That’s the anti-booze campaign slogan in many parts of India; I don’t know about family but the shenanigans of the last two days have temporarily ruined my health and James’ life since he has had to put up with me throwing up and whinging all morning.

Until we reached Jodhpur we’d been back on enforced detox in Pushkar, one of the holiest towns in the Subcontinent (Nehru and Gandhi both had their ashes scattered in the lake) where we spent several days recovering from Jaipur and communing with the hippies, some of whom seemed to have been there for a long, long time. Pushkar’s principal attractions are its relatively peaceful streets (no rickshaws), its holy lake, whose ghats teem with Brahmin priests, and its bhang lassis, designed to make spiritual fulfilment a little bit more achievable. We could have spent longer there slurping spiked lassi and watching the cows head-butt each other but we decided to head to Jodhpur in search of beer and meat for James’ birthday.

 

Jodhpur is ace – far more interesting and organised than Jaipur with a beautiful, blue cubic roof-scape overlooked by the imposing medieval fort. Our hostel is nestled on a tiny backstreet halfway up the steep ascent towards the fort: killer views and a whiskey-loving owner.

On James’ birthday we took a village safari out to a handful of Bishnoi villages on the outskirts of the Thar desert. The Bishnois were the world’s first tree-huggers: in the 18th Cebtury the Maharaja sent his troops to fell a load of trees outside the city, but when they arrived a local Bishnoi woman put her arms around a tree and told them they’d have to go through her to get to the sacred wood. So they cut her head off, then they cut her daughters’ heads off, then for good measure they slaughtered an additional 363 protesting Bishnois before the Maharaja heard and put a stop to it (he also put a protection order on the trees). We were able to watch the villagers weaving rugs, using pottery wheels and generally going about their business – they are still nature lovers and hold the trees and animals in high reverence. One old chap brewed us some opium tea and showed us round his mud and cow dung hut, where we were fed and watered before returning to Jodhpur.

With the cultural appreciation out of the way we proceeded to the hotel roof for beer, and they did a lovely cake and buffet for Mr. James’ birthday – he even got a flower garland and a bindhi. But it was last night that did the damage…after the world’s most frustrating day trying to book a train to Darjeeling we hit the Kingfisher rather early and ended up seeking out Jodhpur’s premier nightclub with the rest of the hotel residents. When we got back, Mr Joshi was waiting in ambush on the roof with a bottle of paintstripper disguised as whiskey which I hold entirely responsible for my poor health today. Assuming I’m still alive in the morning we are Agra-bound. There’s supposed to be quite a nice building there.