You mean, those things are REAL?

The night train landed us in Jodhpur, a town promising little more than a pleathora of blue buildings as both status symbol and "effective" insect repellent. Yet as the sun rose the view from our window revealed the majesty that had been by far understated in the guidebook. Atop the only hill in sight, Mehrengarh fort (sounds much more impressive with a Sean Connery accent) towers above the blue sea of houses as an ominous omen. It beckons, "Watch your step, for your being is a castle of cards fated for the monsoon. Don't tempt Marwar (the city of death) to crash down upon you ever sooner.

Mehrengarh is imagination's perfect fort incarnated through past Maharajas' power. Impenetrable walls, luxurious etertainment quarters, secret balconies, concubines' courtyards come together in all their spendorous palacial might. While we walk we ponder the luxury the current maharaja has enjoyed since his 1952 coronation at age 4; and at how displeased the buried maharajas must be that their empires and war games have crumled such that tourists with six spare dollars might roam the halls of their power The fort where victory came as the option opposite only of death, and to which at least one man gave himself in sacrifice is now a mere museum. Nevertheless, I gazed upon the walls with an awe for history, might, power, leadership I never expected - not so much for what it was as for wonder at how it possible came to be.

We quickly moved on to Jaisalmer, which may as well be Rushdie's Jahilia. Here, loose granular rock approaches holiness as water all but disappears. Sand-stone creates every edifice and sculpture to form the monocolor civilization that blends perfectly into the Great Thar Desert. Fittingly, the fort looks from afar as though a child got a little carried away with his sand castle. However, the village inside its walls is far less palacial than Jodhpur's, and its thousand year old buildings are now filled with German bakeries and Italian Restaurants; with touts pushing their ankle bracelets and beggars pleaing exclusively to white strangers. And while the inner regions of the forts are dominated by such a nauseous tourist industry, the outer rim is filled with trash, rubble, and sewage. So while Mehrengarh creates magesty at every turn, the flashing Christmas lights atop a vandalized timeless edifice within Jaisalmers former defenses bekcon to travelers afar to keep their distance if they want to keep their illusions.

Now I intend to board a humped animal and ride him through the desert while I pretend to be some important ancient Rajasthani. Maybe I'll splurge for a few porters to throw Jenny in a Palanquin and we can fully fulfill the roles of Maharaja and Maharani.