Most of our trips by Indian Rail have been characterized by punishingly early starts, discombobulation when faced with the multitude of trains and tracks, last minute platform changes and a scramble for the right carriage as the train pulls in. Our trip to the pink city of Jaipur was no different.

Up at 4:45am, out the door by 5:30am only to be caught in traffic, honking even at this hour. Get to the station with time to spare only to find out, after much confusion and pantomiming, that our train has been rerouted to the other station despite us confirming otherwise the night before. Mad dash out the entrance into a group of waiting taximen, greedily rubbing their hands not unlike the scheming fly, and pay handsomely for a speedy transfer to the right station. Get in, pass a perfunctory security check and find the train delayed on Platform 2.

By this time, my digestive tract, upset by our constantly changing schedule, decides to punish me by trying to force an offload. I hobble to the public toilet, doing my best to keep the dreaded "Turtle Head" at bay, and desperately cut to the front of the queue throwing R20 at the attendant only to find every stall occupied, each with its own line.

By this time, I'm fighting a losing battle, barely clinching it, and as desperation turns to panic, I get on the first train carriage I see, not knowing or caring whether it's about to depart. I relieve myself in the mercifully clean latrine, barely in the nick of time. This episode was way beyond an Amber Alert, and indeed, a national crisis as far as I was concerned. Luckily the train did not leave with me on it and I rejoined my waiting parents on the platform.

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Rajasthan, the desert state, home to the descendants of Surya, rajputs and the sun warriors. Located in India's northwest, it is known for its Thar desert and the picturesque cities of Jaipur and Jodhpur.

View of Jaipur from Iswari Minar. Above: Our 5am tuktuk ride to the train station

By the time our train pulls into the station we are ready. We know the drill: ignore every-fucking-one and make a bee-line for the prepaid taxi stand where they charge by the kilometer. Steeling ourselves against the onslaught, the train door opens and the pandemonium begins. Touts immediately come at us, so close I can smell what they've had for breakfast (sambar with too much cloves), but these teeth have been cut in Delhi, and these Rajasthanis are a pale shadow of their big city cousins. One persistent little man almost gets his head bitten cleanly off as he tries his tricks on pops and when he comes to whine at me it falls on deaf ears.

But these Rajasthanis are a crafty lot, and we get fooled into falling for a false pre-paid taxi stand. When a police officer points us in the right direction, the gentleman behind the desk tries to quote us R500 before reducing it to R150 after we point out that they are meant to charge by the kilometer. By now our skin is so thick as to be callous and we are unfazed. I think we've turned a corner on this trip but it has taken us a month to get here.

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I can't recommend Tara Niwas enough. Serving as our hotel in Jaipur, it is clean and quiet, with simple rooms, a fantastic balcony and best of all, honest and beguileless staff. If luxury is defined by comfort, then we were in its lap. We felt utterly at home which I think is the highest compliment you can pay an establishment, and it was a real effort to have to leave the peaceful confines of the hotel to venture into Jaipur proper.

But we did, and were commensurately rewarded.

Palace of Winds was great fun to explore with its labyrinthine corridors, small windows and MC Escher'esque stairways. Pops, a vindictive soul, annoyed at a bunch of domestic tourists who refused to clear out of our picture, proceeded to ruin any photographic attempt by sticking his big fat Chinese face in theirs.

The facade of the Palace of Winds

Nargarwar, more abode than military fort, offered commanding views over Jaipur. Arriving at sunset, we were not disappointed by the glorious prospect of the city from our rooftop vantage.

Formidable and magnificent, the Amber Fort (pronounced Amer) was a particular highlight, not only for its sheer size, but also its beauty. Despite being a military complex, its interiors were designed as a palace, with living quarters, function rooms, marbled arches where royalty would receive guests, and exquisite gardens with fruit bearing trees and fountains. And emanating from the main fort are barbican fortifications running the length of several hills for miles, India's answer to The Great Wall of China.

Jaipur's Jantar Mantar

But it is the City Palace that remains the most memorable, not because it was any more interesting than the sites above, but because it's the place where I broke a piece of it. UNESCO recognized, The City Palace was the one-time abode of the rajputs, Rajasthan's ruling maharajahs, a place of prestige and grandeur. While exploring the grounds I was coming off a ledge, and in a failed hop, my heel caught the edge and a whole section of the ramp came off, shattering on the ground below in a loud crack.

Now, I think that it was only a piece of old concrete pavement, part of an inconsequential ramp leading to the raised platform. Also, I'm quite sure that it was already loose otherwise how did it come off so easily? Who knows the answer to these questions? Not me because I wasn't fucking sticking around to find out!

Walking away from the scene with calm and poise, I had to fight every urge to not break into a full-on sprint. As ducked into the palace shopping area, I donned my cap and sunglasses and went and bought a block-print shirt for good measure. Call me Mr. Incognito. I then left by a completely separate entrance and waited for my parents to finish their tour. Thinking about it now, The phrase that comes to mind is "this is why we can't have nice things."

Jaipur, the place where we were rude to people and broke shit.

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Vignette

I've been told by female friends that co-habitation with other women results in a synchronization of menstrual cycles; a kind of mass ovulation that sends estrogen levels into the stratosphere and grown men scurrying for cover. In my experience (at my female heavy ex-employer), this is also accompanied by unreasonable demands for chocolate and retiring to the coffee room to talk about feelings.

After spending a month in close quarters with my parents, I now know that I have inherited the regularity of my digestive tract from my mother. In something akin to this synchronization of cycles, we now both have an urgent need to go #2 in the morning, resulting in a mad dash for the toilet, and the loser (usually me) pounding fist impatiently on the door hopping from one foot to another in a "poopoo dance."

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Portal to the outside world

Prakash Big Band

Jolly fellow frying fresh gulab jamun

I used to play Karom as a kid with my cousins in Mauritius. It's like Indian pool played with your hands and is great with whiskey (ideas for when I finally settle down)

Truck driver getting ready for the long haul