For the past few days, everywhere we go in the Old City we see people stringing up lights and garland. It seems like an awful lot of work just to welcome a couple of Canadians to India, but we certainly appreciate the effort. At the same time we are here, it is also Diwali, which is the biggest festival in India, and something they also put up lights for, which probably makes it even more difficult for the locals to try and handle both occasions at the same time.

In addition to the lights, people also go to great lengths to clean up their entryways, painting welcome messages on the steps, and crafting intricate designs out of chalk. The streets are definitely more crowded, and everyone seems to be in a very festive mood. If that’s not enough to draw us in to the celebration, the little people, wishing us “Happy Diwali” in their tiny voices is impossible to resist.

For most of the day, we just wander around random streets, looking for new things that interest us, and burning off some time until the sun sets and the fireworks start. We figure an hour-long foot massage might do the trick, and are lucky enough to round a corner and see two places advertising them. They are both barbershops, which doesn’t inspire a ton of confidence, but we check the price list for the first one anyway.

The owner of the shop next door clearly senses an opportunity, so with his shirt pulled halfway up and one hand probing his belly-button, he gives us a come-hither with his free hand. It’s a move I pioneered long ago, but strangely one that doesn’t work that well with Ang, and we end up moving on unfulfilled.

As night falls, we head down to the main market area, which is lit up like a third-world version of Fremont Street. Different shops have hired entertainers to attract crowds, and the food carts are out in full force. We try a couple of different things with mixed results. The mushed up potato patty covered with sauce is phenomenal (we go back for seconds), the cheesy ball things the vendor wrings out with his hand before putting it a bowl not so much.

By 10:00, we’re pretty much Diwalied out, so head back to the hotel where we have a good view of the fireworks. It’s a pretty impressive show, and after 15 minutes or so, we’re commenting how much it reminds us of July 4th in Bellingham. It turns out that’s child’s play when it comes to Diwali however, as the fireworks go on, and on, and on, and on.

We finally give up and put pillows over our heads to get some sleep, but at 6:30, when I get up to answer a little email, there are still burst going off with amazing frequency. Only sunrise finally quiets things down, and fortunately, this will be a travel day so we’re not in any particular rush to get out the door early.

We’re slowly slipping into vacation mode. Our starts in the morning are getting progressively later, and the motivation it takes to tackle something big becoming harder and harder to find. There are a handful of day tours from Udaipur to other forts, temples, and the like, but in general, they involve a 2-3 hour drive each way, and these days, 6 hours in a car just doesn’t sound that compelling. We may live to regret it (I do wish we had summoned the effort to make the day drip to Petra from Egypt), but fore the foreseeable future, we’ll be sticking pretty close to home base.

We also have some travel reservations to come up with as there are a few days between our time in Udaipur and Jaipur that are wide open. Originally, we had contemplated using them for a camel safari in the desert northeast of here, but there aren’t many great transportation options that would suck up most of the time, so that idea gets abandoned fairly early. Ultimately we settle on Pushkar, which is on the way to Jaipur, and at this time of year is gearing up for what is apparently one of the biggest camel fairs in the world. It’s far enough away that train is the most logical means of getting there which has my better half giddy with excitement.

Not far from the hotel is a craft village set up by the government to showcase rural life in some of the regions around India. It’s a little cheesy in some respects, but interesting nonetheless, and highlights the vast difference between poverty in the cities and in the country. Where life on a few dollars a day in Delhi means a hovel with open sewers, no running water, limited education, and little hope, in a rural village, it provides for an extended family living in a small compound, raising crops and livestock to provide many of their own necessities, but in reasonably clean conditions, and with good access to education and healthcare.

Fortunately for us, life in the village also provides ample time to create knick-knacks, so even here, Ang finds it possible to plow through our stockpile of rupees. Fully encumbered with treasures, our plan to head into the city for dinner is forgotten and we head back to the hotel to drop off our bags. There, inertia quickly sets in, and with a little time reading by the pool and some happy hour drinks and snacks, it’s pretty clear we’ve seen all we’re going to see for today.

One of the big perks of traveling in Asia has been access to cheap massages. Sometimes that has worked out well (Thailand is the hands down winner here), sometimes not so well (the Vietnamese dry rub). Our batting average is high enough overall though that we still look forward to coming back and finding a local spa. With that in mind, we finish breakfast and take a tuk-tuk to the Old City, where we figure we can find just wander around and find a place.

The going rate seems to be around $12 for an hour, so we’re all in at a spot just off one of the main streets (assuming something just wide enough for a single car with cows laying down in the middle still qualifies as a street). As a general rule, I prefer to be the hairiest one in the room when getting a massage, so I’m a little bummed that in India, massage is strictly a same sex business. Less than optimal, but not a deal killer.

The question of course, is just what is the threshold for pulling the plug on a massage? Is it being asked to lay face down on the dirty mat? Some man hands buzzing the tower? Maybe a 5 minute noogie, threatening to take the little hair I have left? The answer is none of those things. Turns out you can abuse me pretty much any way you like and I’ll still say thank you and give you a tip. Fortunately, the look on my travel buddy’s face tells me I’m not alone.

Things finally start looking up, as a short way down the road we come across a collection of street carts. We have absolutely no idea what the first one is serving, though there is pretty big crowd, which is usually a good sign. It’s served on a piece of old newspaper that you carry over to a dirty metal bench that serves as a table, but it tastes fantastic.

The only way I can think to improve upon it is some fresh sugar cane run through an ancient press by a man with no gloves and filtered through a crud-filled strainer. Ang isn’t very thirsty at the moment, so I don’t have to share.

All this activity leads up to the real reason we came into town today, which is to take a sunset boat ride on the lake and to visit one of the island palaces that is still open to the public (the other has been converted to a 5-star hotel, which at $800 per night was just slightly over our budget).

We’ve arranged for a private car today to take us around the sights of the city. At the time, the travel agent rattled off a fairly long list of things that we didn’t really understand, so we’re not totally sure what to expect, but we did hear “Monsoon Palace”, which is the one thing we wanted to see for sure, so everything beyond that will be a bonus.

Our first stop is a cable car that goes to the top of one of the surrounding hills and provides a panoramic view of the entire city.

Next, we head back to the Old City to see the local vegetable and spice market. It’s a microcosm of daily life, which Ang goes crazy trying to capture on film.

Not far from the Old City is the royal cemetery, which for 80 cents you can wander through in virtual solitude (no small feat in a country with over a billion people). Here stand the cenotaphs for Mewar rulers and their families going back some five hundred years. The place seems a little unkempt, mirroring, I suppose, the decline in importance of the maharanas following independence.

The last of the city stops is one of the popular gardens. We arrive at the same time as a few busloads of school children, who seem attracted to pasty Canadian skin like moths to a flame.

Finally, with the end of day approaching, we head up to the Monsoon Palace, which sits atop one of the surrounding hills and served as a place for the royal family to stay during the rainy season (as no self-respecting maharana should be expected to endure the rain stuck in either their summer or winter palaces). It’s mostly fallen into disrepair, but we’re told it provides the ideal spot to watch the sunset.

We make it back to the hotel for the tail end of happy hour, where a cocktail overlooking the lake makes the perfect capper to memorable day.

After 12 hours on the train, swapping cabin-buddies about halfway through, I’m not sure there is anyone as relieved to step on the platform as Ang. She’s a poster child for the eight, eight ounce glasses of water movement, but it’s a classic rookie mistake to drink a lot of fluids before putting yourself in place with limited bathroom options, particularly one that smells so foul that it can’t (and shouldn’t) be put into words. It’s 100% childish, but each time I hear her slide the cabin door open in the night, I can’t help but chuckle.

Following Delhi and Agra, arriving in Udaipur is like stepping off the train into a different world. For starters, it’s actually on the chilly side, but more importantly, the total sensory overload has given way to something far more manageable. The air is cleaner (note that I did not say clean), the streets less crowded, and while there is still a lot of garbage, less of it seems to be rotting, which is plus. We’re also back in Sheraton territory, which has my travel partner giddy with excitement.

Udaipur was the last capital of Mewar, before the region became part of an independent India. The setting is pure storybook, with vast palaces set next to a lake (plus two covering an entire islands in the lake themselves) surrounded by tree-covered hills. It is much more the India we envisioned before coming here, so after a quick shower and breakfast, we are anxious to head into the Old City and check it out.

After a short tuk-tuk ride, we find ourselves in a warren of narrow streets, packed with a random mix of cars, people and motorbikes. It’s loud and chaotic, but in an intoxicating sort of way. If you described it to me, I’d tell it you it sounds horrible, but somehow, it pulls you in until you can’t wait to see what’s around the next corner.

We do a little exploring, before ending up at the gates of the City Palace. It’s a massive complex, built up over several centuries, and was the main residence of the Mewar royal family prior to independence. It has since been separated into various sections housing 5-star hotels, a museum, and parts simply being left to decay. The tour is quite interesting, and as an added bonus for the shopper amongst us, a small collection of stores conveniently located on the grounds.

Our last stop for the evening is a quiet rooftop restaurant not far from the palace, where we are able to enjoy some good food, and just watch the city after dark.

Even though we have a wake up call at 4 am, both Ang and I are up and nearly packed before the phone rings. Maybe 10 years from now, the USADA will retest her urine and find out she was doping with sleep aids or energy drinks, but for now, it’s on the books as the earliest I have seen her up and ready to go.

While not always the most glamorous, trains have proven to be reasonably reliable no matter the country, and without exception, the stations provide a pretty unfiltered view of local culture. We’ve seen the movie version of beat up coaches, crammed so full of people they are hanging out the doors, and in this case, I can attest they are a pretty accurate depiction. But $10 gets you an assigned seat in one of the few air-conditioned cars, so even though it is still a little gritty, it is 100 times better than things further back.

This trip is a short two hours, and in theory will give us our first chance to see a bit of life outside the city. Unfortunately, life outside the city is not that pleasant. A thick haze keeps visibility down to several hundred yards, but even that provides plenty of opportunity to see the shanties built up next to the shacks, groups huddled around fires built with burning garbage, and as we get closer to Agra, an increasing number of people squatting down on the next tracks over, gripping the rails with their bare feet while taking a crap, oblivious to the passing train.

Arriving at Agra station, we hire a taxi for the day and drop our bags off at a local hotel. It seems like a bit of overkill, but with a year’s salary worth of electronics tucked inside, leaving them in the trunk of a complete stranger’s car while we wandered around has the potential to end poorly. The wisdom of this decision is reinforced when we pull over to pick up a random passenger, who turns out to be our “guide” for the day.

We’re in Agra really to see one thing – the Taj Mahal. It’s clearly one of the must do’s in India, and another of the man-made wonders we looking forward to ticking off the list. Sadly, the smog has a different idea, and it does take away something from the experience. This shot is from the main gate to the entrance of the compound, and a popular one as the arch nicely frames the Taj (which I assure you is there).

Our guide chatters on in English that is difficult for us to understand, and after watching Slumdog Millionaire, we’re not even sure he is telling the truth anyways, so we ask him to leave us be. Despite the haze, it is a spectacular building, and there is something spiritual about the place that seems better appreciated in silence. Nevertheless, we are still tourists, so try to play our part, taking dozens of pictures from all different angles (none of which do the place justice, and many that will leave us scratching our heads as to why we took them when we get back home), including the obligatory shot to add to our collection of “Ang holding things up”.

Tucked away in the back corner of the site, there is an electronic display with updates on the air quality. It is comforting to see that the level of suspended particulate matter is merely 5 times the recommended limit today. While clearly not healthy for us, the pollution is also taking its toll on the Taj, and like so many of these great places, best to see them while you still can.

The other main attraction in Agra is the Agra Fort, a massive complex built by the Mughals in the 1500’s. Unlike its counterpart in Delhi, a fair sized section of original buildings remain here, giving a glimpse of it how it might have looked in the days of the emperors. We ditch or guide once again, and just enjoy wandering through the grounds on our own.

With only a few hours left before we need to return to the train station (we are booked on the overnight service to Udaipur), we stop for a bit of lunch, and to make our driver happy, at one of the tourist shops, where unsurprisingly, they are having a special sale.

While we make it to the station in plenty of time, our train is nearly an hour behind schedule, giving us additional opportunity to soak in the sights and smells of countless people peeing against the walls and jumping down off the platform to take a dump. The kids running around on the tracks in their bare feet and the beggars tugging on our sleeves don’t seem to mind, nor do the rats feasting on the buffet of garbage, so the discomfort we feel is probably just us being a little oversensitive.

The trip from Agra to Udaipur is 12 hours, and unlike the sleeper cars we were able to book in China and Egypt, on this train they only come with four beds per cabin. There is also a single shared bathroom (a glorified squat hole in the floor to be more precise), so all in all, a fair bit less private then we hoped for. However, where the old Ang may have said “hell no!”, the road warrior version just swabs everything with disinfectant wipes and settles in for some broken sleep, looking forward to a new day in a new city.

We finally arrive in Delhi just before 6 in the morning, and for a big city airport, things are surprisingly quiet. This is always a good sign, as it usually translates to short lines at immigration, and by 6:45 we are already in a cab and on our way to the hotel.

At this time of day, it’s still dark outside, so we see little of what the city holds in store for us, but our plan is to spend just one day here, so even though we are running on little sleep, we more or less drop our bags off, eat some breakfast and head back out the door to wedge in a bit of sightseeing.

With the sun now up, the full weight of the city assaults our senses. It’s hard to describe, other than to say that somehow, Delhi manages to take the very worst of the big cities that we have been to and combines them into one exquisite package. The smog of Beijing, garbage of Cairo, beggars of Mexico City, and traffic of Athens, are all on display. It’s repulsive and engaging all at the same time, like the train wreck you just can’t look away from.

While the concierge has highlighted a number of things to see in the city, our limited schedule has us focused on just a few. The first is the Red Fort, which served as the seat of power for the Mughal empire in the 1850s. It’s 45 minutes away in noisy, congested traffic, or 20 minutes on the subway, so underground we go.

The subways in India reserve a few cars for women only (optional, not required), which combined with her unparalleled visual appeal, makes Ang quite popular with the local roosters, who stare like it’s a Victoria’s Secret photo shoot. Also joining us on the train is Booger, from the Bollywood version of Revenge of the Nerds, who, when not ogling my wife (and sometimes when he is), spends the entire trip deep drilling for treasure. If you’ve never experienced a grown man picking his nose with two hands at the same time, it really is a special treat.

The fort itself is interesting, but we’ve been spoiled by the scale of places like the Forbidden City which takes away some of the excitement. We have also read that a better example of this style of fort sits in Agra, so it’s a little like trying to get fired up about Canadian football when you know the NFL will be on the next day. The smog makes all of my pictures look depressing, so this one I clipped from the Internet.

The only other spot we have on our list is Connaught Place, which is more or less the city center, and supposedly a great place to find food and some shopping. We don’t really end up with either, and despite knowing better, fall once again for the Thai tuk-tuk scam. We do tempt fate with a few pieces of street food, but keep to the fairly safe, deep-fried food group for now.

By 5:30 we are back in hotel and pretty close to comatose. Crashing that early goes against all our instincts in trying to adjust to the time change, but our train to Agra leaves at 6 in the morning, so we rationalize the need to be up early for that and its lights out.

Although it has consumed literally our entire first day (and then some), there isn’t much to report from our travel between Seattle to New Delhi. There was a time, when we first started these annual adventures, where the novelty of crossing the Pacific for some far off destination was enough to make the flight part of the experience, but nowadays it’s mostly just a means to an end. However, there is no better opportunity than 21 hours locked in a metal tube to catch up on movies that have come and gone, and by the time we are on our last leg (Singapore to Delhi), I am far enough down the list that a story about a 35 year old man and his talking teddy bear is sounding pretty good (spoiler alert – it wasn’t).

While it seems like the gods have been conspiring against this trip since the beginning (too many stories of rescheduling, visa problems, and injuries to recount here), we once again find ourselves in our usual state of semi-panic the night before the flight. Unlike some recent trips, the advice for India has been to book ahead, so while there are a few gaps that we will fill as we go along, overall we have a pretty good idea of where we will be going (all 22,000 miles) and when.

The Cliff’s Notes version is: Agra (Taj Mahal), Rajasthan, and Goa, which should be a good mix of sightseeing and lazy beach time. As always, the plan is to keep a written record (to remind us of where we’ve been when our memories start to fail), so I hope to be more diligent this time around that proved to be the case in Puerto Rico, which admittedly, I just finished and posted some six months late…