My Week: Over the hump in India: Jessica Bomford takes in all the sights, sounds and smells of a camel fair

Monday The bus roars into Pushkar and after the customary 10-minute trumpeting of the horn we disembark and make our way through the barrage of people offering accommodation, camel tours and exceptional money-changing rates. All services are offered at the usual maximum Indian volume. This is soon to be the centre for all self-respecting camel breeders with animals to trade and any photographer with at least a 2ft lens to flaunt.

Tuesday Wander to the camel site on the outskirts of town. I spot a lone camel plus owner approaching and feign boredom. I've come to see acres of the beasts, not a tame solitaire. Evidently an unconvincing pose as the camel driver asks me for baksheesh.

Wednesday Consult my programme with interest as the festivities begin in earnest. Milk-yield competitions dominate the schedule. I walk around the site, observing the awesome spectacle of thousands of camels and their owners camped across the dunes. The camel drivers are a noble set of folk - white smock tops and dhoti trousers finished off with a brightly coloured turban. The sight of a camel trader with an implausibly large pair of Y-fronts on his head mars the romance of the occasion only slightly.

Thursday Spend most of the night with two quilts locked over my ears. Pushkar's status as a holy town is elevated during the full moon, to such a degree that it is deemed necessary to blast recordings of religious chantings continuously throughout the night. For which purpose loudspeakers have been strapped to every lamp post. Feel as if I've had the Archbishop of Canterbury bellowing in my ear for 12 hours.

Attention at the camel fair centres on a rather energetic dance routine from a local lovely. Silver jewellery swings from every conceivable fixture point and fluorescent-yellow embroidered scarf with matching full skirt swirls to the music. It is only when I notice a slight excess of body hair and a hint of facial stubble that I realise she is in fact a he. I wonder whether the leering Italians next to me have fully comprehended this fact.

Friday A friendly camel trader takes me through the finer points of purchasing an animal. A solid hump and strong legs appear to mark out a lucrative beast. The camel belonging to my expert exhibits these qualities, plus five brown teeth as it flaps its gums loosely around its ears. We maintain our conversation against a backdrop of loud farting from our four-legged friend.

Saturday Spend the day by the lake, watching people bathing in the holy water. For the women, who must submerge themselves while still attired in their saris, this is a complicated procedure. Prayers are offered at each of the ghats and holy water is collected in small brass pots to be poured ceremoniously back into the lake.

As I watch a cow strolls by and consumes the trousers of a man who is bathing in the lake. Evidently red cotton is not to the cow's taste and it promptly regurgitates the trousers in the same spot as the poor man left them. He has an unpleasant shock when he emerges from the water.

Sunday Full moon, and Pushkar revels in its lunar significance. The road is clogged with pilgrims heading for the lake's holy waters. Before me vivid green, red and yellow saris bob into the far distance, the sun gleams on the polished metal pots that many balance on their heads and the sound of quiet singing hangs in the air. Cynic though I am, I experience a sense of devoutness. I wonder whether the nocturnal chantings contain subliminal messages that are eroding my atheism. A man daubs a red spot on my forehead before I can protest. Have a suspicion that this mark on a European tourist is tantamount to having 'I am a gullible idiot' tattooed across my face.

A last walk around the camel site. Animals lumber off with rosettes fluttering at their ears and new owners dancing at their feet. One camel belches noisily, shakes its head and wanders into the distance. I follow suit.