Rajasthan is the land of Kings, of desert heat, of old cities and Maharajas, Maharanas and Rajputs (and my relative misunderstanding of the differences between them.) It is of a world of tiered clay buildings, of forts on steep hills, of wearing headscarves to shade yourself from the heat. The end of the day brings the swift grace of water cutting through the dust caked on your face...
Jaipur:
Forged as the pink city, Jaipur is the gateway to the desert and the capital of Rajasthan. Considering it's a popular spot after to hit after Agra, the bazaars and rickshaws pull your scarf like a chain. Otherwise it's a charming little gem, and one where I left a few nights of fever behind.
Pushkar:
This is a holy city walking side-by-side with tourist exhaust. The story goes that Brahma (the Hindu god of creation) dropped a lotus flower on the earth and so up floated Pushkar. But its met quite the juxtaposition - a tourist bazaar causeway forms a perimeter to the lake ghats, and so the lake pilgrims wade between touts looking to con tourists into paying for puja (prayers). It is illegal to kiss, embrace, and eat meat; though drugs are frequently offered on your descent to the lake: the diffusion from an era of hippiedom. Quite the view from the top of the lone temple hill though, I must say.
Udaipur:
Called the 'Venice of the East', the old city center hovers around an ancient palace that glows purple by night. Quiet, serene, and sparkling by night - it seems quite the Indian oasis. But beyond the old city borders it is rickshaws and cows and Hindi cinemas. But at its nucleus, it is remembered like a nice bout with a valium.
Jodhpur:
While the blue painted houses of the old city once represented those of the Brahmin caste, the flavourful shade now merely hovers like a pastel jigsaw puzzle from the view from the fort above. Holding a liberal air alongside the traditional heat of Rajasthan, (with the "purs" as my Rajasthani favorites), I believe blue takes the cake over pink.
Jaisalmer:
As statistics, touts and rhetoric seem to prove; they (we) come to this collapsing sandcastle fort and the surrounding area to ride camels. And so we did. With such expectations, I was pleasantly surprised by my desert trek and the treatment of the camels: their saddles were removed every time we had a break, we stopped at troughs for water, and they were left to graze free by night. Overall, it was a graceful desert experience - the young guides delved out chai at the most epic of moments, for the camel itching her head on my leg in between her regular burps left great thanks for such rewards. We woke up after a night in the dunes to thousands of interwoven tracks, much like figure eights on an ice rink. It appears the black beetles that appeared at dusk marched on through the starry night.
Bikaner:
That city where the dust mixed with the dusk leaves you thinking you've found despair, only for it to be as refulgent by morning as the stagnant pond of sewage you passed in the autorickshaw on your way in. A large desert city slowly growing to absorb the camel safari overflow of Jaisalmer; it was our final Rajasthani jaunt before our overnight train to Delhi (actually Rewari, but that's for attempting to make late reservations on the Indian Railway system).
-Tara
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