Desert storms and opium tea.

It’s mid-afternoon by the time I arrive in the Golden City, Jaisalmer. The dry, desert heat intensifies my hangover. I fumble myself from the bus to a nearby rickshaw like a bag of sad potatoes.

When I arrive at the hostel, the owner is sitting out front, smoking a cigarette in his cream dhoti. His name is Raul, he’s a nice guy, probably in his mid 30’s. We chat for a little bit before he offers to take me up to a lookout to watch the sunset over the fort. We jump in his rickshaw and head over the lookout. We arrive and walk up the stairs, marvelling at the sun setting over the 800-year-old castle. Sandstone walls glow and the afternoon melts.

We head back to the hostel and bypass the infamous bhang lassi shop that Anthony Bourdain visited. I order a strong Mango lassi, a yogurt-based milkshake packed with weed. The rest of the night is spent on the rooftop in a stoned blur, looking at the stairs, smoking cigarettes and playing Carrom, an Indian board game, a mix between checkers and snooker.

I wake early the following morning in the comfort of a king-sized bed in my own private room, all for the price of $3 a night. I drink chai with Raul and I ask him where I can find someone to take me into the desert to camp for a few nights. He tells me he has a cousin that runs a camel tour. Classic. This is always the case. It’s the motto in India, Everything is possible and everyone knows someone who can get what you want. And it’s generally a brother or a cousin, whether they are actually related is another question.

I spend the rest of the day exploring the sandstone alleyways of Jaislamer. Admiring the stalls along the way. Pungent fumes of cow excrement and leather flood the narrow corridors. Cows walk around with god status, right next to the skin of one of their own being sold to a pesky tourist as a purse to carry their latest iPhone.

The following morning I wake early, again.

It’s hard to sleep in the heat. I pack a small backpack with some things for the next 3 days in the desert and leave my rucksack at the hostel. I’ve arranged for Raul’s so-called cousin is picking me up around the corner and take me on a camel trip. I’m greeted by a worn-out Indiana Jones, a thin man with a dazzling moustache, wide brim hat and a long sleeve cotton shirt. There are 4 other people coming on the Camel desert trip, including an Asian couple decked out the in latest Yeezys and a huge DSLR camera.

We stop along the way to meet some of the children from a local village. As soon as we stop, the kids run out of their homes, yelling and cheering with their hands waved high. They run to the car and hold their hands out, begging for sweets. The driver pulls out a bag of lollies and starts throwing them out the window like an old man throwing grain to birds in the park. We watch on as the kids scurry around, picking up the lollies from the ground and begging for more. We drive off and leave them in a dust cloud.It’s disheartening. I know that that was something that tourists have created, something I had a part in. But at the same time, I know that these kids don’t have much and if a jeep rolls in everyone once and a while throwing lollies, I’d be pretty excited too. We carry on, driving deeper into the desert.

We arrive at a small village, comprised of 5 huts, surrounded by a knee-high rock wall. A man squats in between a herd of camels. A father named Arjun, and his two sons greet us. I light a cigarette gesture the pack towards Arjun, his eyes light up, he takes two.

Not long after arriving and we are off again, this time by camel.

We ride along single tracks and over dunes, wild horses and goats run beside us. It’s quiet. The dings from the camel’s bells and the sound of sand skimming across the dunes echo scross the desert. The sand is soft and warm like a golden blanket. After a few hours, as the sun begins to set, we stop behind a large dune to set up camp.

I help the two boys collect wood and we start a fire to make chai. By this point in my trip, I have become seriously dependant on the sweet, sweet nectar of chai. The perfect combination of caffeine and sugar.

I walk to the top of the dune. The heat haze blocks the intense light of the sun, creating a silhouette just above the horizon. We rest in silence, watching over the duvastness of the desert, creating mirages with our thoughts.

A boy from a nearby village rides his camel up beside us and sits down to enjoy the sunset with us. It’s so cliche it feels scripted. I’m almost convinced it’s a setup. We all just sit, with the camel boy, enjoying the sunset.

Behind us, an ominous cloud lurks above the horizon. I ask Arjun how often it rains in the desert, he says it only rains once or twice a year. I look back at the cloud, thunder bellows and a gust of wind blows sand in my face. Maybe this is that once or twice of year.

The dark cloud becomes darker, the wind begins to howl. The beast was alive. Our fire blows out, our bags quickly swallowed by the dunes. I feel a droplet. I fuking droplet of rain. I create a makeshift balaclava using my jacket. It’s storming in the Thar desert. I turn to Arjun and the boys, they’re running around like headless chickens, trying to make sure we don’t lose everything and still have food for dinner.

Maybe it was the heat, maybe the hashish.

But it was beautiful. A freak storm in the Thar desert. What are the chances? I was completely defenceless and I embraced it. If rains, we’re pretty screwed. No tent, no cover and a 2-hour camel ride back to Arjun’s village. But let’s just get the that hurdle when we get there.

After an hour or so of panic. The storm calms down, the wind dies off and the clouds roll away. The Asian couple peer out of their jacket cocoon and gesture something towards Arjun. He ignores it and continues to rebuild the fire.

And just asquick as it arrived, it was gone again. The boys prepare a meal for us as stars slowly emerge. A daal with rice and chapati, all cooked over fire. I eat it with my hands and enjoy every mouthful. The yeezy couple next to me inspects every mouthful with their iphone torch. We all sit around the fire and marvel at the night sky, they are so bright I wonder how I will be able to sleep without covering my eyes.

One of the boys plays the drums using the rice pot. They wash the plates in the sand and put on another pot of chai.

Arjun holds my shoulder with one hand and holds out a small bag with the other, “opium tea?” he asks. I nod and grin, without looking too desperate. I’d mentioned my interest in opium tea to Raul a few days earlier and I guess he passed on the message. I knew it was popular in Jaisalmer.I’ve always wanted to try opium tea and I’d heard from a few other backpackers that it is quiet an experience. We are less than 100km from Pakistan, which is part of the Golden Crescent, the opium hub of asia.

Although opium is often associated now as the precursor to heroin and morphine, the use of opium in these parts has been going on for thousands of years. The first known cultivation of opium poppies was in Mesopotamia, approximately 3400 BC. Although it has mostly been used as a anethetic, Opium was and still isused recreationally in rural areas across north India, Pakistan and Afganistan.

He pulls out a small bag of what looks like molasses.

So it’s no surprise that it’s readily available. I ask him how strong it is and spin my head around in some type of druggy charades. “Strong wine,” he says. The boys divide the chai between everyone, including Arjun and I. Arjun uses a stick to scoop out some opium from his bag and then mixes it into his chai, he then does the same with mine. I’m a little hesitant as to what the feeling will be. Some friends of mine had opium tea a few nights prior and they said it was quite mellow. I take it slow, taking small sips. The rest of the group head to bed. Arjun and I sit around the fire in silence. Shifting our gaze from the crackles of the fire to the glowing sky above. It’s beautiful. The opium cuddles me and I melt slowly into the dunes.

I eventually find my way into my indian swag — a thick yoga mat and a blanket. The sand is still warm from the sun. The air is cool. I don’t think I have ever been this comfortable before. It’s not long before I find a couple of desert beetles crawling their way under my leg and into the warm blanket in an attempt to cuddle with me. I spend the next 15 minutes trying to locate the beetles in my bed, throwing them as hard as I can over the dune as soon as I grab one. I can hear the Asain couple still awake, shining their Iphone torch around in their bed. Their probably looking for desert beetles too.

I don’t remember falling asleep. But I remember waking up; it was a little abrupt. Arjun taps me on the shoulder and gestures with two fingers towards his mouth. “Cigarette?” he asks. I point towards my bag and tell him to get them himself. He grabs the pack and heads over to the fire where he is cooking a pot of chai.

The slow pace of the morning is carried out throughout the day. After our morning chai we pack up and move deeper into the desert before perching up under a tree, a respite from the desert heat. We have lunch and roll into the afternoon, reading, writing, staring off into the vastness of the desert.

The following morning we ride back to the village.

I’m calm, my hips swaying as the camel walks, like a slow dance after a couple of negronis. Much like island time, the desert swallows hours and agendas, only light and water matters.

There’s a jeep waiting for us on the road beside Arjun’s village. I shake Arjun and the two boys’ hands before searching through my backpack to look for some parting gifts as a bgesture of my appreciation for the past few days. I give Arjun my remaining cigarettes, my torch to one of the boys and a pack of playing cards to the other. They seemed to be pretty chuffed. We pile back into the car and drive off through the desert.

I ask the driver if he saw the storm last night. He looks at me with his eyes stretched wide open, gesturing with his hands above his head to indicate that his ‘mind was blown ’. I laugh. He laughs. The weird Asian couple in the back look tired and fragile, I don’t think they enjoyed the trip that much. We drive through the desert with the windows down, listening to sitars on the radio.