The rains finished and Daniel was still a little sleepy, so he opted to stay in while I went on an adventure to suss out the local essential oils. I wandered along the freshly watered streets, the narrow market lane feeling naked of tourists. The stalls here sell everything from jade elephants and crumbling crystals to leather pouches, silver anklets and Hindu deities hanging from red string.

As I searched for a local attar, I was approached by a man named Dev (I think that was his name, I can't quite remember). He unabashedly shoved a handful of pink rose petals into my palm, coaxing me down to the lake, ‘no money, just good luck!’ he cried. Normally, I wouldn't have followed - I know the ploy - spot the tourist, tie something to their wrist and hold them hostage for ‘spare’ rupees. But I was feeling good, and actually didn't have a lot of cash on me, so why not. I slipped off my shoes as we entered the holiest of holy arenas, Brahma Gat. Local lore states that it was in this very spot, that a lotus flower fell from the hands of lord Brahma himself, the God of creation, and Pushkar lake was born, making it as old as time. It is the most sacred of the 5 Hindu lakes, so sacred in fact, that no photography is allowed within 40 feet of the lake, or of the lake itself - slightly torturous for me, it's a photographers dream. Legends aside, pigeons circled and swooped overhead, the sun pushed through the leftover clouds. Dev says ‘this will bring good luck to your family, your friends, your husband, your life, your year…’ The list went on. He grabbed a plate of red and yellow pigment, sugar, petals and rice and begun the ceremony. ‘Put out your hands and wash them in the lake’ he ordered. I obliged, although a little put off by his authoritative tone. He flicked pigment, water and petals into my hands, making a large sloshy pile, all the while reciting and chanting ancient mantras. I repeated his words in a marriage ceremony kind of way while he dotted my forehead with the vibrant concoction. It felt cool and smelt faintly of sawdust. As it came to a close, he placed a furry coconut in my hands and tied a red and yellow string around my wrist ‘In Pushkar, when we see this bracelet, we no longer ask for ceremony, you are now one with Pushkar, you are welcome. Now, I am Brahmin and we need to feed family, give me whatever you have, $100 dollars,1000 rupees, 300 euros, whatever you have no matter. We take all currency.’ I wasn't surprised, I was more shocked that it hadn't happened sooner. I looked him in the eyes and said ‘Now Dev, I told you, I don't have any money on me, I told you from the start.’ His eyes dropped, spotting my bracelets. ‘I want an Australian gift then, is that silver bracelet from Australia? I want it’. I had to laugh. After about 2 min of convincing him that nothing I was wearing was of any value he reluctantly agreed to let me go, showering me in compliments and suggestions of chai dates. Dev, unfortunately, had already done his dash, and I couldn't get away fast enough.

(Note: I have no photos of this experience, I wish I did)

I climbed the ghat up onto the street, welcoming the scent of freshly brewed chai, incense and mint. Back on my attar mission, I trawled through 3 different stores, in each, being rubbed down with numerous versions of ‘authentic rajasthan’ pure essential oils, intoxicating lavender, amber and sandalwood. Intrigued, I wondered why oil is so famous in this tiny town. The story goes, nearby native desert roses have been used for oil for hundreds of years, kick starting an industry, now famous all over Rajasthan. In the end, I couldn't make up my mind, so I left with empty hands and glossy skin, I'll decide tomorrow, I concluded. I thought that Daniel would probably be getting worried by this point, so I made a beeline past the temple, headed straight for Kanhaia Haveli. Some miniature paintings hanging from a doorway caught my eye, and what was just an interested glimpse, turned into a half hour chat, where I got to know a local craftsman named Ram. He paints and teaches an art school just out of town. Ram loves the moon, watercolour, crystal, pearl and pasta - we were destined to get along!

The next morning we were up early and headed to a street cafe for a bite to eat. We watched cows stop in front of a cross roads; to the holy lake, or market street… wisdom or food… A freshly baked muesli full of dates, walnuts, almonds and fresh fruits slid happily into our bellies. Festive music beckoned us onto the street and we were greeted to Shiva day celebrations in full swing; a throng of speakers, a brass band, trumpet and trombone players in royal blue, women with offerings piled high on their heads and a smug looking moustached man, sitting high in a silver chariot. It was quite the show. Not even a minute later a ravanahatha player with a colourful turban offered his company as he played us a camel travelling song, while we sipped chai in a dark cafe just off the main drag. It was a nice experience, CD sales pitch aside. His voice was high, raspy and scratchy, but it had a nice quality which we will be able to enjoy from home on a freshly burnt disc. A few rupees lighter, we wandered down to Mahadev Ghat where we sat and watched little kids run through swarms of feasting pigeons and twig like men roasting under the sun and bathing in the murky waters. I whipped out my sketch book and we stayed for a few hours - it was perfect.

We had lunch at ‘Oh my god wow falafel’ - it was pretty good, and cheap! Which was essential on a day that we decided to blow half the budget on a set of artworks, painted by my good friend Ram. Over a cup of mint tea, we ended up purchasing the Maharaja and queen duo, profile portraits delicately painted in watercolour and vegetable dye to symbolise love and peace. To end the day, we circumnavigated the lake, passing young Brahmins in training and religious men folded in awkward looking positions, staring blankly ahead. God rays poured over the town, as we settled in to watch Finding Dory.

In Pushkar, it seems there is only one way to wake up - brass band! The shiva day festivities had carried over another day and Daniel was less than impressed. For our final day, we spent half of it up at Papmochani Mata - a simple pink temple perched atop a 75m hill, overlooking the hazy town. From here we could safely take photos of the holy lake without fear of losing a hand or an eye. The other half was spent at the falafel shop where I was attacked by a henna artist and Daniel got a haircut before being guilted into handing over more money for a live traditional music show and chapati flour.

The next morning it was back to local buses, where a colourful journey across the state took us to the gateway of the desert, Jodhpur.