Manvar: The Sweet Smell of Soap in the Desert

A few hours drive from Ranakpur, we made our way to Manvar, a small resort and tent-camp built in the middle of the Thar desert. After checking in, we were told that our Jeep would leave for the camp in about four hours, at 4:30 pm, and we should enjoy lunch and then relax by the pool.

As we made our way into the small dining room, we instantly were accosted by the raucous noise. The shouting emanating from the room sounded like a thousand people. Or a few Americans. Teenaged Americans. And then it hit us . . . dear god, we’ve become part of an American high school’s senior trip. As this reality sunk in, we finished lunch and made our way to the pool. By this time, the teenagers had thoroughly infested the pool and the boys were playing a game of “throw the water bottle across the pool” and the girls looked on shyly, occasionally (and very awkwardly) making conversation with the boys.

We sat by the pool watching the mayhem ensue and the staff look on in as much disgust as us. Ever the optimist, I told Brian “they’re not coming with us.” You see, this hotel has two parts: a resort with standard hotel rooms (where we were) and tents located about 7 kilometers away. We were going to be staying in the tents. The teenagers, I had convinced myself, must be staying here at the resort. We only have to suffer them for another three hours and then we’ll be in the tranquil desert. Seven kilometers would be just barely enough to muffle their shouts.

But then I heard it. The words that sent shivers to my spine. The teenager’s tour guide said “We’ll be leaving at 4:30 to go to the camp.” Oh. Hell. No.

When 4:30 arrived, we set off for the Jeeps that would take us to the tent camp. As I was making my way away from the now quiet pool, I passed another couple who looked as bewildered as us. Upon making eye contact, it was clear that they shared in my knowledge of our impending fate.

Fortunately, the other adults could not have been more fabulous. Patti and Maurice Flynn are organic soap makers who live on a five-acre farm near Cairns, Australia. They quit their daily-grind jobs to pursue their dream of living sustainable and running an organic soap company. Needless to say, we became fast friends. Not because we were the only adults in the place, but because they are really great people. They’re doing what they love and they maintain a travel schedule that would make any wanderlust (like me) extremely jealous. We shared stories of where we’d been so far and where we’re headed after Manvar.

The Jeep trip through the desert was exhilarating. We seemed to defy gravity when we drove down sand dunes that looked like vertical black-diamond ski slopes. I was convinced that the Jeep would roll down the hill, but we hung on for dear life and survived. We stopped by a small village and watched a man and woman milling metalwork using only their hands and a small fire. Actually, the woman did most of the hard work (fanning the flames to get it really hot and then pounding the hot metal). Meanwhile, the man sat there and smoked opium and every once in a while would turn the metal in the flame.

One of the villages was a group of four mud buildings built around a mangosteen tree. The tree gives the family much of what they needed to survive. It provides shade from the sun, it naturally deterres insects, and the leaves can be ground up and used to sooth skin irritations and serve as a natural antibiotic for cuts. It also provides edible fruit to feed the family. The family is Bishnoi, a very small religious sect found mostly in this part of Rajastan. The Bishnoi, like the Jains (which I wrote about earlier) believe that all living things are sacred and should be protected. Their beliefs go back to a severe drought that occurred in 1489. Convinced that the drought was caused by deforestation, the guru Jambeshwar Bhagavan created 29 rules for living well, most of which are about protecting the environment and living things. This was the beginning of the Bishnoi (which means "29" in the Marwari language) sect. The Bishnoi people are probably the world’s first environmentalists.

We finished visiting the villages and made it to our tents just before sunset. The staff showed us to our tent and told us that our camels were ready. The tent was beautifully decorated and the ceiling and walls were painted in traditional Rajastani colors and patterns.

We set off on an hour-long camel ride into the desert where we stopped to watch the sun set over the beautiful sand dunes as a local musician played traditional music for us. After getting back to camp, we headed over to the main camp for dinner. Turns out the teenagers were staying in a block of tents that were a welcome distance away from ours. We were seated on very comfortable beds that had been placed outside in rings around a main stage and campfire. They passed delicious appetizers and drinks while we enjoyed the traditional Rajastani dance and music show. After the show was over, we joined Patti and Maurice and finished our meal in the main tent.

Sleep that night was met with the soothing sound of the desert. We heard various nocturnal animals making the noises that let you know that something was going to be fed and something was going to be food. The circle of life in stereo. We had a restful night of sleep (sans the fireworks or other explosions from our previous night) and woke to the sounds of birds chirping and the beautiful sunrise. They even brought tea to us in our tent, and we sat on our front porch drinking our tea while the goats fed on the flowers that had fallen onto our porch.

Brian L. ventured out into the desert to make friends with the kids who live in the villages nearby. He was writing his name in the sand when one of the kids apparently wanted to put the milk from a flower on his forehead. He missed, and the milk went into Brian’s eye. This later resulted in a minor crisis when Brian’s eye swelled up and started throbbing in excruciating pain the next night and we contemplated a trip to the hospital at 1 in the morning. But fortunately all is well and Brian’s eye has completely healed.

While we were eating breakfast, Patti and Maurice told us that the staff had asked them about the nature of Brian & I’s relationship. Homosexuality, of course, is taboo (criminal, even) in India. The staff had asked our new friends “Are they brothers? Or are they . . . .” They responded coyly and amusingly with “They are Americans.” And that seemed to satisfy the inquiry.

We bid Patti and Maurice farewell and headed to our next stop, Jaisalmer. They graciously left us with two bars of soap from the private stash they brought with them. And I must admit, I am in love. I keep the two bars in my suitcase so that their great scent rubs off on my clothes. And when I get especially down with the smell of cow dung, car exhaust, and burning rubbish, I smell the soap and it takes me to a better place. I’m saving the soap for my first shower back home!