BootsnAll Travel Network



Udaipur India

July 18-21 2002
To make it easy on ourselves we left at 4am for a one-hour flight north to Udaipur in the state of Rajasthan. When the taxi pulled out we noticed the food stall down the street was still doing a brisk business at that hour. And with the exception of upscale Marine Drive along the bay, the streets on both sides all the way to the airport were covered at intervals with neighborhoods of pavement dwellers.

Our hotel in Udaipur, the Caravanserai (a word meaning traditional accommodation for camel caravans) is built entirely out of stunning white marble-floors, stairs, bannisters, walls-quarried about 50 miles away.

We have a view of Lake Pichola which is drying up because of the drought that has sadly plagued northern India for the last five years. The famous Lake Palace Hotel usually out in the middle of the lake is now actually on the bank.

This year’s expected monsoon has not arrived as yet–late with no rain predicted. Indiginous tribal women (adivasis) in their brightly colored saris with contrasting choli’s (sari blouses) crouch on their heels at the dhobi ghats (place for laundering) on small platforms out in the water to launder clothes and bathe themselves. Our hotel is on one of the tangle of streets in the old city and after a short walk we pile into bed for a nap.

The Internet Cafe
The internet cafe around the corner is run by a good looking 26 year old guy who likes being a businessman but went to medical school (Indians don�t need 4 years in a university first) to please his father. He and his wife live with his parents and siblings. His father owns a hotel and I gather the family is from an upper caste. A cousin who is single helps the young internet cafe owner with his business.

They ask me if I think things in their town are expensive and I reply that heavens no-for us westerners everything is very inexpensive. They say that some foreigners think everything here is too expensive. I ask who in the heck thinks this. They laugh and say emphatically “the Israelis.”

Then we talk about customs and the cousin says if he falls in love with a girl outside of his caste it would be impossible to marry her. Similarly, later around the corner we talk to a guy on a motorcyle who is on his way to visit his girlfriend of five years who he sadly can’t marry because she is not of his caste. I put my hand over my heart in sympathy for him.



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