Steve and I took the "deluxe" bus to Jaipur. Only two seats were left to be assigned by the vendor - last row in the middle of the aisle and the one to its right. It made for a long five and half hour journey, without a window seat. The man next to me kept his window closed blocking the breeze in that non-air-conditioned bus and his curtain across it to block out the sun. They have a different heat tolerance here. He was in a long sleeved shirt and pants and wasn't breaking a sweat while I was wearing a t-shirt and wishing desperately that I could be wearing shorts. When I did catch an occasional glimpse of the countryside it looked much different and less poverty stricken than the country roads in the Bihar state I had watched go by on that seven turned sixteen hour

bus ride to Varanasi. Rajasthan countryside was beautiful in parts, reminding me of Illinois. And I was amused at myself for thinking that the most beautiful countryside that I had seen in India reminded me very much of the freshly plowed flat fields, green leafy trees and wildflowers of home.

Jaipur was a vibrant and bustling city with a character all its own. We arrived at dusk, winding up the narrow streets of the hills that were just beginning to rise from the plains. Remnants of an old fort that must have been magnificent in its day lined sections of the street on each side. In a hurry to get off the bus, we left Steve's guidebook behind in the seat. I had given mine to Kelley and we had lost his and we felt vulnerable. We had arranged a room at the Diggi Palace - we thought - but when the rickshaw driver took us there, no rooms were available except the tiniest of dingy rooms without a toilet, sink or shower. So we were at the mercy of the auto rickshaw driver. He took us to a couple of places and we settled for a decent one but paid considerably over what we knew should have been a fair price. The rickshaw driver, we had read in a guidebook when we still had one, could get up to a 30% commission for leading tourists to hotels. But it was late, and we had a place to stay, and we were happy. We checked in while the driver waited and then he took us to a very touristy garden restaurant to eat. Its name was Indiana, like our state. I wondered if he also received a commission for taking us to that pricey place. But it had beer. And a couple of Rajasthan men were sitting on the floor in their classic turbans playing drums and an accordion like instrument with a small keyboard while a beautiful young Rajasthan woman in full traditional dress danced around, at times with a brass bowl of fire balanced on her head.

In the morning we took a walk through a part of Jaipur known as the old city. It was bustling with people - and cows, and dogs, and pigs and goats. The place was alive and full of all of them going about their new day. Maybe it’s not such a bad way to take care of garbage, by throwing it out into the streets. It is a form of recycling. It feeds the animals. There was no grass to be found anywhere. We walked beneath a ledge at the perimeter of the walled off old city and a boy dumped a large bucket of garbage and entrails over the side into our street below, almost splattering my feet and ankles in disregard. The dogs were much happier about it than me. They had a feast. Steve gagged at the sight of one of them gulping down a long piece of slimy intestine. He had already stepped in three piles of animal crap that morning, mostly cow manure. The last time he slid on the fresh smelly goo like on a banana peel, almost landing on his rear end in the mess. He caught himself just in time. And after the entrail munching dogs we came across what sure looked like a piece of human feces laying there in the middle of the road. That was about enough of a pleasant stroll through the old city streets of Jaipur. We were ready for breakfast.

And so we looked for a bicycle rickshaw to take us to a place to eat. And the one we found had a driver that spoke no English. We discovered that fact when he stopped twice along the way to get people to translate where we wanted to go for him. He had no idea where he was taking us for the twenty rupee price we had agreed upon. I saw a sign for the City Palace Cafe and we told him to stop and let us off. We would try that. When he did, he made a bit of a scene, insolently demanding fifty rupees. It was ridiculous. The ride had been brief, all downhill, he didn't know where he was going so didn't take us there, and we had agreed on a price of twenty rupees before climbing into his seat. It was in marked contrast to the bicycle rickshaw driver from earlier in the morning. He looked to be in his seventies and cycled much longer -all uphill - and was very pleasant and happy as pie that he made twenty rupees.

Inside the old City Palace walls was an upscale cafe. Photographs of the maharaja riding elephants and standing over slayed tigers decorated the walls. We dined in the open air of the courtyard. The atmosphere and the prices suggested that the food was probably safe for tourists. I ordered chocolate ice cream, my favorite breakfast, and Steve ordered vanilla with a bowl of fruit. It came with unpeeled grapes and chunks of papaya and apples.

By the time we were done the observatory was open, a place called Jantar Mantar. It was built by the Maharaja Jai Singh II in the 1700s. Apparently, this king himself was quite an astrologer, unlike many of the royalty who employed a court astrologer to decipher the constellations and predict the future. He built four astronomy/astrology observatories in other cities as practice, and then he built this masterpiece in his home of Jaipur. The outdoor garden of concrete and stone sculptures that all have a function houses the world's largest sundial. It is a striking twenty-seven meters high and the shadow moves across the dial at four meters per hour. We arranged for a three dollar tour with one of the licensed guides who were very knowledgeable. He showed us how the garden of instruments had been used to calculate positions of the heavenly bodies for the king all those years ago. It was fascinating.

That night we stayed in a haveli. Havelis are upscale Rajasthan homes or mansions that dignitaries and diplomats used to own but that now are mostly made into hotels. Ours was wonderful, with character unlike any place could be that was designed to be a hotel. We had a nice room upstairs with a beautiful view of the Tiger Fort on the hill in the distance. And we had a good night at first. But I awoke at two am to hear Steve retching and vomiting in the bathroom. He was miserable for several hours, making good use of the upscale western toilet. I was glad we had splurged on such a nice room for him to be uncomfortable in as he paid for enjoying his fresh fruit from the palace cafe.

Worried that Steve would be too uncomfortable on the crowded bus or unable to stop it when needed; we tossed the tickets we had bought the day before. The gentleman at the reception desk of the haveli arranged a four hour taxi ride to Pushkar for us for 1500 rupees - about $33. It was a small economy car without air-conditioning but it was just the two of us and Steve had control to stop at any time. He did fine and we began passing camels in the road with increasing frequency as we drove towards Pushkar for the fair.