Jaisalmer, the Golden City, is a beautiful desert town in Rajasthan. Following a long and uncomfortable journey by bus and train, we were more than ready to explore. I was joined by Aimee (of course), a fellow young traveller from Italy named Sarah and our Workaway host (turned travel guide).

Our Workaway host was quick to offer our assistance to his long-distance friend who owned a busy restaurant. Before we knew it, Aimee and I were introduced to the team, handed balls of dough and instructed to make chapatis. The chefs quickly recognised our lack of food preparation skills and steered us towards front of house. There, we raced around in confusion, earnestly trying to decode the foreign menu to guests – tourists and locals alike.

We burned with frustration, wondering why the fuck we were here in the first place!

Dinner was a much appreciated reward for the chaotic day of ‘work’ – a feast of fiery curries and cold Coke in glass bottles. Afterwards, we crashed at a nearby motel, waking up before sunrise for yoga on the restaurant roof. We giggled as we imitated the different positions, the roof of the restaurant cast in brilliant yellow as the sun rose. Our Yogi, weathered and kind, shared a wide smile with missing teeth.

He chatted earnestly about spirituality and enlightened us about the “real spice of life” – a rock of raw opium. Nothing says “good morning” like a questionable substance! We stared in amazement at the black lump. Can we try it? Why not! Treating it as no more than an eccentric multivitamin, we all threw a tiny piece into our mouths and swallowed it down. We waited for the magical properties to kick in, but alas hours passed, and we completely forgot we’d even taken it.

By afternoon, we were on route to the desert in the restaurateur’s big SUV. We were high on excitement and a couple of Bhang milkshakes we had chugged on our way out of town. Bhang is a traditional Indian concoction made by Cannabis leaves and flowers, often used in cultural and spiritual settings. Our Host encouraged sobriety (as women) during our stay in India, but was accepting of us buying a few Bhang biscuits for the road.

We set up camp under the stars in the eerily silent desert. Aimee and I were feeling floaty and giggly. We sat in the sand, staring up at the night sky and creating stories out of nothing. We laughed and held onto one another, feeling grateful and blissfully content in the desert.

However, hours later, as paranoia creeped in, we suddenly realised we were three young girls in the middle of nowhere with two much older men. The desert suddenly seemed less wonderful. When our Workaway host peeked out of his tent, he was greeted by us frantically dragging our foam mattresses across the sand. He looked rightfully confused, as we panicked: “we’re just… sleeping under the stars! Together! Alone! Please go away!”.

The next day, we woke up under the sun, dazed and confused. We recoiled in embarrassment, but our Workaway host was kind enough to not mention it.

Meanwhile, my poor Mother was on the other side of the globe, also panicking (minus the weed). I had sent her a message via an internet café about the overnight desert plan. It was a week later, and she still had not received anything else from me. Little to no contact was common, but Mum freaked out. She managed to track down my Workaway host and get in touch – I can only imagine her relief when he assured her, I wasn’t buried in the desert.