India – December 2025
Jaisalmer Fort is often described as one of the last “living forts” in the world. Not just a historic monument, but a place where thousands of people still live, work, and raise their families within the ancient sandstone walls. Unlike many forts in India that became empty museums, this one is still a neighbourhood: with homes, temples, shops, weddings, and everyday routines continuing behind the massive gates. One of my favourite places to spend time inside the fort is a tiny tea shop run by an uncle who seems far more interested in conversations than in selling chai. His two rules (no climbing on the walls and no spitting) are written everywhere in Hindi, even on the rubbish bin, specifically aimed at visitors from Gujarat. He laughs as he tells me about it, clearly enjoying the interaction more than enforcing the rules.
A friend of his drops by regularly, usually just to chat. Sometimes he helps out at the tea shop, even though he has his own souvenir business on one of the nearby squares, selling religious statues, incense, soaps and other small items. Through him, I get a glimpse of how interconnected life inside the fort is. While I am staying in Jaisalmer, one of his relatives gets married. Like many Indian weddings, it is a multi-day celebration. During the “girls’ night”, the women gather in the square in front of the house, cooking together, singing, eating and enjoying the evening. The next day, a fresh painting appears at the entrance: the traditional local mural of Ganesha with his mouse carrying a gulab. Similar paintings can be found all over the fort, often marking weddings and including the date of the celebration.
One of the fort’s main attractions is the enormous Jain temple complex. Unfortunately, when I return from my desert safari with Andy and Kesh, it is already closed. We wander around anyway, trying to catch a glimpse of the architecture, and accidentally discover a small hotel next door. The owner invites us inside and proudly shows us around the five rooms of his private home. Eventually, he leads us up to the rooftop, where he is preparing to open a café. For now, there is only one item available: a drink that is not even on the menu yet. We arrange our own table near the railing, from where we have a view directly into the Jain temple from above. While waiting for our lassi, we question the uncle about everything we can: the temple, Jainism, and the history of the fort. He happily answers all our questions, and the evening ends with a beautiful sunset over the golden city.
The more time I spend talking to people inside the fort, the more I realise that there is a certain distance between the old city and the “new” Jaisalmer outside the walls. But what connects both worlds is the same warmth and curiosity towards visitors. Walking through town, I am approached several times by locals inviting me for a cup of chai. The most memorable encounter happens on my very first walk through the city. A man stops me on the street and opens with the classic invitation: “Chai?” My intuition immediately kicks in. Surely this is going to turn into a tour offer. I politely decline, but he insists that he simply wants to talk and is not interested in selling me anything. After a few minutes of chatting at the crossroads about our backgrounds, he finally admits: “Actually, I also run a desert safari company.” I laugh. My prediction was right after all. But instead of trying to sell me a tour, he surprises me by suggesting we become business partners. Curious about where this conversation is going, I join him at a nearby chai shop.
Over a cup of tea, we discuss his idea and how such a cooperation could work. Eventually, I remember why I had left my hostel in the first place: I wanted to photograph the famous havelis of the old town, glowing golden in the late afternoon sun. He offers me a ride on his motorbike and, despite my attempts to refuse, insists on taking me there.On the way, we stop at the market, before he drops me near one of the most famous havelis and we go our separate ways. Unfortunately, the museum is already closed, but wandering through the narrow lanes turns out to be even better. I pass a cow waiting patiently outside a doorway for food, and shortly afterwards a middle-aged man invites me into another historic house. He offers me a tour for free, explaining that the haveli belongs to a women’s empowerment NGO and that donations are appreciated.
I accept and follow him up the steep, uneven staircase. Inside, the rooms facing the courtyard are surprisingly cool, protected from the desert heat. The temperature rises as we reach the rooftop, still glowing in the afternoon sun. From there, my guide explains that he often hosts travellers through couchsurfing and that he would love to take me on a private desert safari, just the two of us, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He even mentions a “desert massage”. Whatever that means. Men sometimes say the wildest things without realising the alarm bells going off in women’s heads. Needless to say, after another cup of tea, I leave the haveli and decide to stick with my original plan: joining the hostel’s organised desert tour the next day. After the open landscapes, endless sand, and sunset over the dunes, I return to Jaisalmer in the evening. Back to the golden walls of the fort.
I take one final walk through the narrow alleys, now illuminated by warm lights. The same streets that were full of everyday life during the day feel almost magical at night: quiet corners, old stone houses, and small shops still open behind their wooden doors. For my last evening, I meet up with friends for dinner at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. From above, the fort glows against the dark desert sky. No longer just a monument to visit, but a place full of stories, conversations, weddings, chai breaks, and people who call it home.
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