The gorgeous gold town of Jaisalmer isn't quite as "Arabian Nights" as I expected, but it's still a spectacular place unlike any other I've seen. The entire town is made of slowly-eroding, beautifully hand-carved sandstone including the centerpiece; a huge fort that looks like a giant sandcastle. Over 5000 people live and work on the maze of small slippery sandstone walkways within its walls, making it the only 'living' fort of its kind still in India. Concern about the sinking foundation has led officials to consider closing all guesthouses inside the walls, as every flush of a toilet brings the place a bit closer to falling into a giant sinkhole. Jaisalmer is a mere 70 kilometers from the Pakistani border and the drone of patrolling airforce jets overhead draws my eyes skyward.

After a night-bus ride that was way-too-long considering the distance covered, Kirti and I met up at Giriraj Palace Guesthouse. Kirti's friend Daryl, whom I met in Udaipur, works with his lover Gomen at the guesthouse and extended the invitation to me to stay with them when I made it to Jaisalmer. Daryl is from Alice Springs and for 8 years now he has lived half the year here with Gomen running the guesthouse and the other half in Australia, running a profitable export business selling stuff he's bought in India. Because Gomen is gay in a country that hasn't quite figured out how homosexuality fits into its social structure, he has been married for two years and has a son, but his wife lives 300 kilometers away with Gomen's family. He sees them infrequently, his wife doesn't know about Gomen's relationship with Daryl and has never questioned it, even though Daryl paid for the wedding. Yikes.

Yesterday a big group of us piled into an air-conditioned room at Daryl's friend's guesthouse down the road to watch the final cricket match between Pakistan and India. A Superbowl party it was not and I still think cricket is the most boring sport on earth (I read my book, Holy Cow!, most of the time), but at least the commercials were entertaining.

My favorite was for a cosmetic cream called "Fair and Lovely." A girl dreams of being a sportcaster and practices along with the TV with a rolled-up magazine as a microphone. She dreams and practices and dreams some more until one day her disapproving sister grabs the magazine out of her hand and with a knowing look, replaces it with a tube of "Fair and Lovely" fairness cream! Clearly the path to success has been blocked only by her unsightly dark Indian skin! She uses the cream, sends in her audition tape, wows them with her new desirable "wheatish" complexion, gets called in for a personal audition and lands the job. At the end her mother cries, watching proudly as her now-white daughter becomes famous on TV! Hoorah! Ugh.

India won. The MVP of the match won a whopping $1500. The MVP of the series won a Hyundai Accent. We ate a celebratory dinner of dahl (lentils), chappatis (the basic foodstuff of North India; little wheat pancakes) and paneer butter masala. While I've been loving the food in the north compared to the south (most Indian restaurants in the States thankfully serve North Indian food rather than the bland carb-load from the south), my digestive system has other ideas. I am hoping it's just an adjustment period while my stomach-lining adjusts to a new diet, but really. It would be nice to feel human again.

Sam and Jenn: "Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm" by The Crash Test Dummies is playing at the internet cafe. Made me think of you both.

I'd heard it's easy to get stuck in Pushkar. Visually, it's similar to Udaipur with its lakeside setting and simple adobe-style architecture as well as its multitude of roof-top cafes and handicraft dealers. Small temples are tucked between internet cafes and clothing stores as well as perched atop nearby peaks overlooking the town. It's an extremely holy place and every day there is some sort of religious procession through the town bazaar, usually involving a group of young boys pushing brightly-lit gawdy decorated images of various gods on flatbed carts while blasting traditional religious music on distorted cassette tapes through crappy speakers.

Kirti, our friend who ran the guesthouse we stayed at in Udaipur, came to Pushkar for two days with his Danish friend Jacob. They are friends with Ablu, the guy who runs "The Third Eye," an Isreali restaurant in town where I've spent a good many hours hanging out with, oddly enough, a group of Croatians, Slovenians, Lithuanians, Mexicans and Germans. This is statistically noteworthy as Chris and I speculate Isrealis outnumber other travelers here by about 10:1. I've heard that 40,000 Isrealis per year come to India and I imagine about half of that number are here right now. Most are here after serving their country's mandatory 3-year military duty, and India is a close-by, cheap place to travel. Americans are rare in these parts and I am frequently greeted by shopkeepers with a hearty "shalom!" There's a huge seder for Passover in Kathmandu on April 5 and it seems most Isrealis I meet are part of a mass exodus from India into Nepal in time for the big party.

For Saturday night's new moon, an Isreali guy tried to throw a trance party about 30 kms out of Pushkar. Over 150 people gathered at Oasis Guesthouse to load onto two busses out to the party location, but the new police force in Pushkar had other ideas and stopped the busses before they started their engines. A lot of disappointed people hung around Oasis, where I met and took an immediate liking to an Isreali woman named Maya. We hung out at her guesthouse talking for hours and she helped remind me why I am here. It felt good to connect with another woman who has been doing some of the same soul-searching that I have.

After leaving Maya's place I discovered I couldn't get into my guesthouse because they locked the door at 11 PM (we moved guesthouses and this one does not have a guy sleeping next to the door). I knocked on the door at The Third Eye and Ablu let me in. We listening to music and danced around the pool table, but we were soon interrupted by a clatter on the roof. Ablu ran outside, explaining the noise was some of the town's monkeys on their monthly New Moon trouble-making spree.

I followed him out as he chased away a monkey who had taken an interest in the restaurant's stack of soda crates. The roof outline was barely visible against the starry moonless sky and we listened in silence as hundreds of black-faced monkeys wreaked havoc all over town. Jumping from roof to roof, the monkeys were banging on windows, knocking things over, grabbing door handles and shaking them furiously. I am not sure if they were attempting to find food or just being cheeky, but I was thoroughly entertained by the ruckus they were causing. Later, a friend of Ablu's said in his thick Hindi accent, "Every night is monkey party."

India tied up the cricket series against Pakistan 2 games to 2. The locals celebrated in their usual way; by exploding unnecessarily loud fireworks in the middle of the streets.

With visions of "Aladdin" in my head, I'll be leaving Pushkar tonight to head west to the desert fortress town of Jaisalmer where I will meet up with Kirti again. It's a bit out of my way since my plan is to head to Nepal by early April, but it sounds like this may be my last chance to ride a camel through the sweeping sand dunes before it gets too hot or rainy.

Bundi was a weird little town. It's off the beaten path because there's really not a lot to do there, but it will probably become more touristy now that its old dilapidated fort and palace have opened for public visitors. There's virtually nothing in the form of tourist infrastructure and Chris and I were just not in the mood for oppressive heat and a lack of creature comforts. We spent only two days there after finally dislodging ourselves from Udaipur.

I went to the fort and the castle, neither of which were particularly impressive. I wish I could get excited about old historically-significant buildings, but I've determined I love being places where there are lots of people, not places where there used to be lots of people. On the way down from the castle, a young boy of about 12 began talking to me and then asked if he could kiss me. I turned him down and he then asked me for 10 rupees. Just one of many odd personal interactions in an average day here.

The streets of Bundi are crawling with foul-looking stinky pigs like I haven't seen anywhere else in India. Black, ugly wiry hairs pop out in sprigs all over their strange shapes and I found myself looking at them with disgust as they rooted through every mound or pile they came across with their big, wet, pink snouts. Their only endearing quality is that unlike the usual street-wandering dogs, goats, cows, elephants and camels, the pigs generally stay out of your way.

We're now in Pushkar, about 275 kilometers north of Udaipur. We arrived in the dark, empty town center at 1:30 AM (busses in India tend to be rather curiously-timed) and knocked on the door of Krishna Guesthouse, which the owner ambitiously claims to be "the largest guesthouse in the world." The door was a huge, thick, arch-shaped monstrosity with a smaller cut-out door that reminded me of the scene in 'The Wizard of Oz' when Dorothy and the crew arrive at the wizard's place. We watched the small door expectantly while someone inside sleepily fumbled with keys to let us in.

Pushkar is apparently 'the place to be' for people beginning the journey north to escape the heat-- I've already run into at least 10 people I'd met elsewhere in India. It's an enchanting little place centered around a holy lake with ghats on all sides (ghats are broad steps leading to the banks of a river or lake, primarily used by dhobis, or washermen, when doing laundry). Every day in the late afternoon, all the tourists in town gather on the ghats to connect with each other and watch the sun set over the lake before dinner. Alcohol, meat and eggs are not allowed anywhere in town, though like anywhere in India, if there's a will there's a way.

This is the first place we've been in Rajasthan where I've seen most men in the state's traditional dress: knee-length collarless tunics called kurtas, long drapey pants called dhotis, and my favorite part, giant turbans. Turbans contain up to 40 feet of fabric and look extremely silly in my opinion, often riding slightly off-kilter on the wearer's head and never failing to bring a smile to my face.

Since about 10 days ago in Udaipur, Chris and/or I have been continually sick with something; flu, fever, chest cold, nausea, diarrhea or some combination thereof. It's left both of us extremely low energy and not really feeling like ourselves. I think we're both on the upswing though and Lonely Planet's promise of "spectacular spinach and mushroom enchiladas" in this town makes the world seem bright.

We finally made it to the north only to find ourselves stuck in the first city we've come to. Udaipur is a gorgeous, friendly place. Set on a lake, it's a hilly white city full of old palaces and temples, roof-top restaurants and narrow winding alleys. Some of "Octopussy" was filmed here and about half the guesthouses in town have a permanently painted sign out front offering "Octopussy Show Free! Every Night 7 PM." The vibe in the Old City where we are staying is very small-town and nearly everyone I meet is either related to or friends with someone else I've met. It's the first place I've stayed long enough to really get to know people who live here and that's making it that much harder to leave.

Our first day here, I met Mark, an Irish guy who invited Chris and me to meet him that night for dinner at his friend Pinto's restaurant. After dinner, Mark and Chris followed Pinto to Pushkar Palace, his friends' guesthouse down the road, for drinks and hanging out. I went home to sleep but was awakened the next morning by a very psyched Chris who had met and really liked the guys at Pushkar Palace. We went there for breakfast where I met Kirti, his brother Guddu and their friend Manu as well as two Isreali brothers, an Isreali woman named Dikla, and Daryl, an Australian guy who's been coming to Pushkar Palace for eight years. We decided to move. I'm so glad we did. We've found good friends, a comfortable place, and a few more reasons to love India.

And now more on Holi. Holi is India's festival of colors and the start of the hot season. The festival started Saturday night with a giant puppet-shaped bonfire in the town center (plus dozens of smaller ones in the side alleys). Clearing all the dried leaves and branches left through the winter, the fires make way for spring and metaphorically destroy evil. (This all reminded me a bit of Burning Man.)

We started watching the burn from the top steps of a temple, but soon the lure of loud Hindi pop dance music and a swarming mass of drunk dancing Indian men sprinkling each other with paint powder became too much for Chris to bear and he bolted down into it, arms waving madly with a big grin on his face and paint all over his bald head and clothes. We later learned he was on the local news.

The next morning we awoke early to trance music and people yelling and talking in the guesthouse courtyard just below our room. I got dressed and ran down into it and within seconds was covered from head to toe in pink, yellow, green, blue, orange and purple powder paint. We danced and laughed and played with paint for a while longer before Chris and I decided to take to the streets. Yelling "Happy Holi!" men and boys descended upon us smearing us with paint and dousing us with water, transforming us both into bright smeary runny watercolors.

Someone told me that on some festival days, the god Shiva is believed to be sleeping and not keeping an eye on people's behavior. It should have come as no surprise then that within minutes of going out, I was being grabbed from all directions by a thickening group of boys following us down the street. After a chastising outburst, I quickly made my exit to a the rooftop of Minerwa Guesthouse with the Israelis for some more trance and beer in the sun for the rest of the day. The next morning I discovered a large bruise on my right breast where someone had grabbed me and a huge smear of green paint on my back leftover from someone who used the wrong kind of paint. My hair still has tinges of pink.

My first glimpses of the culture and people here in the northern state of Rajasthan have made me feel this could be India at it's magical and colorful best. I'm not sure when we'll move on from Udaipur but it's getting hotter by the day and the mountains are beginning to call. At the same time, it feels really good to be getting to know a place, creating friendships and developing second-home feelings that make it that much harder to leave.

Today is the first cricket game in a series between India and Pakistan. They haven't played each other for 14 years and these games are doing wonders to raise hopes for peace between the two countries. The usual midday powercuts are mysteriously absent today and everyone is glued to a television. Go India!

I knew all this knocking on wood about maintaining a clean bill of health would fail me at some point. I am not particularly sick, just very achy, slightly fevery and a bit ill at ease. I figured spending the day in the internet cafe would not be very taxing on my body, so I now present some new PHOTOS for your enjoyment.

Uploaded today are photos from my trek in Northern Laos (Laos -> Trekking), Christmas and New Year's in Pai (Thailand -> Pai), and Chris's and my first weeks in Southern India, including quite a few of my favorites from the slums in Mumbai (Bombay). I've left a lot out; the vibe of this place is so difficult to capture in pixels.

Yesterday was Holi, the color festival that Chris and I had been trying to get to Rajasthan in time to celebrate. The streets and people were awash with riotous color and yep, I got my boobs and ass grabbed yet again. I'll write more about it later, now it's time for a nap.

Bombay is India's largest, most cosmopolitan city, officially home to 16,000,000 and probably a lot more the government would rather forget about. A traffic-circle intensive city plan, grandiose Gothic architecture, clocktowers and double-decker busses show lingering influence of British rule. Simultaneously India's richest and poorest city with an almost non-existent middle class, Bombay is home to both Bollywood stars and the largest slums in Asia.

Chris, Mary and I spent our short time together exploring this city of contrasts by visiting its nicest neighborhoods and worst slums. We hired a driver named Hussein, whose English ability was surpassed only by his ability to take us exactly where we wanted to go.

First stop, Raey Road. Tiny corrugated tin shacks sloppily smashed together overtake sidewalks and pedestrian bridges. Private lives inside visible through open doors and uncovered windows; families watching TV, cooking meals over open fires, nursing babies, seemingly oblivious to the crush of humanity both inside and outside their dwellings. Life spills out into the gutters; bathing, eating, washing, shitting. Leaning ladders lead up to wobbly second levels. Colorful laundry hangs to dry, piles of red tomatos, brightly wrapped candy and snacks are displayed for sale. Women in saris chase naked babies out of doors, within feet of the constant rush of traffic. Families pay about 500 rupees per month (about $12) to inhabit spaces smaller than your bedroom.

We get out of the taxi and take a walk along a bridge that Hussein claims was captured by these rural poor, most of whom are not from Bombay. A throng of small children too poor to be in school on a Wednesday gathers around us. Not accustomed to seeing tourists, not one asks for anything. They want only to be noticed, to say hello, to shake our hands, to ask our names, to follow us. Their smiles are brilliant. They seem so happy, so content. This is life for them as it always has been. I don't feel sorry for anyone. I am aghast and alarmed, overwhelmed and curious, never worried for my safety and only slightly claustrophobic in the crush of attention.

Next stop, Worli, a small neighborhood along the waterfront that's home or second-home to some of the city's international elite. Tall apartment buildings and single-owner bungalows line the promenade, occupying some of the city's most expensive real estate. I think most of them look terrible, mostly architectural disasters in dire need of paint jobs. There are virtually no people in sight. We quickly move on. There's no energy here.

Next stop, Dharavi, the largest slum in all of Asia. Smack between a high-tech business district and an upmarket suburb, the slum is home to 600,000 of Bombay's residents. There are people everywhere and they look at us kindly, gently, inquisitively. We squeeze past wide-eyed children and duck under stolen powerlines hanging low over tiny narrow alleys. Stepping over fly-swarmed open sewers, we peer into doors and see life and work in action. Cloth dying, pottery making, tailoring. Blue, green, pink, brown painted walls.

A man washes clothes in a pool of murky wastewater. A small boy squats to take a bowel movement in a sewer by the side of a main road. He is still there when we pass by again 10 minutes later. Goats rifle hungrily through heaps of garbage. A neverending stream of human waste feeds an opaque, gray river in a deep canal below the front doors of people's homes. Makeshift tin shanties are held together with asbestos sheets, old canvas, bamboo, old tires.

Final stop, Bandra, a rich neighborhood on a small peninsula where we find Bombay's most expensive hotels and big houses that are home to some Bollywood stars I've never heard of. People are dressed nicely, wearing glasses and driving cars, demonstrating the clear marks of India's economic elite. We sip mochas at a waterfront 'Barista,' India's answer to Starbucks. I find the views mediocre and most of the houses rather ugly. I am not impressed and lose myself in images and thoughts from the slums. I am still processing what I saw and felt, but know I will never look at life through the same eyes.

Today Chris and I said goodbye to Mary as she moves on to Delhi to meet her parents. We will be on a train for the next 17 hours en route to Udaipur, Rajasthan.