I had a dream of going to Pushkar, India, to a camel fair. I confess being captivated by travel articles painting pictures of a peaceful village on Pushkar Lake, home to the November's joint Camel Fair and Hindu festival. I saw myself after the Fair, drink in hand, on a shaded hotel terrace watching the tranquil sunset spreading its golden glow over encircling sands.

Once in India a hired driver, Rawlet, took me to Pushkar. The first indication of change in Rawlet's cheerfulness was a frown visible in the rear view mirror as we turned onto a rough road meandering up to Pushkar. We joined rattling buses iced with toppings of riders, trucks coughing black smoke, other Ambassador cabs, roaring motorbikes, buzzing scooters and streams of Indians.

Only another Indian rush hour, I thought breezily. Rawlet lost his smile completely at the hilltop when the police said that we must join other vehicles, in a virtual melee, to find parking in the desert and walk into Pushkar in 37 C. heat. Rawlet manoeuvred around the chaos to the northern edge of town. On a narrow street we grumbled to a standstill, engulfed by a human tide. Rawlet, sweat decorating his forehead, turned in his seat. "I can't find a way in. All the roads are plugged. You will have to walk to the hotel."

Drawing my sticky back off the car seat I leaned forward and exclaimed, "I traveled ten thousand miles to see the Pushkar Fair. How can we walk a kilometer across a desert town choked with hundreds of thousands of people? I came for the camel races, not an Iron-woman endurance test."

Seeing no alternative, we plunged into the stream of pilgrims, holy men, cows, vendors, and tourists. I pushed hard to keep near to Rawlet.

Reaching the Pushkar Palace Hotel, the unceasing roar of humanity became background music to the waiter's announcement that meals were vegetarian and no alcohol was permitted. So much for my dream of a drink on the terrace. Instead I sat, a sweet Sprite in hand, watching Hindu pilgrims take a holy dip in Pushkar Lake.

A local guide, accompanying me in the village, estimated 400,000 people packed the square kilometer of Pushkar. I was so hot to see camels pounding across the desert that I caught the guide's arm to remind him of my desire. That's when the rupee dropped.

"But the Camel Fair is over," he said. "Didn't you know this year the government changed the Camel Fair to last week? Too many tourists came before which hindered the Fair's business. Government had to act."

Disappointment flooded through me. If only I had known. Wistfully I asked the guide to go to the Fair site. Instead of seeing camels thundering across a desert in a neck-on-neck race, nervous vendors clipping the hair of shuffling camels, or crafty buyers lounging around campfires, I saw a far different scene. One camel was hitched to wooden two-wheeled cart. Small groups of squatting men in lime green turbans and white dhotis talked quietly. Women in brilliant red saris walked off in the searing Rajastani sun. Charred remains of campfires dotted the sands. A woman and her two children picked through the mountains of litter of plastic bags, papers, and food scraps.

My guide explained the reality of the Fair, "Villagers spend days traveling across the desert to bring their camels to sell for desperately needed cash. Rajasthan has experienced a two-year drought. Many fields still lie barren after the fall seeding. This has meant no food for humans or animals. Numerous camels have died of starvation before the Fair this year. In the past nearly 50,000 camels have been traded."

As we walked towards the area with the large ferris wheel and flashing lights, my thoughts moved from personal regret towards genuine compassion for the proud Rajasthanis. My dream of being part of the Camel Fair was crushed but my admiration for the men, women and children of Rajasthan shone through. In spite of drought and dwindling food supplies, they were drawn to Pushkar by their dreams and beliefs. They would endure and so would the Camel Fair.

About the photos:

Top: On the way to the camel fair.
Middle: Deals made…packing up to leave.
Bottom: The last moments after the fair.