My second day in Jaipur I finally crawled out of bed around 2 PM, bored out of my mind and sick of watching Indian music videos, dubbed American movies from the Seventies and really really bad syndicated shows from the eighties that went down so fast I don't ever remember them. I popped a few Ibuprofen and headed from the front gate.

The city assaulted me with stink, deisel fumes, camel poo, burning garbage, dog poo, people poo, cow poo, ox poo, and horse poo. Jaipur is a poo fest, you just have to watch your step both literally and figuratively as I soon found out.

I walked the three blocks to the pink city and dodged traffic to get inside. I was expecting a glamorous oasis of restored old building and quaint shops, instead I found general mele. People cows and dogs crowded the sidewalk jockeying for space. Being bigger than most folks, I could have bullied my way though, but decided to be a good ambassador for America. A lot of good it did, peoples shoved past me, bumped me aside, cut in front of me... I pretended to ignore the vendors trying to drag me into their claustrophobic little stalls. I had a weak moment and was pulled into a sari shop. Six men surrounded me and started pulling Saris down from the shelves, opening up their packaging and tossing them in front of me. I tried to touch one, but before I couild determine the fabric, it was buried under three others. I wonder if they think the mania is going to cow people into buying. Actually, they'd probably be right with most people, but I'm not one of those. It just turns me off and makes me clamp down tight on my wallet.

I ran the gauntlet of salespeople and made my way out despite several hands trying to drag me back in. I ignored their shouts as I continued along the street. About a half block away, an ugly man with watery eyes, brown broken teeth and sagging skin interrupted me in fairly good English and asked if he could ask me a question. My suspicions should have been launched right there. Oh, so naive. His question had to do with why so many foreigners were rude to people when they just want to talk. I asked him if he really wanted to know. He said, yes.

If he knew me he would have known never to ask my opinion unless you want it point blank. I said that perhaps it had something to do with the fact that a couple of hundred people paw at you every day if you're foreign each with their own tack on fleecing you of some money in one way or another. Eveyone has their own threshhold of when enough is enough.

He thanked me and offered to tell me a little about Indian culture. I said, "okay." His pearl of wisdom which I found bestowed upon me is that you should never refuse a beverage when its offered to you by a Rajastani. He went on that its the worst insult possible for an Indian.

Now my suspicion meter did go off. The bells were aringin'. I invited him into the knowledge that know savvy traveler would accept a local drink from a stranger both for health reasons, as I'd so recently and keenly been made aware, and for personal safety reasons. You never know who's going to slip you a micky.

Now came the invitation to visit his store. I knew it was coming. He said it was an art shop with all original works and here came the zinger, "Its free to look."

I said no in several polite ways and then just walked away and said maybe later. Several blocks away I realized that the market only got more ugly and dirty as time and distance wore on. I turned heel and headed back. Near the big gate to to the old city that I'd entered on the way in, the ugly man suddenly appeared out of the crowd. I blame delirium for following him to the store past a whole lot of unsavory looking people.

His shop turned out to house a whole lot of the same crap that everyplace else sells only of inferior quality. Trying to be polite, I looked around. Ugly man went out and brought back the man that was supposed to be the artist. He pulled out some things that he kept under lock and key. Curious, I looked. Most of the silk paintings were just plain filthy as well of being of mediocre quality and most of the paper paintings were just bad. Notice I said most, three of the paper paintings were actually good. I selected six paintings and asked for a price.

The prices he read out were 5 times what I'd paid for the same crap in Goa. The paintings had been imported from Rajastan to Goa so you can tack on a bit to their prices. I tried to conceal my shock, not too hard, but a little. The artist guy's body was very slight. He couldnt' have stood more than 5'3" nor weighed more than 100 lbs. He wore a really heavy dirty jacket despite the wretched heat. Despite those things his eyes burned intensely and he wasn't completely devoid of good features.

I sensed him tensing up when I started adding numbers for a counter bid on the paintings. I doubled what I'd paid in Goa as a test and gave it back to him. He tried to tell me that at his prices he only made about 50 rupees or a little over a dollar each, not much. He continued with stories about what a simple man he is and how he only needs a little to continue his work.

I nodded.

His eyes started to burn. He looked like a cobra coiled and ready to strike, then the verbal vomit hit the fan. "You Americans are all alike. You think all we Indians are the same that you can offer us very little money and walk away with our goods for next to nothing. You think I'm just a dumb Indian, well I'm traveled. I've been to Europe..." He rifled through his closet for pictures.

I just stared at him. Finally I said, "I believe you've been to Europe, I don't need proof."

"No, no I need to show you otherwise you'll never believe me. You Americans believe what you're going to believe."

I couldn't tell if they guy was trying to bully me into buying by pretending to be insulted or if he really was on a very strange tirade. I don't know where the traveled thing comes into it. I could have cared less if he'd been to Europe or not. The rule of thumb in any business in India is that you negotiate. Mostly you negotiate hard especially when you've priced the item before and know approximately where the breaking point falls.

He threw the pictures back into the closet, is voice went up a couple of decibles and he continued starting to stand up. "I've traveled, I've been to Europe..."

I thought we'd established that.

"You think I'm a dog. Well I'll give you $100 and fuck your wife."

If only he'd gotten some sophistication in Europe, he'd have realized that comment wouldn't sink a barb with me. I chuckled to myself even though I grew more concerned about his rage with him looking over me shaking his fists. I'd been sitting on a mattress on the floor without my shoes which I'd left outside.

I started to stand up and said, "I think I should be going now."

I'm not sure what he said after that other than the fact that the word "fuck" kept coming up. "...wife, mother...American..."

I backed out of the store and started to put on my shoes. The whole neighborhood had gathered to watch the spectacle. I managed to take a glance at the ugly man and said, "and you wondered why foreignors are rude?" and gestured toward his friend.

The crazy man lunged out the door at me as I backed away shoes half on. I walked away as calmly as possible managing to push my way through the crowd. Two blocks up I could still hear him screaming.

Welcome to Jaipur!

My first experience outside the hotel was now established and it weren't pretty.

Perhaps I should have gone back with a valium. Nah, best left alone. I went back to the hotel, washed up and headed to dinner. I met a nice Indian guy from Denmark over dinner who I shared my story with. I asked him if he knew of any anti-American vibe in Rajastan since its so close to Pakistan. He said no, but that he'd lived out of the country for 15 years.

Later I asked the hotel receptionist. An Indian tour guide from France happened to be there at the same time and they all said in unison that they'd never seen any anti-American vibe in the area, nothing on TV or anywhere else. That really didn't convince me much since most of the TV comes from Delhi and Mumbai which are too sophisticated to pull such stunts. However one of the men working in the hotel did say that he tells people not to go to that part of the old city because its a bad neighborhood. I asked what made it bad and he said its a Muslim area.

Okay then, I'm still not sure what to believe. I've noticed tension between Hindus and Muslims everywhere except Goa. There are still a lot of resentments over the partition of Pakistan from India and the masacres of Hindus in the period thereafter in which time most of the Hindus fled leaving behind everything they owned, lucky to get away with their lives.

Pacified enough, I put the issue mostly to rest and went out at noon the next day determined to have a good experience to turn the visit around.

I started out on my way to the modern art museum with a nice plan thereafter. A day of art and culture, wasn't that what I'd set out to do?

I started by walking through the old city, the most direct route to the art Museum. Nope, no change in opinion there, pollution choked and dirty is all I can say. I found the massive park which houses the art museum and the archeoligical museum and tracked the wall to find a gate in. For the first time I noticed little alcoves in the wall where men went to pee. I could smell it clear across the four lane city street. Apparently the other wall where I walked had been reserved for a slightly more weighty bit of business. I tip toed through it.

Finally I found a gate to the park. Men were peeing everywhere. Apparently the highest and best use of the park is as a convenient toilet. In marked contrast to the overcrowded streets, the park stood almost empty. A few homeless people slept here and there as did the occasional street dog. By this time sweat poured down my back and trickled into my eyes. I wished I'd brought a tank top although I knew all that meant was sunburn and more discomfort. I found the building that housed the art gallery and dug around until I found it buried in an upstairs room with not a sign to point it out. At first I only saw about 6 paintings. I asked a guy if there were more and he pointed up. I followed the stairs in the direction he pointed and opend the rusty door at its top.

I entered a very large dusty room with no lighting and a lot of dusty art on the walls. Nobody questioned me and nobody greeted me. I made myself at home. Most of the art really stank, but a few good pieces did present themselves, but so did a whole lot of rat poop. I decided not to hang around too long. I'm not fond of rats.

On the way out the front door of the building a pack of barking dogs greeted me. They all milled around the big gate that led to the building. The only way out was through the middle of them. I'd already learned not to look any of the dogs in the eyes. I'd had a few lounge me for doing that. These are dogs used to being ignored despite that fact that thousands of people daily brush past them.

All the dogs had their tails up sniffing the air their barks greeted by barks from other more distant dogs and a whole lot of dogs making their way over to check out the action. In this group trotted a big heavily muscled male. He barked visciously at me and lunged. Now all the dogs had a focus for their barking. I slid my back pack down my shoulder ready to use it as a weapon if I had too. I noticed a man on a bike coming in toward me. I walked cautiously toward him hoping the dogs would eat him instead of me. It worked, they were all over him biting as his heels. I made quick getaway and breathed a sigh of releif.

Okay, its late and I've just arrived in Agra and went straight to writing after a very long hungry day of travel. I need to find some grub. I'm just outside the East gate of the Taj Mahal. Tomorrow, I storm the place.

This web cafe is across the street from my cheapie hotel, $8 a night and walking distance to the Taj in a non drive, low pollution discrict. How cool is that? Hopefully I can knock off a few more hours of storytelling before I head on to Delhi.