So, I left the snarling and snapping dogs behind and walked the half mile in the blistering heat to the state museum. A woman stood out front throwing food to the thousands of pidgeons. I paid the entry fee and went in to the exhibits. They had replicas of clothing from the different eras...dull, people wear almost the same things today. The next exhibit, handicrafts, just annoyed me since I'd seen this all in the market, and finally there were some mildly interesting paintings. Done, if I had these two museums to do over again, I'd save my energy.

I exited, skirted the sea of pidgeons, crossed the street to the motorickshaw stand and told them I wanted to go to the Janeja Art Gallery. The guy said 50 rupees for the cost. 50 rupees should have gotten me to the next city. I said I'd pay 20 rupees, even this is more than the trip was worth. He said no, I walked away. Damn crooks. Can you tell I'm not fond of the poeple of Jaipur?

I walked through the streets to the art gallery dodging traffic, homeless people camped on the sidewalks, and the usual culprits. 15 minutes later I arrived drenched in sweat and cranky. However, the guy that greeted me had the first friendly smile I'd seen all day. I lost track of time. The gallery had a lot of really good art and supposedly is run by artists for artists. A lot of the work came from named artists that have pieces hanging in museums. I lost track of time going through the stacks of paintings. In the end I narrowed it down to two pieces, a traditional piece that showed a lot of movement and energy, and a modern oil on canvas of a banyan tree in the night with a lot of women and cattle standing around it.

I ended up spending $135 for the traditional piece. This is a monumental sum for me to part with, but I'm very happy with my purchase and its the only thing that redeemed my day.

By now it was dark and a bit chilly, so I walked bruskly back to the hotel, took a long hot shower, ate dinner and buried myself in my book.

The next morning I decided it was time to treat myself and spend money if I needed to in order to bring my vacation more in line with my desires.

After a nice breakfast I inquired about a massage. It turns out that the massage therapist was in and available. I booked him. He supposedly had been trained in Ayurvedic massage, Acupressure and Swedish. I figured for $8 I couldn't go wrong.

The man showed up, a short pudgy pot bellied man, with unkempt dishevveled hair, a moustache, and big almost startled looking eyes.

An akward moment arose when it came time for the massage to begin. I wasn't sure of the proper ettiquete for a massage in India. I stripped down to my underwear and felt strangely odd when he stared at my crotch. I walked around him to the bed where he'd laid out a sheet and two towels, dropped my underwear and hopped on.

He didn't seem uncomfortable at all. I guess it was the right guess. He started by squirting ice cold oil directly onto my back and legs. He rubbed it in roughly. Then he moved to my feet. I'm wasn't entirely sure he knew what he was doing. It didn't feel like there the movements came from any sort of intention. I decided not to pay too close of attention. What did I expect for $8?

He moved up to my calves, same story and then my thighs which he needed hard and long, but not along the muslcle groups instead on the side. I finally had to ask him to lighten up because he was hurting me. I still have a bruise. He asked about my wife. I told him I didn't have one. He asked my age. I said 41. He asked what happened to my wife. I said, "What wife."

He seemed to be shocked that I'd never been married. Now I know I'm not the first gay man to pass through that hotel and get a massage from this guy. I say a couple of gay folk staying there when I first arrived. He kept pestering me until I told him I would never be marrying a woman, I'd marry a man. He finally dropped the subject.

I then told him I'd been a massage therapist. It took a couple of minutes before he understood what I was saying. I expected he'd want to share technique, instead he wanted to talk about money, like how much money I made. When I told him he told me he wanted to come to America and do massage. I didn't encourage that thought, with his attitude he'd never make it in the US. His only alternative would be to work at some sort of spa and I doubt his tenure would be very long their either without skill or training.

The massage continued, more a body rub than an actual massage and he started telling me about his family and how he wanted to take me home with him that night for dinner and to meet his wife. Oh god, I wanted to do nothing of the sort. The food and drink alone scared me let alone the time involved the day before leaving for Agra. I said I might if I got back from my touring in time. He took that as a yes. I tried to tell him that was a maybe, but he hung onto a yes.

He reached an end of the massage and asked if I'd like a scalp and facial massage. Curious, I said yes. I soon regretted that when he started squirting oil into my hair. After that indignity, he squirted oil onto my face and went straight to my eybballs to start rubbing, a big big no-no in massage. I couldn't breath let alone talk, all my strenght went into keeping my eyes shot. When he finally left my face alone he rubbed my scalp roughly with his palm for a few minutes and pronounced himself done. I got up and put on my underwear and some shorts, worried that the oil would stain. I'm wearing those shorts today after laundering and there are nice reminder oil stains on them.

I dug out the 400 rupees, his inital massage fee, and asked him how much for the scalp massage. He said 300. I gave him the 700 and decided there was no way I'd be attending his house for dinner that night. His choice of price made it quite clear that I represented only a means to an end meaning entre into America. I'm happy to help well qualified honest well educated people who are at the top of their game, but an unskilled, uncooth, frumpy massage dude from Jaipur just didn't make the cut for me.

Once I locked the door behind him I hopped in the shower only to discover, drenched in oil, that entire supply of hot water had been spent. I soaped and showered 4 times in the ice cold water and didn't feel any cleaner. My hair stayed greasy looking. I gave up and dressed eager to be on my way to sight see.

I hired a car to take me around the sites near the city for $21. I met the driver in the parking lot. He was a nice elderly man with deeply carved wrinkles and kind eyes. I liked him immediately. It turns out that he's not from Jaipur, no wonder I liked him. As we were exchanging the usual introductory information, I asked him how old he was. It turns out he's 41. He looks at least 20 years older than me. No wonder people were telling me I looked 25.

We weaved through the town and just on the other side after we'd emerged from the insanity he pointed out a palace floating on the water. A maharaja still owns this hundreds of years old palace built of stone into the depths of a lake so it appeared to float on the water. He says the Maharaja still comes to town and uses the palace at times. I think it would make a better hotel.

Another 300 yards and the city disappeared behind us. Rocky hills sprung up in front of and around us as we climbed a steep one lane paved road. I almost felt like I was at Joshua Tree National Monument in California, the scenery was so familiar. However soon remnants of a stone wall appeared climbing some hillsides and on some turns we could see the palace in the lake down below. The views were stunning.

About 8 kilometers in at the peak of the hill we came to an old fort. We parked inside and the driver pointed out the best places to look. The first stop was supposedly the world's largest cannon. It was big. The views impressed me more. I took a few pictures. We proceeded to the next stop which included the palace. The views improved upon the others as I meandered through the maze of rooms, courtyards, zenenas (women's quarters) and viewing pagodas. The walls around the edges had openings every few feet for the insertion of guns to guard the fort. Each opening had three slots wider on the inside than the outside to allow the gunmen greater maneuverability while decreasing the likelihood that anyone could shoot through the openings. Guard towers sat at each corner, of which there were many.

Each exterior wall dropped at least 80 feet to the slopes below and the rear view looked down on the city of Amber (pronounced Amer) and its palaces, temples and forts. Absolutely truly amazing. This became the first place in Jaipur outside of my hotel where I'd actually enjoyed myself. I couldn't wait to get in the car and go down to Amber.

The driver dropped me off on the side of the road since vehicles aren't allowed to drive up to the Amer fort. Jeep drivers and elephants have the excluse right to haul you up. The number of police and security officers guarding the fort shocked me. They far outnumbered and tourists that milled around. I decided the hill wasn't big enough for me to actually pay someone to take me, so I walked up. A few meters onto the stone road and a caravan of cars rumbledng down the road pinning me to the wall. The road which made a canyon between the upslope retaining wall and the downslope wall smelled of elephant urine. The motorcade brought great drafts of the smell with them forcing them into my nostrils. I caught a glimpse of a white lady with that blond orange county shoulder length hairdoo, but not enough of a glimpse to figure out who it was.

I huffed and puffed it up the hill wishing I was high above the elephant pee stones on the back of an elephant, but it was too late. I'd already chosen my course. I veered of the road at some point and climbed some stairs avoiding the pigs and dogs that rummaged through the trash that apparently just gets thrown over the walls of the fort.

I entered the courtyard at the top of the hill surrounded by great fort walls similar to the fort above. I first checked out the museum which stood full of ancient sculptures of beautiful quality, then paid my way in and climbed into the palace. I managed to shirk off the few would be guides and showed myself around. The place was huge! Again a maze this time of several stories. I spent about two hours getting myself lost and finding new wonders in the place before I left. I stopped at the main government shop before I exited the complex and there discovered that the president of Yugoslavia and his wife had been the occasion of the great motorcade. Hmmm, I now know where I rank in that heirarchy ;)

I wanted to spend some time in the village outside the walls before I left but the sun already threatened to sink and I still had the monkey palace to visit. My driver rushed us through the canyon roads back to the city and then into the Muslim district. It appeared to be even more poor than the rest of the city if that's possible. My children did their business buck naked on the sides of the busy roads as we cruised through, nobody looked particularly clean until we neared a temple and then a few nice houses appeared with some more affluent looking people. The predominant memory is of squallor, dirty clothes, soot blacked walls, trash piled everywhere, and stink.

Soon we pulled out another side of town and through a great gate. Suddenly all the gracious architecture stood abandoned. My driver explained that a few times a year a Maharaja would visit the monkey palace and the local people would climb these buildings to throw flower petals down on the procession of cars. These buildings, although delapidated still stood for the most part a procession of arches and stalls on two levels stretching for about a mile.

After the buildings ended nothing but desert hills, a small village full of cows, and a few trees stood between me and the monkeys. By now it was dusk and the major heat of the day had passed, besides the entrance stood in a canyon with no direct sunlight. I paid 5 rupees for a bag of peanuts to feed the monkeys. The second I entered the compound they started coming up to me begging for a treat. I threw small handfuls to each of them faster and faster as the crowds of monkeys grew. It reached a cresendo where I couldn't keep up and the monkeys started pawing at my lets. These monkeys had fleas, maybe mange, ugly red butts and stumpy tails. I happily fed them but didn't by any means want them climbing on me. Then they started to snarl and bare their wicked teeth. I glommed on to a group of Indians going buy and stayed with them for safety until I entered the gate.

The gateman told me I could not feed the monkeys inside the temple. Happier news couldn't have hit me. I climbed among the ruins to a great edifice built over a waterfall which poured into a stagnant pond. I tried to get a picture but monkeys kept pawing at me. A young guy yelled to me from the other side of the courtyard where I tried to get a picture. I gladly went up to him. He asked me to take his picture. I did. We then tried to chat a little, but the monkeys came from everywhere and he got as scared as I did. We ran down the stairs to a guard who chased them away with a big stick. The other guy ran for it when he saw a break in the monkeys. I took the guards advice and hid the peanuts under my shirt tucking it twice through my belt so the peanuts wouldn't accidentally fall out.

Cautiously I climbed a few more levels of stairs only to be greated with more of the same, monkeys everywhere and almost no people, certainly no people with sticks. I decided it was time to head back. I managed to get back to the top of the waterfall where I witnessed a few dozen rats crawl out of a sewer and start milling around with the monkeys. I kept moving. I stopped at one point to try to get a picture of a baby monkey. The group I'd been with moved on without me. I soon found that agian monkeys came at me from all sides climbing down the rocky slopes, coming up the steps, down the steps up the wall on the other side of me, big ones, small ones and some really big ones.

The big males beady eyes focused on me menacingly. At least one hundred monkeys surrounded me with more coming. The big males started to snarl at each other, loud bone chilling snarls. I put my hand to my neck instinctively covering my jugular. These beasts meant business. Becoming monkey food had not been in my travel plans. I wished I hadn't worn shorts that day.

I turned around slowly looking for a place to retreat, but no clean ground presented itself. Suddenly I heard a stick knocking the ground behind me. A guard had seen the monkeys massing and came to rescue with with his stick. He made a path and I ran through it. Seconds after I got out safely the war of the monkeys began with great screeches and howels, the huge males duking it out. Somehow monkey wars had not been considered in my travel plans. The scarey part was that the peanuts weren't even exposed. I suspect I just looked a nice fat delicious specimen despite that fact that I've dropped about 12 pounds since I've been here.

After that, no more monkeys. It seems all of them had gone to join or bear witness to the devouring or my flesh and/or the great battle that ensued after I left.

I fed my remaining peanuts to some nice friendly cows by the front gate.