"The palace of Bundi even in broad day light, is such a palace as men built for themselves in uneasy dreams - the workofgoblins rather than men."

                                                              - Rudyard Kipling

 After my ill-fated encounter with Indian crook Sanjay and my visit to the Nagaur Camel Fair, I headed south to Udaipur, a beautiful city with many beautiful palaces, featured in the 007 flick 'Octopussy.' I then headed east to small town of Bundi,a favorite spot of writer Rudyard Kipling. Bundi was the most chilled out places I have been to, I don't think most Indians there were used to having with tourists, especially off the main street. I spent a number of hours my first day searching for some establishment that served meat. In Hindu dominated towns, meat is hard to come by and travellers often ask the question "do you where you can eat meat?" in hushed voices. I eventually found some chicken, at least I think that was what the mysterious substance was. The palace was crumbling but nice, except for the notoriously aggressive monkeys. Can they smell fear? They are said to terrorize tourists all the time. I brought a big stick, and a few swings saw them scuttling for the bushes.

I also walked out to a holy lake near Bundi. I heard it was tranquil and clean. I think both terms are interpreted differently over here. Clean can means not as dirty and  a few less plastic bags, and the absense of a wofting sewage smell. Plastic is everywhere you look, even cows eat it. Tranquility means noisy, but not so much so that you have to cover your ears. As described, I did find the lake tranquil and clean by Indian standards. It was obvious that the crowds of brightly dressed people walking along side of the lake don't see too many foreigners.

Often I get huge crowds of people standing around me just staring. This happened to me in the town of Kota in Rajasthan. A popular local MP had arrived in his motorcade to visit his constituency. Hundreds of people had turned out to greet him and they were cheering, dancing, and lighting off very loud fireworks. At first I thought it must have been a riot, so naturally I went out to watch. As soon as the people saw me standing there watching, they gravitated towards me. Almost instantly I had 100 people crowded around me staring, laughing, and pointing. There is no way a skinny pale ass backpacker from Canada is more important than the MP they had turned out for...? Others in the crowd were trying to show off their english by asking me the usual questions, "What is your good country?" or "Your father's name?" and most importantly "Are you married?" I am famous in this country purely because I am white. This is hilarious but also a burden.