To Pushkar

The train to Ajmer leaves from Delhi every day at 6.10am, it is called the Shitabde Express. Indians are very proud of this train, and not without cause, it pulled away from the station exactly on time, the air conditioning was so good I needed my fleece, and the chairs are reasonable comfy, despite facing backwards (all of them). But the most impressive thing is the catering service. As soon as the train leaves the station the guys bring every passenger a litre of cold water and a paper cup. Then they come round with newspapers. Then it's a tea run – they bring a tray with 2 "tea kits"; a teabag, sugar and dairy creamer (like coffeemate); a couple of biscuits, a couple of sweeties. Then everybody gets a little thermos pot of boiling water. I found it all a bit much, especially as I was woken every 20 mins so somebody could hand me something to eat, drink, read or pour. Then they woke me up to take it back again. I am not at my sparkling best at 6am. After the 3rd tea run I decided to try it out, having carefully watched what everybody else did. Until then I had just stashed the sweeties. As long as you don't think of it as tea you're okay; it's nice enough but it's not exactly Tetley. I had just snuggled down to sleep again when breakfast arrived – a vegetable pakora (I think).

I woke up with my head on the tray in front of me as we pulled out of a station. The newspaper was stuck to my face. I looked at my watch and realised it was 10 mins after I was supposed to get off. Panicked I asked the man behind me where we were, which was stupid as when he told me I was still none the wiser. Fortunately the train was just a little late, and we soon pulled into Ajmer.

Stepping off the train was like being slapped in the face by a hot oven door. After sitting in the fridge like carriage for seven hours it was a shock to step out into the desert heat. I had been warned about Ajmer, there's not too many tourists or white people and the locals will stare. They do. It can be quite disconcerting, it's really odd being in a country where the values and etiquettes are totally different. It is quite valid for somebody to ask you how much you earn, openly stare at you or approach you for money, and if you refuse instead of going away, say "Why?" rather indignantly. I was expecting to be met at the station, so I walked into the lobby where I was immediately bombarded by taxi drivers shouting 100 Rupees! Only 80 Rupees! 50 rupees madam! and jostling for my attention. I was plucked out of the throng by a tourist policeman who plonked me down in his office (please, be comfortable) and helped me get in touch with the hospital. They sent a car from the hotel at Pushkar to pick me up, and I was off to Pushkar.

The road to Pushkar winds its way up and over Snake Mountain, it is known as the snake road due to its terrifying hairpin bends. It's like the Devils Elbow, but 20 times in a row, and instead of crawling around the bend, scooters and buses fly round on the wrong side of the road. It's made harder by the monkeys that sit on the road eating food that people throw out of cars for them. The road signs are painted directly onto the cliff face! And right at the bealach is the home of a family who live under a sheet of corrugated tin. The lady of the house uses the cactus plants to hang out the washing, it makes a beautiful picture, the red and yellow saris on the green cacti at the top of the mountain.

Immediately I got into the hotel I was mobbed by elaborately dressed young women who were exceptionally friendly, and desperate to hold my hands. A couple of minutes later and I felt something damp on my palm – the henna had come out and I was becoming a painted lady. I was quite pleased, I've long envied the beautiful pictures of Indian womens hands on their wedding day, and had been looking forward to maybe coming across something like this. By this time both hands were covered, and they were away to start on my arms when I diplomatically extricated myself. It all started to go pear-shaped when it was time to wash it off. I was cornered in the hotel kitchen whilst my hands were washed for me and negotiations were opened for payment (a bit of a surprise, paying for something you didn't ask for) and of course they were "very money poor" and would give me "good price, my sister" and I was getting very uncomfy. Most of you will know me pretty we and understand that I don't like having my hands stroked by other women, and when they've got me up against the wall and are demanding money, it gets a little hairy. I basically paid them to go away, then found out I'd been totally fleeced and that the women were gypsies. I felt like a total idiot.

So freshly decorated I headed off to see the sacred lake I have heard so much about. Sunset over Pushkar is one of those things everyone should see once. It's not just a visual thing, there are tabla drummers on the lakeside playing the day out. People sometimes dance, others pray, some practice juggling. I sat on the steps and watched the sun go down behind the Savriti temple which sits on a hilltop overlooking the town. Many of the local townspeople have an evening wash and blessing in the sacred water whilst bats the size of crows fly over the lake. It is magical.