A word of advice: never trust a brahmin priest. Only a few hours after we tipped one for leading us through some good luck prayers, I was flat on my back in our hotel room, too weak to drag myself to the bathroom or even ponder what ungodly bug I had contracted. For a whole night I was left reaching for a bucket as waves of nausea and vomiting passed over me every hour like clockwork. It soon became clear that we weren’t going to Jodhpur in the morning.

When Doctor Sanjay Gupta (not that Sanjay Gupta, but apparently a distant relative) paid us a house call in the morning, he suggested we immediately check into the hospital. Which is how I found myself in the intensive care unit, hooked up to an IV drip (for severe dehydration), all sorts of wires and machines (x-rays, EKG, etc.) and surrounded by about twenty nurses who gawked at this crazy foreigner who couldn’t handle India.

The night-shift nurse, in particular, took quite a liking to me and I felt like I was getting a bit more attention than everyone else in the ward. He literally spent the entire night next to my bed, shaking me every once in awhile to ask in broken English if I was sleeping and if I needed anything. For the record, yes, I was sleeping; and no, I’m fine. Just as fine as I was when you checked twenty minutes ago. When Greg came to visit in the morning, this nurse mysteriously disappeared, but promptly returned after visiting hours were over to ask if he could take my picture (hospital gown and all) and to give me his phone number, telling me to contact him if I was ever in Delhi. Despite centuries of colonial rule and contact with the West, foreigners are still a bit of a novelty in some places.

After one day in the ICU, I was feeling much stronger so they moved me to a regular private room where, thankfully, Greg could stay too. But it would be two more days of bad hospital food, comical miscommunication, and a futile search for soap before we could leave. Three days in an Indian hospital.

Ajmer

When we finally broke out of there we had an auto-rickshaw drop us off in the center of Ajmer and then commenced the long and arduous search for a place to sleep. There weren’t many options available, so we finally settled on a cheapie called Hotel Lovely—which was decidedly not. And while we were in no mood to be picky, we were a bit concerned about the basic cleanliness of the place, especially after the following exchange:

Us

“We’ll take the room, but we’d like the sheets changed please.”

Manager

“What’s wrong with the sheets?”

Us

“Oh….well…They’re dirty and have a few holes in them; we’d just feel better with a fresh set if that’s okay.”

Manager

“Fine, but we’ve had the same sheets on the bed for two weeks now and nobody else has complained!”

Ahhhh, India. Okay, so maybe things didn’t happen exactly like this, but it’s a pretty good approximation of our experience with Indian hotels. Our standards have fallen drastically in the fifteen months we’ve spent in Asia.

Not keen on spending a lot of time in the hotel room and badly in need of some decent food, we walked to the bus stand to catch a ride back to Pushkar for dinner. The thirty-minute ride took us back over the glowing hills and into the colorful town, while on the way there we met a family and played games with their two little girls, who had us in stitches with their giggles and toothless grins.

We would meet the family on the ride back when, by coincidence, we ended up on the same bus again. This time the little one had a newly shaved head (a religious practice for Hindus) and the older one was making light work of an ice cream cone. We chatted to the parents in English about our travels until the older girl—about six years old—popped up from her seat, pointed to my forehead where there should have been a bindi and exclaimed in sparkling English “You are not Hindi?!!”

I was so surprised to hear this clever little girl speaking in another language that I nearly fell out of my seat, but I didn’t have time before she jumped down and shimmied her way into the empty spot beside Greg. For the rest of the way, she and Greg chatted happily in English, discussing important topics like cartoons and ice cream flavors and generally ignoring me. This girl was obviously a bit smitten with my husband as she batted her eyelashes and flashed her toothless smile as if to say “That girl you’re with; you don’t need her. Look how cute I am.” But I’m used to this by now; Greg has already charmed the Mickey-Mouse-socks off of kids on two continents.

The next day was no different, either. At one point as we wandered the town of Ajmer, I left Greg with our backpacks for about twenty minutes to visit the local Sufi shrine. When I returned, I found him surrounded by a gaggle of boys, laughing and joking about boy things like cricket and Spiderman. While Greg went to explore the shrine for himself, I made friends with these kids and a few other curious, young onlookers who listened to everything I had to say and then tried to teach me some Hindi words, laughing at my clumsy tongue.

After the weekend we had in the hospital—and the disappointment we felt about not seeing more of Rajasthan—it was so nice to spend time with these kids. Ajmer didn’t have the spectacular sites of Jodhpur or Jaisalmer, but the people we met there were so kind and helpful that we were feeling much better about the world. The kids in particular were bright and inquisitive, and in the end just like kids anywhere else in the world: they don’t see difference as a bad thing, but merely an opportunity to learn, to ask questions, to explore, without letting a little thing like lacking a common language get in the way.

Agra

After two days in Ajmer, we resumed our travels by catching an early train to Agra, home to a big old white building that some guy built for this girl a while ago. I don’t remember what it’s name was, but we heard it might be worth checking out.

Actually, there’s not much one can explain about the Taj Mahal and it doesn’t need much explanation. It is simply magnificent. The world’s greatest building.

Delhi

And then finally, finally, finally we were in Delhi. The last stop—it’s almost unbelievable—on this adventure (and sometimes misadventure) that we’ve been on for fifteen months. Finally. All that was left now was to spend our last days exploring Delhi’s sprawling districts.

We wandered the tree-lined streets of GK-II, ate in an Italian restaurant, and then retreated into the relative quiet of our clean and comfortable guesthouse. Then the next day we lazed around Lodi Gardens, which is a little like Central Park, if Central Park had 15th-century Afghan tombs and bright green parrots everywhere. We grabbed an auto-rickshaw bound for teeming Old Delhi to catch sunset at India’s largest mosque and then ate some of the best chicken we’ve ever had in one of Chadni Chowk’s back-alley restaurants. Then it was time to head back. It took several hours, three different drivers, and a couple of threats (for good measure) to get us all the way from Old Delhi to GK-II.

It was a long journey, but not as long as the next one will be. We are going home.

Jaipur, Pushkar, Ajmer

52 photos

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Agra, Delhi

83 photos

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