Our arrival into Pushkar was memorable. As we neared the small village we passed more and more camels going the opposite direction, some pulling wooden carts, some ridden by Rajasthan men in brightly colored turbans, and some strung together single file being directed down the road by their owners. They were decorated with bright ribbons and tinkling bells. Some were “branded” without burning with dark black ink in several places in intricate designs. Others had special haircuts with fancy patterns clipped into their short fur presumably for easier recognition but also for decoration. Crowds of women in bright saris of red and pink and green were streaming into town with

bags and suitcases balanced on their heads. As we turned the corner onto the main street, we heard a loud shrill squealing and saw a wild dog carrying off a crying piglet while the big fat mama pig chased frantically but uselessly and no one else even seemed to notice.

This tiny village of Pushkar has been a holy Hindu site for thousands of years. The story goes that Lord Brahma dropped a lotus flower from his hand into the desert sand and up sprang a beautiful, pure lake exactly at that spot. “Push” means flower and “kar” means hand, and thus this town has developed around the holy lake. Legend also says that Lord Brahma married another woman here when his wife, Shavrita, failed to show up for a ceremony. That annoyed her (of course) and she cursed him and vowed that he would never be worshipped anywhere else. Thus Pushkar is the only place in India with a temple dedicated to Brahma. Hindus must make a pilgrimage here at least once in their lifetime preferably during Kartik Purnima, the full moon of the Hindu month of Kartika. And that was to be in a few days. The town swells to several times its size during the days before the full moon. Over the years a camel buying and selling fair came to precede the religious festivities and now the town is famous for the week long celebrations. We had missed most of the camel bartering, but the religious activities were yet to climax.

The taxi took us to the Rajasthan government’s tourist camp where we had reserved one of the private tents. We had read in the guidebooks, when we still had them, that it’s almost impossible to find a room once you arrive, so we played it safe and paid for our room beforehand. It was a government sponsored tent village, so surely it was on the up and up. It did make me nervous to hand over so much cash. And it was a lot of cash – 12,000 rupees - that is $260 – and they wouldn’t take any other form of compensation. That’s definitely a small fortune in India, so much so that the official’s hands trembled as he counted it out. We learned later that he received a 10% commission and then there was a lovely 10% tax charge to surprise us when we arrived. So that would be USA hotel prices of $130 plus tax per night to stay in a tent. But the official showed us very nice pictures of beautiful clean tents with private bathrooms and assured us that there was hot water and western toilets. And our brand new guidebood said that the hotel rooms were impossible to get and that the prices were ten times what they normally are and so within that range.

The Swiss tent we had reserved for two nights for so much money was awful. Instead of a double bed like in the picture, two fold out aluminum cots with pieces of plywood covered by thin hard cushions were made up so that the head of the beds placed together were at the sunken end of the sloped sandy tarp floor. We took our shoes off and walked across to see the bathroom and both immediately yelped as cockleburs pierced our feet. There was no hot water. There was not even a shower. A small sink was present with a big wooden throne of a western toilet. And sand was everywhere. And cockleburs were even sticking out of our “mattresses” beneath the sheets, piercing and scratching all night long. It was the worst night’s sleep I had in India and it cost me the most money. I awoke with a crook in my neck that bothered me for the next five days. And poor Steve got to experience my best “morningness” – after such a bad night, waking up with a crook in my neck, walking across the cockleburs to the big wooden throne and my cold water sponge bath as I thought about how much money this had cost us and what suckers we were. I was a little bit grouchy. And we had been classic tourist suckers. We had gone for a walk through the fair just before turning in for the night and we found a guesthouse, maybe in a noisy area, but with clean rooms and hot water showers for only 500 rupees. I guess even the Indian government will scam you if you're not careful.