Seasons on the Move

Pushkar – October 24

Not much accomplished other than walking the streets and reading our books. Having recently finished “American Psycho” (not an easy task), I chewed through a good portion of Cormac McCarthy’s “No Country For Old Men” whilst trying to place which actors played which characters in the new Coen brother’s film adaptation. I had Tommy Lee Jones pegged as Sheriff Bell and Javier Bardem as Chigurh but couldn’t figure out who played Moss. I guess I’ll have to check IMDB on that one.

Pushkar – October 23

The power went out continuously throughout the night.  The water stopped working around 9pm the night before. Fab and I got up late. She washed some clothes in a bucket in the bathroom that had collected dripping water over the past few days. I laid in bed, looked at the ceiling, and thought about how it was time to leave Pushkar. The vacation from our vacation was well needed, but we were both getting anxious to get moving again.

We walked around the ghats and sat looking out at the lake. Sadhus sat to our right underneath a tree smoking hashish and stoking a small fire. I looked up in the sky and watched some hawks swoop and dive in the air. “Those aren’t hawks,” Fab informed me, “Those are bats.” It reminded me of the scene in “Temple of Doom” where Indiana Jones tells Willie, “Those aren’t birds sweetheart, those are giant vampire bats”. I suppressed the urge to get up and start running. Instead, I watched the bats float in the sky, the sunlight visible through their leathery wings, and started to reconsider going to Bundi, a town famous for it’s bat population.

Pushkar – October 22

Fab and I walked over to the Brahma Temple after having a late breakfast at the Rainbow restaurant. We checked our shoes outside the temple and walked barefoot up the white marble incline leading to the temple. We were stopped half way by a smooth operator with gel in his hair who shoved a fistful of flowers in our hands and appointed himself tour guide. We tried to be polite, but politeness doesn’t always work in India.

Standing in front of the temple, he told us the story of Brahma and explained to us what to do with the flowers.  “Only half here,” the man explained, “The other half in the lake.” We smiled and then tried to dodge the guy, not wanting our little tour to tailspin into an expensive bill. We also found out that Brahma wasn’t present at the time, he was taking a nap behind a gold curtain.

The guide proved hard to lose. He led us (re:followed us) down to the ghats to make an offering and to obtain a Pushkar Passport, a piece of red and yellow string tied around the wrist. The man from the Ghats the night before shook his head at us as we approached the water. I tried to work out in my head exactly how much this was going to cost me. I asked the guide. He just wobbled his head and said, “As you like.” Perhaps the most common refrain when asking for unlabeled prices in India.

Fab and I were separated at the ghats, still not sure why though since none of the Indian families were split up. My priest made me repeat some phrases. I tried to concentrate but was dreading what I knew was to follow. I couldn’t really say whether I repeated correctly or not. In the end, I gave what I thought was fair which is to say not too much. Fab and I waited until our guide gave up and left the ghats in search of more profitable tourists.

On our way back to the hotel, a man opened a basket to reveal a sleeping cobra inside. he slapped the cobra a few times, causing it to sit up and hiss and Fab and I to recoil in sheer terror. We walked briskly the rest of the way, laughing in relief from our quick exit.

Pushkar – October 21

We took our first real steps outside of the hotel in the morning. Before, we had only left to restock our water supply at a shop across the street. The rooftop patio had proved too comfortable to leave. We wandered through the city’s lanes, stopping to look in shops and take some pictures. A procession of camels rode by causing people, motorcycles and cows to get out of the way.

We were supposed to meet Dori later in the day down by the ghats for a photo taking session of the festivities. Since we arrived in Pushkar, there were nightly fireworks, chanting, drumming, dancing and just about everything else a festival implies. However, we couldn’t get a straight answer about what exactly the festival was celebrating. When we asked any Indians, all we got were some head wobbles and convoluted answers that we couldn’t decipher.

We went back to the patio for a cold drink and saw that an effigy was being erected on a hillside just outside the city limits. Buma, a teenage boy who did almost everything at the hotel, informed us that the effigy would be burned at sundown to symbolize the defeat of good over evil (or something like that) and would mark the end of the festival. Although we had a clear view of the effigy from the patio, we left for the ghats in search of Dori.

We never did find Dori. Instead, we followed the flow of Indians down to the ghats unsure as to whether or not we were welcome to observe let alone participate. At the lake, we took off our shoes and were given a fistful of flowers to put in the water. The man who gave me the flowers came out of nowhere and startled Fab. She initially refused the flowers before the man ensured her that he meant no harm. I slipped him ten rupees and walked down to the waterfront.

Fab and I released the flowers into the water and then got shooed from the ghat when a group of people carrying a statue of some god (not sure which, maybe Krishna) came down the stairs. We watched the curious ceremony from a distance as repetitive bells rang directly behind us. The celebration went on well into the night. All across the city, drums, accordian and singing cut through the otherwise silent Pushkar.  

Pushkar – October 19/20

The two days blended together in a haze of page turning and bhang lassis. The breeze  blew through the patio as we watched the sun turn from orange to red to brown and then drop out of sight. I finished off “The Picture of Dorian Gray” by Oscar Wilde and cut a deep swath into Bret Easton Ellis’ “American Psycho”. Ellis’ book started off hilarious, but soon turned pitch dark. Graphic is probably the most apt word to describe it. Brutal and filthy also come to mind. Perhaps not the right match for a spiritual town such as Pushkar.

Jodhpur to Pushkar – October 18

The bus to Pushkar was fairly uneventful except for the fact that an Indian woman seated in front of us, suffering from motion sickness, vomited out the open window and some of the spray came back in and splashed on Fab. Almost all buses in India have puke, dried in thin streams, underneath the windows.

Omi, a guy from the hotel we were supposed to stay at in Pushkar, picked us up at the Ajmer bus station. Of course, he wasn’t there when we arrived so we had to wait an hour for him to “finish showering”. We grabbed some rupees from a ATM and then got whisked off to Pushkar, less than a half hour away.

The hotel was dirty and rundown, but it had a great rooftop patio overlooking a temple across the road. We had a cold drink and watched the sun set over the town. Later at night, we sat around with fellow travellers and talked about our collective experiences so far in India. Dori, a Dutch woman in her forties, spoke about the many different times she’s travelled India. A German couple complained about the loud singing and chanting that went on all night and Aron, an Israeli, told us about the motorcycle he bought earlier in the day that he planned on riding throughout India. Fab and I, still relative newbies to India, mostly just sat and listened, realizing how little we really knew about traveling in the country.

Jodhpur – October 17

We took a rickshaw up to Meharangarh Fort, perched on a rocky cliff 125m above the city, and the main reason for our visit to Jodhpur. We had heard from the French couple in Bangkok that this was the fort to visit in Rajasthan. Since this was the first fort we had visited in India, I could not accurately verify their opinion, but it was impressive nonetheless.

We took a splendid audio tour that was included in the admission fee that dramatically told the history of the fort. There are seven gates to the fort, complete with spiked doorways to deter invaders from using elephants to breach the compound. Within the gates, there were cannonball blasts visible on the asymetrical walls, beautiful lattice work, an opium smoking demonstration (sans real drugs) and a court astrologer.

At night, the city came alive with dancing and singing celebrating the Marwar Festival. Fab and I walked around, stopping to take in some of the festivities. There were kids everywhere, but after having watching the dancing I was unsure as to why any of this would appeal to children. Then again, alot of things I have seen in India do not make sense to my Western mind. I guess that’s all part of the country’s charm.

Udaipur to Jodhpur – October 16 

After picking up people every fifty metres of so, the bus’s rear tire burst and we were stranded by the side of the road for two, but what seemed like four, hours. A sadhu sat in a wheel barrow behind the bus smoking cigarettes. The Indians on board the bus flagged down passing buses and abandoned the tourists. Fab and I sat in the shade away from the road before realizing that we were sitting in front of a large pile of cow shit.

When we pulled into Jodhpur, touts and rickshaw drivers grabbed onto the open windows, screaming for our attention, and got dragged along behind the bus as it entered the terminal. A man at the gates pulled people off as the bus went by. To make things easier, we approached a guy handing out flyers to his hotel and asked how much his rooms were. “250 to 300 rupees and I give you free ride to hotel.” We figured we’d try it out and hopped in a rickshaw.

Well, the rooms weren’t as cheap as Sunny, the guy at the terminal, had said, but they were cheap enough and we were only going to be in town for two nights. The rooms were huge, but gloomy and dirty. The food from the hotel was decent, but the plates were not too clean. In fact, the hotel had a nice lay out, but almost no effort was put in to maintaining it. Too bad.

Udaipur – October 15 

We got kicked out of our hotel in the morning because they had overbooked. Ah, India. I didn’t mind so much because we were moved across the street and all I wanted at that point was to rest.

I tested the stamina of my stomach in the afternoon and went for a walk with Fab. We wanted to go to the city’s garden to sit in the shade and disappear from all the exhaust and dust. I stepped in a pile of cow shit on the way and Fab was harassed with cat calls by teenage boys. She stopped after a while and gave them the finger, both the American and the British version, but the signs were lost on them. At the garden, same thing. Packs of horny sketchpads doing their best to make women uncomfortable. Apparently it was working because there were no woman anywhere. If I wouldn’t have been in India, I would have thought we were in the gay section of the park: men with thick caterpillar moustaches holding hands with each other.

We retreated to a small cafe and wiled away the rest of the day people watching and eavesdropping on other travellers. It’s interesting to hear other people’s experiences in India. Sometimes the stories are frightening, but usually helpful since most travellers are either coming or going in the same direction as you.

Udaipur – October 14 

My stomach bubbled and foamed from the moment I opened my eyes. I tried to ignore the pain and make something of the day. I was defeated in the early afternoon. There is nothing more unsettlingly than being unsure as to whether or not a little surprise will accompany the passing of gas.

Not wanting to dehydrate myself, I sucked back some rehydration salts and tried to wait it out in bed. To keep me company, Fab spread out a map of India beside me and marked off the spots we wanted to visit with a black marker. I tried to pay attention, but mostly I just felt sorry for myself and ran to the bathroom.

Anyone who has traveled in India can relate to the mental gymnastics involved in charting a route through the country, especially if a person wants to stray from the northern circuit. Trains abound in India, but they invariably leave at odd times and often arrive at uncomfortable hours. Trying to plan the most convenient route for us was like trying to solve a riddle.

At night I was feeling better so we went to see some traditional Rajasthani dancing at the haveli. The theatre was in an open air courtyard up a flight of stairs from the haveli entrance. A large, leafy tree hung over the stage. The audience took their seats on cushions lining the performance area. Bats swooped out of the sky, grabbing bugs in mid air, just above our heads. There was some nice tabla playing, lots of spinning, a woman who balanced seven pots on her head while dancing in circles and a puppet show that shamed the Vietnamese water puppets. After the show, having squirmed and pinched by butt cheeks for the last hour, I went back to the hotel and locked myself in the bathroom.