Wanna Hump?…
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.
Tags: Travel
mbsloney
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