Did I mention we were exhausted? Because we were. Sleep, hot water, laundry services, internet… These are a few of my favorite things. The first guesthouse we went to promised all of the above, so we stayed, and mostly, were able to have or do all of the above. Asleep in Udaipur, that’s what our first day was all about.
Waking up in a desert is cold. Running down a sand dune to make it back to your mattress in time for the self-timer on your camera is a lot harder than you might think. Realizing the saddle on your camel is a little lopsided makes the ride a full out work-out. The whole day was slightly askew, in a wonderful, but sometimes uncomfortable way. The whole night (all 18 hours of it) on a bus to Udaipur was not as wonderful. At least we weren’t sharing our sleeper cabin for two with two other people! At least we had baked goods to snack on. At least our window opened AND closed. (This is what optimism in India sounds like.)
Nearly all of us on the camel safari were heading out of the city at some point in the afternoon or evening. We would run into each other in the city buying souvenirs and having a third coffee or juice just to give us something to do. Little did we know, Andrew and I would be getting on the very worst bus ride yet.
I can assure you that I am not elaborating. Because at our first delay, I didn’t flinch (ok, maybe I did a little) when heavy parcels were being thrown onto the top of the bus. At our second delay, around one in the morning, I figured they would fix the bus soon, or the one person we were waiting for would arrive, regardless we would be on our way. And I fell asleep. Around three in the morning, Andrew nudged me awake, we hadn’t moved, another bus had arrived for us to get on instead. At our third delay, I opened up the window to the countryside. A tree and rocks, not a road were right outside my window. Other travelers opened up their windows. The Israeli in the cabin in front of our cabin, yelled at the men trying to fix the problem (of not being on a road!) by shoving rocks under the wheels that were not budging.
It. was. ridiculous.
We don’t know if they were avoiding roads with tolls… or maybe it had something to do with the heavy parcels on top of the bus that they didn’t want to get caught with… or maybe the heavy parcels weighed the bus down so much that it didn’t matter what kind of road we were driving on, it would be a problem… or maybe the combination of all of the buses we’ve been on in India are so old- too old- that they shouldn’t be on the road?
It still could have been worse. We could have been in the sleeper compartment the Korean girl was in with a window that wouldn’t close. She woke up at some point in the middle of the night without her bag. (It fell out of the window while she was sleeping) Apparently her passport was in that bag. We rolled into Udaipur around 9 or 10 in the morning, exhausted, to say the least. But, it could have been worse.
Some friends of mine highly recommended going on a camel safari while we were in Rajasthan. It seemed as if the place to do it was in Jaisalmer, so that’s where we went. We walked through Jaisalmer Fort in the morning, and then left for our camel safari by the afternoon. As always, my friends know best. The camel safari was grand. It was the perfect amount of time on a camel (any longer and we would have all been walking funny), there was awesome food (prepared over an open fire in the desert), really great company, and a meteor shower to make sleeping under the stars absolutely perfect.
Jaisalmer Fort differs from the others that we’ve visited in India in that there are around two thousand people currently living within the fort walls. Unfortunately, because of an increase in water consumption (a lot of this is due to tourism and more specifically, tourists staying within the fort walls) the foundation of the fort is eroding away. We read many warnings against contributing to the erosion, and didn’t intend to buy anything within the walls as a small effort to discourage the growth of tourism within the fort… But I failed when I found another blanket I HAD to have right inside the first gate! I know, I know, not cool. And I wasn’t going to, but then I did…
The fort feels like a tiny city. A tiny touristy city. But a little bit more laid back without the buzz of the city streets outside of the walls. We walked through the shops and outside palaces within the walls and even took cover with a herd of cattle while it rained. The view from the walls with cannons was beautiful, but I was amazed at how much litter was strewn on the other side. It was quite different from how well maintained Meherangarh Fort was in Jodhpur, or Agra Fort in Agra.
Our camel safari started with a jeep ride out of Jaisalmer to the abandoned- a ghost village of Kuldara about 25 km west of the city. In 1825, 84 Brahmin Villages were abandoned in just one night. Our guide, Aniket (Mr. Desert Junior) told us (from my understanding) that the British opened up Mumbai to trade, therefore the Silk Road was no longer used to the same extent. The ruling maharajah at the time insisted on keeping taxes over the villages the same, even though these villages full of people dependent on the Silk Road were not making nearly enough to make ends meet. So, they left. They only took what they could carry and in one single night, all 84 villages were abandoned and it’s a mystery as to where they went. Aniket confirmed that absolutely no one knows where they landed- if they relocated in India or in another country.
After the ghost town visit, it was time for CAMELS! I thought mine (in the two pictures below) looked rather amiable, and then I climbed on, and she wasn’t (I think it was a ‘she’) as content. At least she didn’t sneeze on me. Because that happened. By the German dude’s camel. And it was gross. As my sister Becca has said before (it happened to her when she was 2 or 3 years old) “The camel ‘neezed on me!” I tried to explain it to the German dude, but he didn’t really get it…
Ok, so I thought it was going to be more sand-duney. And I would have to fight the urge to jump off of my camel to make sand angels. Or something like that. And I was surprised that there were still electric lines running through the desert. I kinda thought we would be a little more removed, but it was still cool. It was very cool. We were on the camels in a line for about an hour and a half (maybe two?) as we made our way to the dunes where we were going to eat and camp out for the night. Andrew was at the rear of the group and chatted with the German dude’s parents about life in Korea, while I talked to the German dude directly behind me about life in India (where he currently lives).
We got to the sand dunes right around dusk, but there wasn’t much of a sunset. We all climbed up a dune for the view and then ambled our way back to the blankets and fire that was being set up for us while we waited for dinner. Dinner, completely prepared from scratch in the sand was amazing. Better than that. It was dark by the time we were served heaping plates of rice, roti, and curry. We could barely see what we were eating, but it was delicious.
Around the fire, Aniket talked of his father, Mr. Desert, the one who founded the company, Sahara Travels. He’s famous in Rajasthan, to say the least. But I’ll let Aniket tell you all about him when you go on your camel safari. Some of the group left after dinner, some went to bed under the stars soon after that, Andrew and I stayed up with our new Aussie friends chatting about our adventures in India and elsewhere.
We started seeing shooting stars and realized we picked the perfect night to sleep under the stars. Mattresses were arranged in a circle with heavy blankets folded on top. We all slipped off our shoes and crawled under the covers to get warm. Deserts are COLD at night! And then I fell asleep with only my eyes peeking out of the covers trying to stay open to see all of the stars falling towards us.
Advertisements and posters or even paintings on guesthouse walls for Bishnoi Village Safari tours were everywhere in Jodhpur. Having read about it in our ‘Rough Guide,’ I thought it would be a nice break from our sightseeing routine in the cities on our route through Rajasthan. And it was. It wasn’t the most intense ”safari,” but it was a lovely break. It was also a great change of pace from the rickshaw grind, instead we climbed into the back of a jeep and were whisked from one stop to the next.
The Bishnois, as my ‘Rough Guide’ describes, “are among the world’s earliest tree-huggers.” In 1485, there was a drought. A guru decided this was caused by deforestation and came up with 29 rules for how to live in harmony with nature. Rules include vegetarianism, not cutting down any trees, and more. Basically they were the first vegans.
In 1730, the maharaja of Marwar sent workers to Khejadali (a small Bishnoi village) to cut down kherjri trees (the most sacred tree to the Bishnois) to use to burn limestone for a palace. A Bishnoi woman, Amrita Devi hugged one of the kherjri trees and told the men sent by the maharaja that if they cut the tree down, they’d have to take her head with it. The men decapitated her. Her three daughters followed suit, hugging trees, and losing their heads. Word spread and the Bishnois from surrounding villages united and hugged 363 trees. (Or so it’s said) All 363 lost their lives trying to protect the sacred trees.
When the maharaja found out, he stopped the fighting and banned cutting down trees and killing animals in the Bishnoi villages. The trees, that you see above are some of those that were saved so many years ago by the Bishnois and it’s the first stop on the Bishnoi Village safari. A road is paved through the trees and there’s a small monument at one end, but it’s nothing fancy.
The second stop was a wildlife observatory where we were handed binoculars to see ‘black bucks’ as they were described to us. I was more fascinated watching the women hunt for cow pies around the water reservoir. The cow droppings are used for fuel. In Nepal, a woman walked past us in the street carrying a steaming pile. Lit’rally. Steaming. Andrew said he watched her pick it up right after the cow had left it there. I think the Indian women had a better idea, collecting it after it was dried. Much better too, for when it goes on top of your head to carry it home!
We had read that some of the places we were going to felt a bit like a trip to a shop where the driver gets commission. I can see how it would have felt like that, if our guide, Push, was not so adamant that we didn’t have to buy anything we didn’t want! Instead, I made a pot, and admired very pretty sheets- that I definitely wanted, but didn’t have any room for.
After the pottery and printmaking shop visits, we went to a carpet maker’s house. Now obviously, if I didn’t have room for a sheet or two, I most definitely didn’t have room for a carpet. But. The carpet maker was probably my favorite to talk to. I’m sad I don’t have a photo of him, and the video where he was talking about how auspicious the day 12/12/12 decided to focus on Andrew’s knee instead…
The carpet maker had an air of artist-meets-professor-meets-astrologer (or something like that) about him and as Andrew said later, “He really liked the word auspicious!” He was right though. It WAS auspicious that it was our 100th day on 12/12/12. We all agreed and smiled at our good fortune.
Towards the end of the Bishnoi village safari, we went to a Bishnoi village house where we were given sesame treats, played with puppies, and watched an opium tea ceremony. I kinda thought we would get to partake in the opium tea ceremony, but as Andrew said later, “They bogarted the tea!”
Our last stop was to another family’s house where we ate a traditional Bishnoi meal, and I made the faux pas of eating with my left hand. The men laughed and shrugged it off, but I sat on my left hand for the rest of the meal. (You see, the right hand is for eating, and the left is for ‘unsavory functions’ like bathroom and cleaning obligations.) Somehow, this little rule slipped through my fingers for the first two weeks of our trip through India!
If you’re interested in a Bishnoi Village safari, I recommend going through Jodhpur Safari and specifically asking for Push! He was great to talk to throughout the trip and wasn’t phased when I asked him personal questions about him, his family, and India in general!
After the Bishnoi Village safari, we grabbed our bags and made for another bus- this time to Jaisalmer.
Meherangarh (pronounced Meh-ren-gey. usually.) Fort is pretty unavoidable if you reach Jodhpur. It towers over the city and makes for a beautiful view in both the day and at night with it all lit up. We read that the 2+ hour audio tour was worth it, so we climbed up to the entrance from the city below and spent an entire afternoon at the fort. There were cannon marks on the walls still visible from battles with the army of Jaipur. There was a magnificent view of the blue houses of the Brahmin Caste. A huge museum. And then there was a short walk over to Jaswant Thanda; a memorial to the ruler Jaswant Singh II, who protected Jodhpur and introduced programs to keep its inhabitants employed.
Walking up to the fort was one thing, as it towers 400 feet above the rest of the city. Walking through the gates into the fort was another. Seven had been constructed to celebrate victories over other armies attacking the fort. It proved to be rather indestructable. Pretty incredible for a fort that was built starting in 1459! Although this construction was began by Rao Jodha (founder of Jodhpur) most of the fort’s completion was supervised within the period of Jaswant Singh from 1638 to 1678.
The audio tour was incredibly interesting. I’m not usually one to do a tour like that, but not only did it feature the history of the fort, but also details about life inside, and of the court (royalty) themselves. Gaj Singh was the last living Maharajah of Jodhpur – until 1952 until these powers were abolished by India in 1971. He spoke on the audio tour of what he remembered of being enthroned at only four years old, and his childhood inside the court. If you go to Meherangarh, pay the (slightly outrageous) fee for the tour! It’s worth it!
A lot of the rooms were preserved and if you couldn’t walk through them, you could stand at a window or a door to peek in and see what life was like. Some were more grand than others. I liked this chamber, Gaj Singh’s father (Maharaja Takhat Singh) was the last ruler to reside in the fort. This room, Takhat Vilas, was noted to be a blend of the traditional India with the modern British style. I quite liked the Christmas-like ornaments that hung from the ceiling!
Ok, so maybe I was a little obsessed with the blue houses. Can you blame me? They are beautiful, no?
If you’re curious why there are so many dotting the city, the blue is a result of the Brahmin caste in the Hindu Religion differentiating themselves and cooling their houses under the hot desert sun. I’ve become really intrigued by the caste system here in India. While I think there is something of an underlying system in America, the clear-cut system and the rules and observances behind the caste system in India is interesting to someone like myself who was raised to hear that I could be whatever I wanted to be when I grew up… I digress. I also learned that certain colors are associated with certain castes. Brahmin’s is blue. They are intellectuals. The word Brahma directly refers to a creative aspect of the universal consciousness.
After the lengthly audio tour and afternoon inside the fort, we walked over the little ridge to check out Jaswant Thanda. It was a nice memorial to walk around, but there wasn’t as much information at the site. Not that there necessarily needs to be more information on a burial grounds… but I suppose my curiosity always gets the best of me and it would have been nice to know which members of the family were represented by the cenotaphs that had been constructed. We ran into our new German friend from the bus into the city, Bastian, and walked around the grounds while chatting of our mornings and admiring more of the view of Jodhpur.
After, Andrew and I were going to go across town to the palace/hotel but gave up when the rickshaw driver demanded an exorbitant fee and by the time we got him down to our ideal fee, we lost interest in the trip altogether. We walked back down to the city below, past children demanding “One photo!” and goats in sweaters before having a rooftop dinner and view of Meherangarh Fort and Jaswant Thanda at night.
We left Pushkar around nine in the morning, and arrived in Jodhpur around three in the afternoon. It wasn’t a terribly long journey and riding a bus through the countryside made me wish I was on motorcycle so I could stop and take pictures whenever I wanted… The land was peaceful and its occasional inhabitants would wave and shout “Hello!” when they recognized you weren’t Indian. We made a friend (Bastian, from Germany) and when our bus arrived to Jodhpur, the three of us crammed into a rickshaw and found a guesthouse within the old walls of ‘The Blue City.’
Tired, but not wanting to give into the temptations of a nap so late in the afternoon, Andrew and I went for a walk around Sardar Market in Jodhpur. We walked through it to get to our guesthouse, and while it was not as intense as the markets of Jaipur, it was still full of bangles and saris and fruit stand upon fruit stand. I’m always a fan of walking through a market, but I have to admit, I was looking forward to going to sleep early, and so we didn’t stay out too terribly long. We tried to track down some internet to catch up on emails and blog posts, but it proved to be impossible, so I drowned my internet woes in a chocolate milkshake and fell asleep soon after.
We wanted to relax a bit more in Pushkar (away from all of the rickshaws and traffic mostly) so we stayed one more day. I simply had to eat another ‘Green Goddess Salad’ from Honey & Spice (new favorite meal on the road – I cannot tell you how much I miss salads and milk. Just know that I do. a lot.) and we hadn’t stopped into the Brahma Temple yet… one of THE things to do in Pushkar. So, those two things became our primary things to do.
We hung out on our rooftop for awhile before making our way to the Brahma Temple. We arrived to utter chaos. A huge mass of pilgrims were waiting outside of the gates to get in. Not necessarily in line (has there ever been a real line in India?) and most holding flowers or coconuts or other offerings of sorts. We weren’t sure why the gate was closed, nor were we sure why there was such a crowd… But we waited, and like everyone else, we were pushed forward by the masses onto the steps leading up to the Brahma Temple, past the lockers where we were forced to part with our cameras and shoes, and then through the metal detector before going up the steps and into the Brahma temple itself.
Chaos ensued. Everyone was rushing towards the temple shrine atop a few more steps. Women were shoved forward (by other women and men alike), children were hoisted onto shoulders so they could see, and if you didn’t know you were in a holy place, you would have speculated that a Bollywood actor had just arrived to Pushkar or a cricket tournament match was giving away free tickets or… whatever else would make the people of India go INSANE!
Andrew and I sat down off to the side watching people slip off the edges (literally) of the shrine platform. Some passersby requested camera phone pictures with us before going up to the shrine. (Seriously, I still don’t get all of the attention!) And then when the masses dispersed- a little- we decided to see what the fuss was about, and went up to the shrine ourselves. When we turned in our shoes and cameras, we were handed a folded up piece of newspaper holding some flowers, but no direction as to what to do with the flowers…
We were pushed into the crowd yet again, and an older man, nearly cheek to cheek with me, asked where I was from. I responded, and then he told me he was in Pushkar with his students from out of town (I don’t remember the town they were from specifically). I waved hello to the group of girls in front of him, said hello, and that it was nice to meet all of them. They all smiled and wagged their heads back at me. The teacher thanked me. I responded that it was no problem, surprised that he thought he had to thank me at all! For what? Being nice? Carrying on a conversation in the middle of a holy site in Hinduism? We were pushed forward and I dropped my flowers into different caged areas of the temple. I think I went the wrong way because a whistle was blowing, and I was being immediately ushered towards one of the designated areas of exit. I have no idea what the shrine even looks like because I was concentrating so hard on where to put my flowers and not stepping on any toes…
The friendly teacher ushered us through some other areas, and we climbed up to see the temple from the front gate wall, surprising all of the school children when they looked up to see me above them. We went out, gathered our belongings and walked back through the town we’d been going back and forth through the past three days…
And then we got ripped off by a seamstress. seamster?
What’s interesting about living or traveling abroad for an extended period of time are the menial tasks you find yourself needing to do. Errands at home can often turn into adventures abroad. Today’s errand/adventure came in the form of getting Andrew’s shorts mended. Without thinking he dropped them off to this guy, (we’d been walking past him for three days, saying hello, making small talk, being friendly) not bothering to ask how much the stitching would cost him. Big mistake. When we returned to pick up the shorts, Andrew asked how much it would be- thinking 100 Rs maaaybe 200 Rs max. Homeboy asked for $10.00. Without batting an eye. I narrowed my eyes, Andrew laughed and told him he was in India and didn’t have any American dollars. Then the stitcher was quiet for awhile, not giving Andrew any clues on how much he should pay. Keep in mind I can buy a pair of pants for 100-150 Rs. A whole pair of pants.
Finally, he told Andrew it would be 350 Rs. I balked. Andrew sighed, I think a little bit annoyed for not having asked up front how much it would cost, but didn’t dispute his price. He asked if we were happy. I shrugged and said it was up to Andrew, although my eyes did not say “happy.” The stitcher knew what he did. He gave Andrew a scrap of fabric “for his head” to try to make up for it…
We walked away with another lesson learned. No matter how nice someone seems in India, always (ALWAYS) agree on a price before you leave them with your shorts.
We lazily made our way to just a couple of the five hundred temples in and around Pushkar. I think we were both so happy to be in a calmer city than all of the others we’ve visited in India that we reveled in being able to stroll through streets dodging cows and a handful of motorbikes instead of countless rickshaws and throngs of people. We hung out on the rooftop of our guesthouse. We walked around. We ate really good food. We even had a drink at the only bar in town. It was delightful. A much needed break from the madness…
Temples and shops. And children begging for money or chapati (Indian bread). And more temples. And more shops. This is Pushkar.
After picking up a few things, we went back to our room to do a little bit of work. I put on a little bit of makeup on to model a necklace I picked up for Zengerine. I kinda forgot what wearing makeup was like. Just a little bit of eyeliner and lipstick and I thought I looked like a ho! I wiped half of it off and walked out, handing my camera to Andrew.
“What did you do?” He asked in shock when he looked up. (Apparently I wasn’t the only one amused by the make up after three months without.)
We kept our balcony door open while we hung out in our room. Big mistake. We realized after an hour that an uncountable amount of mosquitoes were buzzing around the room. We left for dinner in hopes that they would somehow disperse. They didn’t. Armed with our flip flops, we hunted every last one of them down before we called it a night.
Brahma, the Creator is one of the three most important Hindu gods. But his following isn’t nearly as strong as the following that Vishnu, the Preserver, and Shiva, the Destroyer have. Many believe it’s because of the story behind Brahma’s yagna (a sacrificial ritual that is supposed to take place at a specific time dictated by the stars). The story goes that Brahma was supposed to marry Savitri (or have a wife in time for the yagna?) at this particularly auspicious moment, but she was late. In desperate need of a wife to perform the ritual, the gods purified an unmarried shepherdess, Gayitri, from the untouchable caste, so she could be married to Brahma. After they were wed, Savitri showed up and was not happy Brahma married someone else. She put a curse on him, from then on, he would only be worshipped in Pushkar. Furthermore, the untouchable caste would only be liberated if their ashes were scattered on Pushkar Lake.
Pushkar is one of the five holiest places that Hindus pilgrim to. Foreigners and Hindus alike are encouraged by the locals (not only the Brahmin priests) to make Pushkar Puja (a religious ritual).
The guidebooks agree that making a puja and a donation at Pushkar Lake is pretty much unavoidable. Sure enough, not even ten minutes into our first walk through town to get our bearings, a man began talking to us about going to the lake and making puja. One we arrived at one of the ghats, a Brahmin priest took over, and we were ushered in. Of course, we had to slip off our shoes and then walk down the steps covered in pigeon droppings barefoot before we sat next to the lake, me with one priest, and Andrew with another.
The priest had a metal tray with tikka powder, rice, a coconut, and a string for the ceremony he performed with me. I repeated a lot in Hindi, and then repeated several prayers for not only myself, but also for my ‘husband,’ and for all of my family. I washed my hands in the water and touched it to my ears, my eyes, and my heart. The tikka powder was put onto my forehead. The coconut was thrown into the lake. Water was thrown behind my back. Money was asked for.
“Some people give thousands of rupees for their karma. It is for all of your life. You will only do this blessing one time. How much will you give?” The books warn of this as well. Indian pilgrims give between 21 and 51 rupees. (Why it’s an odd amount, I’m not sure) It suggested a foreign tourist can give at most 101 rupees. I tried my best to avoid saying exactly how much.
“Oh, my husband has all of our money…” I said.
“You can give 5,000 rupees?” The priest asked. I restrained from rolling my eyes at his cheap trick.
“50 rupees.” I replied, but ended up giving 100, because who asks for change when your karma is involved, right?
We turned around to see others were watching, walked back through the pigeon droppings, to get our shoes and continue our walk through the city, a bit quieter with the ‘Pushkar passport’ (the red string from the puja) as the locals call it, wrapped around our wrists.
Without a doubt, Pushkar is the quietest town we’ve been to so far, and perhaps the smallest (coming it around 15,000 people). Aside from shopkeepers calling out for you to “look for free,” it was lovely to be able to stroll through without the in-your-face rickshaw drivers of Delhi and Jaipur that had been our last few days.
I was also delighted with the barbers in town. I think I have a thing for foreign barber shops, but how could you not when one looks like these do?
On our way back to our guesthouse, some children were playing in the street. If children aren’t asking for a school pen, or ten rupees, they are asking for “One photo?” These little ones were too cute to refuse. In case you’re wondering what’s up with all of the heavy eyeliner on the little ones, I asked. It’s to protect them from the evil eye.
“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!
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.
We decided to walk to Old Delhi from the backpacker district of Paharganj in the New Delhi part of town. What an adventure! Walking from one part of town to another is something of a test to see how well you can keep your eyes open and on everything around you at the same time. Because, if you fail this test, you'll likely be run into by a rickshaw driver, motorcyclist, or you'll step in poop. We walked through sections of town that reminded me of a more chaotic and dirty version of Seoul. Entire rows of buildings selling kitchen accessories. Then one street devoted to paper. Card shops lined the street behind rickshaws weighed down by industrial sized packages of uncut paper. I wasn't paying attention at one point and was nearly knocked over by stacks of cardboard on the back of one rickshaw. I walked away more annoyed with myself than rattled by the slight collision. We arrived at Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India, just in time for prayer, which meant we weren't allowed in until it was finished. We relaxed and then made our way to Old Delhi, and the infamous Haldirams for a snack.
I think I get pretty lucky when it comes to people allowing me to take their picture. I think a lot of this luck is due to being a woman. Andrew can't get away with photographing a group of little girls quite like I can. I love this about being a female photographer. I think we (as females with cameras) aren't as scary as men. I also think despite having thousands of dollars worth of gear, I'm not taken as seriously as other photographers. You know, the ones with the vest and the obvious camera bag and possibly two dslrs slung around their necks. I often get disgruntled about this kind of bias, but I try to use this to my advantage when it involves photography.
I've become so smitten with the school children piled into rickshaws that we've been seeing since we arrived in Delhi. Backpacks are piled on the roof or bunched up, hanging off the side of the rickshaw. I've counted as many as fifteen bags hanging off the sides of one rickshaw and I'm only assuming that just as many school children are piled inside. I love it. It also makes me chuckle a little thinking about what their reaction would be to the spacious yellow school buses back home. I bet they could fit their entire school into one of those buses, but no way would it be able to navigate down the skinny streets of Delhi!
I pointed to my camera when we walked past a few rickshaws with children in them, obviously waiting for the rest of their count to get out of school. The girls started squealing with excitement and quickly pulled eachother together for a picture. Then they pointed to their friends in another rickshaw. Then the driver pointed to one girl off on her own who was too shy to ask me. None of them spoke English, but that didn't stop us from having fun taking pictures and then looking at them on the LCD screen.
After the improptu photo shoot, we ducked into Haldirams to try some lemon soda (a new favorite drink of mine, especially if it has some mint in it!) and a Raj Kauchori. The guidebooks insisted we try both and I was not disappointed. It may have been too soon for Andrew to try something so adventurous, but I enjoyed trying something incredibly new. It was nothing like I've had before and every bite felt a bit like a surprise- in a good way. Basically a Raj Kauchori is a crispy "puris" think: a giant hollow cheese ball without the cheese flavor. The puris is then filled with different stuffings with different kinds of chutneys. The Haldiram's version is smothered in yogurt with more, different flavors of chutney drizzled on top and some crispy bits thrown on for good measure. Usually when someone says something is "interesting" to taste, it's not necessarily a good thing, right? But in this case, it is. A very, very good thing.
I've seen versions of this on the street (not quite so elaborate) but have been too nervous to try it after our bouts with food poisoning. On the street it's a much more simplified version- Just the puff with a stuffing and then a broth spooned into it. They don't look nearly as exciting as the pretty Raj Kauchori of Haldirams.
When crossing the border from Nepal, don’t let anyone grab your bag off of the bus and offer to carry it across the border. If you get into a shared jeep, be prepared to be squished in with as many people as possible (it’s doubtful you’ll get a seat to yourself, despite paying for one). If you take the train, don’t accept cookies from strangers. They might be laced with drugs that will knock you out until you wake up without your bags. If you need a ride from the train station, find a pre-paid rickshaw stand. Don’t get into a rickshaw unless the price is agreed to before you climb in.
In Varanasi, don’t be surprised when a Sadhu grabs your forehead to put some tikka powder on it for luck and then presents his offering tray before you have a chance to say “no.” In Agra, don’t let anyone take you anywhere, you’ll only be paying their commission to bring you there. In Delhi, if someone flings poop on your feet, it’s only so you can pay them to clean it off. If someone offers to take you to the tourist agency to get a free map of India, politely decline, for there are only two government tourist agencies in town and the rest are scams with a storefront. If you want to buy something in a market, under no circumstances agree to their first price. My new “Bay Ban” sunglasses: No. way. would I pay 600 Rs ($10.82) for them, but I will pay 150 Rs ($2.70) and care less about how obviously fake they are. Oh, and watch out for the young men who “just want to practice their English with you…” These are a few of the many scams of India.
We’ve been doing pretty well, that’s not to say we have a clean record free from the scams of India… We paid double for our first rickshaw driver in Varanasi- a whopping $0.75 more than we anticipated for an eighty year old man to bike us (and all of our bags) to our guesthouse. We figured he earned it. I might have paid a little more for some shipping than I would have at the post office in Varanasi, but I was sick, and overwhelmed with gratitude that I didn’t have to deal with a separate visit to the post office. We bought Vodaphone sim cards in Varanasi that lasted aproximately two days. In a Vodaphone store in Delhi, we were told they were used sim cards, something that is not uncommon for small phone stands to sell to tourists. This scam, we learned all on our own.
India is… a lot. Walking down the street is like walking through a gauntlet. A gauntlet that consists of, but is not limited to: eager-comission-seaking-beavers, men demanding you come into their shop “Looking is for free!” they call after you, women with one arm wrapped around a baby, and the other grabbing onto you to ask for money, barefoot children waiting for your spare change, rickshaw drivers asking if you need a ride, men spitting betal juice on the street, or urinating against a wall if there’s no public open street stalls around. There’s garbage. everywhere. Cows meander through the streets and leave pies that I’m only used to dodging when walking out in the fields at home. Dogs are calm by day, but form packs by night. It’s intense. Delhi is intense. Some travel books advised to start in Delhi and give yourself a few days to adjust to India- but after starting in Varanasi and traveling to Delhi, I could not disagree more. Delhi, in my own opinion, is “all. of. India.” without the charm of what’s under the surface of the sub-continent. We heard it was nothing special, but it’s one of those places you have to experience so then you can tell others the same.
He's back! He's back! My travel partner is back! and hungry. I was relieved. We're not out of the woods yet, but he's finally eaten a solid meal and stayed outside of our hotel room for longer than 15 minutes. Progress. We sat atop a rooftop cafe (Sam's) in Paharganj (the backpacker's district) and I became obsessed with this view (as you can see in the video as well). And that was our day…
Food poisoning remedies: We did a little research and found out that charcoal tablets (which was on my packing list, but I couldn't really find it in the States or in South Korea, turns out to be easy to find and super cheap in India) help as does a small amount of Apple Vinegar Cider? We've stocked up on both and a handful of electrolyte packets as well. Hopefully we're more prepared for the next time around. I should have known to track this stuff down upon arrival, but had no clue! I'm also not used to a bout of food poisoning lasting as long as it did with Andrew this time around… Oh… India…
*We got (and paid for) our India visas while we were still in Seoul. I realized I forgot to add it in last week when we entered the country- so I put it in today. Most expensive visa yet!*
It was a short one. But I was excited Andrew was up for going outside and he even had some soup and rice for dinner. I had a brownie sundae. (I think the food at our hotel has too much MSG in it and that was making me a different kind of sick than Andrew… I figured I was safe with ice cream, and why not make it a sundae, right?)
When I was sick, I told Andrew that being sick in India was a like doing a cleanse that you didn't have to pay for, or suffer through for weeks on end. I don't know why celebrities don't just spend an equivalent amount of time in India eating the wrong foods. Because we seem to be awesome at it. And no, we're not eating any street food! We've been eating at a lot of Lonely Planet or Trip Advisor recommended restaurants… which just goes to show you, sometimes you're just better off eating off the street. (Ok, not off the street literally, but you know what I mean.)
I went on, telling him that I was going to get super skinny and pretty and everyone would love me. He rolled his eyes. (Obviously, just in case you don't know me as well, I wasn't being serious.) I also assured him that me being sick was better for him as well, I don't talk as much, therefore he gets some peace and quiet for a change. He didn't roll his eyes at me on this point. But tucked me in and gave me a kiss on the forehead and stayed near until I felt better.
Knowing how comforting it was to have him near when I was sick, I haven't ventured far. Partly because, while I didn't feel sick, I also didn't feel great. I made it to the roof to get some sun and fresh air, but couldn't stay long… Back in our dark room, We watched more tv and movies, I did some blog work (check out the updated map with pictures!) and got started designing a new "current projects" page that will hopefully go up soon. Sorry, it's been another boring day on the blog for you…
This seems to be a trend… I get sick, and then a day or two later, Andrew gets sick. Not only sick- but this time super sore as well, my poor travel partner was not doing so well today. I'm so happy I picked the best room we looked at last night. Because, if you're going to spend all day in one room, you may as well have a nice one, right? (Ok, well, it's nicer...)
We had planned to sleep in (something we haven't done in several days) and then with Andrew sick, we decided to stay in as well. We watched tv and movies. I slipped out for water and food replenishments (for me). Andrew slept. I thought about slipping out longer and taking some video of the neighborhood we're staying in, until Andrew suggested I take a video of us being sleepy and sick. A pretty accurate "day in a minute" video for our day, as this does happen, and not every day can be as exciting as walking into The Taj Mahal, so I decided to take him up on it. You can thank him for how boring this video is. And no, there are no surprises in the minute at all. It's rather boring, just as our day was.
We often get asked where "home" is for us. I always laugh and answer that we don't really have one at the moment. The latest girl who asked, a Chinese tv producer we met in Nepal, thought it was so romantic that we are eachother's home while we travel. Maybe I too, would think it was romantic if I wasn't aware of how dirty one gets on the road, or how unromantic the places are that we sometimes stay, or what it's like being sick and taking care of eachother in a foreign hotel room. Again, all of this might seem romantic on the outside looking in, and maybe I should just keep it that way even though it doesn't exactly feel romantic when one of us has to go out for more toilet paper for the other…
As boring as it is being (somewhat) healthy while the other one is sick, it's really comforting having someone with you. If nothing else to deal with the front desk man, run out for more tp and water, or be the one to get out of bed so you can lay in misery in it until you feel better. I don't know how I would make it through if I was sick, on my own, in India. Andrew confirmed he wouldn't either, maybe in not so many words…
"If you would give me food poisioning, I'd still eat you…" at least this is what he said while I was sick, and he was healthy. I think he might change his mind after today…
Ok, so here's what the guidebooks don't tell you: The ticket booth for The Taj Mahal, is not at the entrance of The Taj Mahal. No, it does not open at dawn, so don't waste your time leaving early to stand in line while the sun rises. I knew to leave my tri-pod at home, but we didn't know we had to leave ALL electronic devices at home as well, including Andrew's kindle and computer. Apparently, my whistle wasn't allowed inside either. Despite the hour and a half it took us to simply get into The Taj grounds, it was worth it. It was amazing and breathtaking and beautiful and spectacular and I didn't want to leave it…
So, Andrew and I were walking to The Taj when a rickshaw driver pulls up and asks us, and then the other tourist walking close by if we wanted a ride. "No, thanks" we all responded automatically. And then instead of further badgering us for a ride (as is common practice) he insisted we get our ticket before we go to The Taj Mahal. We could get the ticket up on the left, he declared. We wearily agreed, but then confirmed it must be a scam. Why wouldn't we get our ticket at the gate? Right? Another rickshaw driver did the same, by this point, Justin (that other tourist walking to The Taj) began walking with us and we talked it over and agreed, it was probably a different ticket… If the rickshaw drivers were telling you where to go or taking you there when you didn't tell him then they were going to get a commission off of it- that none of us wanted to pay. We declined. again.
After a couple of kilometers, we get to the east gate and see a huge line waiting, tickets in hand, outside of the gate. Confusion set in. Why was there a line? The sun was already up and we were told it would be open when the sun was up. And why was everyone holding tickets? As it turns out, the rickshaw drivers weren't trying to scam us. And we had to walk back the 2 kilometers we just came to the unmarked building off the side of the road to get tickets to The Taj. We walk back. Andrew realizes he forgot his camera. He walks back to the guesthouse. Justin and I get tickets (where they say they don't have change. Despite the HUGE line we just saw standing outside of the Taj entrance.) We wait for them to dig out change. Get our tickets. Then wait for Andrew. Then we walk back to The Taj Mahal.
We go through security. Separately. One line for ladies, one for men. I'm looked at apprehensively bundled up in my blanket, I mean, yak wool scarf until I unwrap myself underneath for the officer. I shrug. She rolls her eyes and then hands my backpack over to be searched. Andrew yells over to me that he has to go back. His computer is not allowed inside The Taj Mahal grounds. I'm pulled back to my backpack. My whistle is not allowed inside The Taj Mahal grounds. I run after him and hand over my whistle.
"Seriously?" He asks.
"Seriously." I reply.
And then I wait. Justin sits down with me. I tell him to go without us, I don't mind waiting… He says we're the first people he's spoken to in a few days and he doesn't mind. (He was sick, too) So we wait together. Andrew gets back around 8:00, and we walk into a surprisingly less crowded than we thought it would be Taj Mahal. So, my advice is to go around 7:30. After the line of eager beavers. Before the group tours.
I think the best part of The Taj Mahal is walking through the front gate and just being stunned that your'e in it's presence. It's just like the pictures (only that pool of water is much skinnier than it looks in pictures) you see on post-cards and in travel books. We took the obligatory pictures. And then again, I was asked to take pictures with some other visitors (Seriously? What gives?) and then it turned into the whole family! HA!
I was snagged away from Andrew and Justin by someone who pointed out the reflecting pool to me and offered to take my picture. 'And this is when my camera gets stolen…' I thought, until I decided I could make quite the commotion if necessary inside the grounds. I guess pretending to hold The Taj Mahal with your fingers is all the rage. He made me do that, and then I actually turned down a jumping shot opportunity to "find my friends" as I told him before the photo shoot got too out of control.
We sat and chatted for awhile, people watching as everyone took photos in front. We put our shoe protectors on and walked inside to view the tombs of both Mamtaz Mahal and Shah Jahan. We took a few more photos, and then we headed out just as tour group after tour group after tour group arrived… (Yuck.)
After lunch with Justin, Andrew and I headed out to the bus station to catch a bus to Delhi. We were trying to find the bus for "the new highway" that only took 2-3 hours. After asking around, one man suggested driving us to that private bus company office. We followed him, but then I got super weary when he made it a point to go into the office before us, knowing our ticket price just went up, and the money was going directly in his pocket. Sure enough, the prices sounded high: 420 Rs each? I ducked back out to ask the white couple outside how much they paid. 270 Rs. The ticket guy said "Oh you want No AC, right… That price is 270."
Mmmmhmmmm.
So we get our tickets at 270 Rs each and wait an hour for our bus. Our bus comes. We manage to get on the bus, and for some reason were directed into the sleeper cabin above the seats. It was only about three feet high or so, but we could kinda lay down, and had a curtain, and it didn't seem sooo bad. The British couple snag the two seats in the front of the bus they requested (and paid for). And then all hell breaks loose. The British couple, Brandon and Amy are told to move up into our sleeper compartment. Which is impossible. All of our bags are with us. They had big backpacks, too. No. Not possible. Not at all. They fight. They paid for seats. (We paid for seats too but we didn't feel like fighting against the sleeper cabin as long as it was just the two of us) They didn't understand why they had to move. I didn't either.
The bus is full. All of the other passengers are Indian and watching. Other passengers ask me if we are all traveling together. I respond that we're not, but I don't understand the problem. They tell me the other bus broke down and there needs to be four of us in the sleeper compartment. I glance at the other compartments and sure enough, there are four occupants. Which is fine- if all four of us booked a sleeper compartment. I explain this to the other passengers. They nod, understanding the situation. The creepy ticket agent gets on the bus and says he will give money back to the Brits. (after they waited for a bus to Delhi for two hours) They say "No" and ask to see the bus chart to see the seating chart. The creepy ticket agent says "No." He yells at me to move our bags to let them sit in our compartment.
This was after I learned that all other passengers in the sleeping compartments paid less than what we paid for our "seats." I tell the Brits this. They ask for money back from the creepy ticket agent. I ask for money back from the creepy ticket agent. The creepster yells at the other Indian passengers who told us how much they paid in Hindi. Then in English, tells us that everyone has paid what we paid (while other passengers shook their heads "no") and tells me again to move my bags. Seeing that we weren't going to get our money back and that we were going to have to share the sleeper compartment, I did the only thing I could: I shamed him.
"Sir, I am happy to move my bags and share this compartment with them. But you have cheated us and you are representing India very poorly right now."
The whole bus knew he was in the wrong. It didn't make any sense to put all of us together in one little travel compartment when we had so much stuff. They could have easily moved two Indian passengers without bags in with me and Andrew at least letting the British couple keep their seats. We were moved together because we were foreign and he could. It happens. At least other passengers on the bus were kind and shared oranges and snacks with us along the way. Folded up a little too tightly, Andrew ended up standing for about three hours on the bus until we got into Delhi.
Oh but wait, we didn't even get into Delhi, because our bus decided to stop 20 kilometers outside of the city, right on the highway and tell us all to get off there. Seriously. "This is ridiculous." has become synonomous with "This is India." Rickshaw drivers accosted the four of us when we got off the bus demanding we pay 600 Rs for 2 rickshaws into the city. The Indian women on our bus gasped in awe when they heard how much they wanted.
"Everyday. This is what we hear." I told them.
"They are very clever!" One woman told me. I wanted to correct her. Trying to rip off foreigners is not "clever." But instead we all said no to the drivers and walked to the intersection where we agreed to pay 200 Rs for 1 rickshaw. When we arrived at the backpackers district, it began all over again, with hotels instead of rides. We checked out three different hotels before coming back to the first, and agreeing to pay more for a nicer room. After an overnight train, a crappy room in Agra sans hot water, and this busride, I was in no mood for a "budget" room in Delhi. (Ew.)
When I asked the attendant if there was hot water and wi-fi, he responded: "And free toilet paper and soap!" He laughed when my eyes got big and I smiled repeating "FREE TOILET PAPER AND SOAP?!"
What's the first thing you do when you arrive in Agra after an overnight train from Varanasi? You sleep. Then, you go to Agra Fort. (Because word on the street is that The Taj is better in the morning and who wants to do that sleepy eyed? No one.) Agra Fort is only a little over two kilometers from The Taj Mahal and is known as a walled city as well as a 'fort.'
It was captured by Mughals (Did you know the Mughals were Muslim direct descendants of Ghengis Khan?) in 1526. So there were a few different battles, but the biggest one was in 1556 when this dude, Akbar (a Mughal) defeated the Hindu King Hemu. Akbar was the one to rebuild the fort with red sandstone, and was also the grandfather of Shah Jahan. During Shah Jahan's reign, the white marble inner city of the fort was built, and later it was him who had The Taj Mahal built.
Visiting the inside of this walled in white marble city is a little like visiting Versailles. It just reeks of opulence. And knowing how long ago it was built exaggerates that feeling. We wandered through and were often requested to take photos with Indian visitors. Not as often with Andrew, but more often with me, for reasons completely unknown. We think, maybe, it's my light hair, but one can't be so sure. We also speculated that not many young western tourists were around. After being sick, and not showering after an overnight Indian train, you'd think they would not be interested in taking photos with either of us though!
Back to Agra Fort: So later, after Shah Jahan built The Taj Mahal (which can be seen from the fort), his son, Aurangzeb (the sixth child of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal) not only overthrew his father, but put him under house arrest inside Agra Fort. So for the last seven years of his life, Shah Jahan remained enclosed (but it is said not treated poorly) inside the walled in city, looking out over The Taj Mahal. Sad, right? After a few more pictures with tourists, I realized I hadn't eaten anything in the past 48 hours or so, we headed out for dinner, and then to bed to get up early to see The Taj Mahal.
On our way to dinner, we walked past four children sitting and giggling about something on a front stoop. When I turned towards them with my camera, they went B-A-N-A-N-A-S! They started laughing and dancing and moving all around. It was hilarious, but it didn't make for as good of a shot as it would have been if one didn't run away and the others stayed in one place!
We ate dinner on a rooftop and admired this view. When a woman climbed up to her rooftop, I was in awe of her in her surroundings. She was just brushing her hair, you know, with The Taj Mahal in the background.
The plan was to wake up at 5:30 in the morning to go meet the Swiss girls who invited us along on a boat ride on The Ganges to see the bathing rituals. The plan was not to wake up at 2:00 in the morning with another round of food poisoning. I wasn't sure if I was going to make it to The Ganges, and then I realized I would hate myself for missing it.
The bathing ghats are where Indian pilgrims journey to wash away their sins in the holy waters of the (very, VERY polluted) Ganges. I say VERY polluted, because Andrew read in Lonely Planet (and recited to everyone we met) that "water that is safe for bathing should have less than 500 faecal coliform bacteria in every litre of water. Samples show this part of the Ganges has 1.5 million faecal coliform bacteria in it."
Drainage systems empty into the river. Burning ghats line the river in between the bathing ghats (by the way, a ghat is technically a series of steps leading down to a body of water. I had to look it up because I wasn't sure what specific part of the riverside these referred to) as well, some people were warned that they might see body parts floating by in the water, but I think this was a bit of a backpacker's legend. Nonetheless, despite some bathers going so far as to brush their teeth in the water (yikes!) I kept my closed toe shoes on and kept my hands to myself at all costs!
We weren't entirely sure what this guy was doing with a fully functional tv on his boat. We think he was a vendor of some sort. Religious videos perhaps? Either that, or he was just bored and wanted some entertainment on his boat as he rowed…
The boat ride was really nice, and it was so fascinating to see how many pilgrims made the journey to bathe in The Ganges. Watching everyone pray, light candles, pour out water, and bathe made you almost forget how dirty the water was while they were waist deep in it. I am so glad I was able to pull it together to get out on the river for an hour, but as soon as we got out of the boat, Andrew had to practically hold me up (or hold my clothes that I started tearing off because I was feeling so badly) as we walked back through the ghats towards Kautilya.
We were supposed to check out in the morning, but luckily no one was checking into our room and I was able to recover in bed until I felt (somewhat) better. Andrew and I went back to the shop/ticket agency to pick up my reserved out wall hangings and sheets (one for me, one for Zengerine!) and then hung out at Kautilya until our train left for Agra at night.
