Videos!

I finally figured out how to add videos to this thing.  Turns out it's ridiculously easy, and for the first time ever I had to have a student show me how to do something online.  That officially makes me old; it's all downhill from here.

Anyway, here they are in chronological order and with a short description below.  Enjoy!

New Delhi:

The view from the bus I took across the southern section of the city.  This is what I was referring to when I said the city was in a constant, unidentifiable state of either being rebuilt or falling apart.  Notice the bus doesn't so much stop as slow down to a non-lethal speed to jump at.

Four girls and my giant packed crammed into a touk-touk to go into town from our hostel.  How that thing moved with all of us plus the driver and his friend is beyond me, but it was a bumpin' ride.

And this is how Delhi said goodbye.  I was walking down the road from my hostel to the train station and almost couldn't get through the cows, the people, the band...it was hilarious.

Amritsar:

A quick tour of the Golden Temple, the holiest site for all Sikhs.

All of these videos show different parts of the border closing ceremony between India and Pakistan. I sat on the Indian side (obviously), so you have to look closely to see the Pakistani guards dressed in black. It must be just about the only thing to do for entertainment in this area because there was a huge crowd and they were all natives! A lot of fun, even if I had no idea what the cheers said.

This is back in the Golden Temple.  Every evening they take the copy of the scriptures, a massive book about 3' by 2' that they believe is the several-hundred year-old original version, from its place in the main temple to a secure chamber in another building.  But not to worry, there are priests reading other copies 24 hours a day, so you can get your canonical fix, even at 3am.

Rishikesh:

Swimming in the Ganges, in the winter, close to its glacial source.  Really not disgustingly dirty here (that would come later in Varanasi), just cold!

Bhavesh, my Indian brother, totally wimps out on his chance to swim

Varanasi:

The view from our boat on the Ganges (absolutely disgustingly filthy in this location, bodies and all) of the evening Pooja.  The priests honored their 'Mother' river.

Udaipur:

Another poorly shot video from the handlebars of my motorbike and again not the crazy/dangerous part of the ride, but I don't need anything else distracting me on the roads when it's that busy.

Jodhpur:

A little music to get us in the mood for touring Jodhpur Fort.

Jaisalmer:

An odd scene on the streets of Jaisalmer.  I really don't know exactly what was going on here.

Agra:

Whatever this was rehersal for, it kicked off at about 11pm.  I almost got locked out of my hostel because I stayed out to watch it.

All I want for Christmas is a Vespa

Photo Album: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=172121&id=770825648&l=7178fd1185

It’s really nice to be able to say that I had a great night’s sleep last night: my bed was comfortable, the room had heat, the only noise came from my iTunes and there were glow-in-the-dark plastic stars and moons on my ceiling to take me back 20 years.  I’ve also been practicing a technique that I learned in my yoga class in Rishikesh: you start by relaxing your toes then your calves then your thighs, etc and as you go you say, “I relax my toes.  My toes are completely relaxed.”  There’s one line that I always save for last because it encapsulates exactly what I’ve been trying to learn to do here in India: “I relax my heart.  My heart is completely relaxed.”  Here’s hoping that my mind can convince my body.

And then, wonder of wonders, a piping hot shower!  And it lasts as long as I want it to.  There may be something to this idea of paying more than Rs150 a night; by upping my budget from $3.50 to $7 per night I’ve gotten some pretty fine perks.  As if things weren’t good enough, there’s a knock on my door and the manager drops off my laundry, neatly pressed and smelling like flowers.  It’s probably the nicest treatment those tattered old jeans have ever received.  Into my pack they go, with all of my other stuff; I’m loading up to check-out since I have a late train tonight.

On the rooftop café for one last meal, I plan the route I’m going to take on my scooty today.  I’m going to ride a fairly large circle around town and see some of the sights on the outskirts of town and up in the hills.  The store that rents the bikes and scooters is right next to my own hotel, so five minutes after I pay for my chai and toast I’m picking out a 70cc TVS Scooty.  Not the most horsepower in the world, but a. I’m a beginner and b. I’m stingy with my rupiya.

I start to get nervous just sitting in the back alley testing the accelerator and kick-start and all of that.  I start to wonder…If I fall over here will they give me my money back and say I can’t rent it?  Indian traffic is the definition of ordered chaos; what if I get in an accident?  Should I ask about that or will it just make me seem like a bad driver or make them nervous?  My biggest fear is that something on the scooty is going to break.  I can handle running out of gas and walking for petrol, but I don’t have the mechanical knowledge or funds to take care of any major repairs.

But the time for deliberation is over.  They take my passport, wish me a happy journey, and point me towards an alley that slopes fairly sharply downhill and will dump me straight into cross traffic.  Oh dear god.  Well, nothing like a little trial by fire.  Here we go.  With my eyes only half-shut I ride the brake, drag my feet for added stability, send up a quick prayer to whoever is in charge up there and blare my tinny little horn as I make a sharp left onto the street. 

Success!  I am now a part of the problem, not the solution, when it comes to Indian traffic.  The street I pulled onto is extremely quiet at the moment, but as soon as I turn left onto the main road, I'm one of hundreds of people, animals, car, cycles, touk touks, cows and bikes navigating narrow roads without traffic lights or crosswalks.  I picture the road map to the royal cenotaphs in my head and start driving from landmark to landmark: the clocktower; Delhi Gate; bridge over the river; the second roundabout with the statue of Chetak.  I do lose my way a few times, but after stopping a couple times to ask for directions I get there twenty minutes ahead of schedule.

Just to sidetrack a bit, I have a method of finding someone who speaks English that doesn’t require me to eavesdrop.  My tactic is to look at someone’s shoes and glasses; if they’re nicer/clean/stylish, then I assume that that person is probably a bit more educated and maybe even a bit more wealthy than some of the other people around me.  Classist and occasionally wrong as it may be, 9 times out of 10 it helps me find someone I can easily communicate with and get help from.

Back to the cenotaphs.  These are white marble pavilions built in the 13th century that were used to burn the corpses of nobility and royalty (in separate areas, of course) before their ashes were taken to Varanasi to be dumped in the Ganges.  None of them were (supposed to be) used twice, which means that after a couple hundred years you start to run out of space.  These beautiful domed platforms were crammed in wherever they would fit, which means that in a few acres there are 369 cenotaphs to look at!  You could almost walk from platform to platform on the nobles’ side.  On the royal side, though, there are only a few, much larger memorials to the king, queen, princes and princesses.  They’re ornately carved and the sheer number is stunning.

I start talking to the caretaker, the source of the information above; he’s a jovial man with a big smile.  He asks the usual round of questions about me as I get my scooter started again, including my personal non-favorite, “Oh, you are a teacher?  Really, you’re not a model?”  Why?  Why does it always go here?  Even nice conversations with nice guys ends up including something about my looks.  There is no way they’d say these things to an Indian woman and they know full well I’m not model material, so why does it go here?  Why?

Back on my scooter I feel very un-Indian.  You think a white woman walking alone gets stared at?  Try one on a scooter.  Some people don’t know what to make of me; a couple guys almost crash their motorcycles by looking back at this crazy foreign lady putting around like she owns the city and looking a little scandalous.  I’m wearing a tank top that shows my tattoo, my pants are rolled up to the knee showing my other tattoo, my short hair doesn’t flap around in the wind much and there’s no man for me to sit behind.  In other words, I am a liberated woman and proud of it.  Grr!  I’m a strong, independent female who can handle herself in India.  I kick touts’ asses and take cute boys’ names and emails as I rev all 70CCs of my engine up to 35km/hr.  My next thought only knocks my mood down a few pegs as I quickly banish it from mind: Is that why I’m single?  Ugh.

But no time for glum thoughts, this is just plain old FUN.  Definitely one of the 3 coolest things I’ve done in this country.  So the roads are a little crazy—cars passing into oncoming traffic; cows, horses, goats and dogs running or sitting in the streets; no blinkers or traffic lights; everyone honking their horn so everyone else knows they’re there, but Mondays are actually quieter so it’s a good day to be driving.  Sometimes when I get a little flummoxed I instinctively try to drive on the right, which doesn’t help the situation.

After getting money from the ATM, a man guides me to Saheliyon gardens, made to entertain the 48 maidens that came with the dowry of a Moghul princess.  My new friend leads me there on his own scooter then gives me his card (he’s a building materials distributor for construction sites and so basically a god in this country) and says to call him later.  He’d like to have me over to dinner with his family this evening.  I tell him I honored and grateful, but even though I can’t make any promises that might be pretty cool and I will definitely consider it.

The garden is small, but I take my time to sit in the sun, accidentally overhearing the story of a woman who almost drowned in one of the fountains (apparently the main fountain is ten feet deep and the plants that grow in the water make it difficult to surface if you go under).  It’s fun to imagine dozens of women in the finest, brightly-colored silk saris with bangles on their limbs walking from fountain to fountain while peacocks scatter at their feet.

There are two lakes in Udaipur and going back into town I get to drive the coastal road along the more northern of the two, lake Pichola.  The sun and wind on my skin feel incredible (the grit and dust maybe not so much), despite the knowledge that I’m just making my terrible dry skin even worse.  This road will take me to one of the key locations from the movie Octopussy, the Monsoon Palace.  It’s on top of a mountain in a nature preserve just outside of town, and while a few doubts about my scooter’s engine power pop into my head on the way up—then about its braking capabilities on the way down—it’s a marvelously peaceful and scenic trip.  The palace itself is shabby and basically falling down, but the views over the hills, lakes and city are second to none.  Without the smog, it would be perfection.

To return to town, I have to ride in through the old city gates and then along the walls of the original fort.  Suddenly, instead of paying close attention to the road I’m back to imagining what it must have been like to live here when it was first constructed.  I doubt the roads have changed much, either in their condition or general layout, but I’m sure the mess of cars and the electrical wiring creating a dangerous lattice above my head are new.

Before I head south past my hotel I have just enough time for pit stop back at Café Namaste where they have more warm date and walnut pie.  Friggin’ delicious, I’m telling you.  I also have a rose lassi that unfortunately I can’t taste because of my cold.  But I can tell you it was a lovely light shade of pink.  Moving south I stop to buy a ticket for a sunset boat ride later today then go to the haveli (insulated home) heritage museum, one of the most pleasant surprises I’ve had in India.

The museum is in a haveli that has been meticulously reconstructed and furnished with authentic artifacts from the 1400s and 1500s.  There are quarters for the men, women, in-laws, children and servants, and each room was reconstructed to give an accurate picture of daily life in Udaipur five hundred years ago.  Colored glass, toys, kitchenware, clothes, paintings on the walls, games, bathroom and toilet accoutrements…it’s all there for you to put yourself back in the time of maharajas and courtesans.  Possibly the best part of the museum, however, is only about ten years old.  They’ve turned the basement into a surprisingly large and well-stocked modern art gallery.  The paintings and sculptures are from Udaipur’s young and upcoming talents, and I would have paid even more just to see the ten rooms given lowest billing.  If I didn’t have a boat to catch, I would stay for hours.

“Lauren!”  I come to a screeching stop--no small feat in a narrow, crowded alley with foot-deep open gutters on both sides--and look over to see a scruffy-looking foreigner in jeans and a t-shirt.  “Marc!  Oh, my god, you made it!  Want to go on a boat ride?”  I’m still thanking the gods for their generous nature as Marc, the cute Australian guy I met in Varanasi, hops onto the back of my scooter (built for one, incidentally).  I have a lot to apologize for as I drive: not emailing like I said I would; looking and probably smelling like a hot mess; being in a hurry to make the boat ride.

I also need to apologize for my driving.  Oh, my god sometimes I’m such a girl.  As soon as I’m around a cute boy I apparently lose all hand-eye coordination and only help support the stereotype about female drivers.  Okay, that’s not true; it’s actually due to the fact that he weighs way more than I do and this scooter is only built for one.  I wobble and worry my way down to the boat dock, though, and later in the day Marc admits to being impressed that not only did I manage his weight well and keep us upright, but that I was willing to drive in this country at all.  Yeah, my ego definitely gets a boost when he says he doesn’t know many girls brave enough to do that.

As we go for our sunset boat ride, there’s no doubt that Udaipur is the place to go in India if you’re in love.  Marc is the first to broach the subject of romance and talk about how it would be a great place to go with a girlfriend.  I can only sigh and agree and dream…  All right, anyway, we ride along the City Palace then turn around and head back towards the two islands in the lake.  The first is covered by the Lake Palace Hotel, also prominently featured in Octopussy, which requires either a hotel or restaurant reservation to get to.   The second, Jagmandir, has a palace that has been turned into a hotel, but this one is open to visitors from the boat tour.  It has marble elephants to greet you as you step off the boat and the inner courtyards have gardens and a café.  You can rent little bungalows here that look out over a bubbling fountain decorated with large red, orange and pink flowers for a few thousand rupees a night.  The romantic mood kicks into high gear when the sun finally sets and they turn on colored lights all over the hotel.  There’s also a man using small wood sticks to tap out a beautiful tune on bowls of water filled to various depths.  THIS IS PARADISE.  All too soon the spell is broken, though, and it’s time to return to the dock.

After our ride, Marc and I scoot over the bridge to get twilight pictures of the sights we just saw from the boat.  He’s pretty jealous of my camera, and I admit I like to show if off, so I take a few more shots than I had intended.  He suggests dinner at a restaurant just nearby, Ambrai, which turns out to be totally expensive and hopelessly romantic, with candle-lit tables looking out over lake, palaces, etc.  I get my first cocktail in India, a gin and tonic.  Yum.  A man after my own heart, Marc’s a devoted carnivore; unfortunately, though, he’s one of those freaks of nature who can eat 6,000 calories a day and not gain any weight.  I order govind gatta, chickpea flour dumplings in gravy, but I’m not sure if I can’t taste it because it’s so horribly spicy or because of my cold.

Marc’s really easy to talk to, thanks to our similar personalities and interests, and he’s got a great sense of humor.  I enjoyed dinner immensely, but I’m embarrassed that I couldn’t stop coughing and I’m sure I looked pretty ragged.  But I managed to learn a bit about him: his job is cleaning large events and festivals around the world; he travels as much as he can and he’s been around the planet, both alone and with friends; he’s never had a beard like the one he’s got now; he likes triathlons; he’s thinking about getting into education; he picked up a cough while trekking in Nepal; he’s a definite morning person and can’t stay up past 10 without a good excuse.  But then lets slip two little words that tell me a fact that I was hoping I wouldn’t learn: “My girlfriend…”  He tries to cover and start over, but too late, they’re out there.  C’est la vie.

In any case, I had a great time and we’re going to meet up again in Jodhpur.  It’ll be fun to see the same person for more than a day or two, and something tells me he’s really easy to travel with.  He doesn’t talk your ear off, but you know he’s willing to chat if you want to.  It’s hard to get on the train, though, because Udaipur is difficult to say goodbye to.  Someday, though, I’ll be back and hopefully not alone.

Eleven days left, an auspicious number to be sure

Photo Album: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=172121&id=770825648&l=7178fd1185

All hail Rajasthan! In the Land of Kings (at least in their own minds), everyone is vastly proud of their state, a sentiment repeated to me about a thousand times today. Aishani isn’t in the cabin when I wake up, but her aunt and uncle help me make sure I get off at the right station. I’m sorry not to see her round, baby-ish face (she’s adorable), but I’m not sure how to communicate to her family that I’m sorry I missed her and will remember her for a long time, so the sentiment goes unsaid.

As I exit, it occurs to me that this is the quietest station I’ve ever seen. People aren’t pushing and shoving, they’re waiting their turn. There are men with signs trying to pick up guests of their hotel. The rickshaw tout who approaches me is so quiet I don’t even hear him the first time, and he quotes me the price my hotel said I should expect to pay. As we drive through the street, almost no one is “horning please” and whole streets are empty. I’m sorry, did we leave India somehow?

When I walk into Hotel Udai Niwas, I’m welcomed by the manager with a cup of chai (this drink will never get old, I swear) and he describes the range of rooms he has available, starting with 1000 and a great view and going down to 300 next to the reception desk. I choose the latter, but since they haven’t cleaned it yet I go upstairs to eat breakfast on the rooftop café and wait. The restaurant has 3 terraces, one above the other. The bottom two have benches, pillows and pretty lanterns while the top level is an open-air eating space with a killer view.

Ohhhhh, man. A girl could get used to this. The panorama of the lake and city is romantic and beautiful. The houses around are called havelis, and for a second the stippled contours they give the horizon remind me of Greece. The lake is only about half full, but what’s there gently washes up against the city banks and lake palaces and gently rocks the boats that glide along the surface. Directly in front of my seat is the enormous City Palace and far in the distance, on top of a mountain, the Monsoon Palace gives only hints of its grandeur through the haze.

I spend a good while on the rooftop talking to a couple of Brits who have just arrived as well. They’ve stayed here a few days and plan to go horseback riding and trekking into the mountains on top of the typical touristy activities and I feel a twinge of jealousy again for people who either have more time to spend in India or are better able to narrow down their agenda than I am.

Udaipur is the only city I’ve been to in this country where air quality and visibility improve as the day goes on. In the morning there was the same layer of hazy smog that blankets every other city, but by noon you can see for miles across the lake. The shine of the sun on the water is blinding, and every time I catch a glimpse of a view I can’t help but smile. In the middle of the Rajasthani desert this is a beautiful sight; I have always been happiest when living near water and Udaipur is like a shot in the arm.

Yes, I reallllly like Udaipur.

Not just for the scenery, though, but also for its architecture. The havelis are typically white-washed and decorated with paintings, colored glass and other bright touches like colorful shutters. The laundry hanging out the windows like banners add even more. But white isn’t the only paint they use; the buildings are a multitude of gentle hues of blue, purple, green and pink. Overall, they’re in much better shape than the buildings in other cities, and there’s very little construction going on; it’s kind of sad that this is one of things I notice as I walk around.

One thing you also pick up on as you wander the narrow lanes of Lalghat neighborhood is that there are a lot of artisan’s shops with handmade crafts like shoes, toys and marionettes, cards and paintings, journals, shawls and tapestries, home goods…it goes on block after block after block. There are also some amazing contemporary art galleries and impressive modern tailor shops, showing that this city caters to wealthier clientele than others. There are art and cooking classes, and I wander into one of the many European bakeries that line the street, Café Namaste. I order a piece of date and walnut pie, and try to stretch the pleasure for as looooong as I can. Oh, god, it’s warm and delicious and I think I will have to come back tomorrow.

I am getting spoiled in Udaipur.

Udaipur continues to blow your mind as you walk through the City Palace, its museum, and the neighboring temple. Inside a stunning courtyard with several (working!) fountains, you can lie on the grass, look at more handicrafts, eat at the outdoor café, book a boat ride (can’t wait for that) or people watch. The museum is an endless maze of beautiful paintings, colorful glass mosaics, brightly-hued and richly decorated rooms, narrow staircases, balconies with views of the lake and slightly-creepy mannequins and fake horses. I haven’t had this much fun in a museum since I was a kid! Seriously, I’m practically running from room to room to see what craziness the Mewar family came up with next!

Oh, man! And there’s ANOTHER beautiful view of the lake! I don’t know if I can leave!!!!!!

After I’ve worn myself out in the museum and gotten a snack at Café Namaste, it’s starting to get a bit late in the day. I want to go to Sunset Point further south on the lake to watch the sun go down and I need to start heading that way. When I arrive I find there are benches looking out over the lake and I’m happy to sit a while, snap a few photos and people watch. A father and his two sons get on a camel that’s been sitting nearby and another little boy gets a donkey ride. Kids play on the slides and jungle gym in the nearby park.  A group of elderly people poses for a photo in front of the lake. Couples hold hands and watch the sun go down. It’s quite relaxing here.

Eventually, though, it’s time to go and I reluctantly head back towards my hotel. On the way I stop for dinner at the tiny Queen Café Restaurant. There I’m waited on by an adorably tiny old man (who’s great at getting you to buy more than you had planned on). His equally adorable and tiny wife is in the kitchen making things from scratch. I order stuffed tomato curry (filled with potato, cheese and mint), and even though it takes very nearly forever to arrive it’s delicious. Add to that butter naan, vegetable raita and a pineapple lassi and you’ve got a crazy tasty meal.

I never thought I would consider Daniel Craig the best 007. I need to stop watching old James Bond movies. This occurs to me at about 10pm as I’m suffering through the movie Octopussy after dinner at my hotel. Most of the movie is set in Udaipur and it’s cool to be able to watch it while I’m here. BUT IT’S JUST SO BAD. Roger Moore is one of my least favorite (and least convincing) 007s and it makes me sick that Indians who watch this movie get this kind of image of white women. But then again my cold is back to kicking my ass, so maybe that’s what’s going on. Whatever the reason, I basically run down to my room when the movie is over and fling myself into bed. This is the softest mattress I’ve had in weeks and I want to be on it as long as possible.

BTW: Since I completely forgot about this until recently, let me take a moment to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM! I love you and can’t wait to see you soon! XOXO