Pushkar

Arrival at 2.30am was unanticipated to say the least. We stumbled off the sleeper bus wondering where on earth to go and what to do in the eery silence of the deserted streets. (Un)fortunately we were soon mobbed by a group of hotel managers begging to take us to their concrete-cell hotels. We uncomfortably napped in Alcatraz for several hours, before relocating to the cheerful Milkman hotel (named so due to the vast amounts of cows clogging the surrounding narrow passageways), run by Anil. Cue laughter.

At the centre of Pushkar -surrounded by hills beyond which stretches the desert - lies one of the holiest lakes in India, which is fringed by numerous ghats for offering prayers to the gods. It is an astonishingly laid-back place, and most of one's time is spent wandering the bazaars and, much to our disgust, eating tofu - there is no alcohol, meat, or even eggs because of the holiness. Sound pretty horrendous? I developed a worrying taste for steamed vegetables.

On the morning of our second day we visited the Brahma (the creation god of Hinduism) temple - falsely advertised as the only one of its kind in India. Sadly, "advertised" is a pretty fitting word, as the whole affair became centred on the "priests" taking our money. Having been led around the temple by a "training priest" (questionably dressed in designer jeans), we were led to one of the ghats for a 'puja', blessing.

It was clear from the moment that we were separated - Lissy sat on one side of the steps and I on another - that something was afoot. My priest then started pasting my face with various foods, and making me repeat his blessings, paying little attention to the fact that I couldn't understand him:

Priest: "swagahayumba"
Me: "shmeeehhgyabuma
Priest: "Hannavayapuja"
Me: "hanavajajayapu"
Priest: "shreethattapeeyuna"
Me: "shreeeehhhh..." Etc etc

As to whether it was a blessing or a coercion to give loads of money became suspect:

Priest: "orphans very hungry
Me: "orphans very hungry"
Priest: "give them lots of money"
Me: "give them lots...?!"
Priest: "chappatti rice vegetables"
Me: "....."

He then proceeded to try and extort a bomb of money from me (he partially succeeded), as I became increasingly angry at his shamelessness. Although Lissy's priest was apparently nicer, this only allowed him to get more "donations" out of her.

On the brink of a religious crisis, I turned to gap trash for stability, almost buying some heinous clothing. Fortunately I was calmed by a haircut/head massage from a man with triple-jointed fingers - I didn't appreciate just how freakish this was, though we were both a little unsettled by the customer comments book which described how "this mutha knows how to nibble an earlobe!"...

That evening we ate at the garden hote; on sitting down at the rooftop table I saw opposite me a boy from my year at school - Charlie Bodenham - who had been travelling around India and Burma, and was too headed for Nepal! An incredible coincidence, and slightly reassuring that the world seems still small in this humungous country.

With love