Today was nothing short of a Rajasthani fairytale, and undoubtedly one of the most memorable hours of my life. We traveled to Chokhi Dani, which is the most exotic, colorful, Rajastan-esque place. Inside the Arabian-looking gates awaited an entirely different portal of an Indian dream. I saw a traditional dancer with pots 5 feet high stacked on her head, dancing to the beat of the drum. I saw the most phemonemal tight-rope walker, a fire breather who ate and breathed fire like some dragon, and a magician who performed the most mysterious tricks. One kind of creeped me out a bit. Speaking rapid, bubbly Hindi, he asked everyone in the audience to hold hands in a certain way and imagine some fragrant flower. I thought of a rose, as did others. Some thought of jasmine, others lilac. Anyway, he told us to rub hard on the person whose hands we were holding, and then to smell our hand. Freakishly, amazingly, undescribably, my hand smelled like rose petals! Everyone was so amazed that their hands smelled like lilac or jasmine or whatever flower they imagined. It wasn't an illusion, everyone smelled what ever flower they had invisioned. Strange.

I got to ride a camel today too! Riding them is uncomfortable no doubt. They don't have an even step, and they are stubborn. We stayed after night fall, and that was when this fairytale land burst alive with color and beauty. We witnessed tradtional Rajastani puppet theater, which was so hilarious and 10x better than any Western minaret. We had dinner sitting on the tiled ground, against a sand colored wall in a large square, everyone sitting cross legged before platters laden with countless dishes. Men in deep maroon dress and orange turbans served us endlessly at our request, attending us with their endless dishes. Having men put food on my plate for me (which has happened almost every time we have gone out) makes me feel superior and offends my conscience. However, one thing I will always remember - when Anju made an anouncement and declared that the men were going to show us how guests in Rajasthan were traditonally served. The men started with me first. One put a jalebi (this tiny hot sweet syrupy funnel-cake thing) in my mouth and then I didn't even have time to chew before he put another one in my mouth, and I didn't have time to chew that one either when he was about to put another one in my mouth...I would have laughed but my mouth was really full with these dessert things, and I waved my hands to signal "no more", and they moved on to the next person. That was by far the coolest thing to ever happen to me. Having these men in turbans putting these hot sweet amazingly-good dessert things in your mouth for you...because, you know, your too important, lazy, pompous to put your food in your mouth yourself. I will never forget that!

At night Chockin Dani turned into something that resembled a cross between an Arabian neverland and an Island Loua. There were lights that reminded me of tikki torches, fires casting shadows, young men in soft organge turbans guiding us to our next destination, and bowing politely with their hands pressed together. Somewhere between riding the man-powered farris-wheel, watching a metalsmith forge cobras, a glass maker bangles, climbing the towers at the exit overlooking the Arabian-night like sky with a cresent moon,the fire breather, the dancers, the dinner, the torches...it hit me that India is all to magical.