Day 94: Bapu Market

“I can take you to a market where Bapu Market owners go to shop. It’s not for tourists. It’s wholesale. Better than Bapu Market.” said the rickshaw driver. I was curious if it was indeed a market for shop owners and not for tourists. I played along. We agreed to a slightly higher fee because ‘Mughal Market’ was further away from the touristy Bapu Market, and off we went. I was looking forward to learning about a secret market that wasn’t listed in the books, that is, until we pulled up to a storefront that wasn’t at all a market and catered very much to tourists. Tourists who didn’t know any better.

I asked for prices and did a bad job hiding my disdain. “I’m sorry, this is too expensive for me. I got similar pieces for much less. These pieces aren’t even finished!” I pointed to the beaded wall hangings half the size of what I purchased in Varanasi. I bristled and signaled to Andrew it was time to go.

“I bet our driver is going to be disappointed he won’t get any commission off of this trip…” I said to Andrew on our way out.

Then I turned to our driver, “So how much commission would you have made?” I asked. He didn’t respond, and didn’t seem too pleased that I was calling him out. I declined when he asked if we wanted to go to a silver shop and requested we go to Bapu Market to try my luck there instead. He knew I knew what he was up to and that he was not going to earn a rupee of commission off of me, dropped us off at Bapu Market, and charged us only half of the original fare. To cleanse his karma, I’m sure.

So please, be warned (we later found out another couple fell for the same ruse), as always, if it’s too good to be true… It’s really a rickshaw driver getting a healthy commission out of you. Better off at Bapu Market. Besides, it’s much more fun, especially when the shop you settle down in has a could-have-been-born-in-New-Jersey salesman trying to get you to buy his entire shop.

“Sit down!” New Jersey kept pushing.

“No. I know your tricks. I’m not sitting down. I want to see your wall hangings, beaded please and I need to know how much they are.” I paced. Not necessarily in the mood for the sit down, small talk over chai tea, hour long sales pitch before I could find out what the lowest price for a wall hanging might be.

“Be comfortable! Sit down!” he said again. I looked through several wall hangings (gifts for friends or sisters back home so no, I won’t be posting pictures of them here!) and not sitting once, I haggled him down to a decent price.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m happy. Are you happy?” I asked, getting used to this exchange… Indians want you to be happy. When they aren’t too busy trying to pull the wool over your eyes.

“Yes. Now what else can I get you. You want to try on a sari? Take your picture?” He asked. Andrew was bored. I declined, eyed the scarves, and said we would be back- maybe- for a scarf or two. We walked through the market. Everyone shouted an invite into their shop. My advice? Just pick one.

After getting totally surrounded by a group of uniformed children who just got released from school, we went back to New Jersey’s shop.

“Alright, what kind of pillowcases do you have?” I sighed, playfully, and sat down in his shop. By the time we walked out, Andrew got him to be in his video, I got his picture, he asked for a picture with me, we were besties. It was way better than walking out wondering how much money you were overcharged because your rickshaw driver brought you there…

Andrew and I went further across town than we anticipated for a restaurant that had high rankings on Trip Advisor. An Indian buffet, kinda like Vips in Korea, only with unlimited amounts of curry instead of kimchi. Then we made our way back across town to the Raj Mandir; an old movie theater my Rough Guide insisted it was THE theatre to check out in all of India.

We showed up nearly an hour before the movie started and waited in a line (ladies in their own) outside of the theater. Despite the beautiful facade, waiting in the dark outside of the theatre, for a cheap seat (only 60 Rs!) to see a Bollywood film… I honestly wasn’t expecting much. And then we walked inside.

The theater lobby was beautiful! Old school. Art deco. Classy. Andrew sat, while I walked around taking pictures of the lobby and then when I joined him, all of the men surrounding us, staring at our every move, decided they wanted pictures first of just them and then with me… right up until the lobby was empty and the theater was full. We squeezed into our seats for the first half of Jab Tak Hai Jaan.

It was my first Bollywood film, and it was fabulous. The lip synced songs weren’t exactly my favorite, but the choreographed dance routines more than made up for the cheese I was certain was being sung about. Around midnight, the lights went up for intermission. With full bellies still from BBQ Nation, and an early alarm already set to catch our bus to Pushkar the next day, we snuck out with intentions of downloading the second half of the movie later to watch at home!

Day 93: Jaipur: the pink city

Jaipur should really be called: The pink city that’s not so pink anymore. Because, I was expecting a PINK CITY, not really a city that sometimes had a pink building in it. I also thought it was going to be a lot smaller and less chaotic than Delhi, but it almost seemed just as busy, especially in and around the bazaars that seemed to fill the pink city. We spent the day doing a Lonely Planet walking tour- a walking tour that would have been better had it said: Get dropped off at the palace and then walk around for a few hours. We had a great day exploring, it was just not exactly what I envisioned… which is becoming a daily thing here in India.

Let’s start from the very beginning: the train station.

I have to admit, I was less than thrilled with the rickshaw drivers bombarding us on the train platform in Jaipur the night we arrived. Usually, they at least wait outside of the train station before utter chaos ensues as we try to fight your way to the pre-paid stands. It gives you enough time to brace yourself for the army of drivers demanding you get in their rickshaw. However, when we arrived in Jaipur, as soon as we got off the train, a rickshaw driver was already chatting Andrew up. When he could tell Andrew wasn’t interested, he fell back on me and tried to get me to agree to what Andrew wouldn’t. As if we were being tag-teamed, another immediately approached. First Andrew, then me. We took turns, politely declining and insisting we did not want a rickshaw. One persisted. I started losing my patience. I spoke loudly to Andrew, with the rickshaw driver walking alongside me, like we arrived at the train station together.

“Andrew, I think I might just start yelling. You know, instead of FIRE! FIRE! (like you’re supposed to do in the West, right?) I could just start yelling STOP TOUCHING ME!” The rickshaw driver hesitated, understanding everything I was saying.

“Ma’am, I’m just doing my job.” He countered.

“No, you did your job, and we both said ‘no’ several times, so why are you still walking with me? This is not part of your job now.” At this point we’re walking through a gate with a police officer watching those who were going through.

“This man is bothering me.” I said loudly, pointing to the rickshaw driver. Several women stared. The rickshaw driver disappeared.

As soon as we were outside of the station another one came up to us. When he gave up, another one came. At this point, we’re walking outside of the gated in area of the station parking lot, dodging traffic, trying to politely decline the fifth rickshaw driver who is walking alongside me, again, while Andrew is several paces ahead. I finally stop.

“I know you’re doing your job, but please, we do not want a rickshaw, please let us walk alone.” And the driver walks away. According to the map, we were within walking distance to the guesthouses we were going to check out. We both agreed to try to walk there. Andrew had the book out, he was convinced he could get us there. But after fifteen minutes, we didn’t know where we were, and I threw in the towel. A rickshaw driver pulls up, we agree on a price, get in, and then the driver says to me,

“I think you don’t remember me…” and I realize it’s the last rickshaw driver who I asked to leave us alone.

“I do. Let’s go.” and we listen to him talk about how he can take us to a very cheap guesthouse, politely decline and insist we want to go to the one we told him was our destination. He takes us there, insists on waiting with our bags. Again, we politely decline, grab all of our bags and check the guesthouse. It’s full. We pay the driver and begin walking to the other hotel we knew was down the street. The rickshaw driver starts driving next to Andrew. Then drops back and drives alongside of me.

“Please, it’s been a long day, we don’t want to go with you, please leave us alone.” I start insisting, begging perhaps?

“This is not Agra or Delhi! Give me a chance!” he counters. Andrew is too far ahead to interfere, too far ahead to see how frustrated I was, too far ahead to see that I was ready to sit down on the street and start crying because I was so. tired. of rickshaw drivers. I was really proud of myself for being able to deal with India. I haven’t let the poverty, trash, me getting sick, Andrew getting sick… I haven’t let any of it get me down. Maybe appalled at times, and a little annoyed at others, but I’ve maintained a pretty positive attitude considering. Until now. Maybe it was having to be the strong one the whole time in Delhi, or becuase it was nearly midnight and we didn’t have a place to stay, or that he was the tenth? rickshaw driver to bother us, or maybe a culmination of it all? Whatever it was, I could not deal any longer. I started sniffling, and then secretly wiping tears away while the rickshaw driver continued to drive next to me and tell me he wasn’t trying to scam me. I stopped responding. I pretended he wasn’t there. I caught up to Andrew at the second guesthouse. It was full. We walked back out, past the same rickshaw driver still waiting for us to the third guesthouse across the street. Thankfully they had one room left. Thankfully, the same rickshaw driver was not waiting for us in the morning.

So that was our welcome to Jaipur. Probably not the best start. I felt better after some sleep, but admitted to Andrew that I needed him to be the strong one for a day or two. And that I felt more comfortable walking in front of him rather than behind him. I explained that when I’m behind him I feel as though I’m leered at a bit more (in Delhi, a driver made kissing noises at me and I yelled at him and Andrew never knew about it because he was ahead) and that men on the street know Andrew can’t see, so they can be a little more aggressive. If I’m in front of him though, the can immediately see him and I don’t feel as vulnerable on the street as a white girl with light hair, in pants, without a scarf over my head and/or eyes.

We spent the entire walking tour with me walking in front of Andrew. And he graciously dealt with all rickshaw drivers for the day. I was able to breathe a litle easier. The walking tour itself, was confusing. Lonely Planet usually has good directions and landmarks, but this one did not offer either. We randomly began walking through a motorcycle repair street, then a tailors row before we walked through the marble sculptors and parts of the market. The markets seemed to bleed together in Jaipur. I’m not sure if it was one big bazaar that made up the pink city, or if they were indeed several different ones stacked up on top of each other. 

We ended up at Jantar Mantar; this huge astrological park that was built by King Jai Singh II. It’s advised to get a guide to explain the different astrological devices, but we didn’t really feel like it and prefered to continue our laid back meandering. I overheard one guide, and I’m pretty sure he got his information from my guidebook because it was the same. Either way, I didn’t feel too bad about not having a guide.

After Jantar Mantar, we crossed the street, dodged a snake charmer (Seriously.) and checked out City Palace. Btw: both entrance fees were ‘spensive! I can kinda see why for the City Palace, but not so much for Jantar Mantar. Maybe if you’re super into astrology or something… Anyway- we began our tour through City Palace in the arms room.

Andrew and I ask eachother a LOT of silly questions while traveling. We’re all over the What ifs… Would you rathers… If you could… When we move back to America… Today, Andrew asked me which piece of arms I would pick if I were in The Hunger Games. He was not satisfied with my pick of the bow and arrow. He kept trying to dissuade me. Offering up lightweight armour instead, or a suit I wouldn’t be able to die in, among others. I stuck to my guns. What would you choose?

As we sat in the courtyard people watching and resting after nearly three? four? hours of walking around, he asked a slew of “Would you rather” questions regarding my pet preference. Worn out, we made our way out, through a temple with some kind of guru speaking, and then out of the market (with a little pit stop inside a fun art deco decorated snack shop and restaurant.