October 17, 2010
ON THE COMFORTS OF HOME AWAY FROM HOME
This morning I woke up early, packed my bags, paid my bill and moved myself to Bhanwar Vilas, a guesthouse I found yesterday afternoon. What a relief to be in a place that feels safe and comfortable. My room is clean, light and airy and the fan whirs quietly rather than squeaking and grinding around. There is even a lovely little alcove, perfect for meditating. No holes or torn sheets and towels. Nor are they stained!
 |
| Palace Detail |
 |
| Ganesh, at entrance to City Palace |
I arrived back at the guesthouse a little after one as I was so entranced by Udaipur’s history that I completely lost track of time. I was served lunch in the family’s kitchen/dining room. What an ambrosial lunch it was: dal, rice, a curried yoghurt sauce flavored with garam masala, aloo (potato curry), pumpkin that was fried in oil and flavored with fennel and fenugreek as well as two chapattis and a papadam. And again, two homemade, Churma Bati Dals. I felt so sated! My tummy was in heaven.
Pushpa was most patient with my curiosity about the ingredients for each of the little dishes. Since she did not know the English names, she showed them to me. She was most attentive and kind and was very happy that I savored every bite.
I really am treated like a friend rather than a paying guest. I may never leave this place!
I really am treated like a friend rather than a paying guest. I may never leave this place!
This evening I am going with Jagdish, his grandchildren and a New Zealand couple staying in the guest house, to a fireworks display honoring Rama’s defeat of Ranavana who had kidnapped Sita, Rama’s wife.
October 16, 2010
ON THE CONTINUED STRUGGLE TRAVELING IN INDIA
Travelling in India is like being on a roller coaster. The modifiers are that the ascent is steep and brief and the coasting time is even briefer. And the descent is just as on a roller coaster, rapid and intense! There are days when I want to get the next plane out of here and then there are days that are filled with small moments of intense delight that embolden my heart to continue.
It really is dispiriting to not be able to take someone at face value. I am now very distrustful. I do not like this at all. It is unbelievably wearing to be approached immediately you exit your guesthouse or on your way somewhere. The conversation inevitably starts with some gent assuring you that they’re only being friendly and have no intention of selling you anything. Just when you think that MAYBE the person is sincere, there is some mention of their shop or hotel or whatever and a request “just to have a look, no obligation!” This and “no problem,” must be the two most used phrases in the English language in India, to tourists.
Yesterday and today, I walked up and down two particular streets in the Old City many times in search of another guesthouse or hotel that had wifi. Each time anyone even began speaking to me, I just shook my head and walked on.
As a result, it seems I’ve developed a reputation. This morning, a very good-looking young man said to me as I passed him by, for the umpteenth time, “You're really hard. You refuse to speak to any of us.” I laughed and told him that I've been travelling a long time and I've become hardened.” He immediately smiled and said “You must have a soft spot somewhere because you at least answered me!” I could not help but laugh again as I walked away.
When I returned down the street a couple of hours later, he stepped up to me and gave me a jasmine bud without a word. I had to smile. I thanked him and acknowledged his gesture.
 |
| View from hotel window |
Even though I found a guesthouse this morning, it was a compromise as it was the best of a bad lot and my bags had become too heavy to continue dragging around. It also had no wifi. It was a relief to be able to look again for another one unburdened with luggage. It meant I could go farther afield into another area of the Old City.
And oh joy oh rapture, I found Bhanwar Vilas, a clean and airy 12-room guesthouse late in the afternoon. The owner, Jagdish, was very welcoming. He invited me to sit down and have a cup of masala chai before I even looked at the rooms. I felt pretty frazzled by this time and must’ve looked it! The chai was served with a homemade Indian sweet, Churma Bati Dal, and tea biscuits. The chai was particularly fragrant and delicious as was the sweet. And ever so needed.
Jagdish informed me he considers his paying guests his friends and assured me that I would be taken care of as if I were family. He is retired and set up the guesthouse so his son could have a job! The original building apparently was his family’s home. He and his wife, Pushpa, his mother and his son and daughter-in-law and grandchildren all live on the first floor. He renovated the house and added two more floors with rooms to rent.
He showed me several lovely rooms and the one I liked the most happened to exceed my budget. He said I should stay there anyway and pay what I could. “I recognize you are a senior citizen and so am I so it is important for me that you have the room of your choice because then you’ll be happy and comfortable. And that is more important to me than money!"
How could I not be charmed? I shook his hand and told him I’d be there tomorrow around 8:30 a.m.
I've been so busy looking for hotels and wifi that I have done absolutely no sightseeing. I feel as if I lost a whole day but am enormously relieved that I found a place where I can roost for a few days.
OCTOBER 15, 2010
JODHPUR TO UDAIPUR
AN IMPULSIVE DECISION
While having breakfast on Shahi’s rooftop this morning, a young Basque couple, Jorge and Ainhoa, sat at a table next to me. As fellow travelers tend to do, we started chatting about our experiences and places visited. They told me they were leaving for Udaipur, which was where I intended to go next. When they heard that, they invited me to ride with them as they had hired a car and driver to take them there.
I had been fretting about how I was going to get to Udaipur, as there is no train from Jodhpur. The only option was a seven-hour bus ride on what I had been told was a very bumpy road. I thought this was too good to be true and happily offered to pay a third of the cost, 600 rupees!
Since they had to be at the agency in 30 minutes, I raced to my room, stuffed everything into my suitcase and backpack, paid my hotel bill and off we went, trailing our bags along the street. (It is quite an art to avoid runny cow dung, refuse and rivulets of filthy water and the usual traffic. But we managed as we laughed our way along and refused the entreaties of shopkeepers to enter their stores.)
This being India, our departure was not without hassle. When we arrived and the agency guys saw we were three, not two, they were not pleased! A young boy, who could not have been more than 16, seemed to be the major wheeler and dealer and the primary objector. He was positively obnoxious. He kept repeating to A&J that they had said there were two people when they hired the car and driver. Jorge’s response was “we hired a car and driver for us. What difference does it make if we want to bring someone with us.” (J&A speak very good English.)
It soon became evident what the difference was. About 900 rupees extra to line their pockets. They had arranged for another passenger to be included for that amount of money as we found out from the young German girl. The obnoxious boy and another agency man were taking turns at insisting that three of us could ride in the back with the fourth passenger in the front.
The car, a TATA, is the equivalent of the original Honda Civic in size and space and of that vintage too. Dented and beaten up it was too. The journey was going to be five hours. Their proposal was unacceptable.
I said to A&J, not to worry, I would take the bus and asked the driver to remove my luggage from the boot. Jorge said no way, he had paid for the car for only the two of them and I was coming with as well. The young boy became increasingly belligerent. There was much arguing among the agency guys, in Marwari, the language of this region. Meanwhile a little group of bystanders had formed around us to watch the proceedings.
I stepped up and said, “Enough,” and went to get my bag. An older gentleman, who had been quietly standing by, motioned to me to leave my bag and told the boy to let us go. (I believe my increasingly graying hair was the deciding factor as I had noticed him frequently glancing at me throughout the proceedings!)
As we rode off, we had a good laugh but many times on our journey, we marveled at the unmitigated gall of the young boy and the fact that the agency wanted to squeeze four of us in the car together, plus the driver!
I was ever so glad that I had taken up J&A’s offer as they had arranged with the agency that we would stop off at Ranakpur to visit a beautiful complex of Jain Temples there. What was so extraordinary about these temples is that each of the 1,444 intricately carved columns are all different! I would never have got to see them as they’re off a beaten track on the road to Udaipur.
The road was horrendous. Full of craters, rubble, bumps and humps, that it is amazing any vehicle survives. One of my favorite sights when travelling along country roads is that of women in vivid patterned saris walking in groups or single file. One particular woman caught my eye on this journey because she was holding a basket loaded with a bag of grains on her head with one hand and speaking on a cell phone with the other hand. I loved the dichotomy of ancient and modern custom.
We got into Udaipur around four. Finding a hotel was an ordeal. I usually book in advance but since I was not expecting to be in Udaipur so soon, I had made no reservations. We traipsed up and down the steep hills, and several sets of steps and staircases to view rooms. What we saw for the prices being asked was preposterous. I finally said to J&A, I had to stop looking as I could not carry my suitcase up and down yet another set of steps. I decided I would try instead the Panorama Guesthouse that had been recommended to me by fellow travelers in Agra. We bid our fond farewells and I took an auto rickshaw there.
Standing at the reception desk was a man picking his nose. He stared at me as I struggled to get my suitcase up the steps to the entrance. (I was also carrying a small backpack and a tote bag with bottles of water.) He did not say anything at all so I asked him if he was the person who could show me a room. He wiped his finger off on his pants and moved desultorily around the desk to get a key and showed me what rooms were available with a decided lack of civility.
Again the rooms were overpriced but I managed to get the price reduced by one hundred rupees for the room I chose. Not a good choice but I was too hot, tired and hungry to look further.
Again the rooms were overpriced but I managed to get the price reduced by one hundred rupees for the room I chose. Not a good choice but I was too hot, tired and hungry to look further.
Traveler’s Tip: Never accept the price quoted as the price can be reduced anywhere from 500 (for expensive places) to 100 rupees I learned this from other Indians who start offering half the quoted price!
The positive element about my staying the night here is the convenience of their rooftop restaurant, which has a superb view of Lake Pichola in the middle of which is the renowned and beautiful Jagniwas Island Lake Palace, now a five-star hotel. Much to my tummy’s delight and my surprise, the food was delicious!
I’ll look for another guesthouse tomorrow.
October 14, 2010
JODHPUR
Arrived last night around 8. To my dismay, the auto rickshaw driver that the guesthouse had arranged to meet me was not there. Fortunately, I was in a relaxed frame of mind because of some lovely encounters with Indians on busses and trains and at the railway station in Ajmer, from where I had caught the train. I also had managed to have a restorative nap. So I did not panic!
As expected, the minute I walked out the station, auto rickshaw driveres pounced. Most left me alone once I told them someone was meeting me. One was very persistent and kept asking me the name of my hotel and even though I told him I did not need a rickshaw, he would not let up.
To my relief, a 20ish well-dressed man came to me and asked if he could help. I thanked him, told him I was fine and that I was expecting a rickshaw momentarily. But when the buzzard-like driver hovered too close for comfort, I walked over to the young man and his companion, and asked if I could stand with them while I waited. “With pleasure,” was the instant reply, given with a beaming smile. The two men immediately asked where I was from and told me they had just graduated from “Hospitality School” and were “very happy to have the opportunity to be of service!”
Just as a friend of theirs arrived to pick them up, a very tall, lanky man, who must’ve been about 6’7” approached bearing a piece of paper with a close resemblance to my name scrawled on it in red! All was well! The young men bid their farewells and their wonderful enthusiasm and freshness kept me smiling as the rickshaw bumped and bounced its way to the guesthouse.
The shops were in the process of closing and streets in the walled Old City were packed wall to wall with human, animal and vehicular traffic. There was very little space to maneuver. At a particularly congested point, where four lanes met, NO ONE would concede until a pedestrian interceded and forced pedestrians and motorbikes to yield so one of the cars contributing to the blockade could back up and let the blocked car move through.
The driver of my auto rickshaw tickled me, as he had had to almost fold himself in half to get into his rickshaw; his knees were so high up that he had to drive with his legs akimbo. He drove at breakneck speed as he skillfully wove in and around whatever was in his path. His body seemed to move in tempo with his rickshaw without missing a beat, even when forced to stop. His movements were dancelike because they were so fast and rhythmic.
The narrow alleyway that we finally turned into to reach the guesthouse was a bit disheartening because there were no lights and all I saw was cow dung and litter and ramshackle buildings in the light of the rickshaws headlamps. But waiting at the door of the guesthouse, was the owner’s wife, with her 10-month old baby in her arms. A nice way to be welcomed!
Shahi Guesthouse is in a renovated 350-yearl-old former merchant’s home, known as a haveli. The rooms are quirky. I settled on what I think was the quirkiest. It’s small and has a little passageway that leads up to a loft bed. On the opposite side of the bed, steps lead down to the bathroom. Small windows open into the inner courtyard of the haveli on one side and on to the street on the other side. The temple bells woke me at 5 a.m.
Jodhpur, in comparison with all the other cities I’ve visited so far, is relatively clean. I finally figured out that the piles of leftover food and stacks of chapattis that one sees in many of the streets in the towns and cities I’ve visited, are deliberately put there for the cows and dogs that compete for the pickings. Apparently cows love chapattis. I guess their intestines have adapted to refined grains!
I like Jodphur. I have had no inclination at all to visit the sights though. No energy either to brave walking up to the fort perched magnificently on the crest of the hill that dominates the town. I decided instead to meander the streets and visit the Sardar bazaar. It is much smaller than any other that I’ve visited. But of course just as thronged with people. Saw very few Europeans though.
 |
| Jodhpur rooftops |
My nostrils were assailed with the smell of the mixed spices as I walked further in. My nose easily led me to the spice corner. Apparently the spice dealers of Sardar are renowned. Cone shaped mounds of powdered chili, cumin, turmeric, and garam masala graced small tables before each little stall. Each merchant boasted his Kashmir saffron was authentic.
One merchant finally succeeded in wiling me into his store. Even though I had no desire to buy anything I could not resist the aromatic smells and the wonderful sight of so many spices.
I was instructed to sit down so I could witness with my own eyes that the Kashmir saffron they sold was bona fide. As I sat down, one shop assistant pulled out a gossamer thread of saffron from an opened packet while his fellow magician put a piece of paper on the table onto which the thread was laid. He carefully poured water over it, which slowly turned a golden yellow. Proof that the saffron was genuine!
But, I was told; it is necessary to wait a while to ensure that the little pool of water remained golden yellow. If the saffron had been dyed, the water would’ve either turned a dark yellow or changed to burnt orange. Who knew?
After the market, I decided to walk to the Tourist Office, which I had been told was about a twenty-minute walk from the market. Since I had had such a lovely time on the government run tour in Jaipur, I thought I’d try another in Jodhpur. Mistake!
Walking in the noonday sun truly is for mad dogs and foreigners. I was heat fatigued by the time I reached my destination. Not only was it a very long haul on foot to the Tourist Office, but also when I got there, I was told the bus tours had been abandoned! It occurred to me the reason might be that since the Indian Government spends a fortune on its promotion of “Incredible India” internationally, there must be little or no money left for marketing on the local level.
I had to smile at the Tourist Office. It’s in a ramshackle building that is hard to distinguish from any other along the route. In front is a scraggly patch of grass that is littered with papers and other debris thrown over the fence by passersby. Hardly inviting let alone welcoming.
However, the gent behind the little picnic table that served as his desk, was friendly and helpful regarding some of the sights as well as bus and train schedules, which saved me a further hike to the train and bus stations. I decided I had had enough for one day and returned to the guesthouse, by auto rickshaw to have lunch.
However, the gent behind the little picnic table that served as his desk, was friendly and helpful regarding some of the sights as well as bus and train schedules, which saved me a further hike to the train and bus stations. I decided I had had enough for one day and returned to the guesthouse, by auto rickshaw to have lunch.
Since every item one orders is freshly made–there is no such thing as premade sauces or rice that is partially or fully cooked and reheated, the wait is long. But at Shahi Guesthouse, the wait is absolutely worth it as the food is really delectable.
 |
| View from rooftop of Shahi Guesthouse |
Dining at Shahi is a lovely experience as there is a wonderful rooftop restaurant that has a superb view of Jodhpur’s signature blue houses and the fort. Sanka, who is from a small village outside of Jodhpur, and Lal Singh, who is from Nepal, are the chief cooks and bottle washers as well as the guesthouse’s cleaners.
They’re very personable.
 |
| Lal Singh and Sanka (front) |
At night, they sleep on the roof on thin mats that are stuffed away during the day in one of the nooks underneath the staircase. There is a little bathroom on the floor below that serves their needs. I discovered this because when I went up for breakfast this morning at 7, Sanka was just waking up as Lal, who had seen me go up the stairs as he was exiting the bathroom, had yelled up to Sanka that I was on my way up.
This practice of sleeping on roofs is common here as from my eagle’s nest vantage point, I saw others on neighboring roofs similarly stretching and yawning as they rolled up their mats. (In Vietnam, in most of the hotels I stayed, the staff slept on chairs pushed together or on the sofas in the reception area once the hotel doors were closed for the night.)
Like many other guesthouse staff members with whom I’ve spoken during my time in India, Lal and Sanka, leave their villages to work in the hospitality industry to support their families at home. Their wives and their extended families raise their children.
After lunch I went in search of wifi as I was feeling deprived. Because I’m travelling alone, connecting with friends via cyberspace and Skype is utterly vital to my sense of well-being. In India, finding wifi has become a bit of an issue as few budget guesthouses and hotels have it even though they say they do!
When I had reserved my room at Shahi via phone, I had asked if wifi was available and of course the answer was yes! That was a myth! Though when I think about it, perhaps that is because most hoteliers think Internet access is synonymous with wifi, and therein lies a misunderstanding.
Bantu, the owner of Shahi, directed me to an Internet place. I asked its owner if he had wifi and he said yes! But I was unable to connect to any of the networks that came up on my screen. He wanted me to use one of his computers but unfortunately, the majority of Internet establishments’ browsers in any part of the world I’ve traveled, do not support the Apple server.
Much to my surprise, the young owner of the store went out of his way to try and set up wifi for me. He called a geek friend of his who, I suspect hijacked an unsecured wireless customer’s service in the internet shop's neighborhood, hooked the owner’s modem up to it and voila! I had wifi! I decided not to ask any questions. I was so happy to be able to download my emails at last! I had not had access for 48 hours!
This all took quite a lot of time so by the time I got connected it was dark. I opened all my emails without reading them. That way I could read them in the comfort of my room at the guesthouse. Since the streets either have no lights or are dimly lit, I was nervous about walking back to the guesthouse, as was not sure whether I’d find my way back in the dark. I asked the owner how to get back. He in turn asked his friend to show me the way. Lucky for me, the friend had a motorbike and offered me a ride back to the guesthouse. Of course I accepted! Ah for random acts of kindness.
October 13, 2010
PUSHKAR
ON FIRST IMPRESSIONS AND THE HAZARDS AND JOYS OF PUBLIC TRANSPORT
Ana Sagar Lake in Pushkar is said to be one of India’s most sacred lakes and described as “magically beautiful at dawn and dusk.” Sad to say, ‘tis no longer that way. A muddy brown it is, no blue water for the sun to reflect off of or on. Just dull dirty water polluted with litter lapping at the lake’s edges. Sigh.
I was so looking forward to some down time from travelling as had been given glowing reports by fellow travelers. We were told Pushkar was a lovely little place to relax in and hang out. I was instantly disappointed on arrival, but Wendy, a youngish English woman I’d befriended and who travelled the four hours with me in a government bus from Jaipur to Pushkar, was instantly enamored. It met her expectations but not mine. Go figure.
I should’ve asked her what she had imagined. In my mind’s eye, I pictured a lake sparkling with sunlight that I’d seen in photographs. Silly me. I can only suppose the photos had been photo-shopped!
Wendy immediately decided to stay several days. I immediately decided to stay only overnight. I didn’t see anything to entice me to linger longer. We had to laugh at our contrasting perceptions. Obviously we were seeing the same things through completely different lenses.
 |
| Gateway to lake |
I rather regretted my less than mediocre thali at the hotel as the food stalls’ offerings looked far more tasty and inviting.
The owners and shop assistants, who either sat outside or inside their small emporiums, were friendly and bid us good evening as we ambled past or entered to inspect their wares. Amazingly no one came up to us and insisted that we visit their shop. What a difference it makes when one is not constantly accosted and bombarded with a litany of an inventory of merchandise.
Bronwyn bought quite a few items and on the occasions when we walked out without purchasing anything, there were no sour faces or resentment, just a friendly farewell and a smile. What a pleasure!
I woke up at 4 this a.m. and could not go back to sleep. Once it started getting light, I went out for another stroll. It was lovely to watch the town wake up. No breakfast to be had anywhere though as it was too early. At one of the temples, I met a young Rumanian woman from New Zealand who had just arrived by overnight bus. She is also travelling for a year on her own. We decided to have breakfast together.
 |
| Add caption |
As we walked along we both, in tandem, would stop to take photos of doorways and Enfield motorbikes. Johanna, because her boyfriend was passionate about motorbikes and me, because I had intended to travel pillion on the back of an Enfield with a friend but in the end opted out. I thought it was rather curious that our photographic eyes were so similar without us having even spoken about what captured our photographic attention.
As an aside, so many stray dogs limp and/or have misshapen back legs. No doubt because of having been hit by a vehicle of one sort or another. How motorized vehicles don’t sideswipe the cows is beyond me.
Mind you, on the bus from Pushkar to Ajmer this afternoon, we’d been rattling along the pitted road at quite a pace when the bus abruptly jolted to a halt. All those standing in the aisles fell forward on top of each other. Chaos ensued as the passengers tried to disentangle themselves. My suitcase and knapsack, which I had been holding onto were ripped from my grip by the lurch and fell on a woman who was sitting on the steps of the rear exit doors. Fortunately no bones were broken but am sure she will have a bruised spot later on. I was amazed that everyone just laughed the whole thing off and tended their sore spots by rubbing them.
The driver had screamed to a halt because of a cow! And then both oncoming vehicles and our bus driver tooted their horns till the cow deigned to move!
Travelling on a government bus is quite an experience. The forty- minute journey cost each of us fifteen cents! Well not all, as am sure children ride free. No wonder the busses are such rattletraps. Every time the driver slowed down, the gears sounded as if they would just die on the spot. He had to coax them up or down as the case required. Nix coax. He’d forcibly grind them into position. I thought each time he did that, the bus would surely croak and give notice but somehow or other; the gears got into their groove and off we’d rattle and roar again.
The ride was actually fun. I was the only European on the bus and two young guys in front of me kept turning round and then finally screwed up the courage to speak to me in their halting English. The little boy sitting next to me could not stop staring and every time I caught him, he would shyly look away.
An older gentleman across the aisle from me, with whom I’d been conversing, suggested I sit next to him when his fellow seatmate got off the bus. His intentions were honorable as there was a woman who was having difficulty maintaining her balance as the bus swerved and swayed because her young son was clutching onto her for dear life. The thoughtful gent motioned her to sit where I had been sitting with her son. Since they were all so small framed, the two little boys and the woman could sit comfortably on two seats.
Because I am a “mature” woman travelling alone I am a curiosity to many people, men and women alike. The gent, an engineer, spoke excellent English, was on his way to work. He was charming and kind. I had expressed my nervousness about missing the stop for the railway station but he assured me that he would help me. And he did.
Before getting off at the stop before mine, he went up to the driver and told him that I needed to get off at the next and exit through the rear doors since I was sitting next to them. They were not always opened. As I got up to go, the conductor checked to see if I was getting out and bid me farewell with a wave. All the folks around me, smiled and the children waved.
I like travelling on government busses because locals surround one and they restore one’s belief that Indians are in fact friendly and helpful. I’ve never been smiled at so much in such a short space of time. Although hair-raising my bus ride was absolutely delightful.
Am actually writing this on the train to Jodhpur, which is a five-hour journey. Again, I’m the only European in the carriage and the conductors are hanging out across the aisle from me. One in particular is very friendly and curious. He wanted to know how many languages I spoke and I soon found out why. His hobby is to learn basic phrases from foreign passengers! He greeted me and asked my name in several languages including Japanese! He also brought me a cup of chai, which was very welcome and thoughtful of him! And delicious!
No comments:
Post a Comment