Three Men and a Little Monkey

When I last laid a blog I explained somewhat briefly that Dagley and I were about to venture into the unknown (well, to us) deserts of Jaisalmer. Without wanting to spoil the end of the story, we didn't die. 


But before I expound how we didn't die, I will take you through the couple of days before we travelled through space but not time into the heart of pretty much nowhere at all.

















On our first full day in Jaipur we met a young American fellow by the name of William. Will was, and by all accounts probably still is, a very interesting and adventurous young student from just south of Boston. 

He'd been in India for about three weeks when we met him, and had been to many of the places of interest that we had planned to go to. He therefore dished out lots of tips and advice on where to go in our last week here. 

A farm-boy back home, Will is over here as part of his degree and will work on a farm about 60km outside of Jaipur. In his home town he grows cranberries, which will be a bit different to what he's going to grow here. Ice cream or something, I wasn't really listening.

With Will we went to many of the main tourist traps of Jaipur, my favourites of which were the Monkey Temple (which was full of monkeys), Amber Fort (which wasn't full of amber) and Muntar Juntar (which had its share of munters but was mostly full of huge sun dials and old star-gazing equipment).

We also took a long rickshaw drive up to Tiger Fort (fucking liars - not a tiger in sight - and apparently it's home to the world's biggest ever cannon, but I didn't see it so it can't be that big) and enjoyed a beer called 'Godfather 50,000' looking out over Jaipur. 

This was a strange experience as you could hear the city, but instead of sirens and cars and such you could almost pick out individual conversations.

Will, in all his glory, has also been studying Hindi since September and taught me a couple of words. My favourite of which is (phonetically) 'fearmalengay' - which roughly means 'we will meet again', but in a spiritual rather than physical sense. Loads of Hindi stoner priest nomad people said it to us at the Monkey Temple, and I now say this to everyone that I meet. To mixed reception.

After four days in Jaipur, we hugged (backpackers seem to be incredibly quick to hug - I mean, I'm all for a high-five on a first date, but I'm a man of dignity - the key is to remember you don't owe them anything) farewell to Will and made our way to the train station to go to Jaisalmer, which is in the North-west.

Our train was about an hour late and we were starting to get agitated about whether we were on the right platform when the tallest man in India bounded over and started to talk to us. As has now become habit, I introduced myself and my wife (it's just simply easier that way) Helen to the man that looked strangely familiar.

The same old questions were asked, answers to which were; Chris, Helen, yes we're married, no kids, England, London, a writer (arf) for a company that is now owned by Indian mega-company Reliance (they all like that), a PA, it's a sort of a secretary, one month, no it's not long enough to see everything, yes we like India very much.

He then offered to buy us a chai, which we duly accepted. As he walked back, he said to Helen: 'So, do you think you are clever?' 

We glanced at each other, we hadn't been asked this one yet and had no answer prepared... 'Erm, yeah?' came our reply. 

'An elephant falls in the lake. What happens to the elephant?'

We came up with many ingenious answers including he drank all the water and spurted it out with his trunk, he used his trunk as a periscope, etc. all to the giant's great mirth. At last we were let out of our considerable misery: 'He got wet. Ha-haaar-hahaha-haaa-hahahahahahahaha. Ha. Hmmmm.... ha!'

Ahhhhhhhh, very good, yeah, like that one. Soo-ooooo...

Feeling not half as clever but a lot funnier than this guy, I suddenly realised who he reminded me of - my much missed and loved Grandad. He was an Indian replica down to the last detail - the height, the ears, the tea, the lateral thinking questions and to top it off he even asked if we had any scrap paper!

Once we were on the train, at about twenty past one at night, he attempted to rearrange the seating so that we could sit with him, which caused nothing short of pandemonium. I eventually had to call a halt to the proceedings and instead thanked him for the tea (which he became sort of enraged at - tip, don't thank Indian people for tea, you may as well spit it out in their face) and said goodnight. 

Plus, as he was getting off much earlier than us in Jodhpur, to wake me in the morning to say goodbye.

This he did, and very groggily I had to refuse a cup of chai from him through the window bars on the train. As he shook my hand and walked off up the stairs I actually, much to my own surprise, had a little spiritual moment. 

Very strange indeed, but trying my best not to sound too mushy, or indeed psychotic, I'm pretty sure Grandad’s watching me round the world. (To be clear I'm being symbolic - I don't think Mr Singh's got a tele-photo lens on me as I type.)

So, onwards and hot-wards.

We were suddenly in a fucking desert.

On a train with no windows and wooden shutters that had gaps so big in them Jo Brand could jump through and make a characteristically profound quip about men weeing on the loo seat or that once a month women have periods. 

Heavily sprinkled in desert sand, we finally reach Jaisalmer where - duh-duh duuuuuh - WE WERE KIDNAPPED!