4 friends discover a piece of North India (page 3 of 8)

Day 15 / Stay in Salawas village, continued

The tourista has claimed a new victim. Kate is feeling really rough this morning and prefers to stay in bed. So the three of us set off in the jeep, without our photographer, to visit "Bishnoi country." Chotaram explains that the Bishnoi are a religious community founded in the 15th century, whose beliefs are based on absolute respect for all forms of life, including plants. They’re the only Hindus who bury their dead instead of cremating them, to avoid using living trees for the fire. Spread across a few villages, they live mainly from subsistence farming and livestock. The women wear bright colors—orange or red—while the men dress in white. We’re not visiting a proper village, but we do come across a shepherd with his flock of goats around a watering hole. A little further on, a large group of women forms a huge splash of color against the light-gray ground. What are they doing? Chotaram doesn’t say, but he asks us to be very discreet when taking photos. The little safari continues. We spot gazelles of different species several times—they’re considered sacred animals here. It’s a lovely morning, this jeep ride with the gentle wind whipping our faces, especially when Chotaram, like a kid, floors it on some stretches of the track. Still, I’d have liked to see more, to learn more about this unusual Bishnoi community. But I tell myself that observing them from a distance is probably more authentic than visiting some touristy village set up for visitors.



On the way back, Chotaram seems absorbed by a video he keeps rewatching on his phone. He notices my curiosity and shows it to me. It’s a fight that broke out yesterday in the village between a group of Muslims from outside and the locals. "Why?" I ask. He explains that the inauguration of the Rama temple has upset Muslims because the religious building was constructed on the site of a 15th-century mosque destroyed during interreligious clashes in 1992. My English isn’t good enough to dig deeper, but I later learned that Prime Minister Narendra Modi was behind the temple’s construction—he who claims that "to be Indian is to be Hindu."



In the afternoon, since Kate still isn’t feeling better, the three of us head down to the village center. People look at us with curiosity but smile, and the kids shake our hands. "Hello! Ram-Ram! Selfie, selfie?" We’re real stars! The central square is lively and colorful, decked out with saffron flags in honor of the god Rama. A group of men gathers around a truck blasting deafening music from its sound system, then leaves almost as quickly as it arrived. Honestly, I don’t understand how popular festivals are organized in India. The three of us are desperately searching for a place to get a "chai" when Bruno spots a shop that looks like a café. We head over. We push aside black curtains to enter, and the blaring music assaults our ears. Are we in a nightclub? But as soon as he sees us, the young man at the entrance turns off the sound and greets us warmly. The atmosphere changes completely. The place seems pretty out of place in this small village—it’s exactly what we’d call a bar. Armchairs, low tables, a counter, posters on the walls. When it’s time to pay, the server brings us the bill with a little smiling emoji and a phrase written in French: "merci beaucoup pour votre visite." We appreciate the thoughtful gesture and chat with him about his establishment, the ongoing festival, and the presence of tourists in the village.

End of the day. I go with Bruno, who wants to smoke a cigarette, and we sit on a low wall in front of the guesthouse. A girl of about ten and her little sister come up to us. With a few words of English, she tries to start a conversation. "From where?" Bruno shows her photos on his phone—his dog, his house. Then he gets it into his head to give her a geography lesson so she can locate France in relation to India. She seems only moderately interested, all while repeating the same word: "Candy, Candy." We don’t understand what she wants. I check Google Translate. Sweets, candy, of course! "Ah, okay, but not today, tomorrow, tomorrow." "No, just here!" She points to a little stall right next to the house. "Okay, come!" Big mistake. Suddenly, a swarm of kids appears out of nowhere, some with their parents, rushing to the front of the shop. We’re literally surrounded, overwhelmed. It’s chaotic, like a schoolyard at recess. And 300 rupees’ worth of candy later. That’s a lot. Or is it? I stop Bruno—your geography lessons.

Chottaram’s grandparents:





Tomorrow morning, we’re off to Jaisalmer.

Hi Kate, hi Richard, and hello everyone. I’m reading this travel journal with great interest, but for now, I’m too overwhelmed to write everything I’d like to share with you. I’ll do it as soon as I can. Promise!

Back to Bundi... chaos at full blast, firecrackers everywhere, an infernal noise from 5 AM to 11 PM, even later some nights. I lost it

What did that lead to? Tell us a bit, please. That kind of experience is interesting too, isn’t it?

This travel journal really interests me, especially since I’m currently in Rajasthan myself—Nawalgarh, Roopangarh, Ajmer, Jaipur, Jodhpur...—through the photos I’m posting on YouPic. So distant memories are coming back, but reading this journal, I see that many things still endure up there...

Hi Jean-Marie,

I’m back to Bundi... chaos at full blast, firecrackers of all kinds, an infernal noise from 5 AM to 11 PM, even later some nights. I lost it

What did that look like? Tell us a bit, please. That kind of experience is interesting too, isn’t it?

We talked about the festival at the start of the Bundi post. But maybe you’re asking what happens when I lose it

So there we were on the terrace of our guesthouse, and the neighbors were plugging in their stereo systems on their own terraces. Music blasting from all sides, all different tracks. Not soft Indian music! No, some kind of techno cacophony punctuated by firecrackers that made us jump. And this went on until late at night while we were coming up with techniques to fall asleep. Richard told me: "You’ve got to tune into the noise" 😕 And it started again early the next morning! It lasted 2 out of the 3 days in Bundi.

Between Bruno’s dental appointment reminders and Richard explaining what “integrating the noise” means, we’re not bored here 😄

This travel journal is incredibly pleasant to read because it’s free of the flaws we often encounter in this kind of writing. Indeed, everyone’s style flows smoothly—there’s both simplicity and rich vocabulary, details without beating around the bush. You’ve definitely nailed the right tone. Personally, I loved your choices, your rejections, your doubts, your mistakes, your exasperation, and your successes. With you, we realize that nothing beats honesty, modesty, simplicity, and expressing your happiness when it happens. Whenever you’re ready, go for round two!

it started again at dawn! It lasted 2 days out of the 3

I would’ve bolted....🏴‍☠️

India is an extremely noisy country, and quiet is a luxury there! Just like solitude.🤪

I’m replying on behalf of Richard (but he’s the one writing) because he’s: "reached the maximum number of messages that can be posted in 24 hours. We invite you to post your next messages in 24 hours."

Personally, I loved your choices, your rejections, your doubts, your mistakes, your exasperation, your successes. With you, we realize that nothing beats honesty, modesty, simplicity, and showing your contentment when it’s warranted.

Thanks 😉 I tried to put into words the fresh perspective—sometimes a little naive but without prejudice—of a group of friends who aren’t used to big trips (except for Kate) and discovering a country with cultural codes completely different from ours. Richard.

Day 3. Delhi – Agra

I’m thinking about that life shattered for lack of access to healthcare. Anger rises in me against the "anti-vaxxers" back home...

I think that recently, back home, people weren’t actually opposing a real vaccine. A vaccine is a product that prevents you from developing a disease.

I regret having seen a German report on Arte about two years ago about all those young people who suffered severe side effects after the vaccine. Just a selected excerpt: "Pascal hopes to get an appointment with Professor Bernhard Schieffer at the University Hospital of Marburg (Hesse region, Germany), who heads the post-vaccination care unit. But he’s on a waiting list with 6,500 people suffering from post-vaccination syndromes."

To be clear, these are young people in their twenties who are completely disabled because of the vaccine, to the point that they’ll never be able to work again.

Digging deeper, you learn some eye-opening things.

From the very start of the vaccination campaign (2020 or 2021), I saw with my own eyes this clip of a meeting organized by a U.S. senator where vaccine victims were speaking. I’ll never forget the tears of that forty-year-old woman overwhelmed by serious health issues immediately after vaccination—she, too, would never be able to work again. Next to her, an 18- or 20-year-old girl in the same situation, now confined to a wheelchair for life.

I think that recently here, people weren’t opposing a real vaccine. A vaccine is a product that prevents you from developing a disease.

This is a complicated discussion (one we could possibly have in private). But I wasn’t directly referring to the COVID vaccine. I was thinking more about those real anti-vaccination groups that oppose all forms of vaccination. When I was young, like many others, I knew friends who had polio—we even called them "the polios." There aren’t any anymore, at least I don’t think so. Smallpox has disappeared from the face of the earth. That’s what I was thinking when I saw this young man struggling painfully along the station platform. Richard

And I also think that a lot of Indians wouldn’t even ask themselves these kinds of questions if they’d had the choice for even 18 seconds… No matter what type of vaccine…

I’m replying on behalf of Richard (but he’s the one writing) because he: “has reached the message limit that can be posted in 24 hours. We invite you to post your next messages in 24 hours.”

Does this mean there’s a “daily message quota”? Guess I’ll have to chill 😅

Does this mean there’s a “daily message quota”?

It’s because Richard just signed up.

You're right, Kate—some people do take it a bit too far. But they’re not entirely wrong either, because even with every flu vaccination campaign, there’s a spike in deaths. Just like with medications, the product isn’t harmless.

I haven’t been to India, partly because of the dirt and noise. You should know it’s not that rare for some travelers to come back with pretty unusual and persistent illnesses. That said, I *love* discovering this country through travel journals, and this one will definitely stand out—maybe because of the combined talents behind it.

We talked about the festival at the beginning of the post about Bundi. But maybe you're asking what it's like when I lose it 😉

While we were on the terrace of our guesthouse, the neighbors were plugging in their stereo systems on their own terraces. Music blasting from all sides with different tracks. Not the soft Indian music you’d expect! No, some kind of techno cacophony punctuated by firecrackers that made us jump. And this went on until late at night while we were brainstorming techniques to fall asleep. Richard told me: "You’ve got to embrace the noise" 😕 And it started again early in the morning! It lasted 2 out of the 3 days in Bundi.

Yeah, I did ask what it’s like when you lose it... But I get that you don’t want to share that, and I respect your choice.

Hello everyone,

Chandni Chowk! When I read this post and see the photos, I think to myself that the general atmosphere hasn’t changed in decades—or even longer. Personally, I’ve never been there. I’ve always skipped Delhi. I’ve only passed through to catch a bus, a train, or a plane...

But I’ve always been intimidated by big cities, especially the most populated ones in India. Fear of getting lost, concerns about pollution... I’m still waiting for the right opportunity to go with a French or Indian friend...

That said, I know Chandni Chowk through the Indian literature I’ve read a lot of. I’m talking about contemporary authors. I just finished "The Peacock Throne"—which I highly recommend—and Richard’s description, though brief, perfectly captures the overall vibe of the place. I emphasize "overall vibe" because so much has changed in India—not necessarily for the better—over the past 16 years that I’ve been slowly exploring the subcontinent in every direction.

I hated the Taj Mahal. Hated it? No. It left me cold—that’s fitting—like everything that’s overblown. The love story behind its construction—so stubborn and unshakable—has always made me laugh, even outraged me when it was really just a display of power and megalomania. So many deaths for this monument! Starting with its architect, murdered to ensure he’d never recreate anything like it anywhere else.

On the other hand, I loved the Red Fort and the mausoleum of I'timad-ud-Daulah, also called the Baby Taj by Westerners. Built for her father by Nur Jahan, the wife of Jahangir (father of the famous Shah Jahan, who commissioned the Taj Mahal), I adored its simplicity, its delicacy, and its refinement.

What a woman, Nur Jahan! Ambitious and scheming, she even ended up ruling the empire in place of her husband, who was consumed by alcohol and drugs.

I spent several days in Agra, and what I particularly enjoyed was the old, non-touristy part of the city—loud, chaotic, and full of life—the Jama Masjid...

Yes, I did take the liberty of asking what happens when you lose your temper... But I understand you don’t want to share that, and I respect your choice.

Oh, nothing special! Just a bad mood, wanting to leave, to isolate myself… I just asked Richard, and he answered: “a pain” But it doesn’t last long. I’m way more tolerant when traveling than at home!

😉😉😉

J.16 / 17 / 18. Jaisalmer. The Thar Desert

Another long journey to reach Jaisalmer from Jodhpur. This is our last trip with Ajay since we’ll then fly to Delhi. As we enter the city, we drive alongside an endless line of military buildings. While Jaisalmer is the gateway to the Thar Desert, it’s also a strategic outpost less than 100 km from Pakistan.

Ajay drops us off in the lower town at the foot of the fortress, where a tuk-tuk from the hotel is waiting. It’s time to say goodbye. We settle the bill—everything’s fine. Thanks, handshakes, and I risk a slightly more intimate gesture by putting my arm around his shoulder. We got along well with Ajay, and his careful driving really reassured us. Quite reserved at the start of the trip, he became much more relaxed later on, though the language barrier still kept us from deepening our connection.

Our accommodation in Jaisalmer—Diamond Guest House—is inside the fortress, in the upper town, a bit like Carcassonne, which French travel guides often compare it to. “The Carcassonne of the desert!” 😉 But in hindsight, I should probably hold back a little—I learned after returning that a twinning project between the two cities was under consideration.



View from our accommodation’s window:



All four of us really liked the city. The golden stone fortress towering over the hinterland, the narrow streets of the upper town—quite tidy, lined with tourist shops but free from traffic. The lower town, more typical of India, with its usual hustle and bustle, but buzzing with daily life, and we enjoyed wandering through it.







By the end of the trip, we’re less obsessed with sightseeing. We limit ourselves to two places: the Jain temple Chandraprabhu and the Patwah-ki-Haveli. The Chandraprabhu temple, tucked away in a small street in the heart of the fortress, is stunning, but to be honest, our visit was spoiled by the constant solicitations from the priests in the sanctuary. One of them hands Nathalie and me a small lamp to perform a blessing ritual with us. We place an offering of 100 rupees on a small tray. “Five hundred,” the priest grumbles, giving us a dark look that Nathalie quickly returns. We turn on our heels. Inside, I’m angry—this man of the gods disrespected us. The rest of the visit turns into a game of cat and mouse between the brahmins and us. Hard to get swept up in the spirituality of the place under those conditions.





On our way down to the lower town to visit the haveli, several shoeshiners call out to me. “Shoes?” I politely refuse each time. To me, this little job symbolizes class humiliation. But a young boy, more persistent than the others with a gentle gaze, finally convinces me—plus, my shoes are really filthy... We sit down. I feel a little awkward. « What’s your name? Krishna. Great name! » He smiles. He looks at my worn-out shoes and starts stitching the tips back together, then polishes them with precise, vigorous movements. “Difficult job? Yes, but it depends on the tourists.” Once he’s finished, he tells me his price: One thousand and five hundred. It’s obviously an inflated rate, but he says it without malice, just trying his luck, I think. Still, I give him a generous amount. He smiles and thanks me warmly, hugging me. We often lose sight of the value of money in India. But with that sum, he can have at least five meals. And besides, I barely recognize my shoes—they’re repaired and polished. So thank you, and... Hare Krishna.



We end the afternoon quietly with a visit to the Patwah-ki-Haveli, a magnificent home of a 19th-century Jain merchant. A dive into the luxurious and peaceful daily life of those who’ve succeeded materially. Here, as elsewhere.



A few more steps through this city, admittedly touristy, but I can’t put it any other way—a city that gives you space. Yes, we felt good in Jaisalmer. Tomorrow... the desert?