When I finally managed to get my lazy arse to the fairgrounds, it was already late afternoon. I got quickly irritated by all the people who wanted money when I pet their camels, a group of cheeky chaps even tried to make me pay 100 rupees for watching a stallion covering a reluctant mare, whose sharp kicks quickly dispersed the group of men involved in the procedure.
However, after a tip from some other tourists, I invested in a pack of Indian cigarettes, and went over to the other hill, where the people were supposed to be friendlier. I was surprised to see that this was really the case, even those most men still completely ignored me when I asked if I could take a picture. Other times they refused flat out, despite having had a huge camera lens thrust in their face just seconds before, by a, male, foreign photographer.
A few of them got very cheerful when I produced the beedies out of my pocket, and a couple of men even beckoned me over again to hand me back the matches I had forgotten earlier. Still, even though they treated me as their new best friend, as far as I know they could have been saying what a tart I was.
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