Bikaner

A sleeper class train journey and unpunctured conversations on the way north. Tuk tuk drivers attempting hilarious levels of extortion at 500 rupees for a 50 rupee trip. But I don't know the city and it's been a long day so 100 becomes acceptable, although not from any of the 500 crowd who had brought themselves down to 150...
And it's a city, has a different feel to it, bringing doubts; a shitty room in an undistinguished urban setting, the latest misjudgement? 
But the guest house, the Rose merry, is lovely, my attempts to dismiss the free breakfast ignored and my room clean and large. A stroke of luck, but there's still the urban aspect to deal with. 
Needing water a walk down to the main street, a bread pakora and a piece of kitchori at 10 rupees each. And something in the air. 
The place is busy, a practical cacophony of horns and voices and an increasing interest in exploration with an undercurrent of why did I want to come here.
So a walk down main street to the old city gate, train tracks crossing an adjacent street which are being clambered over or used for limbo practice as the train approaches and then a sweet shop, a sweet I don't know called noori which, like onion kitchori, would become central to my time here and architecture which stunned even my tired eyes. 
But in the end all that really matters is that, by the time I return to the room, there's a feeling that my stay is going to be extended. 
And then a message from Prateek in Taipei telling me to gorge myself. A food place? It would make sense but we'll see, it's a night of banana before bedtime, gluttony still not high on my agenda.