The tribal roundtrip. Day 3

Day 3. And I am getting dusty to the core of my soul. There has been no shower around. But there is only one more night to go. Tomorrow evening will see me getting soaked.

Flower beauty. In between all the khaki, there are some of these jewels.

The child of a blacksmith. A cowbell.

On my way to the Great Rann of Kutch. It is a huge expanse of salt. Shining white with no features or contrasts. Here we are on the road out to a tourist parking in the middle of nowhere. Some human installations are still visible trough the mirages. I felt thirsty only by watching it!

Out hiking. There is a weird beauty to it. But you feel so small and vulnerable. This place is lethal. I walked almost an hour away from the parking ground. leaving behind me the garbage Indians are unable to let be throwing everywhere, and  all other people. It was a walking on the moon experience. Total silence. Only the crunching sounds of salt being crushed under my sandals. It felt like i was the only living thing on a strange planet.

Gathering firewood

Close up of a piece of Kutchi furniture.

And a look at the whole piece. 

Teabreak.

Muslim village girls.

We stopped in a small, far away, market village.

His way of posing.

A motorcycle truck in a local market.

A camel with tattooed face awaits a burden.

An elderly rabari woman. Note her tattoos and her elongated earlobes.

Different woman-same type of tattoos.

A camelian roadblock.

The abbot of Than monastery, 60 kilometers from Bhuj. It is a temple complex where only some of the buildings are in use. Others are more or less ancient, 500 year old ruins. It is set at the foot of the Dinodar hill-an extinct volcano. The temple belongs to the Kanfata sect.

The day is nearing it's end. The sleeping place is in sight-at the temple on top of the mountain. And it is walking up to it. Like the monastery, this is a Kanfata site. The temple is dedicated to Dharmanath. He was a Tirthankara-one who have conquered Samsara-the cycle of birth and death. Legend tells he stood on his head for 12 years at the top of this mountain as penance for a course he had made. The gods begged him to stop. He set the condition that the first thing he looked at, became barren. And the first thing he looked at was what became The Rann of Kutch. So it worked.

The temple on the top. Small and attractive with a superb view over the plains below. There is a caretaker which live up there most of the time. In addition to take care of the temple and performing the evening ritual-often in solitary with recorded music thundering down to the nearest settlements-he also works down in the village. Trekking up and down most days.When we arrived, we were served tea. Later it was rice and some curry before bedtime-a mattress in a big and now empty dormitory room.

The tribal roundtrip. Day two.

The harijapeople live in these round huts called bhungas. They are made out of mud and straw, and are often richly decorated in the form of painting, mirrorwork and mudwork.

Mudwork inside a home. This art is made by modelling the mud when still wet. Then the pieces of mirrorglass is inserted.

A young girl outside a home.

Colourfull laundry. These items are not from a factory. They are great, solid examples of local handicraft.

A girl making textiles.

dinner is under preparation. When it was time to eat, i went together with my driver and the male members of my hostfamily and we were eating together while the women formed a separate eating circle.

Relaxing in "downtown"along the main road.

The village blacksmith.

Making charcoal.

There was a Muslim pilgrimage going on. People walking towards a sacred place in the western end of the region more than 100 kilometers away. Some people had already travelled far. I guess nobody can call this wheel chaired man a nonbeliever.

It is hot. It is dusty. It is bone dry. I was glad for my elevated position in a tuktuk. Even though i gained no merit. A few places along the way there are established resting camps with shade, food and drinks available.

Rabari herder.

The moment i knew my exact latitude: 23.26.1467 N. The unforgiving terrain didn't care about that.

A strife of luck-true nomads have established a camp close to the road.

The nomads water their herds in a waterhole.

Visiting a pottery village. How the large clay vessels are formed-not with the well known spinningwheel, but by knocking the clay into shape. a laborious and time consuming process.

A load of earthenware has been burned. It is still warm.

After cooling and cleaning the items gets decorated.

A steady hand is needed.

The finished product, ready for sale. I bought myself a small bowl, ideal for all those toasts along the path of a longterm traveller.

Woodcarvings for furniture.

It makes sense that woodcarving furnituremakers have wood decor on their truck!

Visiting another highly decorated village.

The women's clothing is stunning with all that embroidery and mirrorwork. It takes months to make a dress like those worn here. They are costly items. Yet-every traditional woman have a dress like this.

The heat creates numerous dustdevils. This large one crossed the road in front of us. We found it wise to give it a wide berth.