Dealing with Train Stations

Posted on April 22, 2013 by hilarylust

Arriving in the Varanai train station was a less than pleasant experience. Looking back, it makes me upset that such an incredible city gave me such a terrible first impression.
Kelsi and I had pre booked an onward train ticket from Varanasi to Mathura weeks earlier in Delhi. Unfortunately, when the ticket finally got to us it had no departure time. There was a train number, and class and berth and date, just no departure time. No problem. When we arrived in Varanasi we’d just ask at the counter when the train left… If only it was that easy.
While Kelsi watched the bags, I waited in three different counter lines. It was jam packed, people pressing up against me from all angles. No one actually waits in lines here, they just shove and push aggressively to get to the window. As a Canadian, I could wait in line forever; but I didn’t have time for that. I pushed my way to the front of the lines only to get waved to the next counter. By the third line I was exhausted, cranky from not having slept properly on the over night train, hungry from not eating breakfast and ready to kill the next person that grabbed me in line. I pushed my way to the front of the line to get to the window.
“Hi. I have a train ticket to Mathura tomorrow, but it doesn’t have a departure time. Can you help me out?”
“No.” Said the man behind the counter without looking up at me.
“Look, I just want to know when it leaves. What time is the train to Mathura tomorrow?”
“No.”
At this point I was getting pressed to the side, other people were pushing their hands in the ticket window and getting their tickets. I put my ticket down, took a deep breath and pushed myself back in.
“Okay. I would like to purchase a ticket to Mathura tomorrow please” I said in my most polite voice, trying a slightly new tactic. “What time do they leave at?”
“No.” He said again.
“Why? I want to BUY a ticket!” I said, not so politely.
“No.”
“Why won’t you help me?!?” I yelled at him through the glass.
For the first time he turned up to face me, he looked me in the eyes and said “Because you’re a woman!”
I stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to say. I was pushed aside by the rest of the men in line and the man behind the counter continued printing out tickets.
I was livid: beyond furious! I stormed back to Kelsi in a rage and grabbed my bag.
“Let’s go” I said
“What time does it leave?”
“He won’t tell me” I snapped and walked outside. We walked into a throng of Tuk Tuk drivers.
“Hello madam!”
“Tuk Tuk?”
“Where you going?”
We walked past four of them before talking to one guy. “How much to the Siddartha hotel?”
“100 rupees” he smiled.
I was insulted. Kelsi and I both knew we should pay about 30 rupees to get there. I didn’t even dignify him with a response, we just pushed him aside and kept walking.
The prepaid Tuk tuks were all charging 55 rupees so we walked outside. When I told Kelsi about
why we still didn’t know the train time she was equally as upset. We pushed our way past Tuk Tuk drivers that quoted anything above 60. Finally one guy came up to us with a slightly better price.
“Hello madam. I will take you there for 50 rupees” he said with a smile.
“THIRTY!” I shouted at him. He hadn’t done anything wrong to me, but if you’d told me that then I would have bit your head off.
“Okay 40” he said.
“30!” And I walked away. I would have kept waking all the way to the hotel if I had to.
“Okay, okay.” He grabbed my arm “30 rupees.” He walked us to his Tuk Tuk and helped Kelsi with her bag on the other side. My bag is huge. It’s a fight every time I have to get in a tiny Tuk Tuk. This time was no exception. Two guys stood next to me with their arms crossed staring down my shirt every time my scarf moved while I struggled with the bag. When I got it half in I turned to them.
“Well aren’t you two gentlemen!” I snapped in the most sarcastic tone possible. “Please! Just go ahead and stare at me while I struggle with my bag! Thank you so much!” They didn’t even seem phased as I glared them down and pushed my way into the Tuk Tuk. They just kept on staring. I felt like killing someone.
As the Tuk Tuk drove away, I watched our driver in the side mirror. He was an old man and looked like he had some sort of tourettes. He couldn’t keep his eyes open for longer than a half second, then he twitched and bit his lip and squinted and licked the side of his mouth. Something was definitely going on with him. But he was the nicest person ever.
“Hello! My name Samesh! This is my license and this is my story!”
He handed me his license and a little scrap piece of paper. Obviously some tourist that he had driven around wrote about how nice he had been as a driver and gave it to him. He had laminated it and proudly showed it to us. It broke my heart.
“See! Samesh! That’s me!” He smiled as he twitched and blinked wildly. I was slightly concerned about how in the world Samesh was driving through this crazy city with his eyes closed, and then I remembered how I yelled at him over 20 rupees difference in price.
20 rupees is 40 cents. I just about snapped his head off over 40 cents. He was driving us all the way to our hotel for 60 cents. And this is his living, the way he survives and feeds himself. I sat quietly in the back of the Tuk Tuk on the brink of tears. Breaking point!
When we got to the hotel I couldn’t handle life. I let Kelsi pay Samesh as he smiled and waved goodbye to us, yelling about how much we were going to enjoy this hotel. We checked in and I went straight to bed to lie down.
It was silent and cold in our room. Two things that I hadn’t experienced in ages. We both recovered for an hour before walking back out into the crazy world.
It turns out, nearly all train stations have different lines for men and women. The Varanasi train station didn’t have an open line for women, it was only men that were dealt with. As a foreign woman I had to go to the tourist office on the other side of the terminal if I wanted to be helped.
Still, the reason why they have a separate women’s line is because women are groped and grabbed in lineups. I’d managed to fight my way through three lines, and not a single person told me where I needed to go. You’d think, after all that trouble, the guy could just look at his computer screen and tell me when the goddamn train left.
All of my train station experiences since have been equally as frustrating. It took us over two hours to book a train in the Mathura station and about 6 different lineups to push through. Kelsi tapped out after one guy grabbed her in line, and had I not met two very lovely gentlemen in my line I probably would have done the same. I think we’re going to stick with buses when we hit the South. No one wants to be around when we finally snap and kill someone, right?
Good thing Varanasi was worth the trip…

Young and in Love: The unusual and complicated practices of dating in small town India

Posted on April 16, 2013 by hilarylust

I’m not going to lie. I am pretty ignorant in the ways of arranged marriages. Coming from a western background, the idea of having your parents choose who you are going to marry seems appalling! I am understanding of the fact that all cultures are different, and in the end, it is common values, trust and commitment that make a relationship work rather than a common love for beer and a weekend in Mexico. Still, I was under the impression that arranged marriages were simple and straightforward. Mother and father find a suitable mate for daughter. Suitable meaning in the right caste, and with the right amount of social hierarchy. Daughter goes from parent’s home to husband’s home with no previous experiences in dating, or any glimpses of the westernized fantasies about love… Turns out, I’m pretty off the mark.
“What’s the average age to get married here?” We asked Momo while we were sharing some chai.
“In your twenties. Probably mid twenties or even late.” he said.
“Are all the marriages here arranged?”
“Yup, in Khajuraho pretty much all the marriages are arranged”
“So people just go from being single to married? There’s no dating?”
He laughed. “Oh, there’s dating!” He said. And thus began my little understanding of Indian youth in Khajuraho…
Girls and boys in small town India do date. They just go about it in very absurd ways.
If a girl sees a boy she likes on the street she will tell her friend.
“Hey, you know so and so’s friend with the green eyes and long hair? Well I saw her boyfriend’s friend walking down the street the other day and I really like him.” Says Lovestruck Girl.
“Ya, he’s totally cute.” Her friend agrees. So Lovestruck Girl’s friend gets in touch with so and so. So and so then calls the girl with the green eyes and long hair. She in turn has a chat with her boyfriend who tells his buddy about the girl that’s crushing on him.
“No way! What does she look like?” Cute Boy asks. And one day his friend points her out on the street.
“Ya, she’s really cute! Pass on my number!” So Cute Boy passes his phone number to his buddy, who gives it to his girlfriend with the green eyes and the long hair, who passes it on to her friend so and so who sneaks it to her friend, and finally it makes it back to Lovestruck Girl. *in breath*
Lovestruck Girl then phones Cute Boy: relationship started.
A second way of going about this is as follows: Lover Boy sees girl at school and decided he likes her. He finds excuses to stand outside her home to see if she notices him outside her window. If she does, cute girl will come outside onto the balcony and nonchalantly glance at Lover Boy. Lover Boy decides to write his number on an old piece of newspaper. He holds it up high, just to make sure cute girl sees, then casually drops it on the ground. If cute girl decided she likes Lover Boy, she will go outside and pick up the phone number. If not, Lover Boy comes back the next day and sees his crumpled paper as part of the overall garbage landscape.
“Aw, man!” Better luck next time, Lover Boy.
Then begins the dating. Amazingly, things get even stranger. The girl will alway play coy and hard to get, never wanting to meet up, but keeping an ongoing phone relationship for months.
“You can be dating a girl on the phone for easily four months and never see her in person” explained Momo. “But she’ll act like she’s your wife!”
“Excuse me!” Says Phone Girlfriend, “I SAW you drinking with your friends the other night. Who do you think you are?! You can’t just party with your friends all the time and forget to call me! And quit smoking! I heard you were smoking at the back of the barber shop the other day. I don’t want a boyfriend if he smokes!”
“Well maybe of we met in person I could see you instead of my friends.” replies Doghouse boyfriend.
“NO!”
And so the relationship continues…
“It’s funny” said Momo, “because a boy and a girl can talk every day on the phone, then pass each other in the streets like they don’t even know each other. They just make brief eye contact and then keep walking!”
Seriously, this is the most confusing way to date ever… I am fascinated.
“I can’t believe you can date for so long and never see the person!” I said.
“Yeah, it can get tiring,” said Momo. “That’s why guys have to start playing games!”
Sexually Frustrated Boy calls his girlfriend Hard-to-Get: “Hey honey, I have some bad news. I have to go out of town for a month for work. I’m so sad; I won’t be able to talk to you for so long! I wish I could have seen you in person before I left”
“What?!” Says Hard-to-Get, “You are leaving? When?!”
“Next week.”
“Well maybe we should meet up before you go then! So you don’t forget about me.”
Win! They find some park to meet in and everyone is happy. Especially when a week later Sexually Frustrated Boy’s work plan magically gets cancelled!
This is dating in India.
Finding a suitable husband in India is equally as complex. Yes, parents do choose, but it doesn’t seem to be the definitive decision I thought it was.
At an appropriate age, Soon-to-Wed’s parents go searching for her future husband. They go from household to household, having chai and discussing business with other parents. There are a lot of factors; I feel like it’s a Bollywood version of Pride and Prejudice. Caste is essential. Everyone marries within their own caste in Khajuraho. If a woman marries below her caste her parents shun her. I hate to say it, but sometimes they will go to the extreme of killing her and her husband… Not ideal. Fortunately, it apparently takes a year for things to be forgotten.
“A friend of mine just got pregnant with a boy from a lower caste” said Momo “It just happened two days ago. They ran away the two of them to live in another city.”
“Seriously?! What will happen to them?” We asked, genuinely concerned.
“Their will be a lot of blame pointed around. People will accuse different families to protect their pride, but overall, the family will probably just shun her existence.”
“Forever?”
“Well, yes and no. Most likely they will move back in a year or two after the baby is born. They will live in solitude for a while, but mothers can’t ignore their daughters forever. Her mom will probably start calling her again, or sneaking over to help with the baby. But she has socially disrespected her family, so things will never be exactly the same. In a small town like this, people remember.”
That is usually why parent choose suitable partners. So when matchmaking tea time is over, parents of Soon-to-Wed come home with a list of options. They will have a photo of each suggested partner. On the back of the photo, the boy will have sneakily written his phone number.
Soon-to-Wed and her girlfriends will go through the photos. They will giggle and gossip and judge the same way us western girls do. When they find someone they like, Soon-to-Wed will phone him; the two will agree to find a place to meet.
“Meeting is usually done in a park, or at a temple” explained Momo. “But the couple is rarely alone. Usually, the guy shows up and the girl is already sitting there… With all her girlfriends.”
It then becomes a Spanish Inquisition. Soon-to-Wed sits there quietly while her friends play a 20 questions speed round with Victim Number 1.
“Do you like her?”
“Do you like to take long strolls in the park?”
“What is your job?”
“What is your favourite Bollywood love song?”
If Soon-to-Wed’s crazed posse approves, THEY are the ones to hand out her phone number. It is never done directly. And thus begins the dating…
I’m exhausted. I had no idea dating in India and choosing a husband was so complex and so hilarious.
Momo even explained some of his own trials and tribulations of dating in his 28 years.
“When I was 17 I didn’t know how to talk to girls. My friend was so good though! He was kind of a playboy I guess. So I asked him one day, I said ‘Hey, I like this girl at school, but I don’t know how to talk to her. Can you teach me how to do it?’ My friend agreed and I was so happy, because I really liked her. He told me what to do and exactly what to say… But what he said was kind of dirty. ‘Really? I should say that to a girl?!’ I asked. ‘Ya,’ he said, ‘girls love when you talk dirty to them’. So I worked up the courage and went up to her at school one day. I told her exactly what he had told me. And you know what? She slapped me RIGHT IN THE FACE! But not just her, her friend was there as well and she slapped me too! So I went back to my friend and I told him what happened. He laughed at me and said ‘Yeah, I knew that would happened. You’re going to have to learn how to talk to girls yourself. I’m not telling you MY secrets!'”
I guess in any culture there are trial and tribulations and games to be played when it comes to dating. But listening to Momo explain the bizarre methods of young Indians in Khajuraho left Kelsi and I in stitches for close to an hour. What a strange way to fall in love!

Motor Biking Through the Countryside

Posted on April 16, 2013 by hilarylust

We woke up early on our second day in Khajuraho to meet up with Baia -our 18 year old guide from the day earlier – who wanted to show us all the local spots. We figured Ali would be with us as well and the four of us would cruise around in Ali’s Tuk Tuk… Except that’s not exactly how it happened.
We walked outside right on time and couldn’t see Baia. We decided to grab a couple waters across the street while we waited.
“Hey! Girls! Your motorcycle man said he would be here in one minute and that I should wait with you!” This young guy we didn’t recognize walked towards us.
Motorcycle man? We’d had a few guys the day before beg to take us out on their motorbikes, but couldn’t think of who he was talking about. He must have realized from the blank expressions on our faces that we were confused.
“Baia,” he explained further “he said he’d be here in just a minute.”
“Oh! Okay, no problem.” We said, still confused about the motorbike part.
Just as we finished buying waters Baia pulled up on a motorcycle.
“You girls ready?” He asked.
“Uhhhh, we thought we were going in Ali’s Tuk Tuk.” We said confused.
He laughed “You can’t see the mountains in a Tuk Tuk! It would be so uncomfortable! Trust me, a motorbike is much better. Plus I brought my friend so we can each take one of you” he pointed to the guy who found us earlier. He was standing there grinning at us.
“My name is Mohan Singh. But my friends call me Momo. Should we go then?” We hesitated. We didn’t expect this. We all know my fear and hesitation towards two wheeled vehicles, but other than that, I guess it wasn’t much different than going in a Tuk Tuk. We looked at each other and stared blankly like idiots. What do we do now?
Screw it. The whole plan is ridiculous anyways. Riding off into the countryside with two young boys. Might as well go all out and get on a motorcycle.
“Okay, Chello” I said and hopped on the back of Baia’s bike. Kelsi laughed, then got on the back of Momo’s. And just like that, we drove out of Khajuraho and off to… Who knows where. Just because it’s a bad idea, doesn’t mean it’s not going to be a good time!
The town of Khajuraho is small, so in no time we were out of the bustling core and into the countryside. The Indian countryside around Madha Pradesh is beautiful: open fields, mango and cherry trees, gorgeous, brightly-coloured blossoms in oranges and pinks scattered throughout the area. Most of the people in the surrounding areas of Khajuraho are farmers. They work with cattle and goats, and they grow wheat or lentils among other popular crops.
“When you greet farmers you should not say Namaste” said Baia as we drove by a village. “Namaste is more for business. If you say Ram Ram, they will treat you with more respect.” With all these little tips, we’ll be fluent in Hindi in no time!
The ride through the area was fabulous. Even though I am less than comfortable riding on the back of a motorcycle, I felt strangely at ease letting an 18 year old boy drive me around… Yes, completely flawed logic, I know. But I told Baia I’d kill him if he showed off, so he promised to drive slow.
“Never hurry, hurry chicken curry; don’t worry, be happy!” He said with a laugh. And within a few minutes I was just enjoying the scenery.
Baia didn’t stop talking the entire trip. He kept telling jokes and coming up with more of his hilarious expressions, many if which he messed up.
“Yesterday is history,” he would say, “tomorrow is a mystery and today is a gift…that’s why you give gifts to each other, because it is a present” I would laugh at how ridiculous it sounded and he looked proud to have made such a funny joke… And thus the day continued like that. At one point Baia pulled over on the road and stopped.
“Okay, your turn!” He said.
“My turn what?” I asked.
“To drive! Tick Tock, time to rock. Chello!”
I laughed “There’s no way you will trust me to drive your bike, Baia”
“Of course I trust you. Here I will teach you”
Yup. I had an 18 year old boy teach me how to drive a motorcycle in the back country roads of India…
Within a few minutes I had the hang of it and we raced along the roads to catch up to Kelsi and Momo. Kelsi just about peed herself when she saw me coming.
“Shut up! Are you driving a motorcycle?!”
“I can’t look at you!” I yelled “I’m too focused on the road!” We laughed and drove on until the road turned to dirt and potholes again.
“Okay, my turn again” said Baia. Yup. Don’t blame him. I would have killed us on those roads.
The boys asked us where we wanted to go that day. We said we didn’t know what was around the area, so just surprise us. They did well; our first stop was amazing.
We pulled over at this little spot by the river. It was just a short minute walk until we came upon this giant tree house, spiraling up into the tree tops. Apparently it is private property, but so many locals started to come hang out there that they just turned it into a restaurant, charged people $1 to enter and offered them free chai tea in exchange.
We climbed to the top level of the restaurant and sat down on cushions around some low tables. Momo ordered us some tea and the four of us sat around drinking afternoon tea, laughing at stories and watching Bollywood music videos on Momo’s phone. Our cultures and backgrounds are so different it was incredible to hear stories about growing up in India. They were equally as amazed at the westernized world. Number one fascinating topic of the afternoon: dating in India. The topic was so hilarious and odd, it might need it’s own blog post. Momo had us in stitches for over an hour talking about all the dating habits of young and in love Indians. Then we got to hear all the gossip of Khajuraho: like who got pregnant and eloped with a guy from a different caste. Scandalous!
When tea was over it was back in the bikes and off to the dam. On our way, we came across this little boy, about 7 or 8 years old that looked lost. Momo stopped to see if he was okay.
The kid’s name was Rau, and apparently he needed to get to a town just next to Khajuraho that was 35 km away. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any money. Rau thought the bus might take him, but it wouldn’t, so he just began walking the 35km to the village anyways.
“That’s crazy!” Said Momo.
He asked the kid to hop on the bike with him and Kelsi. He gave him 10 rupees and drove off to the dam to wait for the next bus…which was an hour and a half away! Rau was really thankful, but had no way to repay him for the money.
“How about, while you’re waiting, you watch my bike?” Said Momo. “We are going down to hang out by the water, so you’d be helping me out!”
The chances of anyone stealing Momo’s bike were next to nothing, but it made Rau feel better about the situation. So the four of us walked down to the river to hang out.
We found a shady spot to sit while Momo went swimming and spent another hour or so lounging by the water. It was peaceful and relaxing. Perhaps the first truly peaceful moment we’d had in India. I forgot how much I missed silence. When we finally grew tired of the rocks we walked back to the bikes to find a distressed looking Rau.
“What’s wrong?! Why didn’t you catch the bus?” We asked him.
“But the bus left!” He exclaimed in a worried tone. “I couldn’t get on it because I had to watch your bike! So I watched it leave without me.” He admitted sadly.
Probably one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life. This little, adorable looking kid with a dirty face, just trying to run an errand and he can’t catch a break. Poor thing! It was getting late in the afternoon so he decided to give up on his day’s big mission. He asked Momo if he could drive him back to his village, which was just the next town over. So he hopped back on with Kelsi and the five of us drove off. We stopped at a corner shop with a bunch of people standing by it. People were all smiling at Kelsi and I and talking in Hindi about us (aaas usual). We kept seeing people pointing at us and then turning to talk, then laughing, then smiling and waving over to us. We didn’t know what was going on, so we just smiled back politely. When we left with Baia and Momo again we asked what that was all about.
Apparently Rau had asked to be dropped off by all his friends so they could see him get off a bike with a beautiful lady. It was bragging rights for a year for sure! We laughed; I guess his day wasn’t a total loss after all!
Our next stop was Baia and Momo’s village. We had noticed from the start that they got approving looks from all the locals that they passed. Two beautiful blondes out for a ride with them: luckiest guys on earth. Every village we passed the children came out to wave and yell at us excitedly.
“They are yelling about you girls” said Momo to Kelsi. “They never just wave to me!”
We kept hearing shouts of “gora!” which means white person, so I have a feeling Momo was telling the truth and not just flattering us.
As soon as we hit the outskirts of the village our bikes went separate ways.
“Uhhh, aren’t we following them?” I asked Baia.
“We are taking a shortcut!” He said.
“Hmm, okay”
By shortcut, he meant an excuse to run me by his uncle’s farm to say hello. Kelsi had the same experience and was driven past all of Momo’s friends’ places… Oh right, bragging rights.
In the end, Baia’s uncle’s place was really great. We filled a bag of cherries from the tree outside, met some of the men that worked in the fields, and walked through all the different fields of crops: huge wheat and bean fields, then a mango grove and a bunch of henna trees. Not to mention a bunch of cows. When we’d filled up on cherries, we took our bag of collected goodies and drove off to Momo’s family’s farm.
Kelsi was sitting on a wooden platform with Momo and his whole family. There were a bunch of older women there and about 6 or 7 kids. One of the men had lit a brush fire and was cooking up some lentils from the fields. Kelsi and I played with a screaming baby on the ground, pulling weird faces at her until she calmed down. The women just sat against the house and laughed at us. No one spoke English, but calming down a crying baby is a universal dilemma: they understood. Eventually one of the older ladies came by and dropped a bunch of blackened lentils on the bamboo mat next to me. We all ate the food together as a big group, watching the kids’ faces turn black as they smeared the charcoal from the beans onto their cheeks by accident.
When snack time was over we fed the fish in Momo’s watering hole with a couple of the smaller kids.
“Would you girls like to stay for dinner?” He asked. “We can make pasta or anything you’d like!”
We were flattered, but exhausted. We had been out in the scorching sun most of the day and still had a night train to catch that evening.
“I think we should head back to the hotel for dinner. We still have some things to organize before we leave”
“Okay, no problem.” They looked disappointed, but it was too exhausting for us. So the boys drove us the last 20km or so back to Khajuraho.
“Okay, when dinner is over, do you want to get chai? Or maybe some Indian wine? Or we can hang out by the lake?” The boys asked us as they dropped us off. They genuinely just liked to hang out with us I think. After all, we had had a pretty fun day!
“We were going to check out the carnival after dinner” we said.
“Perfect! See you at 8 then, we will all go together”
We laughed. Okay, why not.
The carnival was only in town for a few days. It was a shanti town of tents, food markets, clothing and trinket stalls along with the usual carnival rides. When we were at lunch the day before we spotted the giant ferris wheel.
“Holy crap, do you see how fast that thing is going?” Kelsi said to me.
I looked up. There was a massive, sketchy-as-hell looking ferris wheel that was spinning about 5 times faster than I’ve ever seen a ferris wheel go.
“That’s it. New mission. Ride the sketchy ferris wheel!” I said.
So that’s what we did.
The boys were back as promised at 8:00 and we all walked the few minutes to the fair. The place was nuts! Not a single tourist was in sight, but local kids and adults alike swarmed the area.
Momo went to buy tickets for the ferris wheel so we wouldn’t be ripped off with the price. He and Momo got on first, while Kelsi and I waited for the next round in line.
The thing was terrifying looking. All the bolts were rusted, the belt that turned the ride was violently shaking it was moving so fast, and the carts were disastrous. When we finally got on we got a closer look. The floor had completely rusted through and you could see through holes in the bottom. The bolts holding the cart up were reddish brown from year and years of wear. Yup, this thing would NOT meet the safety regulations of Canada.
“Oh my god, we’re going to die” we said.
I’m sure the ride was only a few minutes long, but I felt like we were on there for an eternity. We screamed bloody murder every time we flew over the top and back down. My stomach was in my throat one second, then on the floor the next. There was a massive crowd lined up along side the ride. We thought at first that it was just a popular ride, then we realized everyone was there to watch the two whitey’s ride the ferris wheel. They took photos and laughed at our fear, pointing, smiling and waving at us each time we flew by at warp speed. What a way to end the day!
We stumbled off the ride in a giggling fit. Yup, that was fun! Which one next?
We decided to cool off and escape the prying eyes of the crowd by walking around the fair grounds. It was similar to other carnivals, but with more shops than games. Lots of places to buy saris or bangles, or toys. When we had done a full circuit of the grounds we met Anye.
Anye was a deaf and mute young guy from Baia and Momo’s village. He was probably one of the nicest people we’d met as well. He had seen us on the ferris wheel and wanted to go on another ride with Kelsi and I. Anye spoke to us in his own, made up sign language and we tried our best to understand what he meant. Turns out he just wanted to have a good time at the fair, so we went on the scrambler as our next attraction.
We spun around so fast both Kelsi and I nearly lost our sunglasses. Two extremely rude boys sat in the cart next to us and mocked Anye for being deaf and mute. Then they tried to hit on Kelsi and I. We were livid. We ignored them and signed to Anye instead, giving him high five’s every time our carts flew by each other. When the ride was over we glared at the two boys before we walked off, dragging Anye by the hand as we went. They looked stunned.
After that we decided we were finished with the fair. We sat by the lake with Momo and Baia for the last half hour of the day before finally heading to the train station.
It was refreshing meeting some locals who finally weren’t ripping us off. They never asked for any money from us, but we gave them some money for gas anyways. I told them I’d do the same for any of my friends at home. Sometimes you just have to go with your your gut and trust the people you meet. I can’t say I’d feel the same with many people I’ve met here, but Baia and Momo turned out to be pretty stand up guys.
We felt a little better about India as we hopped on the train and headed to Varanasi.

Khajuraho: The Kama Sutra Temples

Posted on April 16, 2013 by hilarylust

We arrived in Khajuraho with a false sense of freedom; no more being told what to do and when to do it. Sadly, this wasn’t the case. Within minutes of arriving we had a man at the hotel trying to organize a tour for the following morning.
“What time would you like the Tuk Tuk to pick you up at?” He said, as if we had already decided this is what was going to happen. “First we will see the eastern temples, then we will drive up to the waterfalls and then you can rest for a little while before we go to a traditional dancing show, then you see the Western Temples the next morning. Ok? 10:00 okay?”
No. No. No. We are sleeping in, we are doing whatever we want, when we want to, and we are NOT paying hotel booking prices! We thanked him for his offer and politely declined any kind of tour.
“We can book it in the morning, no problem” he said. *sigh* We’ll never escape it!
The next morning as we walked out the door there were already men waiting to take photos of us. Just what you want first thing in the morning when you’ve got a cold.
We walked up to the rooftop to have breakfast alone, but multitudes of people kept finding excuses to come up and look at us before walking back downstairs.
Even our friend was back. “We go on Tuk Tuk now to temples?”
“No thanks, we’re going to check out the markets instead” we said, through mouthfuls of breakfast.
“Ok, later then!” And then he just hung around watching us eat some more. It was awkward.
Outside the hotel was worse. We hadn’t gone five feet from the front door and we had four or five guys walking and talking with us.
“Where from?”
“Auto Rickshaw?”
“Please, see my shop!”
“What is your name beautiful lady”
It was too much.
“We need a Tuk Tuk!” We exclaimed. Within seconds we had 4 Tuk tuks in front of us. We jumped in one with a shy, young driver with a great smile. His name was Ali.
“200 rupees for a half day tour, starting with the Eastern Temples” we told him.
“Okay” he said, and drove off, away from the madness.
As we were driving away, one of the young guys who was chatting with me, jumped in the Tuk Tuk.
“Hello! My name is Baia. I am a guide here, I can tell you all about the temples!” he grinned at us.
Kelsi turned to me and rolled her eyes. “You would pick us up a guide!” She said to me.
“Not me!” I said, “He jumped in here all on his own.”
Well, we really had no choice in the matter. The four of us cruised along in the Tuk Tuk until we reached the first temple. We figured that if we ignored what Baia was saying, maybe he’d go away without having to pay him. But strangely enough, he stayed in the Tuk Tuk and let us explore the first temple alone.
Khajuraho’s temples are some of the most unique and best preserved temples in India. Also named the “Kama Sutra” temples, these massive sandstone structures have erotic and sexual carvings of people, animals and nymphs. To Kelsi and I , this seemed strange in a culture that is so conservative with its sexuality. The eastern temples are much smaller than the western ones (which cost money) but they are equally as detailed in their sculpting. We walked through a couple of them fairly quickly, avoiding any kind of information from Baia. But he seemed to get the hint and just let us walk around on our own.
As we moved through the temples heading south we passed by the Old Village.
“Can we drive through the village?” We asked the boys.
“No. No. Not drive. Let’s walk! It’s much nicer to walk through the village” said Baia. He had Ali meet us on the other side of town while we got out to explore.
“Khajuraho is very caste conscious” explained Baia. “It is the one thing I don’t really like about the Indian culture, but that’s life! In the old village we have strict lines defining each of the castes. They each have their own temple, own watering well, own drinking water, own hospital and own barber shop.”
Wow, I knew there were caste systems in India, but I didn’t realize how separate they all are. From the Brahman priests to the street cleaning Untouchables, smaller towns like Khajuraho are very particular about the different expectations from each caste. They each have their own everything, and it seems like their worlds hardly mix.
“You can always tell which caste area you are in by the colours of the homes. Also the colour of people’s skin: the darker the skin the lower the caste”
In metropolitan cities like Delhi and Mumbai the caste system is slowly being forgotten. But Khajuraho is traditional, and despite their liberalism with the Kama Sutra sexuality, they are still very defined in their old ways.
We wandered through the little village for a while. We’d given up on avoiding Baia and just gave in to his charismatic personality. He was a young guy, only 18, but he spoke 4 languages fluently and seemed to just enjoy his job as a self proclaimed tour guide. Every few minutes or so he would break out with some silly rhyme or expression.
“You know what they say, travel is knowledge without college!” Then he’d grin at us.
“You know why they call it India?” He asked us.
“Why?”
“INDIA: I. Never. Do. It. Again” Then he’d break into laughter. “It’s a joke! Just a joke!”
He was pretty entertaining, I must admit.
Soon we came to the old village school. It was founded by some Europeans who gathered funds to create a school for the children.
“This school is the only place where the castes mix. All levels of children come to learn together! It is very nice!” Explained Baia
The school, grounds and all, was maybe the size of my house, and it held 300 children in two sessions: one in the morning and one in the afternoon. There are six small class rooms: 3 old and 3 new ones. The children get all their uniforms, books, pens and pencils free from the school. We walked around the classrooms on our own, the school children giggling in excitement that we were there. There were no chairs or desks, just some bamboo mats on the floor and a small chalk board. The rest was just concrete walls painted white.
“Desks and chairs are not important. Learning is important.” Said the principal as he walked up behind us. He showed us around the place a little more, explaining some of the rules and practices along the way. It was all pretty amazing.
When we’d left the school, Ali was waiting outside with the Tuk Tuk.
“Okay, next temple!”
But the Tuk Tuk wouldn’t start. We tried pushing it to start it in first gear (this happens to us nearly every time we get into a Tuk Tuk) but it still wouldn’t work. Ali apologized and we agreed to walk with Baia to the next temple and meet him there.
The last temple we went to was the largest of the eastern temples. But much like the others, we just did a quick walk around. We instead found a starving little puppy dog and had more fun playing with it (Yup, refusing rabies shots may have been a mistake. We’re still suckers for puppies).
On our way back to the hotel Baia turned around to face us.
“Have you girls ever driven a Tuk Tuk before?”
“Nope. But we want to!”
He had Ali pull over and Kelsi jumped into the front seat. Baia hopped in the back along with some random local that wanted a ride into town. Ali gave Kelsi the low down and then handed her the reins.
I’m pretty sure I screamed in excitement and fear as we flew down the pothole ridden streets of backcountry Khajuraho. It was a quiet road, but only really big enough for one lane. Every time a car came towards us I closed my eyes. Please don’t run straight into it! A car came up from behind and was honking at us to pull over so it could pass. We could hardly hear it over our shrieks of laughter and excitement. Kelsi pulled over at the edge of town to let Ali take control again, a massive grin on her face. We had just written out a list of random missions to complete while in India: this was one of them. Drive a Tuk Tuk… Check!
Baia and Ali wanted to hang out with us longer.
“How about the waterfalls next? Or we can go into the mountains!”
“No thanks. We are doing our own thing this evening. Probably heading to the Western Temples”
“But the Western Temples are so much better in the morning.” He explained. We were just being stubborn now; we didn’t want anyone deciding our itinerary.
“Nope. We are going tonight. We can see the waterfalls with you tomorrow morning”
They finally agreed and we planned to meet at 9:30 the next morning to go out for the day. They were the nicest locals we’d met since we’d been in India. We figured it’d be fun to hang out with them at the waterfalls than try our luck with a new driver in the morning.
That evening we did go to the Western Temples just like we’d said. And guess what? They’d be so much better in the morning!
The sun sets behind them, which makes for some great silhouette shots, but you can’t see any detailing in the buildings. It didn’t matter, we’d been told what to do for three weeks: It was our turn to make decisions now.
The western temples were significantly larger and much better preserved than the Eastern ones (that’s probably why this group of temples costs 250 rupees while the others are free). They were incredible to wander around. Thousands upon thousands of detailed carvings of naked women, nymphs, gods, and Kama sutra poses were on each temple. It was crazy. At first it seemed like all the carvings were the same, but as you look closer, they are all unique. Some women are wearing clothing, others are coupled together or standing naked and alone. A few of them have scorpions, the symbol of sex, climbing up their thighs. They were beautiful, and erotic and some of the stranger temples we’d seen to date. Kelsi and I wandered around, avoiding the myriad guides that wandered the place looking for a couple bucks. We were on a mission to find the strangest kama sutra carving we could find on all the temples! We had a great time just climbing around all the temples laughing at or contemplating each sculpture as the sun went down.
As we neared the end of the group we came to a temple with a bunch of young Indian guys hanging around. They took one look at us and couldn’t stop staring. We rolled our eyes and tried to ignore them. They were sneakily trying to get a photo of us on their camera phones. They held them up and waited for us to walk past before taking the shot. We decided to play with them; we’d get super close to walking through their shot then we’d abruptly turn around and go the other direction around the temple. As soon as we rounded a corner we could hear them running around the other side to catch us. We laughed and went back the other direction. We stumbled upon them all huddled around the corner of the temple watching for us to come by. We snuck up behind them unawares and just as we passed them said “I wander what they’re looking for” then walked off down the stairs away from them. They all got startled and confused at how we’d eluded them. We just giggled at how funny we thought we were and walked to our final temple.
As we walked out of the last one there were two men about to enter.
“Can I get photo?” He said to me. I hesitated then finally got in the photo with him as his friend stood ready to take the shot. I’m limiting photos taken of me per day; this guy was nice enough to ask and I was in a good mood, so why not.
As his friend was about to take the photo about ten more men came around the corner, cameras out towards us.
“I’m out!” Said Kelsi as she ran off to the exit gate. Thanks buddy.
I got stuck having twenty photos taken of me all at once. I politely declined having a photo taken of me individually with each person. This country is crazy!
I took off running after Kelsi as she stood by the gate laughing at me. Time to go home.

The Taj Mahal

Posted on April 8, 2013 by hilarylust

Seriously, what do I say about the Taj Mahal. I don’t know if there are even words in the English Dictionary that can properly describe standing in front of the Taj Mahal as the sun rises. It is beyond words.
It has been coined as “a teardrop on the cheek of eternity,” “the embodiment of all things pure” and finally, as having made “the sun and the moon shed tears from their eyes”. Standing there, dumbfounded and awestruck in the morning light, it was all those things and more…
We woke up at the crack of dawn, met up with our guide Dave and walked the short distance to the Southern entrance. Even the gate was impressive, with its massive arched doorway, beautifully scrawled Arabic inscriptions and sparkling golden domes.
“11 small domes on this side and 11 more behind those” explained Dave, “That’s 22 domes for the 22 years it took 20 000 workers to build the Taj Mahal”
Oh my Ganesh! That’s ridiculous.
As we passed under the archway and into the Taj Mahal’s beautifully kept garden area, Kelsi and I literally gasped.
“Look!” Kelsi grabbed my arm and pointed.
The Taj Mahal stood there, glistening white in the misty morning. It was spectacular. It didn’t look real. It looked like someone had painted this elaborate backdrop and just hung it in the sky. I couldn’t stop staring at it. For the next hour, I honestly couldn’t take my eyes off it. Hands down, the most beautiful man made structure I have ever seen.
The Taj Mahal also has one of the most beautiful love stories attached to it. The Emperor Shah Jahan had it built for his third wife, Mumtaz Mahal, after she died giving birth to their 14th child. She was the only wife to bear him any heirs and he loved her with his entire body and soul. Upon her death he vowed to build her a mausoleum unprecedented in elegance, something that would reflect and capture the beauty of the whole world within its walls…and I believe he did.
The Taj Mahal, it’s grounds and the two surrounding buildings are entirely symmetrical. The mausoleum itself is symmetrical in four quadrants, so each of the four sides look identical. The only small details that are different are A. The building to the West is a mosque, with an altar facing towards Mecca, whereas the building to the East, although identical in shape, lacks the Mecca-facing altar. And B. When Shah Jahan died, his son had his body placed in a casket next to his beloved wife’s. His casket had to be placed to the side and so is not part of the symmetry.
Other than that, every inlaid stone, every tile, every detail in carving and structure is absolutely identical on all sides. No wonder it took so long to build!
The thing that amazed me the most, was how white the building is. The perfectly, shell-white marble that was used looks heavenly. It is an earthly shangri-la. As the sun rises, the Taj Mahal glows and the tiny, inlaid stonework sparkles in the changing light. The whole building is imposing and powerful and yet it looks so delicate, as if it could shatter at the slightest touch. And I just couldn’t stop staring…
We walked around the mausoleum for about an hour and a half. I could have stayed there all day, gaping in awe. To be honest, I missed most of the facts that Dave rambled on about. To me, it didn’t matter how tall or wide the building was. I just wanted to sit there and take it all in.
I do, however, remember the totally unimportant, but more gruesome facts of the day. The Taj Mahal has four, tall, surrounding pillars at each of its four corners. Years ago, it was possible to climb the steps to the top to get a different perspective of the grounds. Sites like this, with romantic draws, unfortunately have a downside. Within 2 months, 7 different people decided to climb the towers and throw themselves from the windows in a romanticized act of suicide. After the seventh death, they closed the viewing towers to the public…
When all was said and done, we were dragged back out to the south gate to head home. The magnificence of the morning forever burned into my memory. There are few things in life that can match the awe-inspiring feeling of standing in front of the Taj Mahal at sunrise. It is a monument built out of love and heartbreak, and a structure that is almost unequivocally considered the most beautiful building on Earth…

Monkeys, Mosques, Money and the Dreaded Paparazzi

Posted on April 6, 2013 by hilarylust

Monkeys, Mosques, Money and the Dreade
On our way to Agra, we had a few stops. First, was the monkey temple.
Just on the outskirts of Jaipur, we were expecting the monkey temple to be on a semi-equal excitement level as the rat temple. Sadly, it was not.
The place LOOKS amazing! It is set in between two beautiful mountains and has gorgeous man made bathing ponds on different levels of the temple. There were a lot of monkeys. They were climbing the temple walls and chillin’ out in the stairs; they roamed by the ponds and were curious around people (probably because so many tourists feed them), but they were not nearly on a similar scale to the rats.
There were a plethora of men, both inside and out, that claimed to be professional monkey handlers. If you hired them, you would be safe from the dangerous monkeys. Throughout the whole temple they kept repeating “Careful! They are so dangerous! Please, let me be your monkey tamer.”
I have no doubt that these monkeys could be dangerous. Having been bit by a monkey in Laos and having my finger ache for days, I can attest to not wanting a monkey to attack you. But as long as you’re not a stupid tourist, these monkeys didn’t seem that bad. They are clearly used to human contact (there were loads of tour buses outside when we arrived) and they seemed content to just chill out. We took photos, but the setting was actually more interesting than the monkeys we saw. We realized they were much less unusual than the rats of Deshnok, and so we moved on fairly quickly.
Our second stop was lunch. Raju pulled up to his usual commission driven restaurant and dropped us off for lunch.
“It’s the last one!” I said to Kelsi as she looked at me and gave me an eye rolling groan. This was our last travel day with Raju, then we were on our own. I figured we could suck up one last touristy restaurant for lunch… But I was wrong.
We were already used to the more expensive places for meals. We pay at least twice what we should at every place we eat. This restaurant, however, was on a whole other level. Where we pay the already expensive price of 30 rupees for a plain naan, this place asked 120. Our vegetarian meals of 100 were now 350 rupees. When converted into dollars I could get a cheaper meal at home for the two of us! Additionally, only tourist restaurants pay taxes here. That’s an additional 14% tax and the expected 10% tip. Hell no!
For some reason I was cranky that day. Not over anything in particular, but little things were sending me into a rage. The prices at this restaurant were one of them.
“This is outrageous!” I said, probably a little too loud. Kelsi agreed.
“In not paying $6 for a plain cheese toasty!” She exclaimed.
We’d had enough of being told where to eat and what to do. We wanted to be on our own and not on this confining, tour-like schedule. We got out of our seats and stormed out the restaurant. The whole staff followed us in a frenzy.
“Wait! Madam! No, please! We give you a discount.” It sounds ridiculous to say it, but I was actually disgusted at how much a place can rip people off. Yes, I’m a tourist. Yes, I expect to pay more than the average local. But when we can go to any restaurant in town and order a 50 rupee thali, which is all you can eat, and this restaurant wants to charge between 350 and 700 for a single curry, even a discount is an insult. We ignored the staff and went to the car.
When Raju arrived we explained to him we couldn’t afford the food. He understood and took us to a local place a couple doors down. The price was 1/5 the cost and most likely more delicious. This is the last day, I had to keep reminding myself.
Next we stopped off at Fatehpur Sikkri. Fatehpur Sikkri is an ancient city about 40km outside Agra. It was once the capital of the Mughal empire back in the mid 1500’s. There are two parts to the city: the palaces and the mosque. The palaces cost 300 rupees for tourists so we opted to visit the mosque instead. We hadn’t been to many mosques yet, so the place was less monotonous than visiting yet another fort.
It didn’t matter what we did though, we were still constantly ripped off. One man showed me where the toilets were “It only costs 2 rupees!” He said with a smile.
“I only have ten.” I replied.
“Not to worry, they will give you change.”
However, when I gave the man the ten he just grunted and pointed towards the toilet.
“Do you have any change?” I asked.
“No change.”
“I was told it only costs 2 rupees.”
“No change. 10 for you.”
This was not the day to say this to me. I snatched the bill back in a rage and turned around after giving him my angriest glare. I refuse to use your toilets.
Before we even arrived at the mosque we were the main focus for photos. I tried to move out of people’s camera angles, but they’d just follow us anyways with the screen. Most of them weren’t even trying to be subtle; they’d just turn around in front of us with camera phones in our faces. It was the first day I nearly went Jackie Chan on their asses.
Then there was the shoes. We stopped taking my purse into tourist sites because it was like holding up a sign that says “I have money”. Unfortunately, that meant we had to leave our shoes outside the temple. We left them far away from the crowd, but when we came back, they had been moved into a pile that some guy was watching. We had to tip him to get them back. *sigh*
Inside, the mosque was lovely. But I could hardly enjoy the serenity of it with people trying to guide us around. Kelsi and I are so stubborn that we walked zig zag across the mosque just to avoid doing what people said.
“Yes, this way to see the mosque.” So we’d walk the other direction.
“Right in here and you can see the tomb!” Even though we were already on our way in, we’d turn around and walk the other direction. It took us four times as long to see the tomb as it normally would. Take that!
In the end, it didn’t matter what we did. We had a young kid follow us around, telling us facts about the place and had to give him money.
Young children came up to us periodically and just demanded money.
“You give me 10 rupees!” One young girl shouted at Kelsi.
“No!” You aren’t doing anything! Why would I just hand over money to you? I wanted to shout back at her, “Get a job! You’re 8! I saw a 4 year old laying bricks two days ago, what’s your problem?!” (Side note: I actually DID see a four year old laying bricks, and had I had my camera ready I would have added yet another photo to my newest “only in India” album)
At this point, there were still more cameras taking photos of us than there were of the mosque and all of a sudden I just wanted to leave. Normally it doesn’t bother me as much, but that day I think both Kelsi and I were at our breaking points.
When some young guy on the bus ride back asked to have his photo taken with us he was met with death glares from the two of us.
“No!” we snapped “We’ve had too many photos taken of us today, thank you!”
He looked mortifyingly embarrassed as he sat back down. He never turned around in his seat again. I almost felt bad. At least he asked! As I said… Breaking point.
We were quiet and exhausted for the rest of the drive to Agra. I finally turned my head from looking out the car window to avoid the stares, winks and eyebrow raises from people driving past us. When we got to the hotel, we just wanted to lie down.
We were shown to our room and the place was lovely. As a bonus, the restaurant had the cheapest prices we’d seen so far! We looked through the menu in our room and picked out exactly what we were going to order. A rest and some cheap food and we’d be right as rain!
We lay down for a few, and just as I was about to feel relaxed Raju came bursting into the room.
“We are leaving!!” He announced as he threw us our passport photocopy that he must have grabbed from the front desk. “Grab your things!” He was shaking with anger and wandering around the room, picking up bags and looking for things we might leave behind.
“Chello! Chello!”
“Woah, Raju, what’s wrong with this place?” We asked.
“It is no good! Not good people here! Chello!”
We rolled our eyes. “Okay” we sighed. I didn’t want to argue because he looked so upset. I assumed that he had just gotten in an argument with the hotel manager and was leaving on a point of pride. But if he was this shaken, then why argue.
All of a sudden, Kelsi and I looked at each other and had the exact same thought. The food! Just our luck that we’d have to leave after finding the ONLY cheap hotel to eat at in two weeks! We just laughed at the ridiculousness of it all and walked out with our bags on, only 40 minutes after we had checked in.
When we got outside, however, we were a little surprised. The manager and all the nice staff that had helped us to our room were standing outside. They were yelling in Hindi and flailing their arms in anger at a police officer. Behind the police officer was about half the police force, all holding guns. There must have been 30 or more policemen standing outside the building. Behind the policemen was half the city of Agra, all watching us walk out of the building and into Raju’s car. What in the world was going on?
Raju was angrily muttering under his breath in Hindi as he opened the trunk and threw our luggage in. Kelsi and I were struggling to hold back giggles. What’s happening!?
When we were a safe distance away I finally asked.
“Raju, what’s wrong? What happened at the hotel?”
It took an excruciatingly long time for him to explain in broken English what was going on. And his incessant habit to say “maybe” between every third word as a filler made it seem like this all “maybe happened”. But in the end, I gathered that some girl had been inappropriately handled during her massage in the hotel spa.
“If you safe, I happy” he ended his explanation. Well okay then, new hotel it is.
Our new hotel was several grades down from the last one, but still well within Kelsi and Hilary standards (which, lets face it, are so low they’re practically non-existent). We threw our bags down and went for dinner in the restaurant downstairs. When we opened the menus, a vegetable curry was back up to 250 rupees. Dammit! We just can’t win…

As a note, this is the BBC news article that came out on the incident at the hotel in Agra just a couple days later.

Exploring Jaipur

Posted on April 4, 2013 by hilarylust

Jaipur

Jaipur, also known as “The Pink City” is the capital of Rajasthan and the heart of India. It is wild and busy! The old town is a crazed mess of shops and rickshaws and historic monuments all mixed together. The city palace, in its luxurious glory, sits right in the heart of it all. The place is a mess. But it sure made for an interesting walk around!
Our first morning stop was actually in a neighboring city called Amber. Amber is only 11km north of Jaipur and has a beautiful amber colored fort sitting high up on a hill.
With another expensive entrance fee, we did our usual sneak attack and followed closely at the heels of a tour group. With guards at every courtyard entrance, we had to find a new tour group each time we moved locations in the fort. We are crazy, but it kept us happily entertained for the trip!
We started by walking the ten minutes up to the fort. The most popular way of entering the fort is riding an elephant. But at nearly $20 for a ten minute ride, we opted to hike it ourselves. Inside, the fort was beautiful. It had some spectacular views of the mountainous landscape and from the top you could see the zig zagging elephants as they ambled their way up the street. We wandered from place to place with our multitude of tour groups and did a full circle of the fort in just under an hour. Forts are all looking the same to us now. The sandstone structure is beautiful, the carvings are intricate, the throne rooms are elaborate and the views reach all the way out to the smog!
The following fort, just higher up on the hill from the Amber fort, was more of the same. At every corner there was someone waiting to give you an explanation of what you were looking at. We learned early on that after any kind of information you are expected to tip them. We simply do not have the money to tip a different person in each room for information we didn’t ask for! Instead, we spent forever trying to avoid them, going the opposite way from which they pointed and splitting up at parts to confuse them. In the end, people were still taking more photos of Kelsi and I than they were of the building, so we blew through the site as fast as we could.
By our third fort of the morning we asked Raju to just drive by while we took photos. We were finished with forts for a little while. So instead, Raju drove us down to some city gardens to check out.
“You see gardens now?” He half asked us as he dropped us off.
That sounded lovely, and different, and with the number of brightly coloured flowers they have here in India we were bound to get a few good photos. It was only 10 rupees (20 cents) to get in, but I still don’t think the fee was worth it. The place was tiny, had a couple of nicely trimmed shrubs and a few waterways with water spraying up out of them. That was pretty much it.
The only good thing about our stop was that there were street vendors outside. We picked up some juice and pakoras and samosas for about a dollar each for lunch. Raju was unhappy because our next scheduled stop was at another one of his pricey restaurants. Take that!
So instead of a scheduled lunch stop, we went back to the hotel for an afternoon rest.
At 3:30 it was time to pick up my ridiculously over priced skirt. We sat and talked to the uncle of the man who ran the place. He told us all about his morning yoga and meditation routine (no idea why) then proceeded to show us all the yoga techniques we needed to know for good lungs, a good stomach and a good brain. He was very sweet, but he talked non-stop for twenty minutes until my skirt came in. Meanwhile, two young guys behind the counter sat and, mouths open, gaped at Kelsi and I. No shame or embarrassment when we shot them glares from across the room. There’s no winning.
When my skirt arrived it was not what I was hoping for. Even with my measurements, it dragged along the floor, didn’t fit my shape and had enough material to make a dress for an elephant. Fabulous. On top of that, by the end of the day, the colour had bled all over my skin. I eventually soaked it in water, and the thing turned four huge buckets of water dark blue before I finally gave up. I learned the hard way, but it’ll be the last time I trust that any product is superior to others because my driver took us there… Lesson learned.
I left brooding and we had Raju drop us off at the edge of old town for our own walking city tour. We had him pick us up four hours later when we were finished.
We had found the walking tour in our lonely planet guide. It wasn’t bad, but not entirely what I was expecting. I guess I thought we would see a bunch of remarkable city structures and historical monuments around each corner. Instead, it just gave you a look at the busy market life of Jaipur while stopping at only a couple historical sites.
The bazaars were fun to walk through. It seamed like each section of street was dedicated to a different craft. One area would be all textiles, then electronics, then stone carvings or spices or hardware. The markets weren’t very touristy either. Although we saw a couple fellow travelers, the Jaipur bazaars cater mostly towards local needs.
About half way through the tour, Kelsi became very ill again. We left the bustle of old town to try to find a quiet spot in the city park. No such luck.
We hadn’t even sat on the ground before we got harassed by a bunch of young boys. They were only 8 or 9 years old, but there were about 7 of them. “Where from? What is name?” “You are so beautiful!” They giggled and called out to us. They wanted us to play a game of cricket with them. Kelsi could hardly stand, and I was in a skirt: cricket was not in the cards. We told them we’d watch them, but they were having none of it. They grabbed at us and tried to pull us onto the field. It was all funny at first, then when one young boy accidentally touched the side of my boob in an attempt to grab my arm he laughed and told all the boys. Then they all just started grabbing at Kelsi and I. I told one kid I was going to backhand him in the face if he didn’t stop (yes, I threatened to hit a child.) and Kelsi had to shove back another kid by her. Then, just when we’d had enough, some guy came along and started yelling at the boys until they ran away. When they stopped to come back we got up and left. If anything in this country is going to break me, it’s going to be the men here. Photos, staring, grabbing: they even think it’s acceptable at the age of 8. It’s not everyone, but it’s a part of this culture I’m not going to get used to and it’s exhausting.
Kelsi couldn’t handle it anymore and needed to get home. We grabbed a Tuk Tuk and called it early, half way through the city tour. She went to bed while I ate dinner downstairs and watched the singers and dancers entertain. The place may have been pricier than normal, but it did have a fabulous ambiance!
Overall Jaipur had a lot to see, the city palace was nice and the Amber fort was as impressive as any other. But it was the same as the rest in Rajasthan, and after two weeks of forts, I was ready to move on. The next morning we were off to a new province: Uttar Pradesh!

Textiles, Castles and More Creepy Men: Jaipur

Posted on April 4, 2013 by hilarylust

It was a quick drive from Pushkar to Jaipur, so we arrived there before lunch. We decided to eat at the hotel restaurant despite its high prices. Kelsi was in no shape to wander the streets in search of food. Plus the hotel had international foods as well as some comfort options like chicken noodle soup. Still feeling ill, Kelsi ordered the chicken noodle soup, and enviously watched me devour my curry. When the soup came out I had to laugh: the thing was FULL of capsicum. Who has ever heard of chicken noodle soup with green peppers floating through it. She sighed and then started picking out the pieces and putting them on my plate. Poor Kels.
Kelsi and I had a million things we wanted to see and do that afternoon so we could have the whole city walking tour planned for the following day. But our plans were quickly squashed by Raju.
“No, no, not possible. Too hot, too far, not good in afternoon” he had a plethora of excuses of why we couldn’t do what we wanted to. He came up with a whole new plan. We tried to argue, but since he still had included everything we wanted to see, we figured we’d just let him win the argument.
First stop was the water palace. We only took photos, but the place looked gorgeous in the afternoon sun, sitting inside a large lake. Up next, the textiles factory.
The bad thing about having a driver, is he takes you to expensive and commission driven places at every stop of the trip. Spices here, silver there, each place claiming to have the best of something and craftsmanship unequalled anywhere else in India. Jaipur’s claim to fame was it’s textiles. This stop was definitely not on our list, but we were obliged to stop anyways at Raju’s wishes. The initial tour was pretty neat. The place makes all it’s own fabric, and was set up by a woman from New Zealand who created the factory to help people in poor and small communities. It is a co-op, and many families come in from the countryside to create their own textiles. They have wonderfully colored sheets of fabric hanging from wooden beams high over head.
“The sun helps set the colours. After drying this way, they will never bleed” said our guide.
The place also offers jobs to the handicapped and widows, who would otherwise be left out on the streets to beg. It was only slightly awkward when we walked inside the building and saw two men at sewing machines.
“This man is handicapped” our guide announced, pointing to one man diligently sewing away. “Show them your leg!”
The man turned around to reveal a crippled looking leg to us. They had altered the sewing machine so he could still work it properly. Next we walked inside.
“This woman, she is a widow” said our guide.
“Namaste” she said to us.
The difference between our cultures is incredible. We are so politically correct that it would have been horrific if we came in and announced someone’s handicap or the fact that a woman’s husband had died. Here, no one seemed to care.
Then came business. What were we going to buy. I hate this part of the tour. At every place, it is inevitable that either Kelsi or I are going to get guilt tripped into buying something. This time, it was my turn.
The prices in the shop were insane. The guy had given the price of $50US for some scarves that Kelsi was looking at. I will admit, the quality was the best we’d seen, but look at us! We were scrubby backpackers wearing 2 dollar pants we’d bought in Delhi and were too afraid to wash because they will undoubtedly disintegrate. A cashmere or silk scarf was not what we were looking for.
I had been looking at skirts however. All through the markets we’d been searching for something that we could wear in India and then use at home as well! Some sort of maxi skirt that was adorable and we could say “yup, got that in India”. The problem was, all the skirts were very cheap. They were see through or falling apart. Most of them were so full of pattern that I’d never wear it back home. Here, they had a great selection of samples.
“We take your measurements and make it for you perfectly!” Said the guide. I got to pick my own fabric and colour and style and everything. Then it took just a couple hours to put it all together.
After having tea and looking at nearly every scarf and cushion cover that they owned I felt obliged to buy something. It was $30US for a skirt. Absolutely unheard of in India! The price was insane, and I knew it. But I figured it was helping poor families, and widows and handicapped people. And the fabric was made there which was pretty neat. Plus, it would be made to fit me, so it would be a great buy for back at home! I picked out a bright teal colour and chose the style of skirt from their selections. They took my measurements and I was told to come back the next day to pick it up… Did I just spend $30 on a skirt? I’m crazy. But it would look amazing, so who cares!
Them came the city palace tour. For 300 rupees (which is fairly expensive for an entrance fee here) we managed to do the most ridiculous whirlwind tour of the place. Two weeks in and we were already over city palaces. We attempted our usual photo mission, where we try our best to make it look like we are the only tourists at each popular landmark. Then we played “man or woman” with the wall paintings. Before a half hour was even up we were back at the car and ready to go. City palace, check.
After, it was back to the hotel to rest for the night. We decided to venture off to find a cheaper place to eat, rather than spend crazy tourist prices at the hotel. We were conveniently out of town again, however, so our choices were limited. We ended up at this sketchy looking place called AC Restaurant just down the street. The place was fairly empty, but we sat down anyways.
When we opened the menus we realized the prices were almost equal to that at the hotel. Fail.
Just after we ordered we heard some commotion outside. Soon after, our waiter and three other guys came rushing into the restaurant. They had come to see us. Fabulous.
The three guys sat at the table next to us and just sat there staring at Kelsi and I. I am so happy my back was turned, because I probably would have gone nuts. Then they started taking photos of us, and giggling at the pictures as they passed them around the table. It took all the effort in the world to just sit, eat, enjoy our beer and ignore them. We ate our meal, then paid and quickly left. What a way to ruin a quiet dinner.
Afterwards we called it a night. Our full day of activities had been thwarted and replaced with buying expensive clothing at a textiles factory, taking a photo of a building in the water, and being mobbed by creepy young men for dinner… Did I mention this was St. Patty’s day?! Probably the most depressing Irish celebration I’ve ever had. Better luck next year!

Pushkar

Posted on April 4, 2013 by hilarylust

Kelsi woke up the morning we were leaving Udaipur sick as a dog. It was painful. She skipped breakfast and slumped into the back of the car. I don’t think I heard more than four words from her the entire drive to Pushkar. I felt terrible that there was no way I could help.
When we arrived in Pushkar she immediately climbed into bed in the foetal position and fell asleep. I sat for a little while then decided I would go into town.
It was Kelsi’s birthday the next day, and I had promised, months earlier, that I would get her a cake! I had looked up the only German bakery in all of Pushkar and found it on our city map. It was at the Sunset Cafe restaurant and actually came recommended in the lonely planet guide!
Pushkar is a tiny town, but we managed to stay at the hotel on the furthest outskirts of the city center as possible. It was still only a 15 minute walk to the edge of town though, and after being cramped up in a car all day the exercise was welcome.
I found the cafe surprisingly fast. It was right along the lake with an incredible view of the sunset (thus the name of the restaurant I guess).
I walked up to the bakery section and checked out their selection. Some lemon cake, two pieces of old and crumbly looking chocolate cake and part of an apple crumble. Hmmm…
All of a sudden one of the waiters came over to me.
“Oh no! You don’t want those cakes. They are old.”
“Old!” I said, “do you have any fresh ones?”
“Yes, we have ice cream cake”
Nope, that wasn’t going to last over night.
“That’s okay, thanks anyways”
I was about to leave when the owner of the restaurant came up to me.
“Can I help you?” He asked politely.
I explained that I was looking for cake, but couldn’t quite find what I was looking for.
“Well I can help you! We can make you a cake if you’d like, what are you looking for? Chocolate? Lemon? Vanilla? We can make it for you.”
I wasn’t expecting that response. I stood there thinking for a moment.
“Can you do carrot cake?” It was Kelsi’s favourite, and yet I hadn’t seen it at all in India.
“Yes, with chocolate?”
“No no, just carrots”
He walked behind his desk. “Let me call the baker”
Before I knew it, Papu (the owner) had me sitting down in a meeting with the baker. He was a lovely, round man named Krishna who had come all the way down from the bakery to speak with me in person. His laugh ad his flamboyant nature made it hard not to like him immediately.
“A carrot cake?! Well of course! Krishna can do anything! Would you like it with chocolate?”
What is it with people and chocolate carrot cake? I’ve never even heard of that!
“No just carrot, thanks”
“What about chocolate icing?” he smiled a big grin.
“No thanks, maybe lemon? Or vanilla? Can you do that?”
“Oh, Krishna can do anything!” He said again.
And it was done. He would make me the cake and have it back at the restaurant the next day. Papu gave me his phone number, “if you can’t make it back to the restaurant, call me and I will have someone run it to your hotel for you!”
Seriously, these people could not have been any more lovely! I thanked them so much and then made the trek back to take care of poor Kelsi.
The next morning she wasn’t any better.
“Happy Birthday baby!” I told her as she woke up.
She groaned. “You know you’re getting old when you forget it’s your birthday” then she curled back up in pain.
I have to hand it to her though. She sucked it up and we made it into town for the morning. The markets in Pushkar are incredible. It is just one long road that wraps around the little lake that sells a million different things from the markets. We took about an hour to walk three blocks. We kept stopping in at different shops, looking at the jewelry and the brightly colored scarves. We had to take some time to rest along the way as well. Having not eaten in almost two days, Kelsi was exhausted. We sat in the shade on the steps by the lake and watched the world go by.
The Pushkar lake has a bunch of bathing ghats all around the edge. People, young and old, took the time to swim and bath in the waters before carrying on their way. Even a cow was seen cruising up and down the walkways with a headband on, just checking out the watering holes. People watching at its best.
For our lunch stop, we found a little restaurant that had a small garden out back. The air conditioned restaurant was busy with locals, but we decided to sit on our own in the garden. When we had finished eating Kelsi looked at the garden behind me.
“Look Hairy! A turtle!”
I turned around, and sure enough there there was a big old turtle slowly cruising along the garden. Our waiter heard us and laughed.
“There are 5 of them” he said. Then he walked around the garden in search of them. Within minutes he had come up with four of them. He stacked them all in a row for us. We spent way too long taking photos of these silly turtles. It was the highlight of the day! Our waiter just shook his head… Crazy tourists!
After lunch we had to go home for a nap. Hours out in the sun was too much for poor Kelsi, so we rested until dinner.
“Do you have a place in mind for dinner?” Kelsi asked me as we were about to head out in the evening.
“Ya I think so. I found a place yesterday that looked great for watching the sunset. We can check out the menu and see if we like it” I suggested.
“Sounds good”
We had Raju drive us to the edge of town, then walked the rest of the way to the restaurant. Kelsi was in a daze, already searching for a table and going through the menu when the young waiter from the day before spotted me.
“You! Oh! We have your cake! It is here!” He pointed to the fridge where the cake was sitting.
“Oh thank you! Is Papu around? I still have to pay him.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll get him”
I sat down with Kelsi who was still so sick that she hadn’t even heard the conversation go on.
“The menu looks good, lets eat here” she said. Perfect.
Papu showed up and I ran to go talk to him, leaving Kelsi to mull over the menu, still oblivious to her surroundings.
“I think we are going to have dinner here as well” I said
“Okay, okay! Ill bring the cake over whenever you like!” He offered.
I looked back at Kelsi. She was never going to make it through a meal and a cake.
“Better bring it over right away” I suggested, then left to go sit back at the table.
A couple minutes later our waited came over with the cake in hand. “Would you like a candle?” He asked me. Haha, well too late now! Kelsi looked confused, then it clicked that it was a birthday cake.
“Surprise!! Happy birthday!” I said as the waiter out the cake down. She started laughing.
“Oh my god! What?!”
The waiter rushed off and came back with a huge candle in hand. It was so big it wouldn’t fit in the cake, so he stood it up in front if the cake and lit it.
The whole thing was pretty ridiculous, and Kelsi was genuinely surprised. She made her wish, blew out the candle and we tried it out. It wasn’t the most spectacular tasting cake, but it wasn’t half bad for being vegan (yup, Pushkar is a completely vegetarian city, and the only bakery is purely vegan). Krishna had done an excellent job of decorating it, and the surprise was worth it!
In the end, Kelsi was too sick to eat the cake, but we gave it to the helpful staff at our hotel who seemed very appreciative. We watched the sunset as we ate dinner, and then off to bed early.
Pushkar was small, but it’s energy and laid back vibe made it my favourite town in India so far. The people are friendly, the merchants are not pushy, the views are spectacular, and if they’d sold meat and beer the place would have been perfect!
Jaipur has a lot to live up to!

Udaipur: Escape from Raju!

Posted on April 3, 2013 by hilarylust

We arrived in Udaipur fairly late, so we just had dinner and called it an early night. We had plenty of things planned for the following morning!
Raju had us up and out the door by 9am.
“Go to the left here and you will see city palace, then you go to temple, then back to hotel. After you maybe rest, and I take you to lake 1:00. Okay? And if anyone says ‘you like guide’ or maybe ‘you buy something’ you say Chello!”
Ya, ya. We get it, don’t talk to anyone. So off we went. We made it the whole hundred meters on our own to the city palace. Go us.
What Raju failed to tell us is, that before 10am the cost to enter the city palace goes up EIGHT TIMES it’s usual cost.
“You know if you come back in one hour it will be much cheaper” said a man outside.
No actually, we didn’t know that! But we did now, and we weren’t about to pay that much money to get in. So we turned around and wandered through the markets!
The streets of Udaipur sell EVERYTHING! Clothing, leather bound diaries, hand painted door knobs, puppets, tourist trinkets, and anything you could ever need from a market. What Udaipur is best known for, however, is its miniature paintings.
The city has some incredible artists that paint out intricately designed paintings on small pieces of cloth or camel bone. The work is absolutely exquisite, although you can tell the difference in workmanship between shops. Some are much more skilled at the craft than others and yet every second or third store seemed to sell these paintings. Pictures of elephants, peacocks, camels: each animal symbolized a different attribute, whether it was love, luck or courage. It would take years of experience to perfect the techniques that’s for sure!
Kelsi and I wandered the markets for a few, until we found the temple we were told to check out. It was a gorgeous Jain style temple, sticking up tall and seemingly out of place, in the middle of the bustling marketplace. The white marble work was amazing, but after having seen the massive and elaborately carved pillars of Ranakpur we soon moved back to the markets.
Kelsi bought an anklet from one of the merchant stalls. “What metal is this made from?” She asked the man behind the counter. Nearly everyone promised that their jewelry was 92.5% silver and was of the highest quality.
“White metal” replied the guy. We had to chuckle. An honest vendor! I love it! “It won’t turn your skin green though, and the colour will stay like that”
“Will it break?” Asked Kelsi
“Probably.” He said nonchalantly.
Amazing! All we wanted was some cheap jewelry that looked decent. She didn’t even haggle with the guy. Just handed over the couple dollars he asked for and we all carried on happy! Why couldn’t everyone just be that honest?
We wandered down to the lake front and sat on the stairs, watching the locals come and go. It was relaxing and peaceful by the lake. People came and washed themselves and their clothes in the lake. They drank the water too, although I’m pretty sure that would have made Kelsi and I instantly sick. When 10am came along we strolled back up to the city palace.
The city palace was beautiful, but it had another one of those museums where you entered and then couldn’t leave again. And we realized why it was more expensive early in the morning. At ten, ALL the tourists in the world come to see the city palace. The place is cramped and hot and you can’t take a photo of anything properly if you wanted to! We didn’t have a guide, and so roamed aimlessly through the maze of rooms just trying to find enough space to breathe. In some rooms we were actually the spectacle. We had a woman ditch taking a photo of her boyfriend to instead have her photo taken with Kelsi and I. It’s become so common here that I’m almost used to it. I’m probably going to go home and have a couple ask me to take a photo of them, then I’ll sigh and get into the photo myself. It’ll be awkward to say the least.
About 5 minutes into the palace museum tour we got bored, but we couldn’t escape the throngs of people. We started playing our new favourite game with the artwork on the wall: I call it “man or woman?”.
The artwork that is displayed in the palace, and all of India for that matter, has a lot of gender suspicious paintings of people. Sometimes a man is painted in traditional garb, which looks like a dress. He has long hair pulled into a bun, necklaces, bracelets, anklets, and I even saw nail polish on one! Normally I would go ahead and guess woman, but not here! Sometimes it’s the beard that gives it away, other times its just a shadow of a beard, and other times its the social situation of the painting. “Nope, women weren’t allowed to do that, gotta be a man”. This new game is the only thing that got us through the palace in a sane state!
It took us over an hour of pushing our way from room to room, rushing past important monuments and getting lost trying to find the exits signs out of each room, to finally escape the palace walls.
“Let’s go home” we both agreed, and we went back to the hotel to freshen up.
At 1:00 we went to the lobby to find Raju. When he wasn’t there, we took the opportunity to escape.
“Let’s just leave a note and head out on our own!” We suggested. So we did:
Dear Raju,
We couldn’t find you, so we left for the lake on our own. See you at 5:00 for the sunset drive!
– Sunita and Anita

And we were off on our own again. It felt wonderful finally being able to explore a place without the watchful and protective eyes of Raju. We didn’t need a babysitter, we needed a driver. I know he is just doing his best to look out for us, but never being allowed to talk to anyone, ever, was going to put us in the mad house.
We hopped in a Tuk Tuk and drove off towards the lake. We desperately wanted to go paddle boating so we got the driver to take us to the docks.
Our driver was elated to have two blonde girls sitting in the back of his Tuk Tuk. He couldn’t stop telling us how beautiful we were and staring at us in the side mirrors. Great. We would get the creepiest Rickshaw driver in all of Udaipur.
When we arrived at the docks we were greeted with disappointment. Something to do with the water levels of the lake, but there was no paddle boating for the day. No! Our mission to paddle in a swan boat was crushed!
So we decided to walk along the waterfront instead. We hadn’t made it ten steps before our Rickshaw driver caught up to us.
“I know another place to paddle boat!” He announced excitedly. “It is at a hotel just down the way.” Reluctantly we jumped back in, our love for paddle boating stronger than our drivers lame advances. About 2 minutes down the road another Tuk Tuk pulled up beside us.
“Wooooooaaaah!” Two young guys, about our age, in the Tuk Tuk next to us saw Kelsi and I and started driving along side us. They started shouting at our driver, asking him how he picked up such lovely ladies. Between the two vehicles we were taking up the entire road. Motorbikes and cars were swerving around the two Tuk tuks as they drove side by side.
“Where are you from?!” One guy shouted at us.
“New Zealand and Canada”we answered back.
“Ooooh, New Zealand!” They reached out to shake our hands from one Tuk Tuk to the next. This was so absurd we had to start laughing. 10 minutes away from Raju and look what happened to us!
One guy ended up climbing into the front seat of our Rickshaw to chat with us some more. His English was exemplary and his laugh was so contagious we could hardly contain ourselves. He talked non-stop for the entire way to the paddle boating.
“Let’s party later! Ill give you my number” we took it to be polite and to get him to leave us alone, but had no desire to party with the guys knowing that creepy Tuk Tuk driver would most likely be there.
“How about 7? We can go to Masala restaurant that my friend owns. We can pick you up from the hotel, where are you staying?”
“Can’t remember actually” we lied. “But if we decide to party we will come find you guys at Masala. Bye now!”
We laughed our way to the paddle boating and then laughed some more when we saw where we were. The hotel had a giant fountain outside it and you could paddle boat IN the fountain. This was too funny. So we paid our 40 cents and grabbed a swan. Two guys walking around the park saw us and hopped in a boat as well.
“Who in their right mind, other than us, would ever paddle boat in this thing?” I asked
“Don’t know, but we’ve made this fountain more popular than it’s been in years” said Kelsi as she pointed to the other two random guys.
We actually had a great time in the boat. Apart from the scorching sun, we were full of giggles as we raced around the small pool of water. And 20 minutes later we decided to head back to the markets.
Our favourite Tuk Tuk driver was waiting for us. Fabulous. We got him to drop us off at the edge of town so we could walk our way back to the hotel without him.
Even after hours in the markets in the morning, we couldn’t get enough of walking from shop to shop looking at things to buy. We stopped in at some amazing miniature painting shops and even bought a couple for ourselves. Then it was back to the hotel to find Raju.
For the sunset we drove to a temple at the top of a large hill across the lake. The views from the top were the best I’d seen in India to date. Peaked green hills with crazy looking twisted trees all over. A stunning view of the city of Udaipur and it’s beautiful lake. The sunset was once again a depressing smoggy fail, but we enjoyed the scenery nonetheless.
As we got back to the hotel, standing about 20 meters from the from entrance was the two young guys from the Tuk Tuk earlier.
“Great.” Said Kelsi.
“Did they see us?” We ducked down. How in the world did they FIND us?! We started laughing, wondering how we were going to explain this to Raju after our no talking rule. Instead we just booked it from the car to the front door and ran inside to hide. The boys spotted us and came running down after us. “Girls! Are you coming out?!” They were met with an angry Raju forcing them away from the area “Chello! Chello!” He shouted at them as if they were dogs.
Kelsi and I fell into our bed in fits of laughter. That would happen to us. Now we had to hide away in our room for another half hour before venturing off to dinner! Just our luck.
When sufficient time had passed we left for dinner. But not before getting the Spanish Inquisition from Raju. “Where are you going? When are you coming back? Who are you going with? Why aren’t you eating at the hotel?”
Ay, ay, ay! We just want to get some food! We had scoped out a lovely place by the waterfront and was excited to try it. The place had a busy but small rooftop patio that we sat in to watch the night away. We ordered a couple dishes and a large Kingfisher to share.
“Okay” said our waiter “it will take me a bit to cook the food, but I will bring you the beer now is that okay?”
“Ya sure” we said “that’s perfect” and he ran back down the four flights of stairs to the kitchen.
“Did he say he was MAKING the food?” Asked Kelsi.
“Ya, that’s what I heard, but it must have been a mistake in translation.”
The food came out fairly quickly and it was delicious. We powered through the meal and got the bill right away; we were in a rush to get home for “curfew” or “drinking time” with Raju.
We walked downstairs to find our server. Down and down all the flights of stairs… then we found him in the kitchen.
“Oh my god!” I said “do you COOK the meals too?!”
He looked at me almost a little embarrassed. He was a young guy, probably in his early to mid twenties “Yes, I am here all alone tonight. So it is very busy for me. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry! That’s crazy!”
I counted 11 people on the roof when I left. There was at least one more person sitting down below which made 12. 12 people, 12 different orders, and 12 different meals to cook. Cleaning the tables, getting the bills and the drinks and the beers… I’m never complaining as a server ever again! We tipped the guy very well and ran off to home.
Raju had been wanting us to drink the last of our whiskey every night since the camel trekking.
“You drink tonight?” He would ask, without fail. We were finding it hard to come up with anymore excuses.
“It we just drink the damn whiskey then he won’t ask anymore” Kelsi said.
“Unless he buys another one!” I reminded her.
“Touché”
Either way, we just decided to get it over and done with. We sat in the restaurant with some curried Indian snacks and a bottle of whiskey. Here we go!
I think Raju had a wonderful time getting to hang out with us over a couple drinks. He did seem to just want us to have fun on the trip (as long as that fun didn’t involve anyone else). But by the end, the whiskey was going straight to my head and all I wanted to do was go to sleep. We managed to polish off the bottle and then we walked down two flights of stairs to crash out after a long day.
It was the last time we heard anything about drinking whiskey…