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the chaos much easier , if not less dangerous . Toppled-over trucks are a common sight and locals treat multi-lane highways the same as they did the village roads they replaced : Grain is spread across the lanes to be thrashed by everyone driving over it ; chillies are laid out to dry ( and not to be driven over ); goats , sheep and cows are herded along , and oxen pull carts at their own calm speed .
We filled up the tanks and left the highways behind to find Vegda , a small village at the entrance to the Rann . The asphalt had made way for dirt and there seemed to be no clear through-road . We rode this way and that , soon attracting the attention of a few curious men who came out of the small houses to investigate the racket disturbing their quiet village . We managed to convey that we were headed to Khavda at the other side of the Rann . They all pointed toward an unlikely sandy path between two houses , affirmative looks on their faces , saying : “ No left , no right . Go , go , go !”
This did not seem to be the road on our map at all , but we were encouraged by the fact that everyone had agreed on the direction . Thick , thorny acacia hedges separated the well-used path from the fields beyond and our bikes were swimming along slowly in the soft , beige sand .
Suddenly a herd of buffalo charged towards us . A cloud of dust and horns swallowed us , and it was all we could do to brace ourselves and try to remain upright . The animals at the front barely managed to squeeze past as those behind pushed on , oblivious to the obstacle . The shepherd following behind looked surprised to find us here and greeted us with an apologetic smile as we emerged
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