I woke up at 4AM and decided to pack and then explore a bit. I first went to the hotel lobby where I discovered a few members of the staff sleeping on the floor in makeshift nests comprised of couch cushions and a blanket. I woke them up by entering, something that I suspect they are used to.

On the walk back from the lobby to our room in the adjacent building, I heard the sound of distinct chants being broadcast from a speaker into the darkness that preceded dawn. It appeared that my new sleeping habits aligned with the Muslim schedule.

We caught an early upscale bus that would take us from Agra to Jaipur, another hypotenuse of India's 'Golden Triangle'. The bus was as dirty as a child who had just returned from a mud sandbox. Undoubtedly decades of dust storms and smoldering days baked the powdery air into all of its materials. Dirt made patterns on the walls, caked the seats and gave color to the formerly white headrest covers.

In order to acquire this much dirt, the bus had been the beneficiary of the creative engineering. One example, the job of the broken engine fan had was fulfilled by a brick that held the hood open.

The bus driver adeptly negotiated traffic, giving the shock absorbers unneeded practice. Relying heavily on his horn he gave me certainty that the Eastern European tourist with the bad red hair dye sitting next to me was not actually asleep. He patiently sprinted between dense clouds of fog, which appear to hug the ground until after 9AM. The chilly nights afford the sky the opportunity to return the moisture that it steals from the earth during the scalding days.

Over the past two days we had been worried about theft. Ishwar had stayed back with the car and our bags while we visited tourist sites and we were forced to assume that the bus driver would not accidentally lose our luggage during our trip. However, we are beginning to understand that in the local culture aggressive negotiation is acceptable, while theft is not. We have 11 more days to be proven wrong.

We spent the afternoon in downtown Jaipur where the streets are heavily trafficked by all things mobile, sending a spray of dust and rocks into the eyes and lungs of riders and pedestrians. Jaipur appears to be more commercially developed than Agra and less focused on the walking goldmine that are tourists. However, the sheer number of people ensured that one beggar or street merchant was harassing us at any given moment.

After avoiding the restaurant on the tourist map and eating at a local spot, we headed for Indian massages. These weren't of the variety Americans are accustomed to. After being lathered in herbal oil, which faintly smelled of bitter hazelnut, they rub your legs and back with little pressure and great speed, creating great friction and an unpleasant burn.

We arrived back at the hotel and fell asleep before dinner.
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