Sarah and I will double up on blogging right now since we have so much to catch up on.
After leaving Goa, we had a few days in transit, going through Pune, Ahmedebad, resting at Mt Abu for a short while and eventually arriving in Udaipur, Rajasthan two days ago.
We arrived around 2 in the afternoon after a long bus ride through some scenic desert terrain. Our hotel is a cute place in the old city directly outside of the City Palace walls; you can literally touch the wall from the back yard of the hotel and we saw the roof of our room when we visited the palace the next day.
Down a small, hilly street from us is what would be a lake if there was any water. The lake, as you may have seen in Octopussy, has a beautiful and very expensive restaurant in the center, the Taj Lake Palace. Because the monsoon hasn't hit this area yet, and because of recent droughts (global warming) there is only a few drops of water in this lake which are used to shuttle visitors to the Taj restaurant. The rest of the lake is empty and occupied by cows and kids playing Cricket.
We walked around the empty lake for a short while before hearing some drumming at a temple. We were invited in to join 5 men inside a small, roadside Shiva temple. Since it was Monday, and Monday is Shiva's day, they were sitting in the temple singing and chanting his praise. We joined them for some tea and listened to them sing for a while. It was a nice break from the outside world where the majority of the people who talk to us are only after our money. They surprisingly declined the few rupees we offered them.
After this temple party broke up, we headed across the lake for some more wandering, which is our favorite activity to do in India. We heard some fireworks, and a young man told us that people are celebrating someone's birthday (though I don't remember who, he was apparently a very rich and important man that lived sometime ago). We watched a scooter rally drive by while we joined this friendly guy for our second chai of the day. This man, Shiam, had a story that seemed too good to be true that he explained to us over tea.
He owns a spice shop and an art gallery down the street from each other. His art gallery is dedicated to preserving the traditional miniature painting style of Udaipur. He teaches free painting workshops, and sells his own and other artists highly-detailed miniature paintings. Almost all of the money from the sales go to the artists directly, except for a small portion which goes to feed children in impoverished areas. He also teaches cooking classes with his sister. We signed up for some cooking classes for the next night.
Leaving Shiam's gallery looking for somewhere to eat dinner, we found the finishing point of the scooter rally that we saw earlier. In celebration of this important guy's birthday, they were putting on an extravagant, and somewhat reckless fire show for a crowd of a few hundred. There were fire spitters, fire dancers, and some sword and weapon shows accompanied by some low and loud fireworks. They performed some amazing things with disregard for their own and the audience's safety. We were starving and found a rooftop restaurant where we could see the entire thing from above (though the fireworks were exploding that much closer to our heads) .
This rally was in front of the Jagdish temple which is a very old, white marble temple known for a statue of Shiva with a large diamond in his chin. The drummer from the other temple had mentioned he was playing later at this temple, so we decided to stop in and say hi. We said hello to our drummer friend, paid our respect to Shiva, and I offended some ladies with my powerful foot odor.
Walking back to the hotel, we were stopped by some guys hanging out by a well. One asked if we remembered him from earlier; it took us a second, but Sarah remembered he asked us in french if we wanted a tour of the city palace when we were there. Since Rajasthan is popular with European tourists, many people speak French, English, Spanish, and Italian pretty well. And they often assume that Sarah and I are French for some reason. We ended up chatting with these guys who seem to be the city jokesters and making plans for coffee the next day before going back to our hotel.
It's a good day for us in India when we meet so many friendly people who just want to enjoy our company and not our money (as if we have very much).
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Pune, Ahmedabad, Mt. Abu
Between Goa and Udaipur, where we currently are, we made three main stops: a day and a half in Pune, a day in Ahmedabad, and three days in Mt. Abu. Here are quick summaries of our impressions of each of those places.
Pune seems like a cool place to live, but wasn't that great of a place to visit. It's metropolitan, has a relatively large international population, really nice restaurants, and good shopping. It's also home to the internationally renowned ashram of Osho (he's also subject to parody in that Mike Myer's movie "The Love Guru"). Unfortunately, the ashram was expensive (and not to mention eerily cultish) so we only enjoyed it from afar, and spent the rest of our time wandering, making one stop in the old-city to see a fabulous curio museum that featured classical Indian musical instruments.
Ahmedabad, on the other hand, was far less international, to the extent that we were the only non-Indians to be found. People had given us attention for being foreigners before, but in Ahmedabad we could hardly make it a few seconds without a "Hello" or "Which country?" People on scooters would shout "nice to meet you!" as they drove by. While this can be exhausting, it's mostly fun and friendly. In Ahmedabad we did our usual wandering-through-markets routine, and also stopped at the Ghandi Ashram to pay homage to the country's beloved founder. And, it's confirmed: Ghandi is tight.
After all of the running around, we decided that we needed to take a breather at our next stop, which was Mt. Abu in Rajasthan. Mt. Abu, which we picked because it is supposed to have nice weather at this time of year, was nothing like I had imagined it (I had made a huge error of conflating "hill station" and "base camps"). The city is an oasis situated between dried out hills, centered around Nakki lake. I guess when I describe it that way, it sounds obvious that it is a huge tourist attraction, mostly for Gujarati families (usually from Ahmedabad, specifically) and honeymooners. Considering the cloyingly warm greeting we had in Ahmedabad, it's no surprise that Mt. Abu has been the height of our celebrite: literally droves of people would approach us, mostly kids who wanted to shake our hands, speak a little English, and take a picture. Mt. Abu is where we decided that whenever people randomly ask to take a picture with us, we will also take a picture. So, look forward to dozens of pictures of us with Gujarati families!
That decision, actually, was somewhat representative of our overall philosophy that weekend, which was: when in Mt. Abu, do as the Gujaratis do. We went paddle boating two times, got our photos taken dressed up as a Rajastani King and Queen, visited a beautiful Jain temple, and played air hokey. Every night.
Overall, we achieved what we wanted to in Mt Abu (not hard, when the goal is to relax and you happen to be in a resort town), but I'm glad we left when we did, because Udaipur, so far, is really, really wonderful.
Pune seems like a cool place to live, but wasn't that great of a place to visit. It's metropolitan, has a relatively large international population, really nice restaurants, and good shopping. It's also home to the internationally renowned ashram of Osho (he's also subject to parody in that Mike Myer's movie "The Love Guru"). Unfortunately, the ashram was expensive (and not to mention eerily cultish) so we only enjoyed it from afar, and spent the rest of our time wandering, making one stop in the old-city to see a fabulous curio museum that featured classical Indian musical instruments.
Ahmedabad, on the other hand, was far less international, to the extent that we were the only non-Indians to be found. People had given us attention for being foreigners before, but in Ahmedabad we could hardly make it a few seconds without a "Hello" or "Which country?" People on scooters would shout "nice to meet you!" as they drove by. While this can be exhausting, it's mostly fun and friendly. In Ahmedabad we did our usual wandering-through-markets routine, and also stopped at the Ghandi Ashram to pay homage to the country's beloved founder. And, it's confirmed: Ghandi is tight.
After all of the running around, we decided that we needed to take a breather at our next stop, which was Mt. Abu in Rajasthan. Mt. Abu, which we picked because it is supposed to have nice weather at this time of year, was nothing like I had imagined it (I had made a huge error of conflating "hill station" and "base camps"). The city is an oasis situated between dried out hills, centered around Nakki lake. I guess when I describe it that way, it sounds obvious that it is a huge tourist attraction, mostly for Gujarati families (usually from Ahmedabad, specifically) and honeymooners. Considering the cloyingly warm greeting we had in Ahmedabad, it's no surprise that Mt. Abu has been the height of our celebrite: literally droves of people would approach us, mostly kids who wanted to shake our hands, speak a little English, and take a picture. Mt. Abu is where we decided that whenever people randomly ask to take a picture with us, we will also take a picture. So, look forward to dozens of pictures of us with Gujarati families!
That decision, actually, was somewhat representative of our overall philosophy that weekend, which was: when in Mt. Abu, do as the Gujaratis do. We went paddle boating two times, got our photos taken dressed up as a Rajastani King and Queen, visited a beautiful Jain temple, and played air hokey. Every night.
Overall, we achieved what we wanted to in Mt Abu (not hard, when the goal is to relax and you happen to be in a resort town), but I'm glad we left when we did, because Udaipur, so far, is really, really wonderful.
Goan, Goan, Gone!
(this is a late post about our last day in goa,which i wrote but didn't get the chance to type up and post)
Goa has been great so far, and we've come to the conclusion that off-season Goa is more up our alley anyway. Where season-Goa is huge crowds, big spending, non-stop parties, and hoards of foreign tourists, off-season Goa is where Indian families come to relax and cool off in the ocean before monsoon time. In that spirit, we decided to spend the day lounging on the beach, people-watching, and making our best attempt at being inconspicuously American.
That didn't really work. As soon as our umbrella was pitched, we were attacked by junk-hawkers, of all sorts: a few 12-year-old kids, old ladies, teenaged boys, all selling miscellaneous junk like beaded necklaces, henna tattoos, paper fans. As I politely denied the products they were pushing each of the peddlers would kind of coyly walk away and say "okay maybe later?" and of course, to this i'd say "okay, later" thinking it was an empty promise just for laughs, on both sides of the conversation.
The 12-year olds, a boy and girl, were the first to return. "You said later" the girl said, who was all smiles and really pleased with the trick she had pulled. "Oh, well later again!" I said, and this kind of back-and-forth play went on for a few minutes until they left to bug some other people.
Next came a woman of about 30. "You said later!" I wasn't about to play the same later-game I'd played with the kids, so I said "really I don't want anything" and then she asked where we were from, and eventually she just sat down under our umbrella with us and we talked for about a half hour. She knew nearly a dozen languages (both Asian and European)--most of which she had picked up entirely from chatting with tourists during peak season. This, despite the fact that she said she doesn't know how to write in any. I asked her what business was like here and she said generally good, but that the past few days hadn't been so good since it was almost the monsoon and not even Indian tourists were coming anymore. She said that during monsoon season, she goes back to Karnataka, the southern state where she is from, with her family of five. During the peak season, she owns a shop instead of selling jewelry on the beach, and her two girls are very good at school and her son is "very naughty."
During this conversation we were met by other folks we'd said "later" to: an 80-yr old woman from Rajasthan who makes & sells peanut butter during the season, a man selling flutes who said he had to leave his native Mysore because there are "too many flute-man" there. Each of them had a basically similar story: selling things on the beach is what they do towards the end of the season, that business was bad right now because the monsoon would be coming soon, and that they'd rather sit and chat than try and sell things to people who don't want to buy. It was really a good time, and interesting to hear everyone's stories.
As the sun started to set, everyone started to leave. Instead of "later" they each said "tomorrow, okay?"
"Tomorrow, sure."
"Remember my face okay?"
"Of course."
The monsoon came that night, and the next day we decided that we would also leave Goa.
Goa has been great so far, and we've come to the conclusion that off-season Goa is more up our alley anyway. Where season-Goa is huge crowds, big spending, non-stop parties, and hoards of foreign tourists, off-season Goa is where Indian families come to relax and cool off in the ocean before monsoon time. In that spirit, we decided to spend the day lounging on the beach, people-watching, and making our best attempt at being inconspicuously American.
That didn't really work. As soon as our umbrella was pitched, we were attacked by junk-hawkers, of all sorts: a few 12-year-old kids, old ladies, teenaged boys, all selling miscellaneous junk like beaded necklaces, henna tattoos, paper fans. As I politely denied the products they were pushing each of the peddlers would kind of coyly walk away and say "okay maybe later?" and of course, to this i'd say "okay, later" thinking it was an empty promise just for laughs, on both sides of the conversation.
The 12-year olds, a boy and girl, were the first to return. "You said later" the girl said, who was all smiles and really pleased with the trick she had pulled. "Oh, well later again!" I said, and this kind of back-and-forth play went on for a few minutes until they left to bug some other people.
Next came a woman of about 30. "You said later!" I wasn't about to play the same later-game I'd played with the kids, so I said "really I don't want anything" and then she asked where we were from, and eventually she just sat down under our umbrella with us and we talked for about a half hour. She knew nearly a dozen languages (both Asian and European)--most of which she had picked up entirely from chatting with tourists during peak season. This, despite the fact that she said she doesn't know how to write in any. I asked her what business was like here and she said generally good, but that the past few days hadn't been so good since it was almost the monsoon and not even Indian tourists were coming anymore. She said that during monsoon season, she goes back to Karnataka, the southern state where she is from, with her family of five. During the peak season, she owns a shop instead of selling jewelry on the beach, and her two girls are very good at school and her son is "very naughty."
During this conversation we were met by other folks we'd said "later" to: an 80-yr old woman from Rajasthan who makes & sells peanut butter during the season, a man selling flutes who said he had to leave his native Mysore because there are "too many flute-man" there. Each of them had a basically similar story: selling things on the beach is what they do towards the end of the season, that business was bad right now because the monsoon would be coming soon, and that they'd rather sit and chat than try and sell things to people who don't want to buy. It was really a good time, and interesting to hear everyone's stories.
As the sun started to set, everyone started to leave. Instead of "later" they each said "tomorrow, okay?"
"Tomorrow, sure."
"Remember my face okay?"
"Of course."
The monsoon came that night, and the next day we decided that we would also leave Goa.
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