170 miles later, we rolled up in Pushkar — just in time for Holi.
But then, a few hours later, Scott and I both fell deathly ill.
Like, yacking in an alley way… can’t eat for 24 hours kind of sick.
It hit me first and then Scott soon after. I think some “bottled” water we bought on the road was the culprit. It was rough.
So unfortunately, the closest I got to Holi was seeing mini-parades of people heading to the center of town from the hostel window while I took small sips of ginger ale. From the thumping techno I could hear echoing from the main square, it sounded like it was quite the dance party. Though I’m still not sure what trance music has to do with Hinduism.
But 24 hours later we were both fully recovered and ventured out to see the aftermath — it looked like a purple powder bomb went off — and we got a solid recap from 2 lovely Indian students from Jaipur who joined us for momos at a Tibetan Restaurant.
View from the hostel.
Post-festival street clean up.
So, that was a bummer — but these things happen, especially while backpacking in India.
But I will experience you one day, Holi.
One day.