A tout on the train gave me a card for his guest house, promising 100 rupee rooms and free pickup. Arriving at 5:00AM, this seemed a good idea. Three separate Indians seeing my exchange warned me of making deals with anyone in Jaisalmer, especially those on a train. The tout had roped six more people into a group, so I figured I had safety in numbers. A rickshaw driver at the station told me to trust nobody. Jaisalmer was sounding like a crazy town. My tout arrived, shook the rickshaw driver's hand. The driver then turned to me and said, "Ok, you can trust this guy." I had no better options, half asleep in a strange town in the dark.
The hotel was lovely, the owner friendly. I napped before I joined the touts for a highway stakeout of my friends' bus. The plan was to catch my friends off the bus and bring them to my hotel. Seeing the other side of the street marketing game was a great experience. We all sat in a sedan on the edge of town, drinking chai, smoking beedies in our sunglasses, dancing and singing to Indian pop hits.
Finally, we saw the bus pass us, we pulled up behind, crowding out the line of rickshaws playing the same game. A few astute men on the side of the road saw me, then jumped onto the moving bus with astounding agility.
"Shit!" the driver said. “Those guys spot you, now he's going to tell all of the bus stories as why to not trust that white man.” he said pointing to me.
“Good strategy, though, getting a gorah tout. As you know, gorah trusts gorah.”
The bus stopped and I yelled to my friends, my own cries of “Hello! Excuse me! Hey guys!” drowned out by the mob screaming the same things. Finally, I got their attention and we all headed to the hotel.
The owner greeted us all with chai and coffee, using this as an opportunity to sell his camel trek package.
“This trek is a non-tourist trek, nobody near. We go by Pakistani border. It'll be great!”
“How much?”
“1200 per day, per person.”
“Whoa!” the seven of us exclaimed in perfect unison.
“You go to town, they have trek 500, 700 per day, but no good. Mine is non-tourist trek.”
John, the elder of the group, carefully explained our condition. “We will go to town, shop around, and pick the best of the what we find.”
“Mine is worth the high price, very special trip. You get free turban, good food. Non-tourist trek.”
“It won't be the price dictation our choice. If the trip we want is the most expensive, we'll take it. We just want to see our options.”
“Ok, I'll make you deal: two German leave tomorrow morning, you all go together, save gas. 900 per person.”
“It's not the price! We just want to see our options first. We'll go to town and tell you later.”
We all went down to the office to sign the register. The manager continued to sell his trek, showing maps, handwritten praises from past customers and photos. John was ready to burst.
“so will you come on my trek? If you want to leave tomorrow, I can give good price. But I need to know now, to get permit. 850 per person. Per night.”
“Hey! We will go to town. Shop around and pick the best one. If yours is the best, we'll go with you.” John spoke very slowly, trying to control his raising voice.
“You come back with price, I match.”
John could no leave fast enough.
“Man, Indians just don't understand the oversell. You'd think that after dealing with Westerners for so long, they'd figure out that pushing too hard shows a lack of confidence. They always need that instant sale.” I said when we'd left.
We tried a few of the more established tours in town, Trotters, Adventure Travels, and Sahara Travels, run by the charismatic Mr. Desert. We discussed our four options, our front runners were the super organized Adventure Travels and Mr. Desert. We vetoed the hotel's package after learning that the area near the Pakistani border was a no-man's land military zone, where tourists were not allowed. Plus the difference in the starting price to the last price was so great, we had no idea of the value of his service. The more established places set a price, no negotiations. You either take or leave it. I liked this; it reminded me of home. Both my head and heart went for Mr. Desert, though I may have been swayed by his curly mustache and long beard with a strip missing in the middle. Our democratic vote went to him. I feel as if I argued my side well.
We had the task of telling the hotel owner our decision. Horror stories of backpackers immediately evicted when not buying a tour flooded our heads. I had faith in our owner. He made more from camel trips, but he still had his hotel business to run and we were paying customers. John, however, had no faith, already checking around at other guest houses for prices.
The owner was not pleased. As we left to find a beer, he chased us, inquiring as to why we didn't buy his tour.
“What, so my tour isn't good enough for you?”
Nam and I impolitely walked away a minute into his tirade. We sat on the stoop a block away and watched the main flail arms like a child for fifteen minutes. I wondered how the others could stand there and continue to listen to him. Basically, he whined the whole time, attacking and insulting individual members of the group one by one, then all but asked us to leave the next day. Too bad, the guest house was nice and we had another night left. Considering that there were seven of us, his bad behavior cost him a good sum from bother lodging and food sales. Plus, now in the this public forum, I'll say that all should avoid the Jaisalview Hotel near Ghandi Chowk at all costs.
We brought our beers back to the hotel in fear they'd break into our rooms and steal things. The next morning, we headed to a new guest house near the fort.
Jaisalmer has two main draws, the camel trips into the desert and its large fort, a city within a city that houses a quarter of the town's population. Like most old Indian towns, the best part is getting lost. We wandered around for a few hours, exploring hidden corners, walking the area around the perimeter. Thankfully, it's a small walled area, so it's impossible to get hopelessly lost deep in the labyrinth before it ends. We found a wonderful coffee shop, high on the west wall and watched the magical sunset with saffron lassis in hand.
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