings. I have been a couple of hours strolling through the shops, making photos and exchanging smiles with the owners of lorries and artists that almost did not talk English. Afterwards I have returned to the autocaravan and later we have left to connect to Internet, where I have been looking for information on this incredible phenomenon of the decoration of lorries in Pakistan, which are transformed into real mobile works of art. It is seen, that many drivers of lorries, incapable of being married by the lack of time or insufficient money, invert all their money, love and inspiration for the vehicles. Although this explanation must not be in a complete way true, because a driver of lorry usually pays $5,000 of $3,000 to decorate his lorry, externally and internally. The real history has its roots in the time of the Mughal empire, when many craftsmen had worked painting frescoes in mosques, palaces, homes... but when the times changed, the craftsmen adapted to the new situation, first embellishing wagons pulled by horses, and in 1920 decorating the first buses of the company Kohistan Bus, starting like this the ardour for the highly adorned lorries (and some buses). These trims usually include structural changes of the lorries, as the introduction of a big front protection for head-on collision, standing out up to a meter and with the capacity to sustain different people with the lorry in progress. A cover that is raised oblique on the booth that is used to load extra load or to eventual passengers is usually also installed. But the most spectacular part, is the decoration in itself, which can be worked in wood (if the artists originate from Balochistan or Peshawar), in plastic (Rawalpindi and Islamabad), in reflecting adhesives (everywhere, but especially in Karachi) and even bones of camel (for artists original from the rural areas of Sindh). The lorries also usually have different painted parts, especially the subsequent part, with pretty paints of animals, prophets, artists of cinema, or members of the family; and also calligraphies adoring Allah, or other more personal of the type: "hopeless romantic" or "darling, accompany me to my village." * In the morning we have gone out from Rawalpundi towards Lahore, in order to cross to India next day in the morning. Little later, without knowing, an attack of Alquaeda has destroyed a luxurious hotel in the next city of Islamabad, killing more than 60 people. We have not found out about the attack even after a couple of days, but when knowing it has left us a feeling of bitterness, because we have met people that are so interesting and hospitable in a country that is already falling through the precipice of the radicalism and violence. India Amristar (see on map) 23/09/2008:
The first question that a salesman asked us exactly when crossing the border with India, was "you want beer"?. Evidently we had changed country and also culture. The Islamic prohibitions had finished and these were voluntary or economic, as in our case, but after checking different times the excessive price of a beer, it has not been until today in the afternoon that we have bought one to drink in the night, to the health of this tolerant country. In spite of the almost infinite internal and inter-religious conflicts that the country has suffered, he would say that India, is one of the most tolerant countries of the world, and proof of that is the crowd of religions and believers that show their identity symbols without that preventing them from living pacifically and in community. This religious tolerance remains reflected in Amritsar, at few kilometres of the border of Pakistan, with a hinduist majority that share space with the Sikhs, that consider the city its cultural centre and spiritual. In fact, the city was founded by the third Sikh guru in 1574, a century before the religion Sikh remained clear cut and established with the ninth and last Sikh guru, that perfected the base for the subsequent Sikh nation, dominating a big territory between 1716 up to 1849, when they lost the power in the hands of the British. During this period of power and prosperity in the city of Amristar was built one of the most beautiful temples of India and the most worshiped by the Sikh religion, the golden temple of Armitsar. As all the visitors of a Sikh temple, before entering in the golden temple, one has to take off the shoes, wash the feet and cover the hair (me with an orange handkerchief extracted from a chest at the door). We crossed the doorway of colonialist style and found each other at the top of some stairs in front of a square lake, in the centre of which there was the shining golden temple (covered with 750 kilogrammes of gold). The pilgrims Sikhs walked or rested in meditative state, the women covered with sari and the men wearing elegant turbans that hid the long hair, long beards and knives exalting the warlike past. The men and children were bathing in the waters of the sacred nectar (Amrit Sarovar), while the women bathed in an enclosed space; and the most fervent believers even drank the water, trusting that the force of the faith was more powerful than that of the microbes that they ingested. At all times spiritual music was listened, originating from singers and musicians inside the temple in the middle of the lake, where the faithful ones were crossing the bridge of the gurus and confined themselves hypnotised by the edges or reading in the second plant of the temple. So much fascinated us the mysticism that was breathed, that we returned at night, where we coincide with a great ceremony with the faithful ones listening, reciting and asking for God, for the Sikhs believe in a single God (Islamic influence), despite believing in the reincarnation (hinduist influence). In spite of everything, the Sikhs are not majority in Amritsar, and in fact, despite dominating a big nation during more than one century, their religion was always minor (10% Sikh, 10% Hindu and 80% Muslim). So, after the partition between Pakistan and India, the Muslims abandoned the city and along with Hindus both were converted in the major population, having two interesting temples that also we visited, the temple of Shri Durgiana (with a structure similar to the golden temple) and the temple of Mata, stuffed with statues and paints of different hinduist deities. The Hinduism is the oldest living religion of the world and also the most different, since for lack of only one spiritual leader who unifies all the beliefs and practices, these have kept diversifying in multiple traditions and ways of interpreting the religion, which in any case, some common beginnings keep maintaining. Despite having even 330 million deities (according to the writings), most of the hinduist believe in a single God, called Brahma, which can only demonstrate, be represented or be personified through the three main deities (Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva), which are incarnated in the many other hinduist Deities at the same time. So, according to the tradition, the veneration of any deity is considered the direct veneration of Brahaman, such a philosophy, opposed to the monotheistic religions. Anyway, such a devotion to statues of eccentric or comical forms, does not stop being - under an occidental vision - an infantile or extravagant religion, as it seemed to me when visiting today in the morning the temple of Mata, dedicated to a saint of the twentieth century and famous for procuring the desires for those women that want to remain pregnant. In this case, the women (and all the world that wants to share this religious gimcama) have to go over multiple passages, some of which they go for narrow grottoes or go by on small channels of water, but in general covered with mosaics of mirrors and escorted by different deities to which they make offerings of flowers and money. At noon, after visiting the temple of Mata, we have started to go towards another present religious important centre of India: the Tibetan Buddhism center. And while we avoided the constant dangers of these Asian roads, Alexandra has commented an interesting and a certain reflection: in Pakistan all the drivers want to be the first in the road (including wagons pulled of donkeys, bicycles, rickshaws,…), unlike India all the world circulates calmer but in the central part of the road (including wagons pulled by donkeys, bicycles, rickshaws,…), dangers of accidents occurring at all times that oblige you to use the horn. Mcleod Ganj (see on map) 25/09/2008:
Due to the adjusted budget that we have (because of the economic world crisis a magazine that paid me very well has stopped publishing), in Mcleod Ganj we had an unfortunate conflict, which we could on the other hand have avoided. Also contributed to the conflict was the fact that we got used to travelling so many months in Islamic countries, where rarely they tried to trick us, inviting us many times not to pay the parking places. However, in India we have found ourselves the first attempts to trick us and cheat us and our reaction in reaching Mcleod was on measure. The only parking place that there was at the entry of the village wanted to charge the double for spending the night and we, upset left the car until the night without paying, generating great tensions, with the owner of the parking place trying to deflate the wheels and Alexandra threatening him of breaking all his bones. It was an unfortunate conflict, because we could have parked a hundred meters more down (where we spent the night) and save us of the stress in this paradise of peace. Mcleod Ganj is a paradise of peace, because in spite of the crowd of tourists who visit this town of Dharamsala, in Mcleod Ganj is found the residence of Dalai Lama in exile, and the Buddhist atmosphere of the village invites to the contemplation and calmness of feelings and extreme emotions. The Dalai Lama is known because the spiritual and political figure is representative of Tibet occupied by China, but his history starts before, for the Dalai Lama has kept being reincarnated throughout the centuries, always having the same role and power. The first title of Dalai Lama was given in the sixteenth century, with the third Dalai Lama (the two first went to posthumous entitlement). With the help and monitoring of the Mongolians, the fifth Dalai Lama unified Tibet, but the power of the successive Dalai Lamas, provoked that none of the reincarnations between the eighth and the twelfth (included) survived the adult age, facilitating that its regents (possibly influenced by China) could govern with comfort. Anyway, the thirteenth Dalai Lama survived the crossing to the adult life and in 1912 declared the independence from China, deporting the Chinese and the imperial resident ones. But when the fourteenth Dalai LamaTenzin Gyatso (the present) only had 14 years, China invaded Tibet, being obliged to run away to India ten years later. Due to the current situation, the Dalai LamaTenzin Gyatso commented in a recent interview that maybe he would be the last reincarnation of the Dalai Lama, thinking that the decision of being reincarnated only depends on the Tibetan people, causing a great fury among the Tibetans. In any case, the decision of not being reincarnated can be one of the few options of avoiding that the occupying government of China chooses a similar successor Dalai Lama to its regional interests, in the same way that have already selected successors of important Lamas in the occupied Tibet. To the same day that we arrive, Alexandra met two Romanians, Ramona and Marcel, the last one of which was thinking to remain many years in India with the aim of being illuminated spiritually, for according to him, India is a country where you can find yourself, because you do not need money to live and you can have time to search and to meditate, without the society judging you for your acts, even if you develop your most irrational part. In any case, both had come to Mcleod Ganj to attend some talks of three days of the Dalai Lama, as many other tourists, crowd of monks (men and women, some of they with European physiognomy) that they walked for the village with red tunics and shaved heads, and also some Tibetans given refuge that dressed traditionally, the women with dark dresses covered with an apron of colours. The following day, while Ramona and Marcel attended the talks of the Dalai Lama, we visited a museum that explained the invasion of Tibet, the endurance, the destruction during the Chinese cultural revolution, the tortures and the exile (about 100.000 Tibetans have emigrated after the occupation). A Tibetan wrote in a mural: "we are a discriminated minority in our own country". After saddening for the photos and exposed information, I thought that these occupations and imperialist oppression have kept following one another throughout all the history of the humanity. And it is a pity, to think that just few of these go out to the public light, and that much other oppression continues in the darkness because they are not interesting politically. After the visit at the next museum in the main temple, which we could not access due to the talks, we did a hike, up to a library that contained a pretty museum with sculptures done with butter and mandalas done with sand, wood or thread, going down through a steep path. In another museum of Tibetan medicine, different medicinal plants and different old murals, some of which it described of where the children came, were exposed. Next we went up again the path on foot (the taxis wanted to charge too much for being tourists and preferred going up empty) and we diverted through a small road that surrounded the residence of the Dalai Lama, covered with different pilgrims that recited verses while they passed on the side of the numerous fanions of colours and rocks recorded with prayers, even under some temples that contained many grinders of prayers that the pilgrims made turn like recitation. And today at noon, that Alexandra and Ramona were lost all the morning for the touristic and traditional shops of Mcleod Ganj, we have started to go down the 2000 meters of height where we were found, another time towards the hot plains. Chandigarh (see on map) 28/09/2008:
Chandigarh, a modern city designed in the 1950s, does not seem to be in India, it is too much squared, tidy, clean and green, converting it in a good city to relax yourselt in the middle of a long journey, although we only stopped to visit the famous garden of the Rock and to meet a new friend. The garden of the rock is a marvel of the recycling. In 1958, an inspector of roads started to compile disposal material - broken ceramics, electrical cables, insulating, plastic... - to create an amalgam of fantastic sculptures. Fearing the ridicule, the inspector Nek Chand, established his study in a small hut in the forest, far from the suspicious looks of an embryonic city. Like this the routine of searches of material started during the day and the transformation of these in art under the light of tyres burning during the night. But in 1972, what was unavoidable happened, and the workers who cleaned the forest for the increasing city discovered the secret of Nek Chand, to whom the immediate destruction of its fantastic garden was communicated because he occupied a governmental ground. But the discovery thrilled the city, changing the opinion of the politicians, who finally ended up facilitating a salary and workers to Nek Chand so that he continued extend his surrealist garden. And this we have visited today, going over it among passages covered with recycled materials of every type and supervised by armies of different human, animal or eccentric figures. After the visit to the garden of the rock, we have met at noon a friend that we had gotten in touch through couchsurfing, Manu Kan, a man that had studied in Russia and who showed openly his friendliness for the communism, generating some ideological conflict with Alexandra, who detests the communism because she has suffered of it when small in Romania. In any case, Manu has talked to us about India, a country that has a socialist constitution, although since some years ago it is converting in liberal. The country also stops being secular and, on the contrary to the past, the parties stop being mixed religiously, only the Hindus starting to govern, creating conflicts among religions, which the government makes use of to apply reforms of market. As the recent bombs that have exploded in India, some terrorist attacks that will facilitate liberal reforms, the policies wanted by the government and the ones who – according to Manu - perhaps were behind the attacks. But maybe the things will change because, as he explained us, the workers of a factory in India had recently lynched their manager because he did not listen to their just demands. It is passing the same in all the world (except for the current Latin America) where the real rulers are the managers (CEO) of the big businesses and corporations, which only search own profit and for them does not import the social policies. Inevitably, the world will change and the average class will suffer more, and in the moment in which the American north average class is enough touched, a world revolution, tied up with the ecological problems and lack of raw materials, will take place. In any case, in spite of this possible future world revolution, Manu was not feeling optimistic and only thought about being able to survive, so much him as his daughter. Apart from ideological opinions, Manu also explained that - on the contrary to what I thought - in India there were not too many conflicts between Hindus and Muslims, but between Hindus and Christians, that, with the missions (specially catholic) search the conversion of the Indians and sometimes they rather obtain it in entire rural villages. On the other hand, the best schools in India are Christian, who try to clean the brain of the children to bring them to occidental values. For this reason, and also due to the bad political and economic situation of the country (about 700 million people in India live with less than 1 $ to the day, in a country of a billion of inhabitants), Hindus have started to be more aggressive religiously and nationally, starting to appear fascist or radical Hindus. Finally, I asked about the system of the castes, which are still very important in India, Manú, explaining that 90% of the marriages is among members of the same caste. And even if in many cases it is difficult to classify a person externally, the surname always ends up classifying your family. In the rural areas, the castes also play a strong role at the time of defining the work of a person. On the other hand, another awful tradition for the society is the duty that the fathers of girls are paying for her wedding and future maintenance, reason for which in India many girls (before appearing and even afterwards, including also the rich families) kill themselves or are killed. Manu commented us that he will have to pay a fortune to marry his daughter, although that when the day arrives, of here some years, possibly the proportion will be of 5 boys for every girl. And even if people arrive to these exaggerated proportions, he does not think that the things will change, because if he does not maintain the happy family of the son-in-law, with constant gifts, he would risk his daughter being ill-treated or even murdered. He will choose the best family for the daughter, considering the one that has to pay less money and where his daughter is happier or less ill-treated. On the other hand, even if many youngsters practice sex in the parks and are shown crazily enchanted, the weddings are always decided by the family and few decisions are challenged, because Manú ended up explaining crowd of histories that showed that the breaking of the traditions was paid with death. We would have remained another day enjoying the company of Manu and his stories, but we left with haste Chandigarh with the intention of reaching Delhi late-night and meet with David and Maria the day after. We thought that the roads would be emptier during the night, but was not too like this, because crowd of lorries started to circulate during the night. On the other hand, we also got a little lost when entering the enormous city of Delhi (almost 14 million inhabitants), arriving our planned parking place next to the calm park of Nerhú at 12 in the night. Delhi (see on map) 03/10/2008:
The first day in Delhi, we met with David and Maria, some hours before they took a train with south destination. Again we explained our recent history, the first experiences in India and the attempts at economic deceits, or about quarrelling. We comment on our impressions on India in general, where I as well as Maria and David had been about six or seven years ago. In general we comment that there is less poverty and that maybe India is more developed than Pakistan as for infrastructures. I also commented with David, on the quantity of attractive girls who were through the street, dressing with showy colours and carrying out unimaginable tasks in the previous Islamic countries, as that of driving motorcycles or bicycles. On the other hand, the crowd of women of middle age that dress saris, also surprised us leaving to the overdraft the voluminous and fallen bellies. However, there were not young girls who showed the belly, because it would probably be too daring for the infantile and passionate behaviour of the Indian boys. When saying goodbye to David and Maria we crossed more beggars, many of which were prepared to sleep in the street, and I reflected that in spite of the decrease of the poverty in Delhi, there was a lot more destitute people that in Pakistan, or other Islamic countries, where for religion the charity is obligatory (through organisations or delivering directly to the poor one). Taking into account these previous countries, it would seem that the charity is positive to eliminate the poverty, but according to the dilemma of the Samaritan, when one delivers money or food to the destitute to survive, but at the same time you encourage that he depends on the charity and he does not need to work, preventing him of going out of the vicious circle. That's why I think that it is better to give money to those ONGs that distribute the money better and, apart from feeding the belly; also they feed the brain helping the destitute ones to go out of the poverty. If it does not act like this, the result seems evident in the Muslim areas of India, where the beggars crowd together to receive charity to the faithful ones, or even they are mutilated (or the children) to receive more proportion of the delivered charity. I, personally, in the face of the dilemma of the Samaritan choose not to deliver charity, expecting to collaborate after the journey with some ONG, the same as i did before. In any case, my current cloakroom, is to deliver some coins to the poor people, when I take advantage of them making them a photo. The following day of these reflections and of finding with David and Maria, we started to visit the main points of interest of the city, some of which i had already visited and others not. The main places of interest in Delhi, are religious points of some of the main present religions in India, as a big hinduist temple dedicated to Lakshmi, the Goddess of the welfare; a temple Sikh where some musicians toned mystical music and a big pool where the faithful ones were purified; a modern temple of the faith Bahai, the same universalistic religion that I found in Israel; and different mosques and mausoleums, the most present monuments in Delhi, for the north of India went governed for more than four centuries by Muslims, thanks to successive invasions and massacres (in the case of Delhi different looted and annihilated the population. It is said that Delhi has had throughout its long history different sites up to 8, the first two cities built by Hindu kingdoms and at present disappeared, the five following built during the Muslim domination, and the last city, New Delhi, built during the British domination. Apart from visiting different bazaars the most important points of interest according to Alexandra, we also had time to change the two shock absorbers behind the autocaravan, which had started to lose liquid when completing the African roads. In any case, we will not stay too many days in Delhi, because we do not consider that it is a good city to relax and on the other hand we wanted to visit many different places in India and at the same time, we wanted to coincide for Christmas in the south of India with David and Maria and their parents and to spend together these dear holidays. Unfortunately, in spite of the haste that we had and the itinerary planned in zig-zag, we were conscious that India was unreachable and that we would lose many of its marvels. Agra (see on map) 04/10/2008:
On the way to Agra, where it is found the Taj Mahal, the icon of India, we stopped in Mathura, where the hinduist experts state that Krishna was born, in the year 3228BC (according to the writings and complicated astrological calculations), visiting first the next village of Vrindavan, where it is believed that Krishna grew hidden of the power of its uncle that wanted to kill him. Years later, Krishna killed his uncle, returning the power of the kingdom to his father and converting in an important adviser, big lover and divine hero. The hindu think that Krishna, represented almost always with the blue skin, is a reincarnation of the deity Vishnú, but the veneration that receives Krishna is such, that some hinduist state that Krishna is the same unique God, from which all the other deities have been reincarnated. When entering Vrindavan, we found crowds of posters announcing gurus (old and young) possibly leaders of different religious sects. In fact, the first visited temple, was the pretty temple of the International Society for the Conscience of Krishna, a sect known in west as the Hare Krishna. Inside they received me different faithfuls, many of them European and American and convinced that the recitation of the mantra "Hare Krishna" cleaned them the sins and that veneration of Krishna was the only path towards the enlightment. In any case, this sect would not differ from many other hinduist sects if it was not for the bad publicity that its expansion to west during the hippy period contributed and was seen as a brain washing organisation and due to different scandals of infantile sexual abuse. In any case, even if in Vrindavan and in Mathura there is infinity of hinduist temples, some of them dated with some century of antiquity, Mathura had been an important Buddhist centre, with 20 monasteries and 3000 monks. Since the year 500BC until the middle of the first millennium, the Buddhism was the dominant religion of India, questioning the writings and the system of castes, but, the Hinduism took force again with time, incorporating Budha in its pantheon of deities reincarnated of Vishnu. According to my very personal opinion, it is very strange that a more mystical or more introspective religion as the Buddhism is surpassed by another more primar religion, where the histories of gods (or illuminated) and the superstitions are more important than the individual work (through the meditation) of approach to the perfection. Possibly, the culture (or genetic) of the Indians keeps them attracted to beliefs that exalt their emotional and devout passions; or maybe the Hinduism is a religion that holds the masses more controlled and classified, being more useful for the rulers. 05/10/2008:
After having paid some 4€/person to enter in the fort of Delhi, the Indians only pay 25 cents of euro) and the same price through the marvelous Qutub Minar (a former minaret of 72 meters of height, we decide to try to get inside the Taj Mahal as national Indians, but naturally, at the entry we have not passed as Indians from the south of India (as i tried to explain them) and we have finished paying the entry of 12€/persona (the Indians pay equally 25 cents of euro). In any case, in spite of the expense, the Taj Mahal was an obligatory visit, when being the prettiest and most perfect construction of India and as was present in numerous lists of the 7 marvels of the world. It is said that the Taj Mahal is the most beautiful building built for love. In 1631 the dearest wife of the emperor Shah Jahan died, and such was the sorrow for the death of his third wife that waited for his fourteenth son, that his hair turned grey in a single night. So, with the heart devastated by the lack of his valuable woman, Shah Jahan decided to build the most beautiful ever built mausoleum, which ended thirteen years later. But the fatality of Shah Jahan did not finish here, in 1658, his son then dethroned him and closed him in a palace up to his death, moment in which he returned next to his darling, buried without too many honours under the Taj Mahal. Really we enjoyed ourselves with the visit of the Taj Mahal, walking for its gardens and marveling for the symmetries of the white mausoleum and of its adjacent mosques. Anyway, Alexandra passed some bad moments, for she was using for the first time a very sexy dress that she had bought in Delhi, and the requests of being photographed by Indian boys were multiplied by ten, and followed like this even if the torso with a veil was covered up by Alexandra and even if she answered them with no almost hysterical. At noon, after having visited during some hours the Taj Mahal, we run away of Agra and of all its crooks and of the special prices for tourists, and we started to go towards Rajastan, stopping mid-afternoon in Fatehpur Sikri, the ruins of the capital of the Mugal empire among the years 1571 and 1585, moment in which was neglected for shortage of water (also existing problem in those times). When arriving, we had to escape of different crowds of guides and of different guardians of parking which they wanted us to pay €. up to 6euro. Finally, Alexandra stayed in the car and I raised on foot the hill from the summit of which the ruins of different palaces and former homes were seen, an enclosed space of payment and a big mosque could be observed at the bottom of the free entry. Surprisingly, the big mosque jama Masjid was full of shops offering food and memories, and of Muslims camping in its grounds, for as they explained me, they were celebrating a holiday of a week at the end of Ramadan. Jaipur (see on map) 08/10/2008:
A hundred kilometres before reaching Jaipur another tyre burst behind, in the same circumstances that the wheel burst in Iran, circulating through a new and completely smooth road. Both wheels had been bought in Ethiopia, of the Chinese brand Goodride, and the weight that they probably held was more of which they could. So, it was a good way of buying two new tyres in Jaipur, in theory better than the original and most economic ones. With everything, in spite of this unexpected issue, we had sufficient time to walk through the city and its bazaars and to know its history. For more than 1000 years, Rajastan was dominated by the Rajputs, a group of warlike clans, originally of Hindu religion but some of them converted to the Islam, and with a code of honour similar to the gentlemen of the European medieval period, who preferred fighting among them before confronting common enemies, as it was the central power of the Mugals. In any case, the power of the Rajputs was increased with the decay of the Mugals, moment in which the mahara Jai Singh II decided to build a new city in the plains, leaving the fort of the mountains. The new city, called Jaipur, started to be built in 1727 designed from an old treaty of Hindu architecture, with blocks of rectangular buildings, big avenues and some powerful walls around. Years later, by the power of the Rajputs, momentarily more with the arrival of the British power, which they compromised the independence from its kingdoms. And a good proof of this excellent relation is the city of Jaipur, which changed its physiognomy in 1853, painting all its buildings of pink colour, as showing respect to the visit in the city of the prince of Wales. In any case, the relation with the British provoked the end of the maharajas, for these, instead of governing dedicated themselves to travelling around the world using up big resources and leaving the population of Rajastan with the worst cups of life expectancy and of education of India at the moment of the independence. At present, Jaipur is one of the most touristic cities of India, included in a triangle of gold together with Delhi and Agra, and is not strange of crossing in the street with different tourists who speak Spanish. At the same time, Jaipur is a city with an immense bazaar, occupying almost all the streets of the old city, with large areas dedicated to textiles and craftsmanship for where Alexandra got lost (followed by me) in search of bargains. In any case, even if we would have had dedicated a week going over all the bazaar, Alexandra would not have had sufficient time to satisfy her longings to mix up dresses and cloths. So, today in the afternoon I have obtained to move away from her madness and we have taken the car to visit some places of interest close to the city, as the palace of Jal Mahal, a lake and two castles in the mountains, from one of which a magnificent sight was enjoyed on the city of Jaipur, which extended through a big plain, convincing me of its 3 million inhabitants. Ajmer (see on map) 09/10/2008:
When reaching Ajmer at noon, we started an avenue through a park that was ending with a lake with some nice bordering pavilions of marble under which there were different families resting. From there, directing the look towards the melody of a distant music, we have discovered at about two hundreds metres in the edge of the lake, some stairs (ghats) that went into the lake and a colourful crowd of people that were celebrating some holiday. We have gone there, advancing some group of youngsters that danced the rhythm of drums and were throwing red and pink dust, and have arrived to the ghats where we have introduced ourselves among the festive crowd to contemplate as they threw offerings in the lake and different deities brought down the stairs introducing them in the water and leaving that these gulped them disappearing forever. The atmosphere was happy and mystical, and would be romantic if it were not for the long trail of plastics in the water, under which the gods rested, for the unconscious Indians, which threw the offerings of flowers with the included bags. We have asked to the nice people that did not stop of asking us photos (maybe too many) what they were celebrating, and with little English have managed to explain that they celebrated the holidays of Navratri, dedicated to the deity Durga, that bravely beheaded a terrible demon that threatened the humanity, the kindness prevailing once more on the wickedness. When one of the cards of photos has been finished and I have realised that the other one was in the car, we have returned, and I have went to another scenario, while Alexandra waited for me at home. On the way towards the mosque of Dargah, that contains the tomb of a sufí saint worshiped by hundreds of Muslim pilgrims that come of all India, I have crossed a bazaar where they sold Islamic products. Pulled in the street there were different invalids asking for charity and among these pigs, quite present in India although they are almost never included in the menus of the restaurants (perhaps they have them only as an insult to the Muslims). After letting the bag in a ticket window, pass for a detector of metal and got registered, I have entered the big mausoleum mosque, where the festive atmosphere was very different to that of the tidy mausoleums of Iran. The marble was dirty, there were strings of colours hanged from doors and windows, and in the ground there were remains of burned incense and flowers of offerings, which were sold in different shops. The women dressing colorful and the men with the covered head folded, walked or listened to a group that sang to the rhythm of a drum and a small organ. Entering for a small door, I have been in the crowded mausoleum where tens of pilgrims entered offerings flowers. The flowers that were thrown out on the tomb and fell on the ground to be crushed by hundreds of feet were so many that for the first time on many days I have felt a smell (I do normally not smell anything), of roses. When going out from the mosque I have found another surprise. The entry was much more guarded of policemen than when I have entered and in front there were different carriages pulled by cows or horses loading boys disguised of Hindu gods or mythological characters. The carriages were surrounded by different bands of music with a very strident organ connected in some powerful loudspeakers that made rattle the foundations of the mosque. Seemed exactly a provocation, in spite of that well studied, because for about ten seconds, the music has stopped so that the song of the muezzin of the mosque could be listened to, for afterwards to continue with force. The procession has been started off, and I, also observing in front of the carriages, dances with swords that a demon with black face and tongue took in part hanging a collar of cut heads. When arriving to the autocaravan, we have started off towards the next town of Pushkar, stopping on the way another time in the ghats, where I have lowered to make other photos to the happy youngsters that led to bathe its gods. Naturally, in the end I have remained completely covered of red dust (including the camera), when in an attack of hysteria a crowd of boys has surrounded me throwing me the paint until I have screamed hysterical "stop!." Bikaner (see on map) 12/10/2008:
Alexandra kept walking alone through the bazaar of Pushkar passing as Iranian in order to obtain the best prices, exclaiming "in Iran this product is more economic and it comes from India". Meanwhile, I dedicated the morning to discover the ghats of Pushkar that surrounded a small lake, where some priests appeared reticent to let me walk while i observed how the faithful ones threw offerings and they bathed and purified, men as well as women. However, other priests were shown more receptive to the tourists, inviting them to do offerings while they made you to repeat a mantra that i ended up saying "I will deliver to the priest 3 $ for my happiness and to that of the entire world". I, had naturally warned him that i did not have money to deliver and as he demanded from me something, I told him that i deliver many good wishes for him. Also although there were other calmer priests and who did not look for any direct bonus, as the one that explained to me the history of Pushkar, name that means "from a flower". The legend explains that Pushkar and its sacred lake were created from a flower of lotus that Brahma (the creative god of the universe) let fall. After the creation of the lake, Brahma decided to dedicate five days of penitence to accumulate good Karma, but on the contrary to the tradition, his woman Savitri (deity of the learning) did not want to attend, Brahma choosing to marry another woman during her absence. Understandably annoyed, Savitri cursed him so that Brahma was not adored in any other place separately from Pushkar, motif for which Pushkar is one of the few places of the world where there is a temple dedicated to Brahma. In any case, because of the absence of Savitri, Brahma also cursed her so that her temple in the summit of a hill did not have access to the sacred water of the lake. This way, in order to be able to be adored, every day a priest raises water originaly from the lake. In any case, continuing with the legend, after these five days of penitence, Brahma accumulated sufficient good karma to be able to create the universe, thanks to which we owe our existence. After visiting the temple of Brahma, I met Alexandra that loaded a bag full of dresses and blouses each bought with less than 50 cents of euro, and we started to do path towards Bikaner. Half the road we lost more time in some village trying to buy some gas cylinders, for it did not seem that in India i could recharge mine bought in South Africa. But the price that they offered me for a bottle of butane was exaggerated, and annoyed by the continuous attempts to be tricked we left without buying the cylinder, starting to project the turning off of the fridge to have sufficient gas to keep cooking. In any case, the day after in the morning we left the problem of the gas on the side and we stopped at the temple Karni Mata, known as the temple of the rats. Naturally Alexandra stayed in the car and I directed myself to the temple, which had evident signs of some recent Hindu celebration, with different shutdowns around that were being dismantled and tons of grain accumulated in the entries. On the other hand, in the interior, the rats seemed dead of so much holiday and did not react to the pilgrims that still arrived and threw them sugar lumps or biscuits. In fact, most of the rats were hiding in the numerous holes that there were in the walls, in some holes there were 5 or 6 rats sleeping with the heads inside and the bodies outside. Probably because of that, some of the rats that there were strolling through the temple were the ones most unfortunate, with the emaciated bodies or with the eaten eyes. These rats, together with the shit extended through the ground (for where it had to be walked barefoot), were not a very nice show, even if the legend of the temple had its interest. In the 14th century, Karni Mata, an incarnation of the deity Durga asked Yama, the deity of the death, to restore the life of the son of a helpless story-teller. But Yama refused and annoyed by Karni Mata, reincarnated all the dead story-tellers in, in order to deprive Yama of the human souls (poor life that of the story-tellers). After returning to the car and of cleaning well my feet, we finish the few kilometres up to Bikaner, where we repeated the attempt to buy a cylinder of butane. They directed us to an address, but to arrive we had to ask multiple times, many of which orientating us in wrong direction (this behaviour I also observed it among Indians, prefer answering anything before saying I do not know ). In any case, we in the end arrived to a distributor of gas that did not want to sell a cylinder and he wanted to sell me another one smaller to a still more excessive price. Irritated, I said that with these attempts to trick the tourists they were accumulating very bad karma, or that in Iran or Pakistan people were better than in India because there they had never tricked us (that last seemed to bother them more). Already annoyed we returned to the main street, although I decided to do a last trial when observing a lorry where they loaded cylinders of butane. There they offered me a more reasonable price for a cylinder, but, I had at the same time the luck of a man, who for the first time in India seemed ready to help us uninterestedly and to find a solution to our problem. Binod (like this was called the man) commented me that we would manage to recharge one cylinder, so, I took one and put in on his motorcycle to go to a point of refill, afterwards to another with the autocaravan, and finally another where finally we could recharge the blue cylinders of campingaz for which I got a fair price. Really Binod behaved marvelously, finishing rounding its kindness off inviting us to tea and biscuits in his home, where there was his woman and two children. There, Binod asked us if we had gotten married for love and we answered that yes, but they commented that their marriage was fixed, as all in India, although at present they are in love a lot. In similar words another woman in India had expressed herself, explaining to us that in her country, you first get married, you get disappointed afterwards of your new couple, and you finally start to feel love. I commented that in Europe, you first start to feel love, afterwards get married , finally you get disappointed ; the woman laughed and exclaimed "for sure" while she extended the hand. With all the time wasted searching for gas, only yesterday we had time to visit the magnificent palace of Junagarh, where we discovered the opulence with which the maharajàs lived. At night we camped next to Devi Kund, the pretty cemetery of small domes and mausoleums where the family of the old Maharajàs is still buried. And today in the morning we have finish to visit Bikaner going through the old town with a rickshaw up to the splendid Jain temple Bhandasar. The temple of Bhandasar is very simple outside, however, its interior is exquisitely decorated with paints and some sculptures. A very nice monk explained us that the jainists think that the beauty is in the interior of the beings and not in the exterior, being represented in the same way in the temples. On the other hand, the man also explained that when the temple was built in the fifteenth century, they used 40.000 kg of butter in the foundations (strange and incredible, but true) during the summer even it greases and dirties the ground and provokes that the temperatures in the temple are unbearable (was not too good idea about using the butter). After being a good while connected to Internet, to average we have started to go late towards Jaisalmer. When darkening, we have camped - for the first time in India - without asking in a wasteland place and uninhabited, similar to an arid savannah. But about 10 in the night, when i had just edited photos, a motorcycle has approached. Warned we have turned the computers off and I have opened the window asking who they were. But the man and the boy of the motorcycle did not speak anything of English and with brusque and aggressive gestures they required that i went out from the car. Besides, when I have asked them exalted if they were from the police, they have started to call towards other voices that seemed to approach. Meanwhile, i had already started off the engine of the car and illuminated them with the lights, annoying them even more, for they were in front of the car preventing me from crossing. But I did not want to remain not to know the plot nor the outcome of this possible nightmare, and have thrown the car ahead with intention of knocking the motorcycle down and the man if they did not move away. But they went on the side and immediately after have i tightened the accelerator in depth, jumping the sand, plants and rocks until i arrived to the asphalted road, where we have lost of sight the motorcycle that had been following us some moments. We have driven some kilometres with the things jumping inside the autocaravan. Afterwards we have stopped some seconds to dress and to order the not fixed objects of the autocaravan and continued about thirty kilometres, stopped in a gas station, where we have spent the rest of the night; sleeping while we listened in dreams to the proofs of fire that the Indian army made near the border with Pakistan. ‹ Previous (14/08/2008) LUNA Next (2008-10-13)› ‹ Previous (2009-09-03 - India) TARA Next (2009-09-26 - Iran)› |
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