Wanderlust Heaven!

My traveling companions started turning up ill as we spent our week in Darjeeling. I was staying at a different hotel, so it wasn’t like they were just down the hall…but still, if you walk for an hour in a place like Darjeeling, you’re bound to find your friends. I went over to Andy’s Guesthouse, where they were all staying, and found Ernesto prostate in bed, bundled up like an Eskimo. So much for Swedes being impervious to the cold.

Went back to the town square, Chowrasta, and bumped into the Germans en route. Tom said he was starting to feel crappy too. They were – as Germans will do – planning well ahead, and had been to the train station to look into ways to get to Delhi. The trains were full for days ahead; that made me worry a bit, as I had to get to Calcutta, and then to Delhi, by month’s end. I walked down to the train station and inquired about trains to Calcutta – and sure enough, I couldn’t get one for the days I wanted, I had to go three days out. Booked it and made a note to think about where to go after Darjeeling.

This country is getting way too crowded – there, I said it. I’m not arguing for extreme measures like forced sterilization, or Catholicism…but this country feels a bit more crowded every time I return, and you start to see the implications when you want to book a train or hotel room. And it’s not like the government is investing wisely in infrastructure – they’ve finally built some new national highways, but the airports and other major works are still woefully behind (China). India won’t get any more pleasant/liveable until this issue is tackled…

Took a walk up Observatory Hill, near Chowrasta. This place doesn’t offer great views – lots of tall trees in the way – but does have a cool little Hindu temple surrounded by scores of Buddhist prayer flags. And apparently adherents of both religions come to pray there. I like that…

Met everyone except Ernesto (still ill) for dinner that night at Glenary’s. The Germans, Tom and Steffi, are very well-traveling and we told travel tales for hours over dinner, then over drinks at Joey’s. There was, of course, the usual one-upmanship and minor braggadocio, which I naturally won.

The next morning, nursing a slight hangover, I thought about my next destination, and decided to visit the little state of Sikkim. The Germans were planning to go there, and I was in no real hurry to get to Calcutta. Walked over with them to get my Sikkim travel permit – many little Indian states require these. Tom and Steffi had already started the process and had the form, and I wrote my details on their form – strength in numbers (or is that guilt by association?). We had to visit two offices – Foreigner Registration and District Magistrate. The first went off smoothly – just 10 minutes there – but the second was closed. It was Good Friday, and Holi (Hindu), and the Prophet Mohammed’s birthday all in one. I think Holi was the deciding holiday, but in any event it was annoying to walk all the way to the District Magistrate’s office for nothing. And why was the first office open, the second closed?

Now we’d have to wait till Monday. We’d wanted to get going to Sikkim on Sunday. Oh well. Another day or so in Darjeeling wouldn’t be a hardship.

I moved over to Andy’s Guesthouse, as my place, Dekeling, was booked out. I was happy enough to move and be closer to my new friends. And Dekeling had pissed me off – my room was unbearably noisy in the morning, for one, it was over the breakfast room and it sounded like an ale house at 7:30 a.m. Also, there was construction going on in the front and I was constantly wading through gravel and concrete. You’ve gotta do maintenance, sure, but this was a little painful for guests. As I checked out they seemed penitent, and gave me a little Tibetan prayer shawl to say thanks. That was cool.

Andy’s is more basic, but perfectly fine. And there’s a great little rooftop viewing station. It was still cloudy and I couldn’t see Kanchenjunga – and wasn’t to see it during my stay in the north, except for a 5-minute stint at a nearby viewing area when the clouds cleared slightly.

Tibetans are all over Darjeeling. They had a couple protests and speeches while I was there. It’s odd – some of them walk around with Hindu tikkas on their foreheads. I wonder why – perhaps to fit in with the locals?

A very drunk fellow was being carried down the main drag – the Mall – by his friends. Reminded me of a few instances in Goa. I made a mental note to stick to beer up here.

Walked a ways out of town to see a prominent Buddhist gompa. The road became pretty steep…it started to rain…I had my little umbrella but was still wet with sweat as I reached the gompa. The gompa itself wasn’t particularly awesome, but it had a nice setting out on a small ridge. I checked it out for a bit, then walked back to town. En route I passed by a gang of monkeys. After a minute I heard shrieking and looked back – they were having it out and it got violent. Then some ran off and it was all over. We humans wouldn’t do that…

Nancy Pelosi, the US Speaker of the House of Representatives, was in Dharamshala for a couple days. The trip was planned a while back, so it wasn’t that she came over to protest the Chinese crackdown in Tibet. But she got loads of headlines here, and pissed off the Chinese more than such a trip ordinarily would have. When the Dems control all 3 branches of government (you read it here), what will they do re China? I hope the populist/rabble-rousing bullshit won’t carry through. I suspect it won’t – every candidate (Repubs too) go on about China during the elections, then do nothing once in office. I suspect that’s the best policy. Although tweaking their noses on the Olympics would feel very good…

That night, back at Joey’s with the Swedes. Ernesto had recovered by now. We had met for high tea at the Elgin Hotel, a pretty solid bit of England still existent in India. It was the height of the Holi holiday, which includes everyone going around rubbing colored chalk on each other. Not my favorite thing…but hard to avoid. Oh, and there’s a fair bit of drinking too. As closing time loomed, a bunch of hammered locals streamed into the bar and started annoying the barman, a high-strung guy in the best of times. Tempers flared…an ashtray got broken…this seemed to set off the barman. Things looked set to go off, but calm soon returned. I actually think our presence helped – the locals were a bit embarrassed to be acting so stupid in front of tourists. Eventually the bar closed and we walked home.

The holiday continued the next day, and I finally got into the spirit. Not because I wanted to, but because the chalk-dudes got me. I was walked back a viewing station, and 5-6 locals with chalk (they were completely covered in it) walked up to a couple other foreigners and gave them a gentle tikka on the forehead. Then they spotted me and came over. I could have run, but that would have been cowardly, so I submitted to my punishment. I said ‘just a tikka,’ the lead guy assented…but then smeared my head with a handful of chalk. I briefly considered breaking his neck, but was outnumbered so simply said something like ‘thanks asshole’ and walked on. Got quite a few stares as I ambled back to Andy’s to wash off. There was lots of hot water available, so I stood under the shower head for a while and got clean. And made a note to stay well clear of roving chalk-heads till Holi concluded…

Tom was getting worse, and spent an entire day in his room at Andy’s pretty much chained to the toilet. I wondered when I’d get so lucky. Seemed like a bug and not food poisoning. Went with Ernesto and Teresa down to the ‘mall’ near Joey’s to check out the ‘department store’ there. They went shopping for jeans – there was a ‘Levi’s Store’ there that seemed legit. As I walked around Big Bazaar I was semi-impressed – they had a huge range of stuff there, including lots of foreign foods and goods. Then I felt a shift in my intestines, and knew I’d need to see the man pretty soon. Told the Swedes I was heading back to Andy’s, and walked very briskly up the hill till I got to my room. I managed to avoid becoming ill, but was queasy then and for a day or so afterward. Lomodil and grapefruit seed extract seemed to get me through the worst of it.

Spent that night at Glenary’s and Joey’s, two of our favorite places. It was our last night in town – we were getting our Sikkim permits the next morning, all 5 of us, and then setting off for Gangtok, the capital, in the afternoon. That was the plan, anyway. Avoided getting too drunk that night – facing Indian bureaucrats with a hangover would be way too depressing.

The Germans told me they’d been sitting in Sonam’s Kitchen (best breakfasts in Asia - seriously) and watched a Westerner dressed entirely in Indian clothing try to negotiate the price of a candy from 4 rupees to 3 rupees. The store owner wouldn’t budge, and the Westerner finally walked out. Give me a break.

Got the Sikkim permits without much ado, and got into our shared jeep to Gangtok. We’d been in Darjeeling for a full week, and had spent it pretty much hanging out together. Good fun. I’m very much a solo traveler and generally enjoy my privacy, but the Swedes and Germans were great company and I was happy to spend a couple more days (that’s all I had before leaving for Calcutta) together in Sikkim.

We’d read about an Italian restaurant called, naturally enough, ‘Little Italy,’ in our guidebook. This place offered many dishes, including spaghetti with meatballs, which brought to mind (for me, at least) the old kid’s song ‘On Top of Spaghetti.’ I remembered the first few lines, then faltered, but a quick check on my handphone’s Internet brought the rest. I sang it a couple times en route to Gangtok – the Europeans seemed to like it.

We stopped just once, in a small town where the main biz seemed to be washing jeeps. We were supposed to stop for 10 minutes…we stayed there for more like 30, during which time the kid washing the vehicle covered every molecule, I swear. He did an incredibly thorough job – not something you often see in this country. Of course, he used the equivalent of a small lake of water to do it. I read somewhere that the average commercial carwash uses a fraction of the water that a guy washing his car at home uses. This came to mind as I watched water run down the road and into the ditches. I guess this part of India gets a good amount of water, but in Darjeeling there were the usual requests to be careful with it, so I wondered. Then we got back in the jeep and continued on.

Got into Sikkim – had to stop and get our passports stamped. Read more about Sikkim in my guidebook. The state used to be independent, until 1975 – but I suspect it was a dodgy independence which rested on the goodwill of India, and perhaps China. Now it’s one of the smallest Indian states, and abuts Tibet, Nepal and Bhutan, as well as West Bengal state – a handy if precarious location which ensures that some travelers stop there. I just wanted to see a new place – so did the Swedes. The Germans had a week or more, so were likely to do some minor trekking. One key benefit of visiting Sikkim is to get a closer look at Kanchenjunga…but it was still cloudy, and Gangtok isn’t the closest point, so more disappointment ensued.

Sikkim is a ‘recent acquisition’ of India’s, as I mentioned. One thing India has done to cement the bond is to pour money into the state, so you see lots of huge buildings and a degree of affluence that is surprising for such a backwater. We passed by a large noodle factory – Wai-Wai, and other large buildings. One had the initials ‘SMIT.’ We tried to come up with its meaning – Ernesto guessed ‘Sikkim Meatball Italian Trattoria.’ We obviously had meatballs on the brain and were set for a reckoning that night at Little Italy…

Got into Gangtok – checked into our hotel, Travel Lodge, a decent place with hot water and TV, but a bit musty. And it offers room service – I generally avoid these sorts of places. The rooms are small, there’s no real table for eating, so guess where people eat their food? I know how I eat – I’m generally neat and don’t get more than 5-6 pieces of food on my clothes…but watching Indians chow down with their hands, you’ve gotta think that 20% doesn’t wind up in their mouths.

Washed up and went out for dinner. We hadn’t had lunch that day, so were starving. As we walked down the hill – quite a ways – to Little Italy, it started to rain. We were short of umbrellas, but managed to only get 80% wet. The restaurant was a seriously long walk – about 30 minutes – and the locals weren’t that helpful about providing accurate directions/estimates of timing. Finally got there, hungry, wet and tired. Ordered some local beers – Dansberg Blue – and a huge amount of food. The meatballs were real beef – probably from water buffalo, not sure. They were done up with a spicy Indian-style sauce which wasn’t great, but I needed meat and was happy enough. And the pizzas were OK too – a bit sweet (welcome to India), but solid. We stayed there for hours, drinking and gorging. Then got a taxi back up the hill to the hotel.

Watched ‘Memoirs of a Geisha’ that night on HBO. Hadn’t really watched TV in ages, and I like this movie. Thought about my time in Japan – with rose-colored glasses. I wouldn’t mind a kilo or two of sushi. Maybe I’ll check in with my ex-colleague in Tokyo and see where he stands with getting a meeting with an old client of mine…he might need a bit of help??

Gangtok is a modest place. It’s set on a hillside, as is Darjeeling and many other hill-stations. When the weather is good, I hear the views are terrific – but we were a little early in the season and weren’t lucky. I had to head to the NJP train station a few hours south the next day, to board a train to Calcutta…the Swedes decided to share a jeep with me, and get on a train one day later to Jaipur. Rajasthan was their next destination. So it was just a short stint in Sikkim for us; the Germans decided to move to Pelling, to the west, the next morning, in hopes of getting a real view of the peaks.

Spent our only full day in Gangtok making travel plans and then walking around. Getting our jeeps and trains sorted took some time. Then we took a cab out to the viewing area of Ganesh Tok. Pretty good views of town and nearby hills, but not farther. Walked toward a famous gompa…got lost…ended up at a Hindu mandir (temple) instead…punted and caught a taxi back to town. Checked the Internet and saw that the Red Sox won their opener in Tokyo. Thought about tempura and udon noodles.

The Swedes – I doubt this technique qualifies as camera obscura, but it’s kind of unusual:

Had dinner that night at perhaps the poshest spot in Gangtok, Tangerine. Nice atmosphere and good food. It was our final night all together – in the morning we’d split up. Had quite a few beers and told a few more stories. I’d miss Tom and Steffi, we’d come together with them by chance at the NJP station and had spent the past 8 or so days with them. Exchanged contact info, a few hugs, and split up. I decided to walk off dinner on the town’s walking arcade, a very pleasant stretch lined with shops, hotels and restaurants, and thankfully no cars. Walking down this stretch, you forget you’re in a place like Sikkim. I walked to the end and started back – then felt a nasty rumbling in the belly. Oh no. I briefly recalled Lisa’s father’s diagnosis from a Goan doctor – he was perfectly healthy, but his pancreas couldn’t be observed because of some ‘bowel gas.’ I was a good mile from my hotel, and was totally exposed. I got going quickly, and despite a couple scary moments I made it back to my toilet and sat down in a high state of relief.

Was it the food from Tangerine? Perhaps – the ‘effect’ was rapid. I’d had the house special pork dish that night, as well as a very spicy masala papad – but I suspected that I’d caught a case of what Ernesto and Tom previously had, and probably hadn’t shaken yet. I downed some grapefruit seed extract and crossed my fingers.

As I fell asleep that night, I briefly worried about my permit situation. I was listed on a page along with the Germans, who had possession of the actual piece of paper. And they were taking off the next morning at 6:30 a.m. for Pelling. I had meant to photocopy the page, but had forgotten. Should I wake them now, and look for a place to Xerox the page. Nah…I went to sleep and decided to try my luck. My passport had been stamped and my permit details recorded on entry – I figured leaving Sikkim wouldn’t be a real issue.

Next morning, met the Swedes for breakfast before we checked out and got going to NJP (New Jalpaiguri, a major train station near the sizeable town of Siliguri). Ernesto looked awful – he was again ill, probably with a recurrence of the same thing he’d had back in Darjeeling. Maybe he and Tom were playing tag. I didn’t want to play…

I had only been to Calcutta very briefly, back in 1992, and wanted to spend a couple days seeing its sights. I don’t need to get into a lengthy history of the place, or its reputation – you already know it or can learn about it easily enough. Anyway, my plan was just a bit of sight-seeing before heading to Delhi on the 29^th.

We got in our jeep to NJP. Teresa was also feeling weak – it was fortuitous that we had rented an entire jeep for ourselves and not gone in for the 10 passengers/jeep rent-a-seat deal. The Swedes slept for much of the trip while I looked out the window. At the Sikkim border stop we sailed right through – nothing checked. I was deeply pleased not to have woken the Germans in Gangtok. But as we drove onto the bridge separating Sikkim from West Bengal, we hit a snare. Loads of cops and soldiers – a full-blown Tibet anti-China rally on the far side. Something happened that caused a stir – and the cops made us move back, back onto the Sikkim side. We were stuck there for a few minutes – but weren’t in a real hurry, as my train wasn’t till that night, and the Swedes were spending that night at Siliguri. Still, the very state of motionless was a bit jarring and we wondered about our status and prospects.

Got moving again soon enough. Drove by the demonstration, saw a banner trashing the China Olympic Games. Fair enough. Still wasn’t sure what had held us up, beyond general protesting – later read that a Tibetan had tried to set himself on fire. The protest was not allowed into Sikkim, so it stayed on the West Bengal side. And for all I know, it’s still going on there.

Saw a bus plying between Siliguri and a town called ‘Mungpoo.’ One of the best town names I’ve come across…

At Siliguri, the Swedes disembarked. We were a bit sad as we said our goodbyes. Ernesto, Teresa and I had met on the Varanasi-NJP train nearly 10 days beforehand, and we’d spent lots of time together since. They’d overcome my usual cranky anti-social mien and we’d gotten surprisingly close. I felt badly that they were both feeling ill, and that we hadn’t talked that much on our ‘final ride.’ Still, I think we’ll stay in touch and I’d be happy to go see them in Stockholm at some point.

Proceeded to NJP station. I had to kill a few hours, and found the ‘upper class waiting room,’ where there was precisely one seat available. Parked myself there, and read my book – ‘A Fine Balance’ by Rohinton Mistry. I’d neglected the book a bit up north – friends and television both kept me away from it. I wanted to finish it while in India, then stock up on a few more books, so now cranked away. The woman sitting next to me was a real character – she ate a huge plate of rice and vegetables, and spoke to me in Hindi. Her daughter, a recently graduated doctor, translated. These two couldn’t have been more dissimilar. The woman finished her plate, then proceeded to belch 4-5 times over the next hour – the aroma was not pleasant. The daughter was far more polished and was good fun.

Time to board the train to Calcutta, an overnight trip. Found my berth easily enough. Thought about my time up north, in the Indian Himalaya…I’d spent 10 days up there and had enjoyed it immensely. The mountains are a superb part of India – as are the beaches. I’d also visited places like Rajasthan and Varanasi, and generally enjoyed them…but if I had to spend a stretch of time in the country, it would be in the mountains and beaches. Please don’t put a gun to my head and decide which of those two I prefer…

It was noticeably hotter down here on the plains – just that morning I’d rued the cold morning air and wanted some heat. Now I’d be getting what I wanted, and would probably miss the chilly air.

I watched a coolie load suitcases on his head, only cushioned by a wound-up rag. Incredible weight on his noggin. Looked over at the man in the berth across the aisle – he was reading ‘The Three Little Piggies.’ Either learning English, or previewing the book for his child. I settled into my berth and soon fell asleep.

Woke up a few hours before reaching Calcutta. I could carry on here, as I’ve now been in the city for a day, but I’ll leave it for next week. Big Indian cities deserve their own entry – this feels like a natural break point in my narrative. Over and out.

The trip to Varanasi was tiring, but when I reached my hotel – Temple on Ganges, a tip from Emma la francaise in Jaisalmer – I didn’t feel like resting. I walked out towards the ghats to ingest a bit of the parade of human life to be found there. But you’ve got to take the vinegar with the honey…and I immediately found myself shadowed by a teenaged boy who was intent on showing me around. Ragha was friendly enough, and not that annoying, so I didn’t shoo him away. Mind you, I didn’t encourage him to tag along. We walked the length of the ghats to watch the sunset ganga aarti ceremony. They hold this every night, and it’s a circus of flowers, music and crowds. They invoke and use all the key elements – earth, air, fire, water, and one more (marijuana?).

After an hour of that, I was beat and wandered back to the hotel to eat and collapse. Ragha followed me back, and the importuning began. ‘Come to my factory tomorrow.’ ‘I can show you around the old city.’ Etc. Torture. I imagine he’d teach me a few things about the city…but I just despise 1) being followed – it’s creepy even if it’s just a young kid, and 2) being viewed as a money machine. Two commonplace issues we travelers have in India, and elsewhere; no profundity being expressed here. I’ve gotten so sick of #2 that I refuse to give to beggars anymore…the underlying reason may be that I’m cheap, but I don’t think it’s that. It’s more that I find the importuning annoying and invasive. I’m of course coming across as a prima donna here – if I were born without a limb in a third-world country, my position would very likely be otherwise. But I can only stretch my identity and views so far…in the words of the immortal Popeye, I yam who I yam…or was it Yahweh who said that?

My adjunct excuse is that I’ll give to charities, or donate my time to help the needy. But usually I just follow the philanthropic adventures of Alan and Janine, and postpone my good offices until an unforeseen time in the future…

When we reached the hotel I shook Ragha off – he wanted to have a chai (tea) with me, I didn’t feel like it. I put 50 rupees in his shirt pocket – he didn’t want to take any money, preferring instead to lock in the next day…naturally, at an exponentially higher rate. That wasn’t going to happen – I don’t make any deals on the spot, and in Varanasi that goes double. I told him not to wait around for me, I didn’t know when I’d wake up. I hoped he wouldn’t have formed any unrealistic expectations about serving as my man Friday, but I wasn’t sure.

Ate a crappy meal on the hotel rooftop. French fries – flaccid. Macaroni and cheese – out of a box. Papad – leathery. Only veg food, and bad veg food at that. Oh well…I’d heard that the food in Varanasi was weak.

Quick background on Varanasi: it’s thousands of years old, and perhaps the holiest city in India. The Ganges flows by, and the ghats (riverbank steps) are where puja (prayers), cremations, and bathing all take place, around the clock. An intense place to visit, and presumably to live. I’d been there briefly back in ’92, but wanted a deeper experience, so had returned for another tour.

Slept well that first night in town…didn’t make any mistakes. That joke was cribbed from Steven Wright, wherever he may be. Got up and wanted to check out the backstreets. Spotted Ragha standing outside on the street, obviously waiting for me. I wanted to get a cup of coffee at Open Hand Café, which I’d heard about, and looked around for a side route to get me there without crossing Ragha’s path. Couldn’t find one, so exited the hotel a bit away from the lad and walked away without looking back. Thought I was away scot-free…but a minute later Ragha yelled to me and ran up. Ugh.

I was cold towards him – I think he noticed, but carried on. He asked me the usual questions, how had I slept, etc. My answers were curt, and a bit rude. I felt badly as I behaved like this, but at the same time my inner nature was coming out and it would have been an effort to stop it. I walked briskly and hoped he’d understand I didn’t want company, but he persisted.

‘You want to visit my factory today?’ ‘No.’ And I kept walking. That seemed to do it. He hung back and I was finally alone. I’d later run across him (probably not by accident) a couple more times, and each time he went into his factory routine. I could appreciate him needing money for his studies and lifestyle, but I had zero desire to go to a factory and look at saris…and I’m not traveling to save the world (Bush and Cheney can go do that), I’m traveling to nourish my soul and mind. There you have it – my modest and shallow nature laid out on a platter. At least I didn’t say I was traveling to meet exotic women…

Finally free, I wandered around town. Had a coffee at Open Hands Café, a great little place with wi-fi and a shop with some nice locally-made products. Made a note to return to download podcasts. Walked by a little shop on the street and saw a little boy standing there, looking at me. His eyes were absolutely extra-terrestrial, electric blue and fathomless. For a moment I was sure he was blind, there was no way those eyes could see. But he was clearly staring at me – as if I were such a sight – and when I looked back a minute later he was still watching. I’ve seen some orbs in my travels, but never a pair like those. If he were female (is that proper grammar?) and had any kind of figure, the magazines would be all over him/her…

Walked up the ghats to watch the cremations. It’s sobering and yet natural to watch burning bodies by the Ganges…they pile up a stack of wood, of various sorts, and the body goes on the pile, or sometimes in the middle. Sometimes the body’s wrapped in cloth, sometimes not. I recall seeing a foot poking out of one woodpile – it hadn’t gotten burned and I don’t know what happened next, I suppose they managed to burn it eventually. There are scales where they weigh the wood used for the cremations…sandalwood is apparently the priciest variety. Outcastes handle the carrying of the bodies and the grunt work – no different there than with anything else in India.

You can’t photograph this process, and I didn’t want to anyway. It’s not something you forget.

Prime Minister Singh was coming for a quick visit on Friday, there were tons of cops all over town and they were erecting barriers and enclosures to protect him. Singh is a good man, not the usual venal politico – he was Finance Minister back in ’92 when I first came to India, and he’s been PM for the past several years, doing a good job despite having the Communists in his coalition. Like Vasco da Gama with worldwide travels, Singh is sort of my Indian touchstone – a reassuring, reliable face in a country where there are so many faces, many deeply unreliable…

As I was walking away from the cremation ghat, called Manikarnika, I felt a plop on my shoulder. Sure enough, bird shit, a nice pile of goo. I’ve been shit on by birds only a few times in my life, and nearly every time was in India (I do recall getting nailed once in Martha’s Vineyard). It’s supposedly good luck, but I think that was dreamed up by the dry cleaning industry. I wiped it off with my handkerchief and rued the skies. Then I walked back to change shirts.

One persistent and memorable sight on the Ganges is that of the dhobi-wallahs. These people, usually women, wash clothes in the river. They take the clothes, wet them in the river, then whack them on rocks to get the dirt out. Often they take buttons off too…you would not want to give your bespoke items to these people. I avoided doing any laundry in Varanasi, because of this washing method and also because I don’t trust the water there. The Ganges itself is filthy, it’s actually septic – no oxygen in the water. You do see some small fish in the river, but only when they come up for air, which is all the time. There’s a tower in town where the water is filtered, but I wonder how well that works. I did take showers, naturally, in my hotel, but that was about it.

Had dinner that night at Hotel Pradeep, Philippe in Jaisalmer told me about this place. It has meat and beer, two items not easily found in Varanasi. I bargained hard with a tuk-tuk driver for the trip there and back. He wanted 350 rupees and justified that outrage by saying it was a very long ride, perhaps 40 minutes. That was news to me, and I replied that I would just stay in town. He then said it wasn’t really that far, maybe a half hour. The PM was coming, roads were closed, etc. but he knew the best way to go. You can really trap these guys with their own words – the trip is so far, I won’t bother then, oh no it’s not really that far. It’s kind of far. When you get them to admit it’s not that far, you can get the price down. And when they’re not that busy, they’ll eventually take any fare that at least covers their variable cost, i.e. fuel. They pay 150 rupees a day to rent the tuk-tuk, and they need to get at least a few fares to cover that fixed amount. Once you understand their costs, you can work to get better deals.

There’s that process, then the larger one. My driver was looking to hook me for a few days, not a single ride…although if he could bilk me for one ride and still keep me on the hook, he’d not hesitate. This guy, Mohan, was fairly entertaining and not the worst theif I’d met, so I didn’t close out the possibility of taking him to go visit Sarnath another day.

The hotel restaurant, Eden, was OK. Great rooftop location, miserable service. But I got my chicken reshmi kabob and Royal Challenge beer, and I was pretty happy. Then rode back to town.

My Lonely Bible cites Varanasi’s population as 1,211,749. They might be off by 1-2 people, don’t you think?

I noticed that I had a few spots of ash or dirt on my shirt – Varanasi is a dusty, dirty place so wasn’t surprised. But I did wonder if the spots were from the cremation ceremonies I’d seen that day…were molecules of the recently departed mingling with my own? I recalled the Bill Bryson book ‘A Short History of Nearly Everything’ in which he has a bit about the molecules of past figures, like Shakespeare, blending with our own…our bodies might have a million molecules that were once in Shakespeare’s body. Food for thought…

A travel agent I saw about tickets to Darjeeling commented on the way I hold a pen. I put three fingers, plus my thumb, on a pen when I hold it and write. It runs in the family – I never thought anything of it until I sat and watched others write, they just use two fingers. Random, huh?

Did some yoga in my room that night, a tight squeeze but not too bad. Went to watch the ganga aarti ceremony again. Heavy security because the PM was somewhere around there, watching behind a bullet-proof glass. Wondered where he was, but didn’t bother to ask the cops/soldiers – they might have misinterpreted my question. I felt a bit odd, like something was about to happen. Walked away from the crowds and felt better. Claustrophobia, or a sense of impending doom? Nothing wound up happening, but it’s generally a good rule of thumb to avoid huge crowds and gatherings, in India and elsewhere.

Ate dinner at a faux-Japanese place called i.ba café. Had some decent noodles, not that greasy. I do miss East Asian food, it’s much less heavy than Indian food.

Finished ‘The Moor’s Last Sigh’ by Salman Rushdie. As mentioned in earlier entries, yet another excellent work. I’ve become a huge Rushdie fan and will get my hands on ‘Satan Verses’ one of these days.

Woke up at 5 a.m. next day to do a sunrise boat tour. This is a must-do in Varanasi, you can watch the city waking up and doing its thing – bathing, swimming, laundry, cremations. Duck-duck-duck-goose. Hired a boat and rower for a ride to Manikarnika and back – about two hours. A little boat rowed by a boy came over and he sold me a little candle in a lotus leaf for 20 rupees. I lit it and said a little prayer for my mother’s soul before I placed it on the Ganges surface. It floated away…I kept looking back at it as we rowed on…I swear it stayed lit for 10 minutes before flickering out. Varanasi is a filthy, hard place, but this is what you come for.

Life in all forms, and peace. That’s what you see and feel in Varanasi as the sun rises. Later, as the intensity and heat of the city weigh on you, negative thoughts and criticisms intrude, but at first light of day everything is fresh and optimistic.

Watched people bathing and swimming in the holy river…loads of boats full of tourists all round. The colors of the ghat-side buildings and palaces was tremendous. One tourist boat was full of Buddhist monks, some with expensive cameras…another couple boats had Japanese tourists, all in identical white outfits. Here’s a few shots from that morning’s ride:

That afternoon, took Mohan’s tuk-tuk out to Sarnath. This dusty little cow-town is one of the 4 spots on the ‘Buddhist Route.’ Lumbini is where Buddha was born; Bodhgaya where he was enlightened under the pipal/bodhi/banyan tree; Sarnath where he gave his first sermon to his new disciples; Kushinagar where he died. Sarnath is near Varanasi, so decided to visit this place.

Sarnath has a few good sights, but the key thing is that it reminds you of the rich, Indian origins of Buddhism, which is now hardly to be found in India. Between the Hindus and the Muslims, Buddhism was quashed in India and now there are few adherents, and they’re mostly dalits (untouchables) who have converted to attempt to escape the caste system.

In Sarnath there’s a banyan tree supposedly grown from a root of the original Bodhgaya tree under which Prince Siddhartha Gautama became enlightened. The root was taken to Sri Lanka, and eventually it grew into a tree there. At some point the original tree in Bodhgaya died – legend has it that Emperor Asoka’s queen, jealous of his faith, did it in. Anyway, a root was later taken from the Lanka tree and brought to Sarnath, and now it’s full-grown as well. Here it is, believe it or not:

A few stupas and a nice museum in Sarnath, made for a good couple hours of wandering and thinking. Then returned to Varanasi, stopping for a quick peek at the Ramnagar Fort/Museum, where the maharanah used to live. There was an old American ‘Ply Mouth’ car there, in poor shape. Not like the autos in Udaipur…

On the ride home, over a very rickety pontoon bridge, a ladybug landed on my hand. I haven’t seen a ladybug in decades. When I was a kid I loved seeing them, they’re so calm and ‘friendly.’ This one stayed on my hand for 15 minutes before finally flying off. I thought that just might be a good omen, and that I wouldn’t wind up being cremated on the Ganges ghats anytime soon…

Things in Tibet flared up, and quickly spread. Serves China right. I always thought Taiwan would be the trouble-maker this year, and might even try to declare independence during the Olympics. There are stirrings in Taiwan, sure, but the Tibet situation seemingly came out of nowhere. Interesting. In the coming few days I’d see pro-Tibet/anti-China marches in Varanasi and in Darjeeling – there seem to be at least a few Tibetans all over India, and in many parts of China too. China is blaming the unrest on the ‘Dalai clique,’ which is really laughable. Do they really believe that? What the fuck is the ‘Dalai clique?’ The Dalai Lama, Richard Gere and Steven Spielberg? Please. I wonder who’s more cynical, the Burmese junta or the Chinese government. It might be a dead heat.

The Dalai Lama has actually come under pressure from many Tibetans for being too conciliatory and forgoing independence, opting instead for greater autonomy. That’s certainly more realistic, given that China and Tibet are neighbors and there are a billion Han Chinese. For China to say the Dalai Lama planned and executed the current protests is crazy…but in any event China is getting what it deserves. For it to bid for the Olympics and then hope/plan to keep everything under wraps was never realistic. Eminently predictable, though – China never surprises, they always take the hard line. Would it really damage China’s interests to sit down with the Dalai Lama and negotiate with him? Imagine if (and this is complete fantasy, I admit) China made the D.L. the governor of Tibet, and treated the province with a softer touch? That would give the government some real credibility, and global admiration – which the current round of ‘people’s war’ declarations and crackdowns certainly won’t.

I think the Olympics will be a lot messier than China bargained for. This Tibet uprising, which will probably not result in any concrete gains for the Tibetan people, will at least embolden others to raise their flags and air their dirty laundry. Good for them.

Speaking of others who deserve their fate – Bear, Stearns, the U.S. investment bank. Months ago B.S. kicked off the sub-prime mess when two of their hedge funds nearly collapsed. A month ago B.S. was valued at around US$30 billion, now it has nearly collapsed and was bought for just US$260 million or so. Wow. I didn’t have any Bear stock, but still its collapse brought down the entire market and spread fear. I hope lawsuits are filed and execs don’t get paid, but I imagine the ones who get hurt most are the new hires and admin staff. Good thing my money is mostly overseas…

My fraternity brother Ari has his own investment company, Corax. He writes a great blog about stuff like this – check it out at http://coraxvp.blogspot.com/. Corax focuses on broken brands. He recently lambasted Bear, Stearns…of course, in that case, we might be talking about a brand that’s soon to be permanently erased…

Had dinner at Bread of Life Café. Had a decent bagel – first in many moons. Sat next to a cool British chick and talked with her for a while. She’s about to start university in the UK – what a composed 19-year-old. I think when I was19 I was an immature brat, and certainly hadn’t been to places like Varanasi. Her grandmother was born in Shimla, and was part of the Raj – hence the Indian connection. You meet random people everywhere…

Got interviewed by New Delhi TV on the ghats the next day. A bunch of weird questions about drugs in Goa, tout hassles in Varanasi, etc. They told me the interview would be shown the next evening at 6, but I wasn’t able to find it. Not sure if it was ever shown…

Was taking off that evening for the tea-station of Darjeeling, far to the northeast. Had a few hours before my train, so went for lunch. Wandered into Haifa Café, saw a dude using his Apple and asked if he was getting wireless. Yes. Cool. I had my laptop with me, so fired that up and caught up on my podcasts, emails, and virus definitions. Keeping a laptop tuned is like keeping a car on the road. The fellow, Dave, is a Canadian writer and artist who has spent time in Tokyo and Chiang Mai, and is now applying to a journalism program in India. Really enjoyed chatting with him, he’s a lifelong traveler and is quite creative. Reminded me a bit of my old buddy Paul from Tufts, same sparkle in the eye. One thing I liked about Dave is that he was able to find a local watering hole in the old city, whereas I had to go to Hotel Pradeep for my fix. I appreciate that sort of ingenuity. Dave’s website is davebesseling.com, check it out sometime.

Nearly grabbed a copy of City of Joy at the hotel before leaving, but decided I didn’t want to carry more books. I really am a book whore…

To Darjeeling, Queen of the Hills. A place I’d been meaning to visit for years. A hill-station much like Dharamshala, Manali, etc., but in West Bengal state. Yet another British-established town where they fled the summer heat. Took an overnight train, and expected a quiet, drab ride. But no. I shared a cabin with 3 fun people – Rajiv, an Indian textile engineer, and Ernesto and Teresa, a lovely Swedish couple. Good mix of people. Rajiv got things going by offering all of us some of his Royal Stag whiskey, which we poured into our water bottles. Rajiv chastised me for not pouring enough, but the bottle was small and I didn’t want to hog it. Had enough to get a decent buzz. We talked about lots of things – India, Darjeeling, local politics, Varanasi, work, US elections. Rajiv told us he works 7 days a week and hasn’t vacationed in 8 years. That was sobering. But he seems to enjoy his work; I’ve noticed that Indian men are very much into their jobs and tend to define themselves by it. He’s a lovely guy and meeting people like him on trains is one of the best bits of traveling.

Rajiv at one point pulled out a camera with an MP3 player on it, and cranked it up. Some Backstreet Boys…then a rap song called ‘It’s My Life,’ by a black Swedish dentist named Dr. Alban (sp?). Rajiv had thought it was by a black American artist, but Ernesto and Teresa recognized it and knew the artist. Random. I love that sort of shit.

Slept well enough that night. Woke up at 7 or so, and we resumed our chat till we reached NJP Station around 11 a.m. or so. One of the best train rides I’ve had in memory…

Shared a jeep with the Swedes and with two agreeable German travelers, Tom and Steffi. The ride to Darjeeling was about 3 hours, and was memorable. The rode was steep…it started to rain heavily…the toy train tracks were near the road and sometimes we caught a glimpse of the little train. The ride reminded me of traveling to McLeod Ganj/Dharamshala and other Himalayan hill towns. Traveling through the rain and fog was dramatic and a far cry from the searing heat of the Gangetic Plain.

Passed through small towns en route – Kurseong and Ghoom. They looked a bit like some of the towns on South Africa’s Cape peninsula, like Simonstown. Of course, there was no Brass Bell pub from Kalk Bay here…just lots of little Tibetan and Nepali shops.

Darjeeling is the anti-Varanasi. It’s clean…the air is cool/cold…the place is calm (even with the local Tibetans in a bad mood)…and it’s liberal – you can get meat and beer. It felt strangely familiar, much like the other hill stations I knew. Inspiring and fresh. I’m glad I like so much of this world. Varanasi certainly had its merits, and I was glad I spent a few days there. But it was time to move on, and Darjeeling felt like the right next move.

Checked into the Dekeling Hotel, run by Tibetans. Good little place – the rooms are great, red carpeting (clean), very cozy. But it’s not quiet – you can hear noise from the restaurant downstairs, and from the halls. And they were working on the entrance, so there was rubble everywhere. Still, maintenance is a good thing and I didn’t complain about the noise from the work – particularly since they were giving a bit of a discount to compensate.

My hotel’s restaurant was closed to protest the China crackdown on Tibet. And there were other signs that things were not completely normal, either.

That night, found Joey’s Pub and had a few beers there. The bartender put on some Stevie Ray Vaughan and asked me if I knew the tune. I did indeed, and told him I’d seen SRV live at Tufts a few months before he died in a plane crash. He seemed to think that was something. Saw a photo on the wall of the (former) Nepali royal family, circa late 1990s. Before the entire family was slaughtered, in an incident you’re probably familiar with. I mentioned in one or two of my Goa posts that all the Nepalis there believe it was a conspiracy – the crown prince did not do the deed in a drunken/drugged fit, it was the king’s bro, who is now the new king. I’m coming around to this conspiracy theory…it does make a lot of sense, and everyone from this region seems to believe it. Might be worth doing a bit of online research to see if Westerners are buying this story. I generally hate conspiracy theories, but am open to making the occasional exception…

Joey’s plays great 70s music. They put on a John Lennon album with the song ‘Beautiful Boy.’ I’m fond of this song, in part because I cribbed a line from it to use in the Darden graduation speech I gave in 1993. The line is ‘life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.’ That’s one worth keeping in mind.

There was a thangka (Tibetan wall hanging) at Joey’s that was the same as one I’d bought in Dharamshala back in ’92. I wonder where it is now…

One thing I like about India: when someone serves you, they extend their right hand with the food/drink/item, and touch their left hand to the elbow of their right. It’s a sign of respect – an odd gesture, but quite touching.

Got out of Joey’s late that night. Realized I had no drinking water. Wandered the streets looking for a place to sell me some. Darjeeling shuts down very early…I looked everywhere, and finally found a little chai shop that had some. I had been mentally preparing myself to drink the tap water…which at least is mountain water. I would rather die of thirst than do the same in Varanasi…

Next morning, took the toy train ‘joy-ride’ to Ghoom and back, a couple hours. Pretty good ride – good Himalayan views, although it was pretty cloudy and the buildings get in the way. The toy train dates to the 1880s and is now a UNESCO World Heritage site. Mark Twain rode on it way back when, and one of the cars bears his name. A few shots from that ride:

I love trains.

It’s quite cold in Darjeeling right now, and at night you need to bundle up. Haven’t had this sort of evening weather in years – it’s great for sleeping, but you do want to cuddle. I should have tried harder to pick up that British girl in Varanasi…

Have been spending a lot of time in the renowned Glenary’s Café, because it has 1) great pots of tea, and 2) wireless. The view is quite nice, if it’s clear. You feel a bit like the old Raj days sitting in Glenary’s…

Keep running into Ernesto and Teresa, and Tom and Steffi too. It’s a small town. The other day we went for high tea at the Elgin Hotel. That was luxurious…a nice break from chai shops. Then we wandered over to Joey’s for the rest of the night – sank quite a few Kingfishers and tested the menu there. Joey’s is the clearinghouse for tourists, and not a few locals, in Darjeeling. Expect to wind up there most evenings…

Have also been wolfing down some decent Tibetan food – momos (dumplings) and thukpas (noodle soups). The latter are great for breakfast, a good change from Western breakfasts and Indian fried torture. When I lived in Hong Kong I’d often have congee or noodle soup for breakfast – it’s hot, light, nutritious, and healthy, unlike most other forms of breakfast.

Newspapers still full of Tibet protest stories. Chinese government not bending at all. Oh, for a Chinese Kevin Rudd!!

Spent a morning hoofing it over to the local zoo and the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute. The zoo was much better than expected – bears, leopards, and deer. Won’t torture you with shots of the animals, you can find better photos elsewhere. The HMI was also entertaining – it was formerly run by Tenzing Norgay Sherpa, who got to the top of Everest with Edmund Hillary in 1953. Norgay’s grave is next to the HMI:

The HMI has an Everest Museum with loads of info and items from the various climbs. Spent an hour looking at the sights there.

After lunch, went to the Botanical Gardens, which the Swedes had recommended to me. The contents of the gardens were pretty good – lots of Himalayan species there. But I really liked the views of the looming city from the lower parts of the greens, and there was a road at the bottom which wound around the ridge and which offered spectacular views – check it out:

Was sore from all the walking, and the cold air really seeps into your muscles. Did an hour of yoga, that helped quite a bit. Went for dinner at Park Hotel’s Lemongrass Restaurant, which supposedly has Thai cuisine. I had the local equivalent of pad thai, which was decent – at least there were noodles. And I had a very good spinach in beans dish – the Indian spinach dishes are swimming in masala gravy, so this was a good and healthy alternative. A hot buttered rum to top things off.

It’s funny – even places calling themselves ‘Chinese’ or ‘Thai’ here offer tandoor dishes, etc. Next to Joey’s is a Chinese joint that has a sign prominently proclaiming their tandoori chicken. Give me a break.

Speaking of Joey’s – went there last night, after that quasi-Thai food. Sat next to a Canadian electrician who was very down on India. He and his girlfriend were cutting short their trip here by a couple weeks. He/they just don’t like the locals, it seems. At first I thought he was a clueless Westerner who had culture shock – but it turns out he’s widely traveled and has even been to backwaters like Ethiopia. Hmm. I understood his mood – Indian men stare at you, and particularly at women, like you’re aliens. And touts can drive you mad anywhere in India, along with the beggars. Still, I thought he was missing the point. At least you can connect with many of the people here, and sometimes try to understand (and perhaps change) their views and actions. You can’t do that in many places where language is an issue. But I suppose India just isn’t for everyone. Perhaps the Tourism Ministry can incorporate that into its ongoing ‘Incredible India’ ad campaign. ‘India: Not for Everyone.’ A ring of exclusivity, no?

A couple final images re Tibet – one from brother-in-law Dave, another from a Tibetan friend in Dharamshala. Over and out.

My last activity in Jaisalmer was the de rigeur camel ride/desert safari. I opted for the half-day event – you can stay overnight in the desert, or even go on multi-day safaris…but I had a hunch I’d be happier returning to the hotel that night for a special cold coffee or two and some decent grub. Which turned out to be the case…

Took a jeep out to the Great Thar Desert – we wound up in a spot less than 100 miles from the Paki border. I somehow doubt the Pakis would bother to invade this desolate stretch, but there are plenty of Indian soldiers around Jaisalmer just in case. Our driver was wacky Asu, who was happy to discover that I come from the States; his name as a palindrome is u-s-a, he pointed out gleefully. He was a great companion – particularly when he cranked up his Bob Marley cassette (when’s the last time you saw one of those?), and sang right along. Very weird to be bumping along in the desert singing along to ‘Emancipate Yourself.’ But somehow a propos, too.

Before we got to the desert, we visited the cenotaphs (graves) of the former maharanahs. These are striking old buildings outside town, and are juxtaposed these days with hundreds of modern windmills. Here’s a shot:

The ‘safari’ commenced with a short tour of a little encampment where some families lived. Quite colorful and basic, all at once. Started chatting with some French folks from the hotel – they had been on the same train from Jodhpur, but in a different carriage, so we hadn’t met. One, Emma, had studied and worked in Philly and recognized my Red Sox cap, and from there we had lots to discuss. They seemed happy I could speak a bit of French, and I was happy I could practice a bit. They turned out to be cool people, and we hung out the rest of the afternoon amongst the camels and dunes.

If you haven’t seen a camel before, or many of them, well, they’re majestic creatures. I think the last camel I’d seen before getting to Rajasthan was in the Australian Outback, where I’d nearly driven my Avis car into one of them. The adult camels (two humps – one hump is a dromedary, I believe) get to 7 or so feet tall, and are just bizarre in dimension. I don’t think I’d seen that many camels in one spot – there were probably 18-20 with our group. We were joined by a squadron of Malaysian Chinese who turned up at the hotel that morning, annoying me as I was cranking away on last week’s blog entry. After checking out the residences of the local camel-wallahs, we mounted (don’t get any ideas) the camels.

Getting on and off a camel is unsettling. These beasts fold themselves up when they sit, and unfold when they rise. The contortions are yoga-like and hard to replicate – I still don’t quite understand how they get those long legs underneath. Anyway, you get on, the camel-wallah prods the camel, and they get up, nearly tossing you off. When you get off, they ‘sit,’ and you hold on for dear life. Philippe, one of the Frenchmen, got on first, and he seemed pretty surprised by the challenge. I soon agreed with him…

Riding the camels is challenging in a different way, i.e. on your gluteal muscles. My camel was a big boy and the blanket-saddle was comfortably positioned – I wasn’t in much pain. Philippe, though, was on a smaller (weaker?) animal, and was pretty unhappy – the camel-wallah moved him back, behind the second hump, but that was only a temporary fix. Philippe was soon seriously uncomfortable, and in a very important part of the anatomy. We didn’t have that far to go, and made it OK. But I think we were all happy to dismount. I was still feeling sore a few days later…and I was very happy I hadn’t gone for the multi-day, or even overnight, safari option. I might be crippled if I did…

We stuck around the desert while the sun set – the dunes were incredibly picturesque and the entire milieu was worth a million words. Here’s a slew of photos from that afternoon – one of the better mini-adventures I’ve had in a while:

The French folks had also gone for the half-day option, and we all returned to the hotel. There was a Shiva festival (his birthday – but no one could tell me how old he was), so I went to that for a little while. Then returned to the hotel and had dinner with Emma, Philippe, and her mother. Emma is studying for her MBA in Singapore, and I promised to put her in touch with the Monitor folks there – I think she’d make a good candidate. And I don’t even get a finder’s fee! (I don’t think I do – I should check into that. Just kidding…)

Watched the movie ‘Atonement’ that night. Ian McEwan is one of the better novelists around, in my opinion, and although I hadn’t read this particular book, I thought the movie was well done, and a real heart-wrencher. I’ll have to pick up the book one of these days, but for now am busy with ‘The Moor’s Last Sigh’ by Salman Rushdie, my fave novelist of the moment.

Next day, did a bit more sight-seeing around the fort, and then a bit of computer work. Am soon to replace my aging Treo 650 smartphone (I know, that term is stupid), and got online to check out newer versions. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like Palm is making its very latest models available in unlocked/GSM form, so I may need to go with something a bit older – but still updated from my current model. I’m also pondering a move to an iPhone, but it sounds like those are still locked, and moving my Palm data to the iPhone would doubtless be a nightmare. Will probably wait a couple years till all this crap gets sorted…

Emma & gang were off to Delhi on a very long train…I was off that afternoon to Udaipur on a ‘domestic tourist’ bus. We were all a bit apprehensive of our prospects, but put a bright face on it and said our goodbyes. We’re in touch via email, and Emma has already sent me some great pics from the desert, she’s a good photgrapher, unlike me. Check out this photo of the desert at sunset:

My bus to Udaipur was pretty much as feared. My ‘sleeper’ was roomy enough, but the cushion was grungy, sandy (I shook that off), and the pong was heavy. I find myself getting daily more fastidious – not good if you’re in India. Anyway, I got off the bus and bought a cheapo sari for 100 rupees, and I laid it down under me. That solved part of the problem – a bit of cologne helped with the rest, at least for a few hours till I feel asleep. There were a couple Dutch girls across the way – I could tell that accent right away. I really should develop and star in a TV show called ‘Name That Accent,’ I’d be successful. Whereas Indians and other Asians often have a hard time with this – I’ve had many ask me if I’m from Oz or Britain. Go figure…

The bus ride was 13-14 hours, and arrived in Udaipur at about 5 a.m. En route, it made a few stops at the usual hideous dhaba/roadside joints. At one, I had to take a whizz, and was directed to a nearby ‘open urinal’ where I was forced to stand outside (the ‘inner sanctum’ was flooded with piss) and attempt a world record at the hole. I’m not sure I got it, but didn’t get too wet myself. Ate a wada (fried doughball w/veggies) and got back on the bus, praying that I’d not soon need to drop drawers and attempt an even greater feat…

Got to Udaipur in decent shape. Had popped an Ambien and slept for a few hours. Told the Dutchies where I was staying, then hopped in an auto-rickshaw and went to my hotel. There was a fellow minding the gate who let me in and showed me my room. I could see the famed Lake Palace Hotel (where the James Bond movie ‘Octopussy’ was shot) from the veranda outside my room. I showered, aired out my pack, and fell into bed for a few hours. Ambien is a fine product and generally does its job, but sleeping on a smelly Indian bus…well, when you finally get to a bed you count your blessings.

Udaipur is a majestic place. Besides the Lake Palace Hotel, which occupies its own island on Lake Picchola, there’s another island, Jagmandir, and on the mainland there’s a massive City Palace complex, the largest palace is Rajasthan. That’s saying something. There are the usually cowshit-laden old city streets and open sewers…but Udaipur has a relatively romantic feel and isn’t quite as maddening as other Rajasthani cities. It’s still maddening, of course…

Got up, had breakfast at a nice rooftop place called Sunrise. Was starving from the ride – all I’d really had were the wada and a bag of fried lentils (tastier than it sounds). When I take these long bus or train rides, I try not to eat that much – for obvious reasons. I defer the joys of eating till I get to my destination, then feast in celebration. A solid bed, a working toilet – thank you, Mother India!

Walked around the old city for a while. When I get somewhere that’s generally my first priority, unless I have pressing errands. Walked to a bridge on Lake Picchola and took my first long look at the Lake Palace Hotel. Striking edifice, in a brilliant setting. But when you stand on the bridge (Chandpole), right below you is a lake-bank strewn with rubbish…and the smell isn’t romantic. The contrasts of India – even in perhaps the second-most famed building in the country, after the Taj, you still can’t get away from the refuse of life. And it’s probably getting worse…what would it really cost for the city government to hire some unemployed kids to pick things up? If there were collection boxes around town for tourists to drop some dosh into for that purpose, I think 90% would do so. And then, after 50-75% of the takings got skimmed off the top, you’d still have enough left over to at least pay a few kids for a few hours of cleaning…

Met an older Aussie couple in the room next to mine. They needed an adaptor, which I lent them…I needed a town map, since somehow I’d dropped and lost mine. I photocopied a few pages from their guidebook and we were all happy. The fellow’s son just married an Indian woman, and they had attended the wedding in Jodhpur. The Indian family is quite wealthy, and there were over 2,000 guests at the wedding, along with every display of wealth possible. Custom-made clothes and other gifts were provided to all guests of honor…expensive food and drink flowed…parties went on for days. I’ve been to some Indian weddings, some with wealthy families, and they are elaborate affairs. I’m of two minds on this…looking around, I can’t help but think the money would be far better spent improving the surroundings and lives of the poor, and I believe lavish spending like this is vulgar; on the other hand, I’m not much for hand-outs, and I do enjoy the color and pomp of these affairs. So, depending on my mood, I swing one way or the other. I know, I know, same old Slone…

Called friend Harsh’s uncle, who owns a local photo shop in Chetak Circle. Arranged to go see him later. Practiced some yoga in the early evening – I could have gone to one of the endless rooftop restaurants to see a 7 p.m. screening of Octopussy (seriously), but decided that would be a bit tacky. Held out for dinner till 9 or so, then just ate on the rooftop of my hotel – where I watched fireworks set off by the 6-star Udaivilas across the lake. Apparently this is a nightly activity. I did say that Udaipur is a majestic place…

Had read somewhere that a nearby hotel, Tiger Hotel, had a nice restaurant and also a (rare) gym. Checked the place out – the restaurant was dead and closed by 10 p.m…and the gym had two crappy machines. Really. Typical overpromising from our Indian friends. I had to laugh – I haven’t gone running in a while now, and it looks like I won’t anytime soon. There’s just nowhere to go without getting run down by a motorcycle or a cow. And the vegetarian food isn’t exactly slimming, either – I think that middle-class Indians are the only people in the world with larger guts than middle-class Americans. Depressing…

But I shouldn’t get down on myself for lack of (cardio) exercise. Running in most Indian cities is madness…and I do want to visit these places, so I’ll just have to rely on other forms of exercise for the time being. And to be honest, when I run I tend to ignore everything else – yoga, abs and pushups, etc. When I can’t run, I work on these things and at least stay in the game.

Next morning, spent a couple hours wandering around the massive City Palace. The local maharajah (called the maharanah) still lives in one section…and besides the area open to the public, there are also a couple 5-star hotels attached, one of which featured prominently in Octopussy. Unfortunately, I didn’t see any Bond girls strutting around when I hung out in the lobby…

The City Palace had more than its fair share of swords, chariots, paintings, and superb architecture…but what I really found interesting was a related story. When Udai Singh II, the future maharanah and founder of Udaipur, was a baby, his father the maharanah was assassinated by a half-brother, who wanted the throne. This fellow then went for the baby heir…but the wet-nurse, Panna Dhai, replaced Udai Singh in his crib with her own infant son, and when the assassin showed up, he killed that baby instead. Panna Dhai spirited the heir away, to another fort, and he grew up safely and became the king. Panna Dhai is even today celebrated for her sacrifice – talk about devotion. I probably won’t remember the various items and architectural bits from the place, but that story will stick.

Went to see Harsh’s uncle – he wasn’t there, he had another engagement pop up. So I took an hourlong boat ride on Lake Pichola. You don’t get to visit the Lake Palace Hotel (for that you need to book lunch or dinner a day in advance, and the price is ridiculous, so I held off on that). You do stop on Jagmandir Island for a while, and that’s a good bit. Anyway, the views of the Lake Palace Hotel are the real attraction – take a peek:

Went back to my room for a bit of yoga. Lots of noise outside – turned out it was all the rooftop restaurants showing Octopussy at the same time. Too funny – or not. The yoga felt great – I had really gotten away from yoga in previous weeks, not really having the space in hotel rooms (or, to be honest, the motivation) to roll out the mat and unfold my bod. Now, without the option of running, I decided to rededicate myself – we’ll see how that vow holds up!

I could still feel the aftereffects of the camel ride as I practiced. I wondered how the soft tushes of the Malaysian Chinese clan felt after their overnight safari, which involved a few more hours of riding. I didn’t dwell on the topic for long…

Can’t even recall where I ate that night…but I do know that I’m getting tired of Indian menus. Most places have almost exactly the same offerings, and I’ve had nearly everything multiple times by now. It’s the same old copycat formula – in an effort to please every single tourist, restaurants offer ‘multi-cuisine’ menus which have Indian food, greasy Chinese items, and ‘Continental’ which is generally bad sandwiches, questionable pasta, and ‘au gratin’ foods which sound better than they taste. I’d really love to find a place with real Chinese cuisine, or Thai food – Bangalore had very good restaurants, but when you get outside the biggest cities, the selection drops dramatically. Maybe my years in Japan spoiled me…

Made some good progress on the Rushdie book. It’s set in Cochin and Mumbai, two of my touchstones in India. The family in question is surnamed da Gama, with the obvious reference to Vasco da Gama, a possible progenitor. Old Vasco is one of my historic touchstones…I do feel I’ve followed the fellow around the world, having retraced some of his steps in Africa (the Cape) and Asia (Cochin, the Malabar Coast). India in those days was probably a far more romantic and agreeable spot – fewer people, less trash, etc. Although I might be fooling myself…India has probably always been a tough place, for both foreigners and for locals.

I had rebooked with Harsh’s uncle for the next morning, and before seeing him I went to the Garden Hotel to see the maharanah’s antique car collection. He has 20 or so old cars, most of which are in very good shape. I bought my ticket and went inside the complex – the cars were behind closed doors, and I began to resign myself to a weak experience. Then, though, the fellow started opening the garage doors and telling us (there were a few other foreigners milling around) a little about each car. That was great. There were a few Rolls-Royces, including a superb 1924 model and a 1934 Phantom that was used in Octopussy, if my memory is correct. There was a 1938 Caddy convertible that ferried Queen Lizzie 2 to the airport in 1961. And there was a near-perfect candy-apple red Ford from 1938 that was perhaps my favorite – don’t know the model, maybe a Model A if they were still making those? I used to love cars when I was a kid, and helped my parents pick out a few of their own. I grew out of that hobby as I got older, and haven’t owned a car in 10+ years. But if today’s cars were as cool as the models of yesteryear, I just might get back into it…

A few shots of the classics:

Had a bit of time left, so visited an old restored haveli, Bagore-ki-haveli, before seeing Harsh’s uncle. The restoration job they did on this place was excellent – they showed some before and after pics and it was quite impressive. There’s a neat collection of turbans there, including the ‘world’s largest turban,’ which looks like a huge rag in my opinion!

Met Harsh’s uncle, finally. Enjoyed chatting with him…we wound up having lunch at his house. His wife served us a thali, an all-you-can manhandle vegetarian meal along with chapattis and sweets. In true Indian form, I was given twice as much as I could reasonably eat, but did my best. The food was excellent – much better than you tend to get in restaurants. Turns out Harsh’s uncle, Mr. Shrimal, is a friend of the maharanah’s, and has taken rides in most of the 20 or so cars I had just seen. In fact, the reason he had to miss our appointment the previous day is that he was with said maharanah. That’s about the best excuse I could think of – ‘sorry Mr. Slone, but Mr. Shrimal is with the king and would it be possible to postpone till tomorrow?’ Sure ‘nuff.

Mr. Shrimal wondered if I ate meat. I said I did, now and then – a slight understatement. He told me that the best meat is not to be found at the 5-star places…instead, the roadside dhabas have much fresher stock. I suppose that makes sense – these places have no cash or storage room/refrigeration for lots of inventory, so they are always buying on the spot. Still, the seedy nature and questionable hygiene of these places has often kept me away. Maybe now I’ll give ‘em another shot at my business…

Mr. Shrimal dropped me back in town. I took it easy for a few hours, then went to Bagore-ki-haveli to catch the 7 p.m. Dharohar cultural show. This is a Rajasthani exhibition of music and dance, and is given nightly. Superb display of local culture – good music, and incredible feats of dancing, including one piece where a woman dances with 9 water-pots (not full, I believe) balanced on her head. A shot from the show:

I’m often too lazy to attend these sorts of cultural shows…but when I do bother, I usually find them worthwhile. I think the problem is usually that they are 1) during an hour when I’d rather not have a commitment, i.e., I’d rather be exercising or relaxing, and 2) too long, more than an hour which is generally my threshold for sitting around watching something. I also find them somewhat contrived and completely set up for foreign tourists, and while I suppose that’s not a crime, it doesn’t feel all that authentic. But there are lots of exceptions, and I need to be more open-minded here.

As I walked out of the haveli to go get some dinner, I saw a cow brushing its head against a parked motorcycle. It was obviously scratching an itch…it was almost cute, a large cow getting off (in a sense) using a modern convenience. I was too slow whipping out my camera, so you’ll have to take my word for it.

Ate dinner at a good little spot called Lotus Café. Menu was a bit different from the usual – had a baked potato with some sour cream, and a chicken-and-rice dish. Not exciting, but decent. Checked the news on my Treo, and noticed that the Goa murder case Lisa told me about was getting major league airtime – it was now on ABC News, dated March 10, entitled ‘What Really Happened to This Teenager?’ Seems that the Goan police tried to cover it up, saying it was a case of drug overdose/drowning, but in actual fact the body showed signs of having been raped and strangled. The girl was only 15…the mother was out of state when it happened…it was all a huge mess. And Lisa got dragged into this because her step-sis knew the victim…too crazy.

Also noticed that New York Governor Eliot Spitzer got caught with his pants down, figuratively but nearly literally as well. The feds tapped his phone and found him making arrangements with a high-end prostitution outfit, and soon figured out that he’d been doing this for a while. Zany. Spitzer stormed into office as a law-and-order/change agent type, and had made his name as a crusading attorney general who tried to ‘clean up’ Wall Street. Lots of enemies made, people who are now gleeful over his stunning fall from grace. Needless to say, no one saw this coming…but it did make me think about the proclivity of tri-state (New York, New Jersey, Connecticut) govs to get themselves in hot water. A few years back the CT governor got nailed for corruption and thrown out of office…then the NJ governor got caught in a gay love affair, which really surprised his wife. And now Spitzer. Truth sometimes is stranger than fiction – although the Rushdie book I’m now reading makes me wonder, the plot is so intricate and inventive. More on that next week.

The next day I checked out of the hotel, then hung around for a few hours. I was catching an overnight train to Delhi, then a flight from there to the holy city of Varanasi. That sounded like a decent way to make this long journey – two long train rides would have been too much. While waiting for my train, watched my DVD copy of Octopussy – couldn’t leave Udaipur without doing that. Meow!!

Ran into the Aussie couple again, they were heading out to Jaipur that night. Chatted with them for a while. Went to the Udaipur train station, which was probably the cleanest and least insane Indian train station I’ve come across in memory. Got on my carriage, in class 2AC, and found my bunk.

The ride was pretty comfortable. 2AC (second air-con) is a good way to travel, you have a decent amount of room and the folks who take that class are generally pretty solid citizens. My little section had a couple older Indian couples and a fairly cute young Indian woman whom I tried to chat up…but she was pretty shy, so I gave that up after a while. I had a DVD of The Eagle Has Landed, and had never watched that classic, so booted it up. Everyone crowded around my laptop – not something I really like, but what’s to be done? They soon wandered back to their seats and I watched the movie, which starred Michael Caine, Robert Duvall, and Donald Sutherland in their younger years. Fascinating to see them at such young ages, particularly Donald Sutherland, who’s truly become an old lion, and is one of my favorite actors (Caine is up there too). Watched that while the old geezers laid out their sheets and went to bed, then closed up the laptop and did the same.

Got to Delhi’s Nizamuddin Train Station around 7 a.m., a bit earlier than expected. Had a few hours before my flight, so just hung around the train station drinking chai and reading the Rushdie book. I swear I could adapt and amuse myself anywhere, even in a prison (preferably my cell would be 2AC class, of course, populated with smaller, preferably female prisoners). When I looked up at the clock it was nearly 10 a.m. I found a taxi and went to Indira Gandhi Airport. Rushdie’s books don’t treat the dearly departed Indira very well, and I found it funny that the country had named the capital’s airport after the Prime Minister/scion who had declared martial law and who had done various other unpalatable things while in and out of power.

I checked in and waited for my flight, which was on time. So far, this trip was going according to plan – no Delhi Belly, no delays. I had a phone call scheduled with Yuhin, my old buddy and financial advisor, who wanted to discuss ‘rebalancing my portfolio.’ I thought it was a good time to have this talk, and he had sent me a few documents to read. Yuhin called and we went through various matters. I was reassured from our call – Yuhin has become an adept financial advisor over the past few years. He used to work for me at Monitor, and his consulting background shines through these days – his slides are focused and sharp. The news was better than expected – the money I’ve placed with him has gone up very nicely since 2004, and the recent downturn has only brought it down 2-3% from its peak last November. That’s a hell of a lot better than the small portfolio I manage myself, which is down more like 15%. Yuhin got me into commodities years ago, and those now make up nearly 30% of my portfolio. Emerging market equities have also helped quite a bit. It’s now time to take some profits in these sectors, but the trick is ‘what next?’ We discussed some options and I’ll probably make a few moves soon. After our call I was in a good mood and less worried about spending money…

After our call I heard the announcer say that the Deccan (airline) flight to Dharamshala was now boarding. I was surprised – Dharamshala doesn’t have an airport. Looked at the board and saw that the flight was actually going to Pathankot, in the Punjab. Discerning readers may recall that this city, Pathankot, is my least favorite place in the world. Perhaps it’s improved since 1992, but even if it has, it’s still the closest thing to a H. Bosch triptych that I’ve yet seen in this world…

Got on the flight to Varanasi. It was only half-full, and I had plenty of room. I was now feeling beat from the overnight train ride, during which I had slept some but not much. I kicked back and slept for an hour, then awoke as we descended into Varanasi.

I had visited this city once before, in 1992. It’s located on a stretch of the Ganges River and is ‘Shiva’s City,’ one of the holiest Indian places. You might know it as a much-photographed place where dead bodies are cremated on the ghats, the steps leading down to the Ganges. Varanasi used to be called Benares, and also Kashi.

Varanasi is a complete trip. I’ll describe it more fully next week, but for now I’ll just say that my taxi from the airport to my hotel, on the Assi Ghat, was an experience in itself. On the way I saw: a restaurant calling itself ‘Burger King’ (very odd in a place like Varanasi, which is in the state of Uttar Pradesh, the heart of India’s ‘Cow Belt,’ where beef is not exactly a staple), then a real honest-to-goodness McDonald’s (Varanasi has more than a million inhabitants, which may be McD’s threshold for starting a franchise), and finally a white woman walking around with her fingers in her ears. Was that a proper metaphor for this place, I wondered. What would the next few days hold, here in this holy city on the Ganges? Would I too be driven mad by the smells, sights, and sounds? Or would I be able to learn something more about the human experience? Am I being too melodramatic? What, indeed, is the relevant question to ask here? Tune in next week and see if I make any progress on this quest. Over and out.

Jaipur bus station was a revelation of sorts.  First, I saw a sadhu (Indian holy man) vigorously brushing his teeth, using the public fountain and his right pointer finger.  I’d nearly forgotten that there was life before Oral-B.  Second, while getting ready to board my bus to Pushkar, I saw a crowd of foreigners getting ready to board the same bus – sure enough, it was the gang that was on my Jaipur city tour the previous day – Mitch, Chris, and their enablers.  Mitch and Chris had talked (nonsense) non-stop during the entire tour, and when the tour concluded I was relieved to get away from them.  Clearly I had counted my chickens too soon.

I briefly considered changing my travel plans – these two were that annoying – but decided to honor the key Buddhist tenet, i.e. life is suffering.  And sometimes you really cannot manage your suffering, you either have to wallow in it or embrace it.  So I boarded the bus to Pushkar and readied myself for a learning experience.  And I turned up the volume on my iPod; what might the Buddha say today if he were exposed to modern technology?

The ride wasn’t half-bad – Mitch (who sat right behind me – classic) fell asleep, Chris was far back in the bus, and the tour group guide, an Indian from Jaipur, was a nice guy who gave me a few tips on guesthouses.  We got to Pushkar in a few hours and I didn’t even pray that I’d not see Chris and Mitch again.  As I’ve said countless times, when you’re on the road you see the same people over and over – it’s uncanny how different people’s travel plans seem to fit together.  In Hampi I thought I saw a woman named Gabby who I knew slightly from Goa – she hung out at Bean Me Up now and then, and liked to drink.  On my Bangalore-Goa-Jaipur flight I saw Pascal, who was a witness in the Lisa-Richard wedding in Goa; I meant to say hi to him, but got into my book and forgot about him.  And here in Pushkar, I saw a German-Tibetan couple whom I’d met at a dinner in Goa – I saw them from afar and didn’t bother to go up and say hi…they were a bit odd and I didn’t feel like a strained encounter or, worse, a dinner invitation.  I suppose I like traveling solo and am not particularly desperate for company.

Got to my guesthouse, White House, where the dude proceeded to show me around.  That involved marching up steep stairs to see the rooftop restaurant – which was nothing special, but which featured a photo of Prem Joshua, my old Goa buddy.  Pushkar is a holy town and also a tourist town, and you hear no end of Prem’s music.  There are also loads of ‘priests,’ some of whom are no doubt genuine, all of which are no doubt annoying.  The centerpiece of the town is the lake and the ghats surrounding it – off one of them, Ganhi’s ashes were scattered.  I wonder how many parts they separated his ashes into – I know that some were scattered in other places as well.

I was only in town for a couple days, and that was OK.  Being a holy town, Pushkar has no beer, no meat – and not even any eggs/dairy products.  I figured I’d get sick of the cuisine pretty quickly, and be dying for a beer within minutes.

It was wedding season, and I don’t think the local bands stopped playing the entire time I was in town.  It was quite festive, and I found myself hanging out on the outskirts of a couple weddings, watching the young ‘uns party it up.  Some local kids befriended me, they were adorable and fun…was it me or my rupees?

I spent the rest of my time wandering around town – there’s a very rare Brahma temple, most temples are for Shiva and some for Vishnu, old Brahma doesn’t get much respect it seems.  And the lake and surrounding temples and buildings are stunning…don’t ask me about holiness, but the place is certainly otherworldly.  See what I mean:

Was pretty tired for the first day there, took a long nap, got up late at night, and went to prowl for food.  Met a fellow on the street who knew a place, took me there, and the food was decent.  Veg momos (Tibetan dumplings) and potatos – filled me up.  The only concern was the tubercular coughing of everyone in the place – I attributed that to the bidis they were smoking, and not to tuberculosis itself.  I made a mental note to get tested sometime soon.

Spoke with Lisa that night – she’s been through a nasty few weeks in Goa.  I mentioned in an earlier post that a young girl was found dead on a Goan beach, likely the victim of foul play.  Because she was Lisa’s sister’s friend, Lisa has gotten involved, and that hasn’t been fun.  Also, her father has been a pain in the ass and has only just left Goa.  I told Lisa she was too much of a sport – not many of us would consider hosting our families for a month (and paying for all their expenses).  What’s that old saying?  ‘A guest is like a fish – after three days they start to stink.’

Fortune permitting, Lisa and Richard plan to trek the Kanchenajunga trail in Nepal in May.  I might join them, although the timing looks a bit difficult right now.

Had another good sleep that night.  Got up next morning and took care of errands – bought a bus ticket to Jodhpur, called Harsh’s cousin in Jodhpur, and booked a guesthouse there.  Sampled some Indian sweets – jalebi, which is doughy squiggle coated with syrup.  Very nice – I do like Indian sweets.   

Walked around for a couple hours – not much else to do in Pushkar.  Saw old buddies Mitch and Chris on the street, but they were some ways off and I didn’t have to have a Certs encounter.  Mitch was talking nonstop – big surprise.  Went back to my hotel to take care of business.  My hotel room had very dodgy plumbing – and I suspect the previous occupant had clogged things up, which resulted in the bathroom floor getting flooded with effluence.  Yeah.  I packed up my stuff, paid my bill, and promptly changed hotels.  The previous night I’d met a couple fellows down the street who ran another place, Hotel Rising Star, and I now went there and got a room.  Cheaper, cleaner, plumbing seemed solid.  And I was happy to give these guys some of my business, they were pleasant enough.  Hotel Rising Star isn’t mentioned in Lonely Bible, and I think that as a result, they try a bit harder.  If you can find a place not in the guidebooks, without walking 5 miles with a pack on your back, that’s the ideal.  I really should troll the websites a bit more, but don’t relish the prospect of spending even more time at a computer…

Spent some time catching up on Al & Janine’s blog – they’ve obviously spent a huge amount of time getting that caught up.  I’ve mentioned before that their blog is highly diverting, and much less cynical than mine.  They seem to get into the seam of whatever culture they visit and do a good job educating their readers.  Blogging is really coming up – a friend from Monitor and a fraternity brother from Tufts both just started up blogs.  One of these days I’ll list the URLs so you can spend even more time fucking off from work and reading blogs…

Speaking of blogs, I read about a website called Technorati.com.  This site covers and rates blogs on their popularity, which I suppose means # of hits, but I’m not sure.  Anyway, after some doing I found that my blog is rated approximately the 4.45 millionth most popular on the web.  Seriously.  Huh.  That’s humbling…I don’t know how many blogs are out there, but it doesn’t feel that stimulating to have cracked the top 5 million.  Maybe I should start juicing my blog – putting in references to products, other websites, and writing ‘Technorati’ approximately 5,000 times per blog entry.  Any ideas, let me know.  Actually, I think it’s kind of funny…and I’ll probably doing nothing about it.

As the sun was starting to go down, I climbed a small hill outside town to see Pap Mochani Temple.  The views from this hill were brilliant – some of the photos above were taken from here.

A band of urchins followed me up the hill.  They yelled to me – I kept climbing.  I wasn’t sure what they wanted – probably just some amusement and contact with a random foreigner.  I wasn’t worried, but decided not to get too close to any precipices, and to keep my Tevas in sight (you need to take ‘em off to enter temples).  In the end, the kids were no problem – and when they asked me to buy them some chapattis in town, I said sure – they were dirty and looked hungry.

When we got to town, and found a shop, I wasn’t that surprised to find that they wanted me to buy them chapatti mix – i.e., a huge bag of flour and a container of butter/ghee – enough to feed them and their families for a week.  I probably would have preferred to buy them a couple cooked chapattis each, but was willing to shell out the 360 rupees as a good deed.  I bought them the raw materials, and they lugged them off, thanking me.  The lads in action:

After that expenditure, I made a note not to take any shit from pushy priests at the ghats.  These fellows pretty much drag you down to the lake and ‘bless you’ – a procedure which seems to consist of smearing your forehead with saffron dust, having you toss a few flowers and spices in the lake, and spouting a bunch of nonsense Hindi and English.  I know because minutes after parting with the kids, I found myself at the lakeside undergoing this process.  I left 50 rupees in the donation plate – and when the priest asked for 100, I told him that he should spend more time feeding the hungry kids of the town and less bilking tourists.  I think he got the point.

Went for a run…saw the chapatti kids again on the street, looking well-fed…had dinner…talked for a while with other guests at my hotel…crashed.  My bus to Jodhpur was at 7 the next morning.

I mentioned the weddings before – there was another one this night, and it didn’t seem to end until sunrise.  I remember checking my watch during one of the musical lulls and it was 3:50 a.m.  These Indians really know how to throw a bash.  And India must be an even louder country than the Philippines, my previous top-ranked loudest country.  I think I got zero sleep, then got up, showered, and trudged over to the bus station.  The sun was coming up and people at the bus station were wrapped in blankets.  It was a somewhat apocalyptic scene – but perhaps I only say that because I just finished ‘The Road’ by Cormac McCarthy.

This was a local bus, hence tons of stops, but it wasn’t too bad.  Most locals got on and off quickly, just taking the bus for a few kilometers.  And the roadside attractions were cool – lots of camels, as you’d picture in Rajasthan.  Camels are truly majestic creatures – seven feet tall, long necks, tiny heads, with a calm visage.  I recalled nearly running into one outside Alice Springs in Oz – I’m not sure I would have won that collision.

Jodhpur was not on my original itinerary, but Harsh’s dad, who’s from Jodhpur, convinced me to visit.  Jodhpur is famous for its huge Cliffside fort, the Meherangarh, and its blue houses, as well as a few other sites.  I’d stay for 2-3 days and then move on to the desert town of Jaisalmer. 

I had booked into a guesthouse called Saji Sanwri (‘beautiful place’), in a 350-year-old haveli (Indian house) within the old city walls.  My guidebook recommended this place, and it was right on the money.  The proprietess, Indu, is an animated Indian woman who is constantly in a state of enhancing her family house.  There are something like 125 doors and 35 rooms, 10 of which are now for guests.  From listening to her and walking around the place, I got the sense this was a living organism – it required constant upkeep and attention to its ‘diet.’  One of the cooler guesthouses I’ve come across.

I was extremely dusty from the bus ride – so was my pack – so we both showered and dried off.  Then I set off to have a big lunch, preferably with meat and beer.  I found a place called Kalinga near the railway station, this place was slightly formal and, with its uniformed waiters, tablecloths, and high-powered aircon, reminded me of my old Bombay favorite Mahesh Lunch Home.  These types of Indian restaurants have a classic feel, they’re a bit stiff but pleasant.  And Kalinga had great stuff – very cold Kingfisher beer and delicious chicken kebabs.  I filled my belly and set off back to the guesthouse to relax for a while.  Wandering the streets of the old city was good fun – but intense.  Narrow lanes and lots of cow shit everywhere – I swear than there’s not a square inch of land in India that hasn’t been pissed, shit or spit upon.  I got back to Saji Sanwri and washed myself off – there’s no other way to stay clean round here.

Before getting back to the guesthouse I had stopped at a little lassi shop to try a local delicacy, the makhania lassi.  This is a saffron-flavored lassi – doesn’t sound that great, but I’m not sure I’ve had a more tasty snack.  It’s thick, and you take it with a spoon – like eating yogurt.  The saffron gives it a slightly citrus-y flavor.  In coming days I’d return for several more – I need to learn how to make these things, but doubt I can find all the ingredients outside India.

Jodhpur, being far from Delhi, seems to get far fewer tourists than Jaipur.  I deduced this from the trillions of stares I got walking around.  I didn’t see many other white (or East Asian) faces, and 90% of people stared at me.  It was a little annoying, but I suppose it’s the price of admission.  Still, I didn’t quite expect it – Jodhpur is a stop on the Rajasthan tourist circuit, unlike, say, several towns I stopped in while motorcycling round northern Vietnam.  Indians are shameless in their staring – you want to go home and look in a mirror to find your third eye.

All that said, it is somewhat nice to have fewer tourist hordes around.  And Chris and Mitch were nowhere to be found – excellent. 

Next morning, I went to Meherangarh Fort and spent a couple hours there.  The fort throws in a fantastic audio tour with price of admission – I wish more places offered this.  Great mix of history, drama, and culture.  The fort itself is probably the most photogenic I’ve yet seen – here it is:

Just seeing this place and spending time in it justified stopping in Jodhpur.  The views over the old city and its blue (from indigo paint) houses were superb:

A local was showing us how to smoke opium – but wasn’t sharing:

After the Meherangarh I visited a cenotaph called Jaswant Thada, which is the Jodhpuri Taj Mahal.  Can’t go inside, but it’s a good place to wander round:

From there, got a tuk-tuk out to Umaid Palace, built by the local maharajah.  It’s now partially open to the public – one section is a small museum, another is a luxury hotel.  The edifice itself is huge – I believe it’s one of the largest palaces on the planet.  Here it is:

Unfortunately, the maharajah who built the palace (well, he paid for it) died young.  He was only 43 or 44 and died of appendicitis.  Imagine that…you have countless wealth and your own huge castle, and you die of appendicitis.  Sad…but I guess back then, medical care was dicey and appendicitis was deadly.  Count your blessings, people…

Not much to do in the evenings in Jodhpur.  First night, went to the top restaurant/bar/nightclub, On the Rocks.  Had a few Kingfishers at the bar – was joined by a businessman from Udaipur who was quite annoying.  I can’t recall anything he said, but he had a crass manner and I was relieved when he left after 30 minutes.  I ate my chili chicken and chatted with the bartender for a while.  He liked my Treo mobilephone and, like lots of others here, asked me how much it cost.  I always play that down…I’d prefer not to have everyone know that I’m carrying a US$500 piece of hardware.  So I usually say US$150 or so (which is probably the current value).  I’ve had a couple locals ask to buy it from me…the issue is that the key with the ‘e’ and ‘1’ no longer works…and the phone is also constantly rebooting for some reason.  I think the thing is on its last legs, and I will replace it when in the States in April.  I would sell the thing, but need to port the data on it to my next phone (probably another, new Treo), so will keep it till then.

Watched a few of the DVDs I bought in Bangalore.  Had a ‘Tommy Lee Jones double-header’ – watched ‘In the Valley of Elah,’ then ‘No Country for Old Men.’  Both very good.  The latter was written by Cormac McCarthy, so I suppose I’ve had a McCarthy double-header lately as well, having read ‘The Road.’  It’s funny – I go weeks without watching movies, generally preferring to read or go out at night.  But then I get into streaks where I polish off a movie a day for a while – usually it’s when I get a large backlog of DVDs and can’t easily carry them around with me.

Did some travel planning for the month of March.  My touchstones have been the following:

-need to fly out of Delhi on April 1

-want to visit an old girlfriend in Kohima, Nagaland (far eastern state) in late March

I’ve been working my other destinations around those two objectives.  I thought about heading to Nagaland, and Darjeeling too (it’s fairly close by) earlier than late March, but the problem is that elections are happening around now and unrest is forecast…hence, giving things a couple weeks to cool off is the prescription.  So decided to stick with the original plan, which is to tour Rajasthan for a couple weeks, go through Delhi to get my Nagaland permit, visit Varanasi/Benares, hit Darjeeling, go to Nagaland, stop in Kolkata/Calcutta, and finally back to Delhi to depart India.  Busy month, but doable.

My last day in Jodhpur I got up with nothing special to do, so went for a makhania lassi near the clock tower.  Went back and read for a while – have just started ‘The Moor’s Last Sigh’ by Salman Rushdie.  For lunch went back to the clock tower area…wasn’t sure what I wanted to eat, I’d already been to Kalinga twice for beer and kebabs, had been to On the Rocks and Bollygood, the top two restaurants, so was tooling for something informal and random.  While passing through the archway leading to the market, I was accosted by two fellows from opposite sides – and thus got dragged into the ‘Omelette Wars.’  There’s been an ‘Omelette Shop’ here for decades, and is mentioned in the Lonely Planet.  Across the way, at another old shop, the proprietor’s grandson, nicknamed ‘Vicky,’ opened a competing omelette shop 6 or so years ago.  The first entrant, to no surpri