This lady made little clusters of beaded bells for sale. I bought a pair from her.
Archive | June 2011
There were several hours of daylight left, so I wanted to see what the village looked like.
Just down the street was another desert hotel which had tents set up as rooms.
The village was pretty ordinary. There were some traditional houses.
And a few that looked like village townhouses.
It was the hottest part of the afternoon, so we didn’t see any people. Everyone was inside, trying to stay cool.
Finally we saw a man on foot, and Prem pulled over to ask him where was the village center, since we kept running into dead ends.
The man had some connection with the village development committee. He gestured the way to the village center then invited us to see some traditional homes. We parked the car and followed him.
Krishna Desert Camp
We pulled up at the Krishna Desert Camp on the outskirts of Khuri village in the early afternoon. I loved the place at first sight. It was a very small desert hotel with four individual traditional huts. We were the only guests to stay here this night.
The place was spotlessly clean. The huts were very cool inside, as good as air conditioning.
Inside, the grass roof was lined with cloth, a nice touch.
The bed was comfy and I had my own private bath. I was happy as a clam at high tide.
We were offered chai — sweet Indian tea with milk — while we waited for lunch. As I sipped my chai in the stillness of the desert village afternoon, I contemplated all I had seen and done since my arrival. This was only day eight of my vacation, and I had so many visions of Rajasthan swirling around in my head already. And there was much more to come.
The Road to Khuri
We headed down a lonely road for a night’s stay in the desert at Khuri village.
Although most women covered their faces with their veils if they saw my camera, the men didn’t mind being photographed. Most of them were flattered.
We made a brief photo stop in a desert hamlet.
The children were excited to see us but soon were aggressively begging for money, candy and pens. It quickly became unpleasant, and we made a hasty exit.
I saw a man cutting weeds by the side of the road and was surprised to note that he was using the same kind of hoe that people in Ghana, West Africa, used. Since there are no factories in West Africa that make hand tools, I wondered if this wasn’t where Ghana got them from.