I arrived in Delhi without much idea what I'd like to do, other than staying to the north. My hostel had an in-house travel agent, and I decided to hire a driver (actually not too pricy) to take me all around Rajasthan for two weeks. Normally I'm not into organized tours, but I thought it could be a nice change from figuring things out on my own.
I want to be charitable and chalk up some of my experiences to different cultural norms as well as the eagerness of people in tourism to share what they think most important. But whatever their motives, I grew frustrated with men ordering me around, interrupting me, or refusing my basic requests. I don't want to waste more energy on those ass-hats, so I'll just pass along the advice that if your booking agent is a manic alcoholic, your driver hits on you, and craftsmen argue with you about how you'll wish you had a silk couch cover at wholesale price to recall all your happy memories when you return home, maybe you should in fact bail, and go back to traveling independently.
I did not bail, so now I'll tell you about the good parts of this desert region studded with Mughal palaces and forts, grandeur from the days of the Silk Road. We started in Mandawa, a small city with semi-restored havelis -- grand merchant homes with Muslim-influenced architecture and decoration. Beautiful figurative and abstract frescos abound inside and out, and inner courtyards and rooftops provide relief from the heat.
I happened to stay at a hotel hosting a traditional wedding, and was invited to join. This was the most underdressed I've been in my life: in grimy pants and sandaled feet, I wore the fleece top that I sleep in as it's my most presentable shirt, and threw on a winter scarf for a scrap of femininity. All the actual guests were dressed to the nines, the women had gone all out with make-up, hair, nails, henna, perfume, scarves, purses, jewelry, heels, and colorfully patterned saris. A sort of marching band drum section played, joined by horns and what I can only describe as a mobile calliope with megaphones. The groom appeared, nervously perched atop a horse, and a big group of people crowded together and started dancing down the street along with the band. Some friendly middle-aged ladies pulled me in to dance, all copying each other's basic moves. There was a huge feast, complete with guys making fresh naan and roti flatbread with a clay oven and coals. I should have stayed and partied all night, but I turned in about 11pm.
Traffic had steadily decreased as we went further from Delhi, but the highway goes through tons of small towns where you vie with local markets spilling onto the road, tractors, bikes, camel-drawn carts, and the road itself in varying states of disrepair. The camels towering above and bumping along were eye-catching, but one day I beheld an even rarer sight -- a dozen Lamborghinis and a MacLaren came blasting from behind. Somehow they avoided the random cows and dogs that wander on the road, but the sportscars had to crawl slowly over speed bumps at an angle to avoid bottoming out.
I visited the old walled city in Bikaner, with magnificently carved stone edifices and columns. The narrow, sinuous lanes were like those of an Italian hill town. Cows seemed as numerous as humans, and it took all one's focus to navigate around their horns and hooves and poop. I did really enjoy the tangy buttermilk served with the local spicy food.
Perhaps my favorite meal, though, was out on the sand dunes. I went with a kind and peaceful guide a short way out of town to sleep under the stars. He cooked some simple lentil daal, rice, potatoes, and chapati over a small campfire. It was delicious. It was a full moon, so actually not many stars, but cool and quiet and lovely.
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