It was actually psychedelic, watching the sheer volume of people come and go in old town New Delhi, each parting the impoverished mob seas with elbows and a scowl. Three days in that city is a fitting feather in the backpacker cap; it’s somewhere I never want to be again.
Rajasthan is more relaxed, but it still amazes how quickly a local who’s never seen a white person in their life can conjure up some elaborate scam on the fly.
Yesterday in the desert heat we summitted Galtaji, the mountain of the Monkey Temple in Jaipur. Probably 5 meters and directly in sight from the temple caretaker who consecrated our journeys painting bright red bindis on our foreheads, they were being scrubbed off by a white girl with a tampon. You could say our spiritual awakening was short-lived.
With the exception of the Taj Mahal, these photos are from the mean streets of Rajasthan.
Tomorrow we make our way west to Udaipur and southwest further until we hit the coast of the Arabian Sea.