From the pink city of Jaipur to Castle Bijaipur in rural Rajasthan

India, day 7... when Vicki learns that new friends are the best part of solo travel

I've been traveling with my tour group for a week; strangers are becoming friends. Our final morning in Jaipur starts like every other, with curry, chapatis, chai—and questions. “How did you sleep? How's your tummy? Did you have hot water?” (Things we take for granted at home—hot water on command, toilet paper, and a diarrhea-free night—cannot be taken for granted in India.)

It's cool and foggy as we leave Jaipur. The produce stands and street food wallas are open for business, but most market stalls and roadside carts are still covered with tarps, wrapped with string. I see a woman sweeping the dirt with a straw broom: a Sisyphean task if ever there was one.

Four schoolchildren wedged into the back of a tuk tuk wave at us happily; men driving trucks toot their musical horns. I'm going to miss this friendliness when I get back to Canada.

So far, we have toured India's golden [tourist] triangle: Delhi, Agra, Jaipur. I'm thankful that our tour has taken us beyond the golden triangle into some places that are rarely seen by tourists, but I realize that this country is more diverse than I expected. The more I see, the more I want to see.

On the road to Bijaipur 

Our guide tells that India is really three countries: the north-west, the north-east, and the south. Everything changes from one place to the next: topography, culture, lifestyle, religion, food. I've only had a taste of one bit, and I want to eat every part of the thali.

We're heading south-west now: from Jaipur to Udaipur, then Mumbai, then Goa. But first we need to stop in Bijaipur.

We pass tall new apartment blocks as we leave the city on smooth black bitumen. Before long we’re back in the countryside, sharing the road with colourful transporters, small trucks hidden under bloated sacks, and jeeps carrying farm workers. Occasionally, a herd of cows, or an old man with white dhoti and wooden walking stick, appear beside the road. Jaipur feels worlds away.

But we are still in India... 

We stop for chai mid-morning and I pay for the toilet (a scam, our guide tells me, but I can't get wound up; I probably earn more in a month than most Indians earn in a year). And then we stop for lunch, and all I can think is: damn, Indians know how to cook.

Fresh vegetables, straight from the owner's garden, some pulses, a few spices, a lot of creativity—and that's it. Endlessly delicious meals; I don’t miss meat at all. (Oh, and don't forget the syrupy gulab jamun to finish.)

We leave the main highway and travel along a narrowing road, through a small town and into a green valley. Suddenly there are palm trees everywhere. Rectangular fields on either side are divided by mortarless stone walls and, in some places, thick prickly bushes.

Fields of lime green mustard plants glow in the sun, matched only in brightness by the saris of women tending goat herds. We spot a dozen monkeys, happily un-sowing a field of seeds. I've really enjoyed my time in cities like Delhi and Jaipur, but I love the Rajasthan countryside.

Castle Bijaipur. Right, a castle.

We’re greeted by drummers at our next stop—Castle Bijiapur, another royal-residence-turned-homestay—and each given a welcoming marigold garland and tilak dot. I feel like royalty. 

My room is the turret of the northwest corner, complete with a balcony where I can shoot incoming marauders through the slits in the wall. Handy.

While I get my hands decorated with henna, others swim in the pool. We’re all relaxed, and happy; the tranquil setting is a welcome break from the busy cities.

When the air starts to chill around dusk, we retire to the courtyard and sit around drinking Kingfisher beer and “Important Gin" (i.e. not the Indian stuff).

Musicians appear, and I’m cajoled into getting up to dance. We laugh, and talk, and watch another cooking demonstration. (To be honest, the Important Gin has gone to my head, and I don't catch the details; it was delicious though.)

I’m not a tour group kind of person...

I like my independence, and alone time. But going to India for the first time, alone, as a woman, felt intimidating—so I decided to join a group tour. Today, as we sit around talking and laughing and swapping Instagram accounts, I realize how glad I am that I did.

I'm making friends with people I’d normally never get to know, or even cross paths with. We come from different countries, and even generations, but share a lot in common: a love of travel and food, and a curiosity about the world and the people in it.

I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be right now. We eat dinner by the pool, then retire early. I plan to read but fall asleep in minutes, completely content. (And if marauders arrive in the night, I will be the first line of defense.)

India travel blog - day 8... meeting the Maharana in Bijaipur