Save tiger sign in Ranthambore, India | Photo by Lauren Girardin

> Missed Part 1? Read it!

After a second fruitless day of tiger spotting in Ranthambore National Park, India, Todd and I are sharing a drink with the Patels, a Gujarati family on their Diwali vacation. It's dark but still early – the town adjacent to Ranthambore, called Sawai Madhopur, is a small place with little to offer beyond hanging out at your hotel once the safari winds down.

We met the Patels last night at a special Rajasthani dinner and traditional dance performance at our hotel. The Patels cheered on as Todd and I each took a turn dancing with the performers, and were surprised that we had a few Indian-style moves.

Tonight, over big bottles of Kingfisher beer and spicy vegetable pakora, we tell Hardik and his wife Suhani how we got our first introduction to Indian dancing in the streets of Chennai at our friends Raja and Sarah's wedding, four years ago on our first trip to India. Hearing of quick affinity for the food, people, pace, movies, and even the train rides, Hardik declares "You are both probably Indian in a past life!" Though we don't believe in reincarnation, this conclusion still somehow makes perfect sense to me and Todd.

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Chaos on the train to Ranthambore, India | Photo by Lauren Girardin

When you travel through a well-trod area like Rajasthan, India, you sometimes feel like you're on a route that follows a checklist of the top things to see and do. Jaipur's Monkey Temple? Check. Udaipur's Octopussy-made famous lake? Check.

Since it's on the checklist and not out of the way, Todd and I head to Rathambore National Park to see its famous tigers. We're in Rajasthan - it's what you do. Despite taking two safaris, we saw no tigers. Instead, it was the getting in and getting out of Ranthambore that were the wild experiences.

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Diwali ferris wheel in Udaipur, India | Photo by Lauren Girardin

"Rides and attractions! Non-stop action! Folks, animals, fireworks too. It's the single most fun thing you can do!!"

This hokey siren song got stuck in my head during Diwali, a multi-day holiday celebrated throughout India. New Yorkers who weren't off at sleep-away camp will recognize the lyrics from commercials for the Westchester County Fair, ads that repeated relentlessly every summer on local TV stations.

Apparently, my brain could dredge up no more appropriate a theme to latch onto as Todd and I maneuvered through throngs of small-town Rajasthani families who'd flocked to the relatively big city of Udaipur ("Folks!"); stepped around doorway idols sculpted from fresh cow dung ("Animals!"); and dodged flaming crackers tossed into the narrow streets and sometimes directly at tourists ("Fireworks!"). All this and more in celebration of the Hindu Festival of Lights, the holiday equivalent of those exasperating birthday cake candles you can't blow out. Between the county fair ditty and the constantly booming crackers, I had a persistent headache for the many days of Diwali.

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Busy Jodhpur, India | Art by Todd Berman

Hi Jeff -

Another special treat – a post by Todd!

Thank you for your gift of The Size of the World. Your book kept us entertained through the first leg of our journey. Here is a story of my own from India:

Vikki and I are on a mission. He's speeding me on his motorbike to Jodhpur's bus station to recover a little notebook that contains all the expense records for my and Lauren's trip. Though our Jaisalmer hotel forwarded the notebook to Jodhpur three days ago, it has yet to arrive.

The going is slow on our 10 kilometer ride as Vikki swerves through the chaotic Indian streets. Fortunately, Vikki is driving carefully – that is to say he honks often, particularly when he makes a turn into oncoming traffic or careens around autorickshaws, buses, and cows.

At the bus station, which is no more than a dirt driveway, Vikki and some men argue in increasingly agitated Hindi, and suddenly, Vikki motions me back on the bike. Once I'm on, another tiny man sidles up behind me, pressing up close for a very short and intimate ride to the bus.

After the new man successfully digs out the notebook from the back of the bus, I see the problem: the address of our Jodhpur hotel is on one side, our Jaisalmer hotel on the other. Since nothing indicates "to" or "from," the notebook has spent the last 48 hours bouncing between the Blue and Golden Cities.

Back at the hotel, Lauren points out the black soot stenciled around the edge of my glasses. Vikki looks just as harried by the ordeal. Amazingly, he wants no money in return for the ride, just an email from me to Lonely Planet raving about our Jodhpur hotel, Yogi's Guesthouse.

XOXO
- Todd + Lauren

Bug eyed statue at Jain Temple | Photo by Lauren Girardin

A slim two weeks before the recent terrorist attacks in Mumbai, Todd and I checked India off our round-the-world itinerary. From the safety of Vietnam, it's been disconcerting to reflect on our time in India, but here we go:

There's a lot of time for conversation with shop owners in Jaisalmer, and not just because it's a remote, small town about as far west as you can get in Rajasthan without trekking by camel into the Thar Desert.

"Since the bombings in Delhi, is many less tourists coming here. They are afraid, but Jaisalmer is very safe. Rajasthan is safe. India is safe! But, look – you see? You are my only customers today."

Normally in India, that last part is a line of bull. But, we've had the shop to ourselves for an hour – there's definitely something wrong. We're able to take our time browsing through heaps of brightly colored patchwork quits, some of which are works of art, made from old Pakistani knit skull caps or the sparkly wedding dresses of village women.

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