Be careful what you order.. you might get it

OK, here's a good one. Genevieve likes the Masala Spiced Indian tea a lot, but not the plain Indian black tea. A bunch of times since we've been here we've ordered "Masala Chai" but just gotten plain black.
So yesterday, back in the town of Pushkar, we were watching the sunset, of course at Sunset cafe, a lakeside establishment long frequented by backpackers and hippies before them. Now Pushkar, as we mentioned, is a "dry town" so the cafes cannot offer booze to all the young tourists who pass through. While I was in the bathroom washing up, Genevieve made an order of "Indian spice tea.", stressing that she wanted "The tea with the special spices in it." to be sure.
"Ahh." the waiter nodded knowlingly.
I came out and we enjoyed the sunset and clanging holy music of Pushkar. We sipped our tea, but after a few tastes Genevieve for some reason decided that she didn't need the caffiene or sugar or something about the tea. I drank mine, but noticed it did taste a bit odd.
We sat and talked with some other young backpackers, and after the sun dipped down over the white buildings on the other side of the lake, we went to get some dinner. We had a nice Italian meal and Genevieve met a friendly cat at the restaurant. Afterwards we decided to make it an early night and went back to the Hotel and watched "The Life Aquatic" (3rd time) on my computer.
Around 1am we layed down to go to sleep and I started to feel a little strange. I noticed my thoughts were wandering into some strange avenues and my imaginings were taking on a colorful visual array I noted as unusual. After laying there for awhile with my mind bouncing off the walls and my body seeming to float on some kind of current beneath me, I recognized the sensation. "Honey," I whispered to Genevieve who was already asleep, "I am reeeeeally high."
And I was. Apparantly the waiter at Sunset cafe had misunderstood G's order for "special spices" in her tea and given us tea made with Bhang, which grows wild all over India, or maybe with Charas, the super-concentrated hash they make here. The next few hours seemed like oceans of time, like undertaking epic journeys by caravan across the Indian desert. At one point I looked over at G who was rolling over shrouded by a sheet and I swore for a moment that it was a Saddhu, one of the crusty holy men who wander India, next to me. The sheet made his mat of nappy dreadlocks and I could see his eyes gleaming crazy in the dark. All the while different strains of holy percussion and song rang out in the area all through the night, as it was some kind of Sihk holiday. Some time later I drifted off to a deep, dreamless sleep.
I woke up this morning in one piece besides feeling like I'd been through a psychic wringer. I guess this explains why this place is so popular with people with bad facial hair and is home to a place named the "Pink Floyd Restaurant and Hotel".

Anyway G and I came up with a new plan yesterday with the help of our driver that hopefully the Vermont girls are going to go along with us on. After they arrive we want to all head by train all the way to the south, to the beaches of Goa. It would only take about 2 days overall to get there from Delhi, and we are changing our flight to leave from Bombay rather than the north. Rajastan has been rad, but we're about set with the desert... we're going to beach.