Bundi

Sometimes I decide I want to get somewhere quickly, whatever it takes. I had read about Bundi as being another backpackers' favourite like Pushkar, and decided to head that way in search of a peaceful environment in which to spend a few days.

Chittaurgarh to Bundi: 150 kilometres, 90 of which on empty dual-carriageway national highway, the latter 40 on a rutted, potholed road through arid nowheres. Headwinds and hills. Leaving around 9 am, and stopping only once for 10 minutes or so, I reached Bundi just before sunset, and happened upon the Ishwari Niwas resort, where I was offered a compact, comfortable, and most importantly, affordable room in which to collapse from exhaustion.

I spent the next day on foot of course, exploring and finding the best places to peruse the all you can eat Thali System that is a hungry cyclist's best friend throughout India. Bundi's pastel-coloured tenements (among which sky blue dominates) 'flow' down a narrow, sloping gorge between several hills. Above the maze of narrow lanes adorned with colourful murals its large fort and palace recall the city's medieval greatness.

Up in the old city and away from the bazaar I found a calm that I've rarely seen in Indian cities, such as I found also in Pushkar. On reflection, I suspect it is in large part down to the narrowness of the streets, which few cars use and where most walk or cycle - or perhaps there is something in those pastel hues! And yet the speeding, beeping motorcycling aggressors troubled my Anglo-Saxon traffic sensibilities, not to mention my nerves. One must always be on guard and ready to side-step a speeding bike, and I wonder what effect this has on the Indian city-dweller's temperament. And while motorcyclists are greatly outnumbered by pedestrians and cyclists in most places, nobody seems to stand up to them. For their part, I suspect the bikers' aggressive riding is a pre-requisite to make sufficient headway through packed streets to justify ownership of a motorcycle, so I have to give them some lee-way (oh the irony!), I suppose.

After a day's break from the saddle I cycle-circumnavigated the fort hill, popping up to the summit for a nap in the shade at the abandoned rear gate of the fort. After re-descending, I stopped for a few overs of cricket and some discussion of the New Zealand cricket team with some village children. In spite of my apparent general aversion to team sports, I've heard a great deal about our team in my time in India, to which I can only respond inadequately with nostalgising for the heavyweights (Hadlee, Lance Cairns, etc) of the 1980s glory days. After securing player of the match and putting a six through the unglazed window of an adjacent shrine, I farewelled the village eleven and set off back to Bundi, passing alongside the large lake just outside the city.

As I've often found, I'd have liked to stay longer but a moment's contemplation of all the earth yet to cross and challenges to come provided all the motivation I needed to keep up the momentum.