Chugging to the Land of the Maharaj
The Train. According to the movies, this is one of the most fabled, mystical experiences a person can have in India. When you bear in mind the delays, the unending obstacles—dogs, sleeping people, crowds—and the fact that all signs are written in Hindi, perhaps “classic” is a better word. We easily caught our train at 6:10 this morning. Save for a screaming, pooping, miserable little girl, we had an effortless ride. Endless desert plains replaced Delhi’s throbbing urban sprawl as the train ambled its way into Rajasthan.
This vast, arid region of Northeast India is named after the Rajput, a 1,000-year-old set of warrior clans known for their glitzy traditions and reckless bravado. Nobody’s waging war with ivory-hilted swords anymore, but Rajasthan remains steeped in history, with sandstone forts, camel trains, and the yawning, ruins-filled Thar desert beckoning tourists with promises of Indiana Jones-like adventures. Unlike smog-clogged Delhi, Rajasthan promises wide-open spaces, room to breathe. This is something we’re much looking forward to.
