The horn on the bus goes BEEP BEEP BEEP, all freaking day long...

You can classify Indian cities into two categories: those in which you can wear thongs, and those in which you can't. Basically some are dirty, and others are absolute cesspits, where human and animal shit, rubbish piles and rotting food mingle with fetid pools of God only knows what else that leak out of the open sewers on the dusty streets. Jodhpur is definitely in the latter category, which is a pity as my lovely henna-decorated foot will not be seeing the hazy light of day for a while.

The bus trip here was okay, though ended up taking 8 1/2 hours instead of six. The best word to describe it was NOISY! It felt as if the driver had one hand on the wheel and the other on the horn as we sped through the desert. The seats were pretty roomy though, and had the horn been about sixteen thousand decibels lower I probably would have been able to sleep quite well. It was actually a really interesting way to travel as we got to see so much out of the windows: monkeys, peacocks, camels, water buffalo and many isolated villages with low stone and mud dwellings housing tribal Rajasthani people wearing the brighest saris and turbans imaginable. We were also the only white people on the bus so copped the usual stares, but we're getting used to them now.

There was only one stop, at a pretty crummy village where every male within two kilometres attempted to undress Phil and I with their eyes and a couple of cows tried to eat our backpacks. Although it was the only toilet stop, funnily enough there weren't actually any toilets. It turns out that every man and child steps out of the bus, walks three metres away and pisses or takes a dump in full view of the street and bus windows on the edge of a scappy field and surrounded by hairy feral pigs. I actually took a photo on my camera that shows no less than six men going for it within the one shot. If you're female, too bad, you have to hold on! Luckily I hadn't drunk much water and was able to. I am going to emerge from this country with a bladder of steel.

In Jodhpur, we got a rickshaw to our hotel, the Blue House. It's fairly comfortable and the room is nice and big but a bit dark and gloomy. Like every place we've stayed at, it has steep rickety stairs and a rooftop terrace restaurant from where you can see across the city. Jodhpur is particularly beautiful to look at from above; called 'the Blue City', nearly every building is painted blue and the old town is dominated by the massive stone fort which towers over the city. It's Jodhpur's main tourist attraction and we intended to see it today, but the sky is really smoggy today so thought we would wait until tomorrow to see if it gets clearer so we can appreciate the views from the fort a bit more.

Today we have just walked around the old town, and after this we're going in search of the local markets and the bazaars that surround it - they're supposed to be really interesting, and the place to buy cotton pants (unsurprisingly, riding breeches originated here) and spices. I would love to buy some saffron - at AUD$4 a gram it's much less expensive than at home - but of course I wouldn't be able to get it through Australian customs without an appearance on Border Security's 2010 season.

As we walk through the streets, lots of children come up and ask us where we are from, and then proceed to ask us for presents! Actually, every Indian adult wants to know where we're from also. The consensus seems to be different each time depending on whom they see first. If it's me, we're apparently Dutch (am thinking maybe due to my height and big nose?) and if it's Phil, we're Swedish!

Okay my internet time is nearly up. Thanks to those who have emailed or facebooked me - it turns out that I actually had comments from unregistered readers disabled, so you should be able to comment here now.

Until next time,

E xxx