I'm writing via a slow connection from Jaisalmer, a town in northwest Rajasthan with a famous hilltop fort. We arrived here two days ago and are staying in a lovely hotel, an remodeled haveli (mansion) owned by the former maharaja's family. This stay is a modest splurge we decided to make months ago when planning our trip back in Seattle, but I've been glad we made that decision. It's a cool, restful, beautiful place, filled with mementos of the family who lived in the rooms we're now staying in (they now live in a different wing).

I've been sick for the past few days with a tenacious flu I developed on the train to Jodhpur, our last stop. It began with sniffles that partially distracted me from a fine, wide-ranging conversation between B, an engineering professor from a nearby university, and me. I soon became so sick that I spent our entire time in Jodhpur trying to recover, and largely missed February 19, an especially auspicious day for marriages to take place, according to ancient astrological principles. But even I didn't entirely miss it: I was able to go to the window to watch a marriage procession pass along the street just below me. This was a traditional procession, with the groom riding a white horse to claim his bride, accompanied by a band and happy street-dancing friends and family. B and K were able to watch from a higher and better vantage point in a rooftop restaurant, where they could see fireworks and colored light displays in the many places in the city where weddings were taking place that night.

Last night, on our rooftop in Jaisalmer, we were able to watch another marriage procession in the street below us--another groom, another white horse, and so much music and happy dancing that it inspired most of us on the rooftop to sway along, and people down on the street to run to join the parade.

In the past week or so, we've happened to encounter three examples of arranged marriages that could give even the most dedicated opponent of the practice pause (I myself have been open-minded about the practice since my Peace Corps years in Senegal, where it is ubiqutous). First was a newlywed couple who shared a train compartment with K and me. They were so open-heartedly in love that they seemed to beam love out to the world, including us. She plied us with traditional sweets freshly made by her mother, and he insisted on giving us his mobile number so we can come visit soon. Next was a guide who took us on a countryside tour from the town of Bundi. As we rested in a simple lakeside temple to Ganesh, he explained that his recent marriage had been arranged by the families. Again, he seemed to beam open-hearted contentment as he described his experience, and he noted that research indicates that arranged marriages tend to be more successful than "love marriages" (to use the Indian term). Third was a highly-educated couple who shared our train compartment while on their way to Bangalore, where both were to take up IT engineering positions in leading firms. They, too, were obviously deeply happy with each other.

As with any country, India has its ills, and some, especially deep poverty, are very troubling to encounter. But I am also finding what I always discover when I leave my own country's boundaries: ways of living and of seeing things that are often very different from my own but that remind me that my own culture's ways aren't necessarily the best.

Tomorrow, we leave, again via train, to Amritsar, the holy city of Sikhism. Later, we return to Delhi, from where B and K will return home, and I'll head out on my own further adventures.