To begin with, the correct spelling of this land is Kachchh. And the profusion of eichs should say a lot about the desolation of the land, second only to that of the village where we ended up. Disheartened not only for hotel accommodation (bungalows unadorned, swimming pool left to rot like grass, plastic cups along the paths sad); but also because of the difficulty of finding something to do within a hundred miles. Guides and road book, to be honest, they give some advices. The most memorable entertainment should be to visit the hill Dinodar, named in the encyclopedia of losers because once an unfortunate man cursed the gods who decided to punish him making him stand twelve years as upside down. After serving his sentence, the blasphemer chose to redeem himself and founded the monastic order of severed ears. You understand what level of merriment reigns here. The Kach becomes an island when they get seasonal monsoons and the sea invades all the lowlands, making salted - and infertile - the land. Only the little higher lands can survive, but all around is a wasteland of putrid water. Then the mud dries up and everything returns desert. But the rural life, you will say, the contact with nature... The same nature, stepmother and carrion as well, in 2001, killed 30,000 people by the earthquake. We tried a moment of vitality, "Come on, let's do spaghetti”. The chef had only half a kilo of razor clams twisted. Expired in August.
