4 friends discover a piece of North India

Hello,

Forty years have passed since my first trip to India, which was organized after winning first prize in a literary competition hosted by Éditions Gallimard. A lot of water has flowed under the bridges of my life, as well as those of the Ganges and the Indus. This time, we’re traveling as a group of four—two couples—and we’ve organized our journey ourselves in what you might call a semi-adventurous way, since an Indian driver will handle our transportation for three-quarters of the trip. It’s a setup that leaves less room for the unexpected, but it saves us time by sparing us the hassles of public transport.

Day 1. Arrival in Delhi

We hesitated for a long time about including Delhi in our trip. So many negative preconceptions: dirty, polluted, noisy. But it’s the capital of India, and we finally decided to spend two nights there.

We arrived at Indira Gandhi Airport two hours late due to a technical issue with our British Airways flight out of London. But it didn’t stress us out too much. It was only 10 a.m., and we had the whole day ahead of us. Kate and Nathalie firmly negotiated the taxi fare to the city center, where our accommodation was located in a quiet neighborhood near Humayun’s Tomb. 1,800 rupees instead of the 2,500 quoted. Great job! Three weeks later, we’d pay 650 rupees for a roughly similar trip. That’s how the learning begins. Negotiating well in India still means getting taken advantage of—just less than expected.

The first surprise came after stepping outside. The airport exit looked like any other in the world—neat rows of taxis waiting for customers in a standardized urban setting. After settling into a charming guesthouse with a warm welcome (Eleven Bed & Breakfast), we decided to visit Humayun’s Tomb, the 16th-century Mughal emperor’s resting place.



Our first encounter with a driver of those famous “Tuk-Tuks.” After negotiating, Bruno and I hopped into one, while Nathalie and Kate took another. That was the only time we were cautious. Later, we’d squeeze all four of us into vehicles meant for three—three in the back and one up front next to the driver.



At the ticket counter, we were surprised by the price difference: 40 rupees for Indians, 600 for “foreigners.” No outrage there—it’s only fair that we contribute to the upkeep of local heritage and that Indians enjoy reduced rates. It was a Sunday, and the park was packed with families, likely locals from Delhi as well as Indian tourists, with few Westerners in sight. The vast park was dotted with red-stone funerary monuments, but the most stunning was Humayun’s Tomb, appearing to float, immense, in the hazy sky under Delhi’s veiled sun.



The cool, damp evening settled over the city. After exchanging money at Khan Market, we decided to have our first Indian meal at a fairly upscale—and thus not very budget-friendly—restaurant. The food was pretty good but “very spicy.” More fiery than subtly spiced, really. The start of an intense hazing period for our Western intestines.

Ah, here’s that repatriated travel journal! I’ll dive back into a slice of it with pleasure.

Day 2. Delhi: Chandni Chowk - Jama Masjid - Lodi Garden.

This morning, the metro—which has an excellent reputation—will take us to Old Delhi to visit the Chandni Chowk neighborhood and the massive Jama Masjid mosque. Clean, colorful, spacious, and easy to navigate, Delhi’s metro is a really practical way to get around the city over long distances. Nathalie and I feel right at home in this underground world. Like kids on a scavenger hunt, we carefully spot the different lines with their colors and the connections that will take us to our destination. We’re in control. Perfect before diving into the chaotic universe of "Old Delhi."



Chandni Chowk! And it’s a shock…

Here we are in the heart of popular and bustling India—poorer but not truly miserable, with a few exceptions. Chandni Chowk is a city within a city, a city-market. A massive bazaar where everything is bought and sold, everything is made and repaired. A tangle of streets and alleys packed with stalls, small workshops, vendors, customers, tuk-tuks, cows, dogs, beggars, mopeds, bewildered tourists—everyone sharing the same space as best they can.

We walk in single file, afraid of getting separated. We’re amazed, and also dizzy from the honking, the crowd’s noise, the riot of colors, the mix of smells—some refined, others downright foul. Amazed, but not stressed or worried. The general vibe is pretty relaxed. Everyone’s going about their business. There’s pushing, shoving, shouting, honking, but no real aggression or tension. A barefoot, dirty street kid tries to get our attention with acrobatics. One look, and he’s won—though we’ve lost. He sticks with us for nearly fifteen minutes.







We head toward the massive mosque that dominates the urban landscape with its bulk. Red sandstone and white marble. The 17th-century structure is stunning, with its large courtyard, two minarets, and three bulbous domes.



As we leave, two rickshaw drivers (the bike-powered kind) pester us for a while, insistently offering a full tour of the huge neighborhood. We half-heartedly refuse, hesitate, then accept. Deep down, it’s a great idea because we’re not really sure how to tackle this detailed visit of Chandni Chowk. And off we go for an hour and a half of sightseeing, punctuated by stops in the heart of the city-market. The route is pleasant as we explore the different sections of the market, organized by product type: spices, fabrics, jewelry… We also discover some beautiful houses that are now abandoned or run-down. Here, as elsewhere, the middle class eventually left the city centers for the more comfortable and better-equipped outskirts. Our guide is friendly, and we chat in English. Still, I feel a little uneasy seeing this fairly young man struggling to pedal while carrying two well-fed tourists—about 130 kg in total.



In the afternoon, we decide to take a more relaxing break at Lodi Garden. It’s a large park developed by the British in the 18th century, but it contains many monuments (mostly mausoleums) from the Lodhi dynasty, Muslim rulers during the Delhi Sultanate. We enjoy the peaceful atmosphere, far from the hustle and bustle of Chandni Chowk.

For the evening, we decide to buy food and eat in our guesthouse. A quick detour to Khan Market to order some pizzas. On our way back, we run into the tuk-tuk driver we’d used the night before. He recognizes us and rushes ahead of his colleagues to take us. We start chatting, and he seems eager to learn more about us. Small vehicle, three of us in the back, me up front next to the driver. And off we go! Full speed ahead, in the cold, after dark. He drives fast but with great skill. Behind me, Nathalie and Kate are laughing hysterically. It’s like being on a roller coaster. The crisp air is exhilarating, and we barely notice the danger—we trust him. Do we have a choice? Our driver seems to be having fun too; he’s laughing with us. "Do you want to drive?" He puts my hands on the handlebars and the throttle. It reminds me of my old moped. I can’t believe it—I’m driving a tuk-tuk! We’re all like kids, the five of us. Finally, we arrive at our guesthouse. Handshake, thanks. He asks if we have any euro coins for his foreign currency collection. Nathalie gives him 2 €. He looks at the coin with emotion, touched by what he sees as a gift. He thanks us again and wishes us good luck. This fleeting encounter, this little moment of shared fun with this Indian man, touched all four of us. It’ll be one of the rare times we have that kind of connection—an honest exchange, not spoiled by a purely mercantile perspective. Off to bed. Tomorrow, the train, Agra, the Taj…

Thanks Pagaljavab [:)]

Hi Kate! What an original travel journal for two! 😊 I’m even more excited to join in since I discovered Rajasthan last March—but not the same cities as you, except for Jaipur, Bundi, and Udaipur. We loved it so much that we’re definitely planning to go back, especially for Jodhpur and Jaisalmer (we’d already visited Agra a few years ago). Looking forward to the next part, then!

Hey everyone!

It feels weird discovering India in a sweater—I’ve always gone in August before...

India doesn’t seem to have changed much since my last trip about a dozen years ago.

Hi Solene [;)]

Jodhpur isn’t one of my favorite cities, but Jaisalmer definitely is. Richard will talk about it—he had the same feelings...

Hi Kate, Always interesting to hear the impressions of my fellow countrymen, especially since after two trips to this part of the world in 2011 and 2019, I still can’t decide if I like it or not... So I’m tagging along with Richard! !

Hey Attila

I couldn’t have handled the heat of a Rajasthan summer, but we were surprised by the cold. It was 5 to 10°C cooler than usual. We bought some Damars and Doudounes (puffer jackets) on the spot In Jaisalmer, the guesthouse didn’t even have a space heater—I can still picture us huddled under the blankets after trying to shower in a freezing bathroom

me, after two trips to this part of the world in 2011 and 2019, still haven’t decided if I love it or not...

I get you. Often I’ve been jostled, shaken up, pushed to my limits, taken to the edge of letting go... That’s the point of travel, isn’t it? A few days after returning, I asked my friends if they’d be up for going back to India! I thought of a metaphor: when I was little, I was scared of those wild rides, yet I couldn’t stop going back to scream and laugh at the same time. It was stronger than me!

Day 3. Delhi – Agra

We booked a train to get to Agra from the secondary Nizzamudin station. The place is huge, and the platforms are packed—it’s not easy to find your way around. The wait is long, and as expected, the train to Agra is late. The crowd on the platforms is very mixed, people from all walks of life, but few foreign tourists. Young beggars approach us several times, shouting, "Rupees! Rupees!" Bruno, the soft-hearted one, can’t help but feel sorry for them and hands out his small change while Kate tries to snap a few candid portraits. I see a young man literally dragging himself past me, his legs completely twisted and lifeless, pulling himself along with his arms. Polio, obviously. I think about that shattered life, all because of lack of access to healthcare. Anger rises in me against the "anti-vaxxers" back home…









The train finally arrives. It’s an Intercity, modern, clean, and comfortable. The journey is pleasant, but we’re a little disappointed—we’d really fantasized about a 19th-century-style Indian train ride. Through the windows, we watch the long stretches of slums on the urban outskirts roll by. An India we’ll never set foot in, just like the middle and upper classes here never do.



We arrive in Agra as night falls and meet Ajay, our driver who came to pick us up. First impression is good, but we need to build trust quickly with the person who’ll be accompanying us for 15 days through Rajasthan. The accommodation, a 500-meter walk from the Taj, is charming and well-kept (The Coral House Homestay).

For dinner, we find a small, popular restaurant that’s completely empty. The waiters rush to please us, trying to explain the dishes on the menu in English. With the help of a few photos, we manage to make our choices, but the names of the dishes and their contents remain a mystery to us: naan, biryanis, dal, kofta… It’ll take time before they become a little more familiar.

Day 4. Agra: Taj Mahal / Red Fort

For the Taj Mahal visit, we’d planned to wake up really early to beat the crowds. But the hosts at the guesthouse advised against such an early start because of the thick, persistent fog that’s been blanketing the area for days.

We set off around 9 a.m., and luckily, the sky was relatively clear. Once we passed through the red sandstone gate, the white marble Taj, veiled in a light mist, appeared in all its majesty—almost suspended in the air. For a moment, I felt the same emotional impact I’d experienced seeing Michelangelo’s Pietà at the Vatican. The crowd wasn’t too dense, and I noticed most of the tourists were Indian. Everyone had their phones out, snapping away at the monument. Kate, though, took her time—I knew her photos would be technically flawless and full of depth and meaning.

The closer we got to the mausoleum, the more substantial it became. The dreamlike moment passed, and I could admire the stunning proportions of the structure, the elegance of the minarets, and the beauty of the calligraphic decorations formed by the flowing lines of the Arabic script. It’s strange to think that in a country that’s 80% Hindu and increasingly nationalistic, the Taj—a Muslim monument—is, for much of the world, the very image of India.







After two and a half hours, it was time for us to turn our backs on the Taj. At the exit, we plunged into the scrum of souvenir vendors—something we tried to avoid as best we could. Dodging, sidestepping, quick turns left and right, slowing down, then speeding up. But the game was lost from the start. “Where are you from?” “French?” “La vie est belle!” “Come in my shop, just look!” This time, we got off pretty lightly—just the cost of a few magnets. We headed back to the hotel to catch our breath and enjoy our new favorite treat, a masala chai.



Kate, eager to immerse herself in the “real” India for her photos, asked Ajay, our driver, to drop us off at a local market square. It was a produce market. Part of it spilled into the streets, while another section was inside a dilapidated building—more like an open-air enclosure. Depending on the vendor, goods were displayed on stalls, carts, or even directly on the ground. The noise was deafening: blaring music from an ancient sound system, the usual relentless honking. We wandered through this exotic world, weaving between cows, dogs, and tuk-tuks, careful to avoid the cow patties. But the explosion of colors was incredible—all those fruits and vegetables, often beautifully arranged, and the vibrant saris of the women.







In the afternoon, we visited the Red Fort, an impressive 17th-century Mughal fortress. The morning fog had lifted, the air was mild, and we enjoyed exploring the palace’s various halls and gardens without paying much attention to the historical details. The Guide du Routard stayed in the bag.





We pulled it out again in the early evening to pick a small restaurant in the old town: “Joney’s Place.” The ride there was in a tuk-tuk, always at full speed, with Rachid—a very young guy in his twenties. During the ride, I shouted over the engine noise to ask if the vehicle was his. “I rent it. 2000 rupees a day.” The math was quick: if we assume 150–200 rupees per ride (tourist price), he’d need to do at least ten trips just to start making a little money. The restaurant was tiny—just six tables—but the welcome was warm. The owner, a young man, spoke remarkable French. He was eager to chat with us and proud to show off his deep knowledge of French literature. He talked about Camus and recited Baudelaire’s “L’Invitation au Voyage” in full. We were stunned. But not for long—our mouths were soon busy. Kate and I savored the best malai kofta we’d had in India, and Bruno and I finished with a delicious banana lassi for dessert. Tomorrow, we’ve got our first long drive to Jaipur, with a stop in Fatehpur Sikri.

Hi there,

I’m jumping into this travel journal with a destination that fascinates me and I haven’t explored yet

Welcome, there's still room [;)]

Hi Kate,

Here I am, jumping into this travel journal too, though just for a few words. I wanted to react and compare emotions and feelings with each of Richard’s posts. But, as you know from our private exchanges, my troubles since returning home to India still aren’t resolved (I don’t even know if "troubles" is the right word—do troubles have a solution?). No phone, which is a huge handicap when you "live" in India and a risk of running into issues with the authorities if they decide to call me for a check. Internet access that keeps cutting out... And on top of that, today at lunch, I sliced a piece of my finger with my mandoline while cutting a cucumber. No details here about the state of my finger or the "care" I received—two great topics to kick off the journal I promised elsewhere.

Just wanted to say I’m in a lot of pain and it’s not exactly practical for writing long posts. But as soon as I’m feeling better, I’ll be back to join this journal and share. And hopefully with a "real" connection, not the one I’ve cobbled together with a borrowed SIM card just to get minimal internet access.

See you soon here and elsewhere...

Hi everyone! In Jodhpur, I loved getting lost in the neighborhood of the blue houses. Around the stepwell, the area is nice, but it wasn’t my favorite—I definitely prefer Udaipur without any hesitation. I really loved Shekhawati, which I explored from Nawalgarh to Choru, passing through Ramgarh Shekhawati ❤️❤️❤️❤️. Off-the-beaten-path Narnaul is a cool and very interesting town. I don’t have time to repost this travel journal, but you might have followed it on the other forums. Marijo

I couldn’t have handled the summer heat in Rajasthan

The worst isn’t even summer—it’s just before the monsoon.

I don’t remember it being unbearable. Less so than in Puglia or even Clermont on a scorching day.

In Jaisalmer, the guesthouse didn’t even have a space heater. I can still picture us huddled under the blankets after trying to shower in an ice-cold bathroom

Now you’re ready for the Altiplano!

Hi Richard,

It’s an Intercity train, modern, clean, and comfortable

Ahhh! That’s something that’s changed!

Unless it’s India’s showcase train, the local TGV that only takes 2 hours to reach Agra?

Hi Attila, It's true that the other trains we saw in the station were less flashy!

This was my fourth time in Jodhpur this summer, and it turned out to be one of the highlights of the trip, even though Udaipur is exceptional. I also took away from this trip that you can have a different perception of places you’ve already visited depending on the context, the events, the people you’re traveling with, and a bunch of other factors. In other words, the experience is different every time, and you can feel like you’re rediscovering a place in a completely new light.

I started writing in my travel journal.

I’m totally biased about Udaipur 😊 and I was happy to visit Jodhpur—I loved wandering around there. I’ll definitely follow your travel journal with pleasure.

5. Agra - Fatehpur - Jaipur

Clearly, our driver is an excellent chauffeur. Careful, skilled at weaving his vehicle between the most diverse obstacles, unflappable, and using the horn sparingly, he quickly puts us at ease. Completely reassured, we let ourselves doze off while Ajay drives with full headlights through thick fog.

Here we are in Fatehpur, the short-lived capital of the Mughal Empire built in the 16th century in just over 10 years. The site is impressive: 6 km of ramparts enclose the red sandstone palace-city. Very few people and the silence combined with the mist clinging to the elegant facades give the whole place a ghostly feel.



On our way back to the car, a souvenir vendor I had chatted with at the entrance calls out to me. "Do you remember me?". Here I am, a few rupees lighter and weighed down by yet another set of magnets. Maybe I need to change my strategy.

The drive to Jaipur is quite long, about 4 hours. It’s a chance for us to learn a bit more about the rules—or rather, the driving customs—on India’s main roads and highways. You can overtake on the right or left, it doesn’t matter, as long as you give a long honk first. The road isn’t just for vehicles—many animals, like cows, camels, and dogs, wander on the shoulders or even in the middle. That’s probably why cars rarely exceed 80 km/h. You also have to watch out for pedestrians, often farmers carrying bundles or sacks. And be careful of mopeds and tuk-tuks that might be driving the wrong way on the sides. I don’t think Indians are particularly reckless, but they have a different approach to driving—less rule-bound, more about anticipation.





We finally arrive in Jaipur, stuck in traffic. Night falls quickly, and we’re all feeling a bit tired. The hotel we chose is gorgeous, and the welcome, once again, is very warm (All Seasons Homestay). We decide to dine in.

Day 6. Jaipur: Amber Fort – The Palace of Winds

After a hearty Indian breakfast, we set off by car to Amber Fort, the residence of the Rajput maharajas and their families for centuries. As always in Rajasthan, the palace-fortress is built on a hilltop overlooking the valley. There was no way we were climbing the steep slope on elephant back. Even though they’re beautifully decorated and seem to be in good health from what I saw, numerous investigations by animal protection groups regularly denounce the mistreatment they often endure. Here we are, in the heart of maharaja India. Order and beauty, luxury and pleasure, born here as elsewhere from the labor and suffering of "those below." But these philosophical and moral considerations are quickly swept away by Nathalie’s infectious enthusiasm, who punctuates the long visit with a series of "so beautiful!" at every new room or courtyard we discover.







Leaving the site turned out to be an epic ordeal, just as we feared. We were swarmed by a crowd of vendors of all kinds, literally blocking our way. Chin up, jaw clenched, I managed to push through for several dozen meters. Bruno, on the other hand, didn’t fare as well. One, then two, then three, four vendors clustered around him. From a distance, I saw him buying a bit of everything: pens, figurines, keychains. It was like Tintin in *The Cigars of the Pharaoh* facing Señor Oliveira, the man who sells everything! The scene was really funny, especially when Nathalie, worried about her man, stormed back grumbling to try and rescue him from this tight spot! Finally, Ajay’s car parked on the esplanade. Saved—we could make our escape!

Back in Jaipur, we settled on the rooftop of a small restaurant right across from the Palace of Winds. The pink sandstone façade, with its dozens of delicately crafted niches, was actually the back of the women’s palace, where they could observe the street without being seen. A true visual enchantment.





The afternoon was dedicated to shopping, as Jaipur is renowned for the quality of its colorful textiles—cotton fabrics, cashmere, pashmina. I wasn’t exactly thrilled by the idea of hitting the shops, but I went along with the group’s decision. We let ourselves be lured by a tout, and suddenly we were inside a small store at the back of a narrow alley off the main street. Two hours of haggling with friendly, slightly cheeky shopkeepers. Kate negotiated fiercely, and we left with a whole batch of shirts and scarves, thinking we’d gotten a good deal. The experience of the following days would teach us we’d probably paid double the going rate. But in the end, it didn’t really matter.

At the end of the day, we wandered through Johari Bazar (the jewelers’ bazaar), an endless string of shops selling jewelry, textiles, and sweets. We elbowed our way through the narrow, bustling sidewalks, in an incredible hubbub of touts’ shouts and deafening honks. Crossing the massive Bari Chaupar intersection was a real challenge—the pedestrian crossings were purely for urban decoration. The day ended at an Ayurvedic massage institute Ajay had recommended. A chance to rest body and mind.

I'm picking up Richard's posts for Bundi...

Day 7. From Jaipur to Bundi Personally, I'm not sorry to leave Jaipur—a city where I felt a bit too "touristy." Bundi is less crowded, a bit off the main tourist trails. Plus, we'll have more time since we've booked three nights. I think all four of us are eager to step out of "tour operator" mode, which we've been in since Agra, and connect—even superficially—with the Indian people.

Our relationship with Ajay is starting to take shape. The beginning was a bit rough. His reserve, his poor English, and ours—only slightly better—didn’t make conversation easy. We decided to invite him to lunch every time we travel from one city to another. I think he appreciates the gesture; he seems more relaxed, and our ears, like his, are gradually getting used to this "Globish" we use as our common language.



We arrive in Bundi in the early afternoon. We're staying in a family-run guesthouse (Bundi Castel View Homestay) at the top of the town, run by a young man and his brother. The view from the rooftop, just below the fortress, is absolutely stunning. Staying inside the city walls, we feel like we're in a village.



While the cows—still as laid-back as ever—clog the streets of the small neighborhood, the relationships between the monkeys (I think they're macaques) and the dogs don’t seem all that friendly. As we hoped, Bundi’s vibe is very different from Jaipur’s. We walk down to the lower town to visit a big market without being bothered at all. Just a few "Namasté," "Where are you from?" "First time in India?" to start brief conversations or sometimes a sales pitch, but with no pressure. Kate seems more and more comfortable with her camera; I’m impressed by how quickly she builds a connection to get the portraits she wants. A glance, a small gesture, a few words. She sometimes faces refusals or requests for money, but overall, Indians love being photographed. They often ask for selfies with us. "Selfie, selfie?" Yep, we’re always the exotic ones to someone else.







The market is huge but somewhat away from the main traffic flow, so we can wander around pretty peacefully. A slightly cheeky cow munching shamelessly on vegetables from a stall gets a stern scolding from a man with a stick—probably a market security guard. Further on, a vegetable vendor who sees us taking photos offers us a glass of tea. We accept politely; the tea is deliciously sweet, but what’s he going to ask for? Well, nothing, actually. Just a simple gesture of hospitality, a welcome to Bundi. Night falls quickly at these lower latitudes than in France, and we head back to our accommodation at dusk. But we’re literally stuck in a narrow street by an unbelievable traffic jam of motorcycles, scooters, tuk-tuks, and cows. A symphony of horns and other honking devices. Indians love noise.

Day 8 / Day 9. Two days in Bundi. The "Kite Festival"

Woke up to a lively start early this morning. From the rooftop terraces in the neighborhood, speakers were blasting popular Indian music. We asked our host what was going on. "Kite festival for two days." The kite festival. It’s a big, popular celebration in North India (Utarayan), half-religious, half-secular, marking the end of winter and the start of the harvest season. Two days of festivities with music, fireworks, where kids and adults alike launch hundreds of kites as high as possible into the sky. Our hope for a quieter stay in Bundi vanished. India is definitely a stimulating country, but not exactly restful.

No point in sulking, though. We’re on vacation, and this is their home. Might as well enjoy the joyful energy buzzing through the city. Still, we decided to play it safe and spend the morning visiting the palace/fortress, away from the city’s noise. It’s definitely one of my favorite spots in Rajasthan. Probably because, aside from the beauty of the place, there was almost no one around—except for the monkeys who rule the site. No crowds of tourists, no touts. The place is half-maintained, half-abandoned, steeped in a splendor that’s now asleep. Another testament to the power and generosity of the Rajput rulers. The architecture is Indo-Persian-inspired, with broken and slightly horseshoe-shaped polylobed arches, a succession of inner courtyards, walkways, and rooms in vibrant colors. One of the few staff members opened a few rooms for us to admire magnificent 17th/18th-century murals. Hunting scenes, battles, and courtly love (gods or men?) in shades dominated by emerald green and turquoise blue.

We took a little break on one of the palace terraces. We were watching the many striped-back squirrels always on the lookout for food when a group of monkeys arrived, looking calm but determined. The kind that say, "This is our turf!" Better be careful. A beautiful morning in this timeless place. In the sky, the kites continued their festive dance...









The afternoon was a bit disappointing. We’d hoped to join in, even discreetly, on the Utarayan festivities. But there didn’t seem to be any public gathering—or maybe we just didn’t find it. No Bastille Day-style street party, at least. It felt like a foreign celebration we couldn’t quite penetrate, except through the many nylon strings of defeated kites littering the ground and tripping us up. Luckily, Bruno saved the evening. I’ve only known him a short time, but I’ve figured out how he operates when traveling. He’s not big on logistics, but he’s open to any encounter. The day before, he’d struck up a conversation with Jay, a forty-something Indian with a big smile whose guesthouse is strategically located at the intersection of the street leading down from the palace. A prime spot he uses to sell sticks to tourists for warding off the sometimes overly bold monkeys that occupy the site. Jay managed to stop Bruno to show him his "guestbook," proving the quality of his hospitality and meals. So, we had plans for the evening. Jay and his sister served us a delicious Indian meal—I’ve unfortunately forgotten the names of the dishes. A lovely moment.





Last day in Bundi. In the morning, we headed back to the market to visit the "Raniji-ki-Baori," the queen’s stepwell (17th century). An astonishing 45-meter-deep structure designed to collect rainwater and runoff during the monsoon. A utilitarian and community monument, but also with a religious function, its walls covered in bas-reliefs depicting the countless gods of the Indian pantheon. Water, such a precious resource yesterday and today in this arid Rajasthan.



Ajay gave us a quick ride in the late afternoon to see the cenotaph with 84 pillars. An elegant monument built in the 17th century by King Rao Raja Anirudh to honor the memory of his wet nurse. Final strolls through the old town, with time for a masala chai. Dinner on the rooftop terrace of our guesthouse. The neighborhood kids were competing with their sound systems, and fireworks were bursting from all corners of the city. In the sky, glowing kites finished enchanting the night.

Aaah Bundi 🤗! We also spent 3 nights there a few weeks after you and met Jay too—the local with the fastest talking speed I’ve seen in 7 trips to India 😂. I have such fond memories of the peacefulness of that town and the evening meals on rooftop terraces at the foot of the illuminated fortress! Have a great evening

No hordes of tourists, no touts in this place—half-maintained, half-abandoned

If it’s that kind of atmosphere you’re looking for on your next trip to India, don’t head to South India—go to Madhya Pradesh (Bhopal) and Gujarat instead. (Didn’t see a single tourist in that state and very few in the other, even though there’s so much to see there…) And from there, finish up in Goa…

I also really liked Bundi.[:p]

Solene, that’s such a funny encounter! What a character, Jay! We actually ate really well at his place (despite him being a bit clingy )

Attila, we’re guessing the south (at least Tamil Nadu) will be less touristy than Rajasthan—well, that’s what we’re hoping, anyway. Either way, we’re excited to discover a side of India that’s totally different from the north (trip planned for January 2025) [:)]

Yeah, Tamil Nadu is less touristy than Rajasthan. Not sure about Kerala? But still *way* more than Gujarat, though.

The south is really nice, though. [;)

Hi Kate and Richard, I just came across this lovely travel journal written by four hands that reminds me of our trips to India. We visited Bundi in 2015 and also toured the palace where an old gentleman opened rooms for us with magnificent frescoes. We were the only tourists that day. It seems no restoration has been done since then. It’s really sad to wonder how much longer we’ll be able to admire these wonders... I’m curious to hear about the rest of your trip! Have a great evening, Gabriele

It depends, Richard: Mahabalipuram and Pondy are way more touristy than Karauli or Ajmer in Rajasthan—it all comes down to the stops you choose and the timing too. During our 3 weeks in Rajasthan at the end of March, we ran into very, very few Western tourists. On one hand, I got tons of great tips from Aleph/Marie Jo, and it was starting to get too hot for travel agencies, I guess 😅

We stopped in Bundi in 2015 and also visited the palace where an elderly gentleman opened rooms with magnificent frescoes for us. We were the only tourists that day.

We had that luck too [;)]

Day 10. The road from Bundi to Udaipur. The Jain temple of Ranakpur

A long leg today between Bundi and Udaipur—nearly 5 hours on the road. But the first part of the journey, which takes us to the temple of Ranakpur, is really pleasant. For the first time, we’re taking back roads that let us explore the Rajasthan countryside and villages more closely. The landscape is greener than usual—we’re probably following a major river.

We spot gibbons by the side of the road, almost waving at us to stop! They’re adorable with their fluffy black heads and long arms. But it’s best to keep the windows up. A little further on, Kate asks Ajay to pull over so she can photograph women in saris washing clothes by the river. Even further along, I spot a bull up on the hillside, accompanied by three kids who are making the animal walk in circles to turn a large wooden wheel. It’s a *noria*—an irrigation tool that’s been around for thousands of years. The sun shines over this lush, lively valley where people are hard at work. The Rajasthan countryside is unfolding before us.





We stop at the Jain temple of Ranakpur. Jainism is a religion that emerged in the 6th century BCE, branching off from Hinduism. From what I’ve read, its followers are few (around 8 million) but well-represented in economic and political circles. Gandhi’s mother was Jain, and their cultural influence is more readily accepted in India than Islam. The Ranakpur temple is one of the main holy sites of Jainism. The temple is imposing from the outside, and inside, it’s supported by a veritable forest of marble pillars, slightly amber in hue, all intricately carved with floral, geometric, or figurative motifs—animals and humans alike. Little figures are often seated cross-legged or dancing, a faint smile on their lips. Each hall is topped with massive domes, so delicately worked that the stone looks like lace. Inside the temple, where devotees and tourists mingle, it’s hard for us to feel the spirituality of the place—partly because of the crowds, and also because we don’t understand the meaning of the devotional rituals unfolding before our eyes as observers.

I'm back in Bundi... I really loved this stop, but I have a little reservation [:P] It was the festival for the Kite Festival (January 13–15). Since Bundi is a pretty small town, we were right in the middle of all the excitement. A mix of music—well, cacophony at full blast—firecrackers of all kinds, and an infernal noise from 5 AM to 11 PM, even later some nights. I lost it

Kate doesn’t have the same hearing tolerance as me [;)]

Kate doesn’t have the same noise tolerance as me [;)]

Or less effective earplugs 😅🧏🏼‍♀️

This palace is magnificent! [:)]

J.10 / J.12. Udaipur and its surroundings

Udaipur, our next stop in Rajasthan. Ajay drops us off at the entrance of the walled city. This time, we’re staying in a beautifully restored haveli. Havelis are grand, princely-style bourgeois mansions built by wealthy merchants from the 17th century onward, serving as both residences and places of business. They’re an exceptional architectural heritage across northeast Rajasthan, but abandoned long ago by their owners, they’re deteriorating rapidly. Ours was bought by a Frenchman who undertook a major and delicate renovation to turn it into a hotel. (Madri Haveli)



After settling in and marveling at the beauty of the place, we head down to the old city to get our bearings and soak up the atmosphere. We notice right away that Udaipur feels different from the other cities we’ve visited so far. Cleaner, more orderly, more polished—almost more bourgeois, if that word means anything in India (or anywhere else). Travel guides, with their ridiculous euphemisms, call it “the Venice of India.” As the evening cools, we stroll along the quays lining the famous Lake Pichola and linger on a pretty little square crowded with pigeons and tourists snapping photos of the sunset.







Today was a big day of sightseeing with a tour operator: City Palace, the Hindu temple of Jagdish, and a boat ride on Lake Pichola. The City Palace, built starting in the 16th century, looks like something out of *Arabian Nights* and is still home to the royal family of the Mewar maharanas. The current sovereign, Arvind Singh, is the 76th of his name. He holds no political power but wields real economic, social, and cultural influence through his many charitable and religious foundations, which have an international reach. While visiting the grand temple dedicated to Vishnu, we stumble upon a religious ceremony. Men and women chant prayers fervently—we obviously don’t understand the meaning, though I catch a few “Hare Krishna”s that make me smile.

In the afternoon, a short boat ride on the lake gives us a different perspective of the city and the palace. Dinner by the brazier on the rooftop terrace of our haveli. Evenings have been pretty chilly since we arrived in India. From the depths of the night, the call to prayer of the muezzin rises. Islam has its place in the land of the Mewar maharana.







The next day, we drive to Nagda, 20 km from Udaipur, to visit the Sahasra Bahu temple. The site is completely deserted. The two abandoned temples are partly in ruins, and seeing their half-destroyed towers reminds me of King Louie’s domain in Disney’s *The Jungle Book*. But here, it’s the realm of the god Virabhadra, born, according to legend, from Shiva’s wrath—and the atmosphere is perfectly peaceful. Back in Udaipur, we stroll along the other side of the shore in a quiet neighborhood along the ghats. In the end, the guides aren’t entirely wrong. With its alleys, bridges, quays, squares, and palaces, the city *does* have a bit of a Venetian vibe.

J.13 / 14 /15. Stay in the village of Salawas. Visit to Jodhpur

During our trip planning, we decided to take a break from big cities to get closer to rural Indian life. A wise choice that allowed us to experience a completely different atmosphere. We arrived at dusk after following a rather dusty track. The guesthouse is a little outside the village. The owner, who welcomed us with a big smile, is named Chotaram Prajapat. A truly beautiful Indian name that flows smoothly and broadly, like the waters of the Ganges. His home is organized around a large courtyard where we had all our meals on mats on the floor. The accommodations consist of round mud huts built in the traditional style of this region of Rajasthan. Sitting cross-legged around a welcome tea, we listened to Chotaram explain the village’s organization and the possibilities of discovering the "Bishnoi country" with him. Very talkative, with a playful look in his eyes, he spoke in excellent English. Jokingly, he shared a saying that tourism professionals must repeat among themselves: "The French are like bananas—everywhere, all year round."

We were tempted to spend two full days in the village and its surroundings to break away from the cycle of forts, palaces, temples, and markets, but Jodhpur was only 15 km away, so we decided to visit it the next day.

Special mention for Chhotaram Prajapat Home Stay







This morning, we headed to Jodhpur, "the Blue City." In India, there’s a complex symbolism around colors and their use based on caste affiliation or life events. Blue is often associated with deities like Shiva, Krishna, and Vishnu, but—paradoxically—Brahmins don’t wear it because indigo dyeing is considered an impure task.

We started the day by visiting the imposing fortress overlooking the city. The museum inside the palace is extraordinarily rich. The mild weather today encouraged us to linger on the large square surrounded by the ramparts. We descended into the lower city to explore a spice shop. The owner taught us how to recognize them by shape and smell, explaining their culinary, medicinal, and cosmetic uses. The visit was interesting, but the prices were high in this shop, which Kate found too touristy.

In the afternoon, we strolled through the narrow alleys of the old city, all blue. The houses were quite run-down, the streets stained with sewage mud. The neighborhood was quiet, rather gloomy, and seemed asleep. We ended our walk at the clock tower square in the center of Sadar Market, the city’s main bazaar, where an indescribable crowd reigned. After Nathalie and Bruno treated themselves to a final "banana lassi," we asked Ajay to take us back to the village. The day had been interesting, but none of us seemed truly enthusiastic. Fatigue? Maybe we missed something.











Back at the village, the atmosphere was buzzing. The streets were full of people, and shops and homes were covered in orange flags. Another festival? At dinner, Chotaram explained that it was to celebrate the inauguration of a massive temple dedicated to the god Rama in the city of Ayodhya the next day. Apparently, all of India was involved in the event. After the meal, Chotaram offered to take us on a jeep ride the next day to explore "Bishnoi country."

Day 15 / Stay in Salawas village, continued

The tourista has claimed a new victim. Kate is feeling really rough this morning and prefers to stay in bed. So the three of us set off in the jeep, without our photographer, to visit "Bishnoi country." Chotaram explains that the Bishnoi are a religious community founded in the 15th century, whose beliefs are based on absolute respect for all forms of life, including plants. They’re the only Hindus who bury their dead instead of cremating them, to avoid using living trees for the fire. Spread across a few villages, they live mainly from subsistence farming and livestock. The women wear bright colors—orange or red—while the men dress in white. We’re not visiting a proper village, but we do come across a shepherd with his flock of goats around a watering hole. A little further on, a large group of women forms a huge splash of color against the light-gray ground. What are they doing? Chotaram doesn’t say, but he asks us to be very discreet when taking photos. The little safari continues. We spot gazelles of different species several times—they’re considered sacred animals here. It’s a lovely morning, this jeep ride with the gentle wind whipping our faces, especially when Chotaram, like a kid, floors it on some stretches of the track. Still, I’d have liked to see more, to learn more about this unusual Bishnoi community. But I tell myself that observing them from a distance is probably more authentic than visiting some touristy village set up for visitors.



On the way back, Chotaram seems absorbed by a video he keeps rewatching on his phone. He notices my curiosity and shows it to me. It’s a fight that broke out yesterday in the village between a group of Muslims from outside and the locals. "Why?" I ask. He explains that the inauguration of the Rama temple has upset Muslims because the religious building was constructed on the site of a 15th-century mosque destroyed during interreligious clashes in 1992. My English isn’t good enough to dig deeper, but I later learned that Prime Minister Narendra Modi was behind the temple’s construction—he who claims that "to be Indian is to be Hindu."



In the afternoon, since Kate still isn’t feeling better, the three of us head down to the village center. People look at us with curiosity but smile, and the kids shake our hands. "Hello! Ram-Ram! Selfie, selfie?" We’re real stars! The central square is lively and colorful, decked out with saffron flags in honor of the god Rama. A group of men gathers around a truck blasting deafening music from its sound system, then leaves almost as quickly as it arrived. Honestly, I don’t understand how popular festivals are organized in India. The three of us are desperately searching for a place to get a "chai" when Bruno spots a shop that looks like a café. We head over. We push aside black curtains to enter, and the blaring music assaults our ears. Are we in a nightclub? But as soon as he sees us, the young man at the entrance turns off the sound and greets us warmly. The atmosphere changes completely. The place seems pretty out of place in this small village—it’s exactly what we’d call a bar. Armchairs, low tables, a counter, posters on the walls. When it’s time to pay, the server brings us the bill with a little smiling emoji and a phrase written in French: "merci beaucoup pour votre visite." We appreciate the thoughtful gesture and chat with him about his establishment, the ongoing festival, and the presence of tourists in the village.

End of the day. I go with Bruno, who wants to smoke a cigarette, and we sit on a low wall in front of the guesthouse. A girl of about ten and her little sister come up to us. With a few words of English, she tries to start a conversation. "From where?" Bruno shows her photos on his phone—his dog, his house. Then he gets it into his head to give her a geography lesson so she can locate France in relation to India. She seems only moderately interested, all while repeating the same word: "Candy, Candy." We don’t understand what she wants. I check Google Translate. Sweets, candy, of course! "Ah, okay, but not today, tomorrow, tomorrow." "No, just here!" She points to a little stall right next to the house. "Okay, come!" Big mistake. Suddenly, a swarm of kids appears out of nowhere, some with their parents, rushing to the front of the shop. We’re literally surrounded, overwhelmed. It’s chaotic, like a schoolyard at recess. And 300 rupees’ worth of candy later. That’s a lot. Or is it? I stop Bruno—your geography lessons.

Chottaram’s grandparents:





Tomorrow morning, we’re off to Jaisalmer.

Hi Kate, hi Richard, and hello everyone. I’m reading this travel journal with great interest, but for now, I’m too overwhelmed to write everything I’d like to share with you. I’ll do it as soon as I can. Promise!

Back to Bundi... chaos at full blast, firecrackers everywhere, an infernal noise from 5 AM to 11 PM, even later some nights. I lost it

What did that lead to? Tell us a bit, please. That kind of experience is interesting too, isn’t it?

This travel journal really interests me, especially since I’m currently in Rajasthan myself—Nawalgarh, Roopangarh, Ajmer, Jaipur, Jodhpur...—through the photos I’m posting on YouPic. So distant memories are coming back, but reading this journal, I see that many things still endure up there...

Hi Jean-Marie,

I’m back to Bundi... chaos at full blast, firecrackers of all kinds, an infernal noise from 5 AM to 11 PM, even later some nights. I lost it

What did that look like? Tell us a bit, please. That kind of experience is interesting too, isn’t it?

We talked about the festival at the start of the Bundi post. But maybe you’re asking what happens when I lose it

So there we were on the terrace of our guesthouse, and the neighbors were plugging in their stereo systems on their own terraces. Music blasting from all sides, all different tracks. Not soft Indian music! No, some kind of techno cacophony punctuated by firecrackers that made us jump. And this went on until late at night while we were coming up with techniques to fall asleep. Richard told me: "You’ve got to tune into the noise" [:/] And it started again early the next morning! It lasted 2 out of the 3 days in Bundi.

Between Bruno’s dental appointment reminders and Richard explaining what “integrating the noise” means, we’re not bored here 😄

This travel journal is incredibly pleasant to read because it’s free of the flaws we often encounter in this kind of writing. Indeed, everyone’s style flows smoothly—there’s both simplicity and rich vocabulary, details without beating around the bush. You’ve definitely nailed the right tone. Personally, I loved your choices, your rejections, your doubts, your mistakes, your exasperation, and your successes. With you, we realize that nothing beats honesty, modesty, simplicity, and expressing your happiness when it happens. Whenever you’re ready, go for round two!

it started again at dawn! It lasted 2 days out of the 3

I would’ve bolted....

India is an extremely noisy country, and quiet is a luxury there! Just like solitude.

I’m replying on behalf of Richard (but he’s the one writing) because he’s: "reached the maximum number of messages that can be posted in 24 hours. We invite you to post your next messages in 24 hours."

Personally, I loved your choices, your rejections, your doubts, your mistakes, your exasperation, your successes. With you, we realize that nothing beats honesty, modesty, simplicity, and showing your contentment when it’s warranted.

Thanks [;)] I tried to put into words the fresh perspective—sometimes a little naive but without prejudice—of a group of friends who aren’t used to big trips (except for Kate) and discovering a country with cultural codes completely different from ours. Richard.

Day 3. Delhi – Agra

I’m thinking about that life shattered for lack of access to healthcare. Anger rises in me against the "anti-vaxxers" back home...

I think that recently, back home, people weren’t actually opposing a real vaccine. A vaccine is a product that prevents you from developing a disease.

I regret having seen a German report on Arte about two years ago about all those young people who suffered severe side effects after the vaccine. Just a selected excerpt: "Pascal hopes to get an appointment with Professor Bernhard Schieffer at the University Hospital of Marburg (Hesse region, Germany), who heads the post-vaccination care unit. But he’s on a waiting list with 6,500 people suffering from post-vaccination syndromes."

To be clear, these are young people in their twenties who are completely disabled because of the vaccine, to the point that they’ll never be able to work again.

Digging deeper, you learn some eye-opening things.

From the very start of the vaccination campaign (2020 or 2021), I saw with my own eyes this clip of a meeting organized by a U.S. senator where vaccine victims were speaking. I’ll never forget the tears of that forty-year-old woman overwhelmed by serious health issues immediately after vaccination—she, too, would never be able to work again. Next to her, an 18- or 20-year-old girl in the same situation, now confined to a wheelchair for life.

I think that recently here, people weren’t opposing a real vaccine. A vaccine is a product that prevents you from developing a disease.

This is a complicated discussion (one we could possibly have in private). But I wasn’t directly referring to the COVID vaccine. I was thinking more about those real anti-vaccination groups that oppose all forms of vaccination. When I was young, like many others, I knew friends who had polio—we even called them "the polios." There aren’t any anymore, at least I don’t think so. Smallpox has disappeared from the face of the earth. That’s what I was thinking when I saw this young man struggling painfully along the station platform. Richard