In a nutshell, "F-you John McCain for using our song." But they say it so, so much better:
Barracuda!
Found via Milk and Cookies.
Desert Sunrise: India Day 13 (Camel Trek day two)
As is wont to happen when you’ve tried to sleep through a sandstorm, getting up and having to tiptoe past sleeping camels and stray dogs just to take a piss, and having to haul a sandy blanket over yourself to stay warm, we didn’t really sleep in.
In fact, Natacha & I were up early enough that we could hike to the top dune and watch the desert sun rise over the dunes. A treasured moment.
We brushed what sand we could out of various crevices, knocked back some chai and—believe it or not, eggs—and saddled up once again to head out of the desert.
By the way, did I mention that Brit Kate was basically c-teasing Brit Richard the whole trip? Oh yes. Hopefully Natacha will fill in the details on that, as she has a better memory of it. But yep. British girls are famous across the travelers’ communities for basically treating the world like spring break, and our duo was no exception: flirting with the camel herders, looking for dude attention wherever they could find it, and drinking and toking whatever was offered them.
(Here's a New York Times article on how horrendous British tourists are. They're the new "ugly Americans!")
Tennessee rode on Emma’s camel on the way back and I wondered if that didn’t represent some new intimacy they might have had. And by “new intimacy,” I mean the night before, maybe they did it. Though to be fair, the dual-camel ride was my only proof.
Earlier in the trip Emma had mentioned that they might spend the night at a guest house in the fort. I mentioned that the Lonely Planet was trying to warn people away from that, as all the water runoff of the city (from showers, toilets, etc.) erodes the sandstone foundation of the fort. On the trek back, she said, “Ken, Tennessee tells me that the lonely planet just says that because the hotels outside the fort pay them to.” Oh, okay, Emma. Instead of believing the backpacker’s authority on the area (Lonely Planet, not me) and UNESCO, it makes more sense to believe a guy who’s paycheck comes from a tourism company located inside the fort. Whom you probably did it with.
On the way back, Richard was sick of riding his camel, so he decided to walk along the herd. In flip-flops. Frankly, it seemed he’d only gone on the trip to follow Kate and Emma (mostly Kate, who had been traveling for the last 8 months sans boyfriend).
Considering the amazing places Rich had traveled to in the past two years (Mongolia, for one) I have never seen someone traveling for two years be such a complainer.
I do remember Emma cooing to him, “Riiiiiiiiich, Riiiiiiich, is that more comfortable than riiiiiiding?
Should Iiiiiiiiiii get off my camel toooo?” And Rich basically having a plume of black smoke coming off his head, he was so miserable. Kind of hilarious.
We made it back to the trailhead in about two hours, posed for a group photo and got back to Jaisalmer by noon or so.
We and found a cheap guest house (like six-bucks cheap) And spent the rest of the day looking around the fort.
Remember what I said how amazing the fort was from a distance? It was no less impressive from inside…just a fascinating place. Narrow streets, Ancient temples, a palace, cows, dogs, tiny shops…there were ramparts all along the edge with fantastic views of the city around us. We walked around, shopped a bit, and mostly imagined what fort life would’ve been like.
We then picked up our train tickets from Jaisalmer to Delhi, and later, had dinner with our travel pals Marie and Greg (whom we ran into when picking up our packs from the trekking office), taking them to the rooftop restaurant we’d been to before. In our last night in Jaisalmer, it was a pleasure to share the dazzling evening views of the fort with them.
SOME PREVIOUS INDIA POSTS:
A few thoughts while natacha’s off using skype
India Day 4: Musical Guesthouses
India Day 6: Huckster Ghats and Hippie Ghettos
Hell train: India Day 14 (Jaisalmer--Delhi)
The day started out fantastic. Seriously.
Because any day spent in and around the Jaisalmer fort is a fantastic one. Once again, we ventured from our phenomenally cheap guest house (so cheap that it had Indian residents living in it!), into the Jaisalmer fort. Just walking around the perimeter threw us back a hundred years.
We had breakfast at the July 8th Natural Restaurant, a little place by the camel trek office where the fruit shakes were safe and the owner was a chatty mom-type who told me that she hurt her leg when she was pushed while disembarking a train, but her dish washer had mystical powers and he healed it.
She also offered to make us vegetable Paranthas for the train—“with yogurt, not water, so they will not go bad without refrigeration”—and I took her up on that. Thanks new Indian Mom!
We did the audio tour of the Jaisalmer palace, which was a pleasant walk through the history of the place and reiterated that the preservation society was working hard to save the fort from the increased water runoff from inside the fort (so there, Emma!).
After that, we had some horrible Italian food, walked around a bunch more, shopped for jewelry but didn’t buy anything, and shopped for fabrics and did: On a tiny side-street we stumbled across one of the very few women-owned shops in the fort. Natacha talked with the proprietress for an hour or so, hearing about the difficulties of being a woman shop owner. How she can’t put her best pieces outside to draw foot traffic because the men from the other shops vandalize or steal them. She gets her inventory directly from women in the surrounding weaving villages, and she did have some lovely blankets, pillow cases, scarves and such.
Natacha bought a bunch from her, as N likes to support women-run businesses when we travel. The woman hadn’t made a sale in days, and was so grateful she gave us free stuff, like a shoulder bag that Natacha used every day for the next three months.
Come afternoon, we grabbed our bags and made our way to the train station. This was our first sleeper train in India (our first train in India, period). We took “sleeper” class, the lowest-class sleeper car, to save a few bucks; plus, since the desert nights were cool, we figured we didn’t need A/C; just keeping the windows open should do the trick.
We struck up conversations with the brit couple and the lone Kiwi on the platform. On the platform, we met a few other tourists, all of whom had higher-class tickets than us. Each time we told a backpacker what class we had, they sort of shifted uneasily and said, “well, it’s probably fine…” I swear you could hear the ellipse.
Occasionally we’d see skeevy looking Indian guys hawking locks and chains for luggage. Guide books generally recommended that you keep an eye on your bags at all times, and if you can’t, lock ‘em up. We suspected that the skeeves had some sort of racket where they had keys to all the locks they sold.
Once on the train, the berths were bench-hard. The bottom berths were benches where you’d sit during the daylight hours. We made it a point to have our bags up with us at all times—under the bottom bunk while sitting, and with us in the top berth when lying down to sleep.
Maybe a couple hours into the trip, they started closing all the windows, because too much dust was coming in. Around that time, I did the math, and realized that we would not on the train for 14 hours, but 19. And the misery began.
Despite the one-berth-one-passenger rule of sleeper cars, our berths were crowded with young Indian men, who, though they each had their own bunk farther up or down the train, preferred to sit four-to-a bunk and keep each other company. They noticed that Natacha’s book was about Hinduism, and mine had Indian imagery on the cover as well (it was Edward Luce’s excellent In Spite of The Gods), and started to ask Natacha about both of them. We talked with them for hours (mostly Natacha; my social skills had taken a header in India), and found out that they were soldiers being transferred from Jaisalmer to Jaipur.
One of the soldiers showed us photos from his travels in Jaisalmer and Udaipur. He always posed the same way, not smiling and some elbows-back model move. We teased him about that. It’s funny how non-westerners so rarely smile for photographs.
So we talked, and laughed, and tried to make sense to each other. At one point they insisted that we share their dinner with us, and I had a few bites. Definitely the spiciest food I ate in India.
On the one hand, this airless, dusty, crowded train voyage was hell. We spent hours straining to forget we were being constantly stared and/or laughed at. I’d wish it on no one I liked. BUT, it was the first time we experience the Real India. And by this I mean we spent time with Indians who were genuinely interested in talking to us. Who were not looking for our money. Their English wasn’t fantastic, but as will always happen when traveling, we made do.
After a while, the heat and dryness took its toll. It wore us down. We ran low on water. I ran out when the train stopped in Jaipur and bought some grubby bottles and some snacks. I counted off each hour as it slipped by. I hope I never have to utter the phrase, “six hours down, thirteen to go” ever again.
Sleeping in the top bunks made it even hotter. There were two fans in the ceiling which seemed to have no effect whatsoever. I spent the night propped up on my day pack and a sack of laundry. Natacha had the bulk of our bags in her bunk, to her credit. I popped a Benadryl to help me sleep. Not one of my better ideas, as it left me drier than that pack of tissues in your glove compartment.
SOME PREVIOUS INDIA POSTS:
A few thoughts while natacha’s off using skype
India Day 4: Musical Guesthouses
India Day 6: Huckster Ghats and Hippie Ghettos
Hello camel, good-bye car: India Day 12 (Camel trek Day 1)
A big day, not just because we were about to embark on a fabulous two-day camel trek. But the day we gave Ramesh the FUCKING heave.
The night before, we told him we were letting him go, and asked to meet him early the next morning to give him his tip. We arranged to meet him in one of the main town squares ,just before we were to meet the camel guides. This way, he couldn’t pull any shit because we wear in public.
We wanted to give him a tip before sending him on his way. He did meet us, coming off with a strange combination of nervous, preoccupied, and angry. He asked us to write a note to his boss saying that we were relieving him of his duties. We did so. He also offered to stay in Jaisalmer while we were on our trek, in case anything went wrong on the trek. We said NO, thank you. He then walked to the edge of the square and made a cel phone call and sulked.
Soon, the camel trek guides showed up in a jeep. Soon another of the trekkers showed up, Richard, a tall young British guy who had been traveling for the past two years. He came by to tell us his two companions were on their way. So we waited, and waited.
Ramesh came back, holding out his cel phone. He said his boss, who wanted to know why we were letting him go, was on the line. Natacha took the phone and said that Ramesh was a very good driver, but that we didn’t want to take a car for the balance of our trip. We figured there was no reason to complain about his attitude or his scams. The guy has to make a living…we just didn’t want it to be at our expense. He refused to take a tip, which was fine with me, and then we were DONE with him.
Finally, about 45 min late, the two British girls, Kate and Emma (of COURSE those were their names) showed up. They had just spent long holidays in Goa and were on the tail end of their trip. Kate looked like the blonde from the British “Coupling” and Emma looked like a taller, meatier version of Jenny Agutter. I’m pretty sure part of the reason they were late is that they had to do their makeup.
We all piled into the jeep, Natacha and I hi-fiving each other for finally leaving Ramesh behind.
After a group breakfast with the Brits and two Spanish girls—our full group—we piled into a van and headed out to the desert
The camels, along with a half-dozen guides, were waiting for us, each loaded up with blankets and reins.
One of them had a nasty gash on its head, but they had him out there nonetheless.
Each one kneeled down so we could climb up on him.
We rode these big, lopey animals in a line several hours into the dessert, over hills, dunes, and past trees and scrub. I named my camel Perry, after a kid I went to junior high with. He was way too tall for his age and in PE he had a loping gait that reminded me of my camel.
About two hours in, at the hottest part of the day, we camped out under a massive shade tree and had lunch. The guides lit a fire and fried up pakora and chips of some sort.
Kate and Emma talked about their weddings---or rather, the weddings they expected to have. They went on and on, egged on by me. It was fascinating in a real-life-Bridget-Jones sort of way. The subject got to the “first dance” song. Kate wanted hers to be “You Do Something To Me” by Paul Weller. I asked if it was a cover of the Cole Porter song and she didn’t know who I was talking about. Emma wanted some horrible Billy Joel song for her wedding; I can’t remember which. I really hope it wasn’t “I love you just the way you are.” That would have been too horrible for comprehension.
After lunch and a short nap, we continued trekking until we hit the dunes—lush, smooth hillsides and soft, gradual ripples of sand. It’s here where we set up camp. Natacha & I took photos of each other on the dunes and climbed around for a while.
That evening, we ate paranthas—there’s really only so much “real” food you can pack onto camels and eat. Not so much in the way of veggies in the desert. Or dessert, for that matter.
Stray dogs followed us but mostly kept their distance.
At sundown, one of the guides, who wore a NY Liberty shirt and called himself “Tennessee,” asked who wanted to climb up to the highest dune at sunset. We were all a bit tired out, but Emma went—just her, Tennessee, and I think a few other guides. I think Tennessee was trying to get with Emma.
Natacha & I watched the sunset on our own:
They all came back after sunset, and the guides lit a fire and Tennessee took out an empty water bottle—one of these big plastic sparkletts-type things that had been drained of drinking water—and began to sing what we believe are the songs of the camel herders. He had a strong, clear voice and the songs were evocative of lonely dessert nights tending to your flock.
He used the bottle for percussion—big resonant hits with low tones. I recorded some of the songs. There was even some dancing going on.
After a few tunes, he offered the bottle to us to sing songs of our own. Everyone was timid and passed on it. I said what the hell, and with the bottle in my lap, did the song I knew with the most basic drum hook I could think of: “Love Stinks” by the J. Geils band. None of them had ever heard the song before but It went over very well.
The brits eventually tried their hand at some Oasis songs, which was fun—I think Oasis are destined to become the new classic rock sing-alongs; our next “Sweet home Alabama,” “Satisfaction,” “Yellow Submarine,” etc. Some industrious desert nomad came along earlier in the evening and had pot and cold beer to sell—putting the now-warm bottles Emma and I bought before leaving Jaisalmer to shame. So there was some getting wasted going on, though not by N & I.
We decided to turn in, just as the guides decided to really get singing. So not so much sleeping for a while. “turning in,” incidentally, consisted of lying down on one of the many camel blankets and covering ourselves with our spanking new sarongs.
In the middle of the night a sandstorm kicked up, so we found more blankets to cover ourselves with. It got cold, and we were full of sand in the morning, but damn, what a fantastic night.
Have I mentioned how amazing this trip is?
SOME PREVIOUS INDIA POSTS:
A few thoughts while natacha’s off using skype
India Day 4: Musical Guesthouses
India Day 6: Huckster Ghats and Hippie Ghettos
The last drive: India Day 11 (Jodhpur--> Jaisalmer)
(Alternate title: “The last straw.”)
Long drive to Jaisalmer, so up early and off early. We made our usual Stuckey’s stop earlier than usual. Then, after lots of road, small towns, and the occasional herd of road goats, got within visual distance of Jaisalmer.
What can I say about the Jaisalmer fort? A real-life sand castle. A Star Wars set piece. An outtake from “Dune.” It is one of the most magnificent things I’ve ever seen—the photo doesn’t do it justice. Truly one of the most glorious sights I’ve ever seen.
And then came the last straw with Ramesh. Jaisalmer being on the edge of the Rajastani desert, camel treks are quite popular there. Ramesh promised us he could find us a good place to have a camel trek, and that he could get it for us at “half-price”—something about me being a writer would come in handy. He assurued us that he could make it happen, and after all, he did find us a good place to stay in Jodhpur, so we said what the hell.
He took us to an area outside Rajastan that was known for decent camel trekking. So far so good. He took us to a compound with a series of huts, sort of a guest house for a camel experience. We noticed that a couple of the huts had their own air conditioners. Again, all right. Then we med the guy who ran the place, a tall dude with a loud starched shirt and a long pinky nail…the kind of guy you’d expect to sell you fake gold jewelry or style your hair in Queens. Not very camel-y.
We sat down with some tea and talked options for camel trek. He talked about taking us out into the desert on a “camel cart” (basically a horse-drawn cart with blankets) for a few hours at night. For a price at around double that of an actual camel trek. We explained what we wanted, and he said to get it would cost even more money. Then told us a cautionary tale about the German tourist on a camel trek who wanted to sleep by the fire, and got bitten by scorpions as a result, and whose life was saved because the trek guides were
there. He said to get a trek at the price we were asking, he couldn’t guarantee that he could have guides to stay with us and protect us from god-knows-what-in-the-desert. Trying to scare us into paying his price. You can imagine how Natacha reacted to that.
Basically, Ramesh took us to a rip-off joint. And lied to us for the commission.
Equals the last straw.
We had Ramesh take us into Jaisalmer and said good-bye for the next two days, not telling him where we were staying. Once we got situated, we found a place to book a full camel trek for the next day, for about 1/2 of what jewelry boy quoted us. Then we bought light billowy shirts and pants for the desert heat. And after walking around the town a bit and having a nice dinner at a gorgeous rooftop restaurant in full view of the fort, we called Ramesh and told us we were firing him. Which worried us a little bit, but also felt FUCKING AWESOME. Um, I mean, it was a relief.
SOME PREVIOUS INDIA POSTS:
India Day 1: Good God, We’re Here
Day Two/Delhi: In Which We Punt
A few thoughts while natacha’s off using skype
India Day 4: Musical Guesthouses
India Day 5: Jaipur, Fort, Shopping
India Day 6: Huckster Ghats and Hippie Ghettos
(UPDATE: Many) Indians are short
Forts, spices, pushy drivers: India Day 10 (Jodphur day 2)
You know that moment where you realize that no matter how bad a situation is, it’s not THAT bad because some one else has it worse? We had ours at breakfast today.
Over chai and muesli, we met a haggard-looking pair of Italian ladies at our hotel restaurant, who also had a driver and were just shy of terrified of him. Their tour (also not the best planned), consisted of driving all day and staying at whatever hotel their driver told them to. Since they usually arrived near sundown, they were generally too wiped out to argue, and the times they did, their driver bullied them into compliance—if he spoke to them at all! So here they were on some forced death-march of a car tour, and our biggest problem is that we only won most of our arguments with Ramesh. I didn’t hear the Love Boat theme or anything, but I did feel a little better that we seemed to be doing better than other tourists in our situation.
That said, we did notice that all the drivers seemed to be taking their charges to this hotel. So we did get sucked into that.
Today was really one of my favorite days of our trip, because we saw what would become one of my favorite sites: The Jodhpur fort.
If you’ve read previous entries, you know that I’m quickly running out of superlatives. So let me just tell you what I’ve learned.
- Rajastan literally means “the land of kings.” That’s because each city was its own kingdom.
- Each of these kingdoms had to project itself, so each one built a fort
- each fort contained one (or several) palaces, one (or several) temples, and quarters, open squares, defense emplacements and a hell of a lot more.
- we’re talking big forts
Not having seen Delhi’s Red Fort and not realizing the Ghost City was one of these as well, Jodphur was really my first conscious exploration of one of these. And I was frankly blown away. HUGE, this place.
The fact that it’s high on a hill does a few things for it: makes it even more majestic, and of course defensible. So, you know, good call there.
It also afforded spectacular views of the city of Jodhpur. Jodphur’s known as the “blue city” because its buildings and homes are in fact painted blue—have been for centuries. 
Supposedly makes the buildings cooler and—get this—repels mosquitoes. Yet another reason to join Blue Man Group.
Also great (if smoggy) view of the current rajah's current palace:
Great stories abound in this place, such as the one about the dead concubines. Now hear me out.
When an invading army deposed a king, he was killed, as were his concubines. 
Just inside the main doors to the palace, there are a row of tiny handprints in the concrete…these are of a particular defeated king’s concubines, just before they were put to the sword. Gruesome!
Also impressive are the high battlements around the palace perimeter, on which cannons bought and gifted from around the world were kept. Many came from Portugal and China, but I spotted a number from Britain and possibly the USA as well; all the result of trading with the kingdom of Jodhpur.
That was what really hit home in the Jodhpur fort: KINGS. These were actual Kingdoms, with royal courts, where representatives from other kingdoms would be presented, and there would be trading with other countries, but you had to respect the laws of the kingdom.
Camel races! Elephant tug-of-wars! Armories of hand-crafted guns, and knives, and knives that shot bullets, and armor made to fight and kill and take over other kingdoms! This is the kind of place where Rudyard Kipling books and David Lean movies were born. Amazing.
Anyway, I was so entranced by the cannons that I lost Natacha up there. I looked for her at the celebration at the fort’s Jain temple. 
Not there. I looked along the outdoor market that sold flowers and food to leave at the temple altars. Nope. I went back up to the cannon ramparts, back into the palace, even to the gift shop where I’d bought some postcards and an elephant painting. No dice. Almost drove myself to dehydration running around looking for her in that hot desert sun. After we found each other again, We resolved to always have a planned meeting place when we’re touring around like this. We’ve been breaking that resolution ever since.
After a side trip to another, smaller palace on the way, Ramesh dropped us back into town. We spotted a spice store, which was in our guide book but I think Ramesh warned us away from. but we went in anyway. We’re pretty sure of why he didn’t want us to go in there: it was run by a woman. We spent a lovely hour there talking about, trying, and eventually buying spices from a very charming young lady. The spice store had been started by her father, but he’d retired (passed?) not long ago and his seven daughters were running the two stores. Natacha took every chance she could to try to give women her business while in India. We bought some wonderful aromatic spice teas and a number of cooking spices from her while there. Jodhpur has been a center for trading for years and is perhaps most famous for its spice trade. We were happy to have captured our own little part of that history.
We walked around a part of town we hadn’t seen yet, where I bought a sumbwa suit for myself. Well, three gorgeous blue-patterned pieces of cloth that would make a sumbwa suit, which we used as sarongs for the rest of the trip. Later, a group of small kids in a broken pedal-cart followed us around for a few hundred meters and try to get our attention, grabbing at our hands and clothes. It was like being in a Little Rascals episode, if the Little Rascals were starving.
By the time we shook Vijay and Our Gang, them, it was dark and we did a bit more shopping, not finding much of anything but a watermelon we planned to eat the next morning. Then, we walked back through the outdoor market, missing it already.
SOME PREVIOUS INDIA POSTS:
India Day 1: Good God, We’re Here
Day Two/Delhi: In Which We Punt
A few thoughts while natacha’s off using skype
India Day 4: Musical Guesthouses
India Day 5: Jaipur, Fort, Shopping
India Day 6: Huckster Ghats and Hippie Ghettos
(UPDATE: Many) Indians are short
Road to Jodphur: India Day 9
(See below for my previous India posts. It's been a while since I last posted for our trip.)
On the move, always on the move. After an enjoyable couple of days in Udaipur, we had another 6-hour drive, which made me wonder if the trip to Udaipur was worth it.
That said, if we hadn't done the driver-to-Udaipur thing, we wouldn't have gotten to visit Ranakpur, which was well worth the time. Ranakpur is home to the largest (or second largest) Jain temple in the country. AMAZING.
We got there over an hour before it was due to open to the public (those Jains are strict!), so we piled into a nearby roadside restaurant, where we figured we'd have a couple of masala chais and listen to Ramesh make fun of us in Hindi some more. But Ramesh also called over a very interesting guy, a gentleman whose name escapes me, with slicked back hair and a goatee and a red dot, who told us a great deal about the temples to pass the time to opening, and even bought us a chai.
He was a local who, as we found that English speaking Indian locals are wont to do, told us about his friends abroad and how they love to visit him here. His beard also reminded me a little of my pal Butch Schuman, so that charmed me as well. We sat and chatted until it was close to the time for the temple to open. Which is when he offered, as had most of the people we met through Ramesh, to do a service that would relieve us of some money.
Being Hindi, our man could not work as a guide in the Jain temple. BUT, he could "by chance, meet us" in the temple, give us info and background on the temple as a guide would, and maybe we could help him out with a few rupees on the way out. As Ramesh-related schemes went, it was a tame one, so we took him up on it.
Ranakpur is home to two temples, a small one and a big one. The small temple was lovely, and we were actually allowed to take photos in it. We looked around the top and bottom floors in it, and even received sandalwood color dots on our foreheads. Outside, there were carvings of apsaras in a variety of positions, including a number of sexual ones. Gotta love that. There were a few monks walking in & out of the temple, and normal Indian folks going in to make offerings and receive blessings, though they pretty much ignored us. 
Soon enough, we did “run into”: our goateed friend, and, friendly sort that he was for a stranger, he told us more about the myths and legends of the Jain religion, and how that was to inform the things we would see in the main temple. We thanked him, told him we were glad to meet him, and went on our way. Were we supposed to give him money surreptitiously right there & then? I couldn’t remember. I don’t think so.
Both lovely but the big one is something special. INCREDIBLY detailed sculpture and ceramics work from floor to ceiling. There were something like 133 pillars in the place, all straight as a line except for the 133rd one, which was intentionally made crooked as a reminder that only god is perfect.
We also saw a carving that looked like our friend Steve.
One of the holy men at the temple was taking sandalwood to make it into paint, and offered to let me take his photo. I did gladly, after which he pointed decisively to his donation bowl. How pious. Guess the holy man shtick doesn’t pay as well as one thinks.
The jain temples we encountered tend to be made of white or grey marble, and spotlessly clean. Very different from, say, the hindu temple we visited in Delhi, which seemed to be spotted with every type of animal shit known to man. Hindu temples are crowded, colorful, cluttered affairs, whereas the Jain temples were anything but.
After spending a blissful hour or so mesmerized by the intricacy and beauty of the place, we left. On the way off of the grounds, I took a group photo for a clean-cut young family making pilgrimage to this place. They were so appreciative that they asked me if I’d take a photo with them. Sure, why not?
Then, on to Jodhpur. On the way, we stopped at another of Ramesh’s tourist trap restaurants…huge places in the middle of nowhere, that all looked alike: dozens of tableclothed tables, exorbitant prices, western candies and chips for sale at the cashier, and a huge attached gift shop. It was like visiting an Indian Stuckey’s.
On our way in to the Stuckeys, Ramesh pointed out a couple of men with headdresses, waiting by a nearby intersection. Ramesh indicated that they were not only Muslims, but Mafia; that they would follow unsuspecting Hindus to the nearby temple and sell them something, I didn’t quite get what. Flowers, maybe? Ramesh must have been making some of this shit up.
We arrived in Jodhpur several hours later, tired and cranky. We visited a couple of guest houses that looked okay but were too expensive. We were pretty sure that they’d spotted the car, and automatically jacked up the prices on us. Because we clearly had money? Because they knew they’d have to pay the driver commission? We weren’t sure. Ramesh criticized our choices, and after we couldn’t find a place we liked, suggested one that he insisted was much better. Again, wiped out as we were, we decided what the hell, let’s see it. It turned out to be a hotel with dozens of rooms, but we found one that we managed to negotiate down to a reasonable rate (provided we didn’t’ turn on the AC), and ate dinner at the hotel rest.
We met a swiss couple who looked fairly tired, and were in fact on a car & driver tour as well. Turns out they didn’t realize just how big rajastan was, and by booking a 7-day trip, they were being driven maybe 10 hours a day to each destination, seeing it for a minimum of time, then on to the next planned stop with barely the time to look around. They made our trip look like luxury.
But our day didn’t stop there, oh no. having eaten, rested, washed, and even done a bit of laundry, we set out into the old town’s open market. It was dusty, packed, busy, noisy, and wonderful. Fruit stands abounded, stands selling new and used clothing, meats, fabrics, snacks, spices, even fruit juices. I tried to haggle for fruit and was soundly rebuffed, leading me to wonder if, hey, maybe they are giving me the actual price for this stuff. That was our first sign that this market was not here for the tourists, but was in fact, real. The crowds of Indians should have tipped us off, but still.
All it took was a glimpse of fabric and sari stalls for Natacha to lead us on a merry chase for saris and, what we soon discovered were sumbwa suits—a sort of three-piece sari-like pants suit that caught natacha’s eye. We ventured deep, DEEP into the market labyrinth, checking what seemed like dozens of fabric and clothing shops, looking for just the right ones. I believe that’s the night I bought my new sarongs. They were actually a three-piece sumbwa suit that, like all of them, were just the fabric. For the actual suit, one has to go to a tailor to get it fitted. We did find Natacha a long top or two that she liked and wore for the rest of our trip.
On the way back, something happened that made us love Jodhpur even more
We were doing out best to find the clock tower (the central point of the market), and failing, getting caught in foot traffic, people traffic, and that uniquely Indian combination of both.
A man with a very young child asked us where we were going. Backpackers will know this question as the ubiquitous question asked all travelers, sometimes to start a sales pitch, sometimes as entre to practice their English, rarely out of actual concern. Except in this case. We told him where we wanted to go, he told us, and kept walking. To us, this was so far unheard of. He ACTUALLY gave us directions!
Not only that, but once he noticed we werer getting off track (we were all in shoulder-to-shoulder foot traffic), he came back over and pointed out the proper direction. Thus making Jodhpur the only city thus far where we were actually treated like people and not wallets with legs.
India Day 1: Good God, We’re Here
Day Two/Delhi: In Which We Punt
A few thoughts while natacha’s off using skype
India Day 4: Musical Guesthouses
India Day 5: Jaipur, Fort, Shopping
India Day 6: Huckster Ghats and Hippie Ghettos
(UPDATE: Many) Indians are short
Vietnam days 16-18: Stumbling into Paradise
(Photos from Wikipedia until I can get mine put up on Flickr.)
Vietnam has been kind to us so far. By pure dumb luck, and for the price of a Herald Square hotel room, we just spent a weekend on our own private island. The trip involved kayaking, solitude, and views so sublime they're on the UNESCO preservation list.
Natacha has wanted to visit Halong Bay ever since spotting it in a travel magazine while planning our honeymoon a few years back. It's a bay full of thousands of tiny, uninhabited, sheer islands (limestone karsts, actually) amongst emerald water. If it hasn't been the setting for a james bond speedboat chase, it should be. (UPDATE: It has.)
there are hundreds of tours offered in the area, where you take a boat for a day and two nights and view the islands, swim on some beach for an hour, etc. But somewhere Natch saw the word "kayak" in relation to the area and that's what we set our sights on.
Our research showed us that there was one reputable agency that had kayak tours, good guides, and we later found out, "the good kayaks" in the area. We signed up with them, knowing that we'd be sharing the trip with 6-8 other kayakers, even thought it was a bit pricier than the dozens-of people-on-a-big-junk tours. We didn't care. We love kayaking and this seemed like a great way to get up close to these amazing structures in a way the big boats couldn't.
So we pry ourselves our of our bed at Hanoi's lavish $20-a-night Golden Buffalo hotel(!) to make it on time for our 6 AM pickup, to discover that we were the only folks on the trip. Which means essentially a private car to the ferry. Then a private taxi to the other boat. Such luxury!
After 4 hours of private transpo, we arrived bleary-eyed and loagy to Cat Ba island the largest island in the Bay and our departure point for the tour. the company came to pick us up in a tour boat--a BIG one, in which we were the only passengers. On the way, we saw a series of floating villages, where people live in houses on pontoons and operate cottage-industry fisheries or oyster farms. they all have guard dogs, too. None of whom get walked, but who I imagine get to pee wherver they like.
After picking up the "good" kayaks, we made it to where we were staying. Which was a small karst. i.e. an island. The place consisted of a dining hut, a relaxing hut, a shower/toilet hut, and off to the side, five or six guest huts. and we were the only guests. Like it was our private island getaway.
And the VIEW. just water and dramatic karst islands, and the odd fishing boat. nothing else. NO ONE else. Lucky? Yes. And, as Don adams used to say, loving it.
By day, we kayaked around these UNESCO-listed wonders, buzzed another floating villages, entered caves and paddled through lagoons. by night, we ate huge meals of fresh fish (like caught-next-door fresh) and slugged rice whiskey with the staff. The best cooked oysters and the bar-none freshest crab i've ever eaten.
The tide moved in and out so quickly that we could walk to the karst across from us in the morning, and by afternoon we would kayak around it & past it to other sights.
We kayaked across emerald waters to hidden lagoons, past floating fishing villages where guard dogs chased us to the end of their pontoon but didn't dare jump in the water (thus saving us any ugly No Country For Old Men dog-chase scenes).
We ate with the three guys who cooked the food and took care around the island. They kept trying to feed us fresh oysters and mussels (picked up from a floating next-door neighbor) after we'd stuffed ourselves at dinner. One of them was a park ranger, one of them didn't speak, and the third guy, and 24-year-old pistol named Lam (which means "dragon," we're told), kept trying to get us drunk on rice whiskey. On the second night, we pulled out our last little bottle of duty-free Glenfiddich and tried to share it. They hated the taste and sheepishly poured their shares back into our glasses, which I couldn't really bitch about. "We like Baileys," Lam told us.
But the real surprise? Going swimming at night to discover that the water has bio-luminiscent plankton. Each swimming stroke bequeathed dazzling below-surface light trails and tinkerbell-like sparkles.
We loved it so much that we asked to stay a second night. Turns out we had the place to ourselves that night too. It's an amazing thing to wake up in the morning and look out on your beach.
After two days, we got another "private" boat back to Cat Ba and stayed in a hotel overlooking the harbor. More boats and floating villages. Turns out we ate something that didn't agree with us on the island (my money's on the funny-smelling potato soup), so we spent most of the time laying in bed, walking to the rain-drenched outdoor market, and looking for new books to read. I scraped up a Sue Grafton thriller (note: not so thrilling) and some Michael Connally book I haven't cracked open yet. But I still think back on our little private island, and the cinema-worthy scenery, and the lights in the water, and I hope I will for a long time to come.
Out of Rajasthan
(Photo source: BBC)
Well, it's been almost a month since we left India, but after reading about these caste riots in Rajasthan (which N brought to my attention), I feel like we dodged a bullet. The Gujjar tribe has been protesting their position, blocking roads and stopping train service, preventing passage between Delhi and Agra (where the Taj Mahal is), among other places. Oh, and both police and protesters are being killed.
The best Article I've found on the piece so far is from the UK Guardian. Here's a snippet:
The violence began when police shot four protesters dead in running battles with thousands of Gujjars, traditionally sheep-rearers, who had gathered on a main highway and blocked traffic near Jaipur, early this morning.
When the news of the shootings spread, crowds gathered in Bundi, three hours drive from Jaipur, and police again resorted to baton charges, teargas and finally, bullets, to end the blockade. Four more protesters were left dead by the fighting.
In retaliation, a police officer was said to have been beaten to death. Riot police were also kidnapped before being released unharmed.
The caste system in India is a complex, and certainly by most outsiders' opinions, unfair system. The Gujjars are protesting for more seats in University and more government jobs. Indians see that education is the catapult over caste, and the quotas for lower castes for seats in university are (some might say pathetically) few. And if there's one thing I learned from Edward Luce's book In Spite of the Gods, it's that a government job is the holy grail of Indian employment: job security and plenty of opportunity to skim.
Pair that with what must be 40c-plus temperatures in the area, and you've got, well, this:
What with roads being blocked into Delhi, (as well as two major tourist routes) and over 2/3 of Rajasthan fraught with violence, I could not be happier that we're not there now. Rajasthan was a fantastic place to visit, and our travel hassles there seem very small in comparison to this.
Vietnam Day 3-4: Dow-now-NYEAH-nyow, DOW-now-neyow-now
...Which is guitarspeak for "We're on the Mekong Delta and I can't get 'Purple Haze" out of my head." Call me Ugly American all you want, but I dare you to come from my generation, take a boat up these admittedly gorgeous rivers, and NOT think of every Vietnam War movie you've ever seen.
We've just finished up a two-day tour of the Mekon Delta, primarily so Natacha could get an up-close look at the noted Floating Markets of the Mekong. Pretty great things to see: boats from all over VN and Cambodia carrying all kinds of produce, selling to boats from all over. The good news is we saw two of them. The bad news is that they start at 2 AM(!), and by the time we got to them (11 AM and 8 AM, respectively), they've started to wind down.
(Photos at some point, promise)
But we had some good times nonetheless. The ass-early-morning bus they poured us into at Ho Chi Minh City hauled us three hours to a riverboat, which sped us up the delta. On the way, we saw how people lived on the delta. I'll post some pictures when I have a chance.
We passed one of the (tail-ended) floating markets, which consisted of, well, boats that sold things,primarily produce. You could tell selling boat and what it sold because it had a long pole with the items in question attached to it. I pineapple boat had pineapples on their pole, etc. I noticed no one sold wide-screen TVs.
Although we didn't see too much, I was impressed with the idea of these floating markets. The Mekong delta consists of rrivers, tributaries and islands galore, which means that people come in from miles around to buy & sell at these things, even as far as Cambodia, as the border isn't too far off.
Our 2 day/1 night tour also included yet more gorgeous Mekong river-and-jungle scenery, and stop at a couple of islands. One was a tourist trap where they showed demonstrations of how they made puffed-rice ( like popcorn but with hot sand instead of oil) and coconut candy, a fillings-tugging taffy that was flavor-free and generally horrendous. Natacha and I ditched the demos and found a coconut to drink.
Island #2 was lunch and bicycle rental. We grabbed a couple of bikes and Natch found us a side road where we could bike along the delta and over to some villages not on the tourist path, thank god. Again, it was a pleasure to see how people lived on these tiny islands: bathing in the river, poling longboats here and there, letting their oxen get a cool dip in the waters.
Oh, and did I mention that our guide was a compete tool? Obviously going from some sort of corny-joke-laden guide script with jokes like:
"And remember, when you leave bus, take bag with you. Take camera with you. And take wife with you, because driver single. HA ha ha."
"And remember, make sure you have hotel key. If you lose key, you can come to my room. HA ha ha."
And other relatively misogynist yuks that surely play with the rubes from the midwest.
We also hit a land market with some fantastic produce. And people selling a lot of snakes. To eat, use their venom, and god knows what else. But there they were. Snakes. All kinds. For sale.
By the time we'd hit Can Tho, where we spent the night in an under-construction guest house, we'd developed a little retinue for ourselves: A (slightly) older, terribly attractive French couple living in New Caledonia who adored travel so much that they'd taken their infant children up mountains and what not. Good to know that's possible. Also met an equally adorable young couple, he from Finland, she from Italy, who had been maintaining a long-distance relationship (he in Fin, she in various NGO gigs in various countries) since meeting in an international college program in Malta several years back. I told them my cousin had spent something like seven years in a long-distance relship, and was now living with her man and they'd just had their first child. It's hard to tell if a story that ends in a nice now-they-have-a-baby ending has any sort of positive effect on kids in their early 20's. We had some nice meals with these folks and spent a pleasant evening along the riverside in Can Tho. Where they have a lovely statue of Ho Chi Minh apparently wearing an incredibly thick suit.
Next morning we got up around 6, let's say, and still got to the Can Tho market too late to see much floating-marketing going on. Granted, the market was open. There were boats, and they were selling their pineapples and what not. But it was 9AM, the market had been open for a whopping 7 hours already. Cruising around in our 12-person boat full of gringos, we were just another target for the pineapple boat to sell their wares to at a drastic mark-up.
We also took the boat to a rice factory--a legitimate one this time, with dangerous-looking processing machinery that, were it the West, they wouldn't allow tourists anywhere near. After that it was back to the bus and a too-long trip back to Saigon.
But what was so striking about it was this place we were, that we boated through. The place I'd seen in some of my country's most critically acclaimed movies: Apocalypse now, The Deer Hunter, Platoon, hell, even Forrest Gump. And I was IN it, fortunately in a much more aesthetically and politically pleasing context. Well, it just affected me is all. I guess in that holy-shit-I'm-walking-through-Scorsese's-New-York way I used to get in NYC. But Jake Lamotta never napalmed the Lower East Side.
Vietnam Day 2: Cu Chi, Cu Chi, Cu
Has it been a lifelong dream of mine to crawl through old Viet Nam war tunnels? Of course not. But.
Some of you know that umpty-ump years ago, I worked in New York City as a comic book editor. One of the books I helped Howard Zimmerman edit was a series of war comics, a revival of the classic war comics series TWO-FISTED TALES, called HARVEY KURTZMAN'S NEW TWO-FISTED TALES. 
One of my favorite stories I worked on was written and drawn by a Viet Nam war vet (two tours), the gruff but amicable writer/artist Don Lomax. Don churned out a half-dozen eight-to-twelve pagers for us with lightning speed, each one a note-perfect TFT-style two-thirds-splash-page-with-twist-ending war-is-hell tale about 'Nam.
But my favorite one was "Queen of Cu Chi," a tale about the tunnel rats of the Vietnam war (soldiers assigned to flush out the network of underground tunnels the Viet Cong established to get around the US Army), and the dogs who were trained to support those soldiers. A heart breaker, not least of which because it had a dog in it. And you know me.
But little did I know that I'd get a chance to visit the place where the story was set. Our two days in Saigon stretched into three, and with that our chance to take a couple of tours into the outerlying areas. I saw a half-day trip to Cu Chi and the next day we were off.
The historical background you need to know is this: The Viet Minh dug tunnels in the 40s and 50s in order to hide from, escape from, and otherwise fight the French. In the 60s & 70s, the Viet Cong used them to do the same for the US.
The tunnels were narrow, dark, claustrophobic, and made it extremely difficult for the US Army to find the Viet Cong. So the Army trained soldiers, called Tunnel Rats, to fight the Cong in the tunnels. Grim stuff.
And now, for the price of a movie and popcorn, we took a boat up the Mekong delta, trekked through the jungle, and crawled around the tunnels.
N & I took a motor boat up the Mekong, to the Cu Chi area, where we hooked up with another tour group, led by an oder Vietnamese guy who as it turns out worked with the U.S. agaist his own people. He later came back to Viet Nam (or was he captured? I forget) where he underwent "rehabilitation" --for which he has no regrets--and now likely makes decent scratch as a tour guide with all the cheesy jokes a tour guide is likely to make. Mostly about how all tourists in Vietnam eat hamburgers and drink Tiger Beer. Oh, and he made the obvious "booby trap" joke, which offended my wife to no end.
So our guide led us through this jungle path, on which were a number of exhibits along the way, including:
-A below-ground sniper hole that would freak out even the slightest claustrophobe.
-A display of a variety of spike traps (hence the "booby trap" line)
-Several tableau of VN soldiers doing typical VN soldier activities, like cooking food, sharpening sticks, sawing open unexploded shells for explosives & scrap metal, etc.
-A firing range where you could shoot an AK for something like a dollar a shell.
-Oh, and there was a fantastic VN propaganda film praising the local villagers and soldiers for building the Cu Chi tunnels and killing so many American Soldiers. I'll upload video I took of that, and photos for the above, when I can.
All with lots of jokes from our guide among all the seriousness. So the tour was not without cheese. And the thing I came there for, the tunnels themselves, was of course held until the end.
There were over 200 kilometers of tunnels in this area, and we were allowed to crawl through about 200 meters of them. There were a series of "chicken exits" every 10 meters or so, and most of the tourists bailed out early. Not me. I insisted on crawling every dirty step of the way.
Was I able to "put myself in their shoes?" Hell no. Okay, maybe a little. Those tunnels are pretty scary. Even the big slavic guy who hung on our guide's every word and egged him on at every gory joke bailed out after the first exit.
So it was fun, if touristic in a morbid sort of way. But here's what I realized: after working my ass off on HARVEY KURTZMAN'S THE NEW TWO FISTED TALES and having the publisher pull out after just two issues, maybe it helped me get a little closure on that whole part of my life. Whether it needed it or not.
So I'd like to dedicate this post to my old boss at Byron Preiss, Howard Zimmerman, who edited HKTNTFT and let me cut my editorial teeth on it, and my co-worker at BPVP, Steven Roman...because they were there, man. In the shit.
Cambodia day 6: In Which I am a F@$*&ing Rock Star
At least I think it was day 6. We're moving so fast now that I barely have enough time to blog...but I absolutely HAVE to document our Saturday night in Siem Reap...easily one of the most fun nights in my thirty-some-odd years.
John had been talking up the possibility of my performing in Cambodia (stressing a dearth of live music) since we told him we were coming. And sure enough, during a trip to his old stomping grounds of Siem Reap, I got my chance.
All the elements transpired to make it happen, thanks to much "working it" on John's part. His married musician friends, Jet and Melanie, brought up guitars (they each did a set as well). John's friend Renaud, who owns a magnificent bar/grill in town, the Abacus Cafe, gave us a slot on Saturday night.
And then there were the African musicians and acrobats.
See, there's this school of acrobats from Guniea touring in Cambodia. And Renaud had invited them to perform at Abacus's outdoor spaces the night before. They came with their own band--mostly drummers, singers, one guitarist and one xylophone player. We attended that Friday night show of acrobatics and dance, culminating with the band playing and folks dancing 'til the morning. Enormous fun. And he invited the musicians to come back the following night. Would we play with them? Could we? With no rehearsal, no less? Um, shyea!
Natacha and I showed up to soundcheck, and met Jet there to discuss logistics with Renaud. Renaumd supplied the PA (left over from last night's circus), Jet brought the guitars (shlepped up from Phnom Penh by Melanie). And the Centre d’Art Acrobatique musicians showed up. Turns out the only euroish language they spoke was French. But Jet and I and their bandleader/xylophone player, Baba set up in a corner to figure out how in the world we were going to make this work. We got together in a little bandstand in the corner and worked it out. I discovered that Baba's best key was G, which is pretty much my favorite guitar key, and it was on. Jet and I altered our sets to include songs that would help showcase the band's talents.
I dragged Natacha over to translate (which she gladly did) and work out the plan. I asked Baba if it would be okay if Jet/Melanie/I did a few songs ourselves, then invited the band up for each set? Baba gave an easy nod and replied, "All musicians come from the same mother and father." Which touched me so much I almost teared up. Seriously.
I did my set first, doing the various covers I do when I don't have rehearsal time ("Centerfold," "Surrender," "Tainted Love"). Enthusiastic, polite applause from a mostly-french-expat audience who had never heard most of these songs before. I've had worse audiences.
Then I invited the musicians up, adding two songs in G which I could do with more of a world beat. Go time.
I sounded out the first beat: "Bom-Bom-Bom-Bom. PAK! Bom-Bom-Bom-Bom. PAK! " The band picked it up immediately and put some extra spin on it. And I launched into "Oh, Dear," A song I wrote back in college and still one of my favorite compositions. A little pop song with a quirky latin beat. Perfect.
And it was like I'd accellerated into another dimension, one that was bright and clear and powerful and full of the kind of energy I hadn't felt what seems like years. The band was as on as on gets. I left space for Baba to solo, which he did with fluid excellence. I gave the singers some room sing, the dancers room to move, and I felt like I was in a Youssou N'Dour video.
The sheer alchemy of the evening was unexpected and incredibly joyous, showcasing me and my little song as if I was David Freaking Byrne doing Once In a Lifetime.
I did one more song with the band, "Walk on the Wild Side," Which was every bit as jamming as the first song. I'll put up some video once I'm back using big American bandwidth. And I appeared a couple of times later in the evening, jamming with Jet during his set, and later jamming with the musicians, just filling out their songs with licks for another hour or so. Which I loved.
At 17, I traveled through Europe with two friends, busking in the streets, and we landed a gig at a bar in Amsterdam, playing for some Dutch and a bunch of Brits having a bachelor party. we played for 3 hours, I broke 10 strings, and at one point jumped up so high to do a pete townsend move that I hit a ceiling light. I hi That was the greatest night of my life up to that point, and this night in Siem Reap was on a par with that. No question.
John managed to record some of "Oh Dear." on his phone. It's mostly me jamming on the tail end of the songs with the African musicians and it's not the highest quality, but holy crap there it is. A cherished moment in my life as quicktime file.
Kudos and thanks to my new brothers and sisters at Centre d’Art Acrobatique Keita Fodeba / Tinafan, who made this evening the incredible blowout that it was. Thanks to Jet and Melanie, without whom there would have been no guitars (awesome SG Mel!) And of course props to Renaud for allowing the whole blissful experiement to happen. And to Natch for translating and supporting as is her wonderful way. But most of my gratitude goes to my longtime buddy and almost-as-long-Cambodia-resident John Weeks, without whom none of it would have taken place.
Bangkok Day 4: Bangkok, USA
So I'm finally recovered from a full day of upset tummy...only one day, thank god. Nice to know that my life doesn't turn into an epi of ER every time I get sick. Great day today, all told. Started gingerly, with a breakfast of steamed rice and fresh coconut milk. The former because it's easy on the tummy, the latter because it's easy on the tummy, it's a good rehydrater, and cmon, if you were in thailand, wouldn't you drink a freshly opened coconut every day? I know I plan to.
Then it was off to the malls. Not particularly cultural, no. I accompanied Natacha on a shopping venture to the middle of the city, Siam Square. She's been dreaming of buying a handheld video camera ever since she passed one up on the B & H website before we left, and we got a few reccos on where to go, so we did.
A gorgeous boat ride and a clean, cool skytrain ride later, we were in the IT Center, a 6-story mall filled with nothing but tech. mobile phones, laptops, desktops, and all the pirated software you could shake your discs at. Quite a scene.
Of course, we had to go up to the top floor to find Natch's bounty...a sanyo handheld WATERPROOF video cam. Can you imagine anything better for travel? We'll certainly find out, as we walked out with it, plus a couple of cheap SD cards.
Then it was off to the mall I wanted to go to, the infamous MBK, where supposedly all the teenagers go. I was hoping to find some cutting edge J-pop (or even T-pop) trinkets. And while the place was pretty interesting, all the stuff there was...well, there were t+shirts, toys, all sorts of fantastic food...pretty much the stuff I would have dug as a teenager...but currently find old and boring. Oh cruel irony.
So we spent the day in AC malls, which was fabulous for my tummy recovery, and in the evening, we saw the IRON MAN movie. which was great fun. As I wrote my dad, "you'd love it...its about a munitions dealer who sees the error of his ways, and along the way he gets to kick some terrorist ass." AND there's superheroes!
So. Shopping and eating. Chalk this day up to further recovery from India...just another day in a major metropolitan city. Except for the coconut thing.
India Day 8: City Palace, yes. Lake Palace...?
I write this from one of India's many internet cafes (roughly 80 cents an hour!), and there is another one right next door...or rather, there was. Their servers were down all day today, and this evening they place seemed to be gutted, and there are construction noises coming through the wall as I write this.
So. Udaipur Day Two started off in a very india-style fashion, with Natacha and I waiting on the roof of our guest house for the yoga instructor who supposedly gives classes there every morning. He arrived 45 minutes late, saying he was sorry, he was out late as his office party was last night. We later found out that he's a government employee who is a friend of the guesthouse owner. Most likely he just does this so he can get a practice in every morning and juice the guests for donations. Which he did. He led us through a practice that was fine for him but too advanced for us, with no instruction but "change" (positions) We have yet to understand why India is the yoga captial of the world, and not, say, Marin County.
After that was breakfast at the guesthouse's rooftop resto, some chatting with the other diners, and off to Udaipur's City Palace. This is the one in the middle of the Old City; we decided to hold off on seeing the lake palaces until the end of day, so we could take a boat around them at sunset.
The Udaipur City Palace was impressive, more so than Jaipur's. plus we had a tour guide giving us the lowdown. Like the courtyard is so big the entertainment there was elephant tug-of-wars. And there is a huge centuries-old tree that seems to be rooted on the fourth floor of the palace. Think about that for a moment. (HInt: the palace is built on a hill).
I know, we've seen a couple of palaces already, and we'll see more before we're done, but Udaipur's was nothing less than sensational. Tiles from Holland. Ornaments from Russia. Gold this, gold that. Humongous courtyards, inside and out. Magnificent views of the city. Complex rope-and-pulley systems that allow the servants to operate (read: pull) the fan that keeps the prince cool in his room round-the-clock. But I guess when you can afford a pair of palaces on the lake and one in the city, a decorating budget is easy to scare up.
Turns out the latest Maharaja of Udaipur is a young man at Uni in Australia. And I understand he's single, ladies.
After that, there was a long lunch at another rooftop restaurant, this one with an insane view of a huge Jain temple smack dab in the middle of the city. And a long conversation with a lovely British couple (he a biologist, she a nurse) on the cusp of finishing a year of traveling. And just in time, as she was pregnant. Planned but sooner than planned. So long lunches were par for them at this point.
(We've met a number of couples travelling for a year or more, mostly european, and while they've all been great to talk to (my faves being Marie and Greg), I'm jealous as hell of them. Compared to them, our three months looks wimpish. I have to remind myself that they are europeans, and as such get tons of vacation time, they get to have "career breaks," etc. Considering we suckers in the USA get barely a third of the vacation time that they do), our three months is comprable--and to Americans, it's HUGE. So there, Ken. Okay, that's my one paragraph of whingeing I'm allowed.)
By the time we get to the boat to the lake palaces, it was POURING rain. in the friggin' desert for frick's sake! So the boat to the palaces isn't going. But we are, out of Udaipur, to Jodphur, the next day. So no Octopussy moment for us.
And Udaipur? Not so romantic. and the heavy foot & rickshaw traffic kinda takes the shine off those narrow european type streets. If I had the choice again, I might just give it a miss.
Ah well. We had an amazing sunset the day before. And there is a lot of beauty here. Gotta appreciate what you've got. And there's dinner with the charming Marie and Greg, whom we first met & dined with in Pushkar and Natacha ran into here later in the eve. Travel, it giveth and it...well, it mostly giveth. Which is nice.
India Day 7: Guilt and Papayas
So. We get up at the f'n CRACK, throw on our clothes & packs, and stumble through the streets of Pushkar in efforts to meet Ramesh at the 6:30 am meeting time.
While stumbling, it occurred to us that, this early in the morning, we were less likely of being harrassed by priestouts at the ghats, and took a quick detour to visit one of the larger ghats. And so were 15 minutes late to meet Ramesh.
Which normally wouldn't have been a problem.
Turns out there were some seriously crossed wires going on. See, we told him that we'd call him if we wanted to get picked up later than 6:30. No call meant "6:30 A-OK!" We thought.
But HE thought that we were going to call to check in regardless. So he got there at 6 AM, and when we showed up, boy was he pissed.
Once we got on the road, he really let us have it. He told us all the cautionary tales about Pushkar, dangerous land of backpacker grifts.
There was the couple who went to a crooked guest house (run, in Ramesh's telling, by Muslims, of course) and got robbed, drugs planted on them, some such. Then there's the infamous "Bang Lassi" story, in which a hapless femalie is given a drugged yoghurt drink. Think "roofie." We later heard the story of a friend of a fellow traveler who did have one of those, but it was by choice (like an Amsterdam "space cake."). Then there was the guy who got dope planted on him by his guest house, so he had to pay off the cops (and the guest house got a piece).
Or there are the stories of Pushkar men who work in the shops & restaurants, who seduce & marry tourist women, go back to their country, then take all their money, go back to Pushkar, and start over. Beware, Ladies!
Were any of these stories true? Ramesh seemed to think so. But more important, he said that when a professional guide is in charge of tourists that go missing, the Guide gets arrested for losing track of them! And since cars weren't allowed in Pushkar, he couldn't check on us. So we felt bad. We apologized and in return got stonewalled by Ramesh. Which didn't suck.
Regardless, it was a long drive to our next stop, Udaipur.
If you've ever looked at Udaipur on a map, you know that it's out of the way on the standard Rajastan loop--5-7 hours south of Pushkar, 5-7 hours south of Jodphur. But the Lonely Planet said the lake palace was amazing, and other travelers told us that it was "romantic and european," so we put it on our itinerary.
Because of the length of the drive, it was late in the day when we asked Ramesh if we could stop for lunch. There weren't any of his beloved tourist trap commission places along the way, so we ended up at a little roadside stand just outside the hills surrounding Udaipur.
We sat down on woven flats to eat a couple of very spicy dishes with Parantha (bread), sitting with Ramesh as he told jokes about us in Hindi to the men at the stand. Everyone was laughing but N & I.
But as we ate, a bunch of girls gathered at the stairs leading behind the stand. They were the wives, mothers, and (mostly) daughters of the men who ran the place. They looked at us a giggled a while. Because, of course, we are white and foreign and therefore hilarious.
Finally one of them said something to one of the men, who said something to Ramesh, who passed it to us: Could they take Natacha to their home? It was right behind & just below the stand. Natacha agreed and went with these 7 or so females. 20 minutes later, she returned, carrying a huge green papaya. Turns out they'd shown her the kitchen, and were just generally mezmerized with her. We stayed a while longer to talk with them (via Ramesh) and take some photos.
Natacha, kind soul that she is, worried about not having any gifts to given them in return. So she dug into her pack and gave them hair chopsticks and cough drops. Hey, what would YOU have done?
Finally heading into Udaipur, Ramesh offered once again to find us a place to stay. Since we still felt guilty about the Pushkar thing, we let him lead the way. He took us to a place that the Lonely Planet did mention, a lovely hotel with a swimming pool that was roughly double what we'd dream of paying. Big "R" was in top form.
After getting lost a few times in the center of Udaipur old town, we located a place ourselves and sent him on his way so we could spend two Ramesh-less nights in Udaipur.
We spent that first afternoon walking through the narrow, crowded streets and sitting on the Ghat overlooking the lake. You can see the golden palace in the lake, an immense white structure immortalized in the film "Octopussy." We found a fancy hotel with a rooftop restaurant, ordered the cheap dishes, and watched the sun set over the lake, the twin palaces, a mosque, and a very busy day.
(UPDATE: Many) Indians are short
(Caveat: this post was written after bumping my head on yet another doorway here in India. What can I say? It gets me mad. Apologies to my peeps Lakshman, Kapil and Rahul, who are all quite tall, and to anyone of Indian persuasion who is not in the business of planning or building doorways in India. And now, the post:) Is this a generalization? I say no.
How do I know this? Because in our thirty days thus far, I have bumped my head on like A HUNDRED FUCKING DOORWAYS.
Goddamn OUCH!
Granted, I've met Indian people who are tall. Okay, like three. But they're not the ones building the fucking DOORWAYS, are they?
Nothing makes me want to hulk out and smash stuff like bumping my head on a doorway. And I'm a sloucher, for god's sake!
No, it's not the Indians' fault that they're a short(ish) people...but it IS their fault that they don't build their doorways higher.
And I imagine I'm going to have a BALL in Southeast Asia. :-(
Did I mention OUCH?
India Day 6: Huckster Ghats and Hippie Ghettos
I have discovered that no matter where we are in the world--or how FREAKING hot it is in our room--nothing puts me to sleep faster than listening to people talk on my MP3 player. So far my talk of choice is comedy--I downloaded the Comedy Death Ray collection before we left--something like two hours of mostly-great standup for the price of lunch at In N Out. But I had no idea I'd be listening to it so often. You can only listen to Paul F. Tompkins do his bee fetish routine so many times.
So I'm frantically downloading as many talkshow & comedy podcasts as I can shove over this Internet Cafe's broadband connex. Jimmy Pardo, do not fail me as a sleep aid or I swear I will geld you.
Anyways, the long download times let me get into a really interesting destination on our trip: Pushkar.
We were picked up at our Jaipur guest house by Ramesh, who was noticeably grumpy, likely because we stayed at a place that was actually comfortable and popular, and therefore had no need to pay him a commission for taking us there. Good. We piled in and headed to Pushkar, a place we were told was a very spiritual one: 130 temples surrounding a lake in the middle of desert. not on our orig itinerary but sounded great. Ramesh thought that we'd stay in Amer, the larger city outside of Pushkar, and got a bit pissy when we told him,no, we wanted to stay in Pushkar proper. Obviously he wanted to get us into a commission hotel. obviously we were itching to be rid of him for a day and a night.
He drove us as far has he could into Pushkar (cars aren't allowed there) and we agreed to meet him at the same spot at 6:30, and that we'd call him on his cel if we wanted to leave later. As soon as we left the car, we were set upon by one priest after another. Or rather, "priests." See, Pushkar is filled with these guys who try to give you ceremonial flowers to throw into Pushkar's famous Ghats, then lead you through the ritual, then ask for a donation. Really annoying. and of course Ramesh did nothing to ward them away from us. Y'know, like a guide is paid to do.
So we shook him, and them, off and headed down the main drag, getting touted by more priests, auto-rickshaw drivers, guest houses, clothing, shops, etc. every step of the way. It was like we were back in Delhi. It was hot and annoying but we eventually found our way to the guesthouse that was recco'd to us by a French woman we met at the Pearl Palace. It was a quiet (yay!) cheap oasis from the Pushkar chaos.
Once we got a little space, we noticed that the town was full of backpackers, all making themselves comfortable as only backpackers do: eating jaffles, drinking tea, trying not to look too stoned, etc. That, and the plethora of restaurants advertising Israeli food, made us realize that this was a total backpacker's ghetto. Skinny Dutch dudes in sarongs with no shirts and braided facial hair. That kind of thing. It's a place where backpackers come, and stay for days. And why not? Plenty of home-type food, cafes to hang out in, and stuff to buy. It's also a place where you can take a a course in painting, yoga, etc.
But except for the temples and the ghats, it's also a place sans culture.
The lake, and the ghats & temples that surrounded it, were peaceful & sublime, but hard to enjoy without getting touted everywhere.
we did manage to walk around the lake, even in the intense heat.
At the opposite side we met a charming israeli couple, who confirmed the Israelis-are-everywhere-in-India syndrome. After their army service, they go travelling. He said, that these young, newly free kids settle in somewhere and change it to suit them. "Well," I replied, "If you can do it to the desert, you can do it anywhere, eh?" We had a good laugh at that.
We also met a crazy dutch guy who talked in travel-vernacular non-sequiturs and proved to us that too much solo travel isn't necessarily a good thing.
Eventually we got back to the town center and took a yoga class. Just us in a room full of open shutters. He took some time to explain yoga was, but his accent was so think I didn't get all of it. I gathered it was mostly about balance- each position has it's active & passive muscles, etc.
By The end of the practice, the wind really picked up outside. The lights went out so the teacher lit the practice with his cel phone. Then all the shutters started slamming open & shut. It was really interesting to have the elements outside be so active during our session.
When we finished, we walked into the courtyard, which the yoga place shared with a large temple. Which was holding a festival of some sort. Which infolved everyone pushig a huge wooden idol on a wheeled altar around the courtyard while the people sang, held torches near it, and banged drums. Facinating.
The wind continued to pick up and then, rain. Then a blackout--everything on the streets, dark.
WE found a restaurant that was serving despite that, a rooftop place atop a four-story building. They served Mexican food, played Bob Marley. One of Pushkar's many hippie backpacker joints. After we ordered, the wind REALLY picked up. So much that the 15-foot-high sign outside the restaurant broke a tether and threatened to fall four stories to the ground. AS it swung to & fro, we heard screams from the ground. Fortunately the staff grabbed it and brought it inside in time, propping it up on the wall near us.
We and the other customers were ushered into a room indside the building and served there. People kept coming in, and eventually the room was crammed with Canadian college jocks, mixed-race couples in flowing fabrics, middle-aged women talking about their side businesses selling fabrics and jewlery, even the dutch guy with the hair showed up. It was a real microcosm of backpacker culture.
Later that night, when the lights were back on everywhere but the streets, I did something stupid. After trying to upload my photos at a cyber-cafe and failing--until midnight, mind you--I walked home, after all the stores were closed, which meant I had to walk the 4-5 blocks back through the dirt streets in pitch darkness. I tried to use my camera flash to light my way (see photos below)...which was just as stupid. I stepped into at least one puddle, and at some point a dog barked at me and aI almost shat myself. So that was Pushkar.
India Day 5: Jaipur, Fort, Shopping
EXTREMELY productive day today, travel-wise. Our second day in Jaipur, and the one which Natacha & I were able to enjoy together.
We started in the morning with a quick drive through the Old City of Jaipur. It's called the "Pink City" because like 150 years ago some important British royal came to visit, and the people of Jaipur painted the old city his favorite color, pink. Said royal reportedly really appreciated it. Now, it's clay-brown with pink piping, which is probably more low-maintenance; shows less dirt and whatnot. I can respect that.
Then it was on to the Amber Fort, one Rajastan's absolutely humongous forts. Here, a "fort" isn't just a military emplacement. It's where they kept everything royal-family-oriented, surrounded by a huge wall and defended by arrow-shooting turrets. The forts are big enough to hold palaces, temples, harems, etc., and Amber is by far no exception.
The decor was astounding. We saw harem quarters, a temple decorated with thousands of tiny ceramic-backed mirrors, even an ancient air conditioner,which used running water for coolant. We also saw elephants, which you could ride up the hill into the fort.
And there were monkeys!
Then we had Ramesh drop us off (which is always a "Whew) and had lunch across from the Old City, I got a haircut (about which more later)...
...and like 3 hrs of shopping. We found a great local sari shop with just amazing colors, wall to wall people, and no tourists (except us).
Then it was off to shop for one of Jaipur's famous exports--precious stones.
Later in the day, I took Natacha to a place I knew she'd love: Janter Manter, a centuries-old observatory the Maharaja of Jaipur built. No telescopes here, and sadly, no LaserRock. But they did have really fascinating devices to measure the paths of the sun and stars and the location of the earth in relation to it all. Think "giant sundials" and you've got half the idea.
I liked Jaipur quite a bit. It's the capital city of Rajahstan, but more low-key (compared to Delhi, certainly), with a beatiful old city and few touts except for the autorickshaw drivers. And it wears its history proudly on its clay-with-pink-piping-colored sleeve. I wouldn't have minded staying another day, but our next destination beckoned.
Dun, Dun, DUH-NUH-NUH!
This time, I have just enough time to settle the Iron Man controversy single-handedly. the upshot is "Which came first: the Marvel Comics character Iron Man" (also the subject of an upcoming blockbuster flick), or the Black Sabbath song of the same name?" Apparently the Boston Globe feels this warrants coverage. So it's the least I can do to settle it from South Asia.
Back in the mid-90s, when I was a high-profile comic book editor
Read MoreIndia Day 4: Musical Guesthouses
Not the best day for Natacha, but it ultimately worked out ok.
The previous night was a sleepless one, in a very cheap guesthouse (which our driver recommended), where the heat was sweltering, and the screens on the windows were busted. meaning we slept drenched in DEET with the fan on--and 'Tach was so concerned by skeeters that she slept fully clothed. I don't know if you've ever done this yourself, but your first time out just traumatizes your body. She ate nothing for breakfast & spent the morning sleepingin the car on the way to our next destination, the Rajastani city of Jaipur.
Ramesh our driver told us from the beginning that he was from Jaipur, so we gave him the benefit of the doubt and asked him to suggest a guesthouse that had, for Natacha's sake, had AC, and fit our budget. So.
He took us to a place that seemed servicable at first, so we dropped off our stuff and hung out in the room to relax. Until I realzed the bed was dirty. and had human hair in it.
And there was a docrot's office two floors down, directly above the restaurant. which is one of those tourist grifts they tell you about--the restaurant gives you food poisoning, and you're immediately taken to the doctor. oH but there's more.
Because the hotel was in the middle ofr what seemed to be a parking lot for tour busses. And for some reason, these (parked) tour busses seened to need to test their horns. Constantly. How much are we hating our driver right now?
So, despite the fact that Tash needed to rest in an A/C room, I took us out of there and made Ramesh take us to another hotel. Which turned out to be too expensive, but he got to collect his commission anyway, just for taking us there. And then another. Which turned out to be more than we wanted to pay, but less than the other one, and was clean, comfortable, and all around fantastic. The Pearl Palace Hotel in Jaipur, if you're wondering.
I got Tash settled in to rest, left her to sleep and went to visit Jaipur's charming-but-after-the-Taj-unimpressive City Palace.
Then back to the Pearl, where I had a lovely dinner convo with an 80 yr old British lady named Una, a retired child psychologist who was in the middle of a sort of "These are all the sights I want to see before I die" trip: Petra, Jodphur, Angkor Wat, etc. Natch slept that whole day and night, and after that we knew better than to put our trust in ol' Ramesh.