After lunch one group departs to shop; Susan and Tim are off to find the street where Susan's great aunt once lived; and John, Gopi and Anne decide to walk back to the hotel. Rama, head of the shopping group, talks her way into the studios of Bridgette Singh, who sells only to top star hotels and to wholesale. How does she do it? Perhaps with the language barrier she may have come off as a buyer? Anyway, all come away with fabulous designer linens. Susan and Tim find the street they are looking for and get a photo for Susan's aunt. Gopi, John and Anne get lost but do eventually make it through the back streets to our hotel.
For our last dinner in Jaipur, or rather outside of the city, we drive an hour to the Samode Palace, the vacation home of the family whose town home we have been staying in. The countryside is beautiful and when we arrive we see that this palace, now converted to a hotel needs no restoration. The first revelation is the beautiful entry garden. Then we ascend a series of staircases, each of which leads to its own interior courtyard. Our guide leads us to the mirrored reception room of the palace. The walls of this many chambered room have the feeling of being quilted with hundreds of small mirror panes and all remains in perfect condition. Rama shows us how we can stare into the tiny tiles to create multiple refracted images of ourselves. The tile work is stunning as are the frescos. We eat dinner on the pool deck under Venus rising but need to request blankets to wrap ourselves in.
January 21...
Rama and Gopi depart for Kolkata (they need a vacation from us!) while the rest of us head to Udaipur, the hometown of Suru our guide. Suru sings the glories of Rajasthan and Udaipur. Here as in other parts of Rajasthan, the native dress is particularly colorful. As is other parts of India, the women wear saris in glorious colors but in Rajasthan, the men join the show with brightly hued turbans. Suru explains that each caste wraps the turban in a characteristic way.
The flight goes well and we arrive in time for some sightseeing. John, Anne, Tim and Susan head out for the City Palace. Dorothy and Joanne who are not feeling well must crash. The majarana (king) has split his huge palace into two hotels and a museum and still been able to retain a spacious wing for his own family's use. Highlights are the beautiful blue tiled peacocks whose breasts and heads jut out in bas-relief from the walls of one courtyard. We manage a short walk through the market that sells foods and wares to locals and purchase some gifts to take to our planned school visit. We also see the famed Lake Palace that seems to float in one of the city's series of connecting lakes. Sadly, monsoons of late have been scanty and the lakes are no longer at full glory. We will have to imagine the scene as it was meant to be.
Suru invites us to lunch with his family at his sister's hotel the next day and promises us real home cooked Rajasthani food.
January 22...
Out to the countryside this morning for a visit to the ruins of a 10th century temple complex and a village visit. The first temple we see is a ruin partially submerged in a small lake. The others are more accessible and beautiful, partially because of the peaceful, lush, rural setting. The temples were defaced centuries ago by Moghul invaders but some of the wonderful sculptures survive. Tim and Susan finally have a chance to see a few Khajuraho-style erotic carvings.
Next we follow small winding roads through farms and fields to visit a small village. The trek yields photo opportunities galore of women in bright attire with milk pots and bundles of sticks balanced on their heads, children herding goats, and men in colorful turbans. At the village the men are mostly away working in the fields but the women and children are welcoming. The one older man who is at home for the day invites us into his house where his wife is busy making corn flower roti (bread) over a fire in their courtyard and two delightful children (his grandchildren?) smile at us shyly. We visit their one room residence and are amazed at the neat and orderly way they make it all work. I know that my own home would not be nearly as presentable if I was to find myself showing it off unexpectedly to drop in guests.
The children follow us through the village paths to the school demonstrating home made toys. At school, we visit the first and second forms. One class sits on the verandah; the other inside a classroom and the teacher's desk is perched in the doorway overseeing both groups. The kids sit on the floor in their neat uniforms writing in their notebooks. The walls are brightly painted with murals of Hindi and roman script, colors identified in English and Hindi, etc. The children sit quietly in place during our visit even when we distribute our little presents of crayons and drawing books and say a polite "thank you" as we leave. Then we hear the babble of delighted voices as they break into their little gifts. We dodge cows and head back to the bus where the little boy we first encountered is busily sketching our vehicle with his new crayons.
Back to town for lunch with Suru's family. The family hotel is in the middle of town and we have lunch up on the roof deck. The home cooking is wonderful and we get a chance to meet Suru's wife, delightful five-year old son, sister and nephew. We have three different kinds of bread, (dahl bati, corn and some other type of chapatti), chicken masala, vegetables and dessert. Most of the dishes are flavored with ghee (clarified butter). No wonder we love it! Suru's wife and sister have overseen preparation of the meal and have toned down the spices for us. Although we love Indian food, we find the flavors overwhelming at times. Suru shows us old photos of himself dressed traditionally (for his wedding). He is a proud member of the warrior caste, second only to the Brahmins. Many of his caste have made the transition to jobs in the tourist industry.
Afterwards more shopping! To the tailors for fabric, shawls and even John buys something -- a couple of ties.
January 23...
John and Anne escape to walk to the lake on their own and on foot. They are followed through the streets by an auto rickshaw driver who first offered them a ride at the hotel. At every intersection where they might make a wrong turn, he carefully directs them to the correct route. Finally, they agree to meet him at the viewpoint on the lake and accept his offer of a quick tour of town. He takes us to his favorite spots and through the narrow streets of the old town. Lots of fun!
Off to join Rama and Gopi in Kolkata. It takes pretty much the rest of the day to get there with airport security, transfers and two flights. On both flights (each about an hour) we are served a full meal and the food is delicious and free! How will we go back to air travel American style? In Kolkata, we are at the Oberi and the security is tight. Perhaps this is an opportune time to talk about the logistics of traveling in the age of terror.
Everywhere we go, we are told that they tourism is down by 50% or more. Many cancelled after the incident in Mumbai and the spiraling downturn of the economy has also contributed. I admit to checking my travel insurance policy in December. I learned that we were not covered for a cancellation unless we were visiting the city where an attack occurred (and we were never scheduled to go to Mumbai). In reading over the fine print of the policy, I also discover we are not covered for assault if it is perpetrated by a member of our own party. (The insurance company must have some interesting stories to tell!)
We are glad we did not cancel because we have most of the tourist attractions here in India to ourselves. The security is indeed tight everywhere. In Delhi, we had an announced search of our rooms by security staff with metal detectors and bomb sniffing dogs. Does that make us feel safer or freaked? At every hotel, our van is checked with mirrors and hatches opened to check luggage or even the engine. We pass through metal detectors and are wanded at nearly every monument. At the Kolkata Oberai, we are individually searched every time we enter the hotel. Airport checks are tight as well. Later, in Bangalore, even our luggage and handbags will be x-rayed every time we enter the hotel. But everywhere we go, people are unbelievably friendly. They want to know where we are from and smile broadly when we say "USA." The welcome mostly overcomes the worry.
January 24...
Some of us do a historic walk through colonial Kolkata in the morning and then we join everyone for brunch at the apartment of a local art collector. The apartment is in a heritage building that was the original British department store. We walk up some dingy stairs to the fourth floor (the elevator is broken) and privately develop a few qualms about brunch. We walk down a long, dilapidated hallway and ring the bell in front of a set of old double doors. Our host answers and lead us into a gracious flat. The ceilings must be 10 feet or more and have plenty of room to display an amazing collection of Bengali art. Fascinating objects are displayed artfully on every table. We definitely get a taste of how well-to-do intelligentsia can live graciously in the center of a busy, noisy city.
John and Anne want to see the statues being constructed for the upcoming celebration of the festival of Saraswati, the goddess of learning. Gucci, one of our brunch hosts, agrees to take us on an excursion to the neighborhood where the statues are made. Craftsman here practice a skill handed down from father to son; their only occupation is making statues for festivals. As we walk through, we see literally thousands of statues of the goddess in various sizes and poses. Each statue begins with a base of straw that is tightly bound to the basic shape of the goddess. Then the sculptors cover the straw with layers of river mud and fashion the serene face of the goddess. Fingers and feet are mass-produced and added to a row of statues in assembly line fashion. Statues in various states of development line the narrow lanes to dry and fill every workshop. After the mud dries, the artisan paints the face and body, adds fiber hair, and dresses it with cloth and handmade ornamentation heavy with sequins. We see a few finished works being hauled to trucks for delivery. On the day of the festival, the owner will take the statue to the river for a blessing and then float it out onto the water where it will sink into the river and return to the mud.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Update 2
January 13 (continued)... Rats! Gopi, Rama, and John return. They have been gone for more than three hours rather than the expected two. It can only mean tigers! We learn that not only have they seen tigers again but beautiful views from the old Bandhavgarh Fort. John returns with a "tikka" on his forehead, showing that he has received a special blessing from the priest at the shrine by the fort. We console ourselves with cocktails on an open patio with a roaring fire. We have a chance to see mutton (here that means goat) roasting on a spit over a charcoal fire and bread made village-style in a wok-like pan. Before dinner is served under the stars, a small band of local village men and women come to perform traditional dancing for us. Soon we are all up dancing!
January 14... And then there were eight. Susan and Tim arrive in Delhi but they will have to share their adventures for the 14th and 15th since I was not there. I hear it involved the national and train museums where school children on field trips were anxious to try out their English with them and couldn't take their eyes off Susan.
The remainder of the group (Gopi, Rama, Dorothy, Joanne, John and Anne) is off early from Mahua Kothi, our lodge at the Park, to make the 5-hour drive to Khajuraho. Another exciting ride! Anne sits in the front seat of the bus with the video camera, as no one at home will believe what it is like to negotiate the roads without documentary evidence. Our driver plays "chicken" with decorated trucks on one-lane roads. We have plenty of encounters with "brake testers" (cows alone or in herds), dodge bicycles, ox carts, women in vivid saris, children, and a holy man (sudru) walking with all his possessions in a satchel over his shoulder. His face is painted red and is bisected by a white stripe that runs from his forehead to the tip of his nose. We see gypsies camped by the side of the road where they are blacksmithing tools for the local villagers. What a ride!
We arrive in Khajuraho in time to visit the famous temples before sunset. Built in the 10th century, these temples are famous for their graphic erotic sculptures, which precede "The Joy of Sex" by centuries. Bas-relief carvings cover nearly every square inch of the temples. Scenes of hunting and battles fought atop elephants wind around the base. And then there are the famous erotic sculptures! When the English colonials stumbled upon these temples in 1838, they were shocked. After all, this was the era when women were told to "close your eyes and do your duty."
January 15... After a morning return visit to the temples (who can get enough!), we head back to Delhi by air to join Susan and Tim. For our big event of the day, Enchanted India treats us to dinner at the Spice Route, one of Delhi's top restaurants. The artwork and décor are so fabulous, we ask for a guided tour after dinner.
January 16... A second visit to Old Delhi for John and Anne and a first visit for everyone else. We visit Jama Masjid (the largest mosque in India), ride bicycle "risk" shaws (really rickshaws) through the narrow streets and get off to explore the wedding street. Every stall displays colorful wear and accessories needed for a traditional ceremony. What fun! The women get side tracked by a store that only sells colorful, decorated envelopes (for invitations or gifts?); the men wait patiently (at least at first) outside. Then off to the spice market where the pungent fragrances nearly provoke asthma attacks in Susan and Dorothy. Dorothy spies a cart wheeling by with something wrapped in cloth and covered in marigolds. "What was that?" she asks Rama later. A body headed for cremation -- darn it, she didn't get a photo. A visit to the red fort, lunch outside in a lovely garden at a restaurant (with good restrooms!). Another wonderful day...
January 17... Some of us are off to see Humayun's tomb in the morning. Gopi and Rama join us later to visit the Ghandi museum that is housed in the home where he lived the last 144 days before his assassination. Concrete footprints mark the path of his last walk to the prayer garden. We follow with lunch at Eatopia for a round of street food made in the more hygienic setting of a food court. Think Crossroads! Lunch for nine costs a whopping $9.
From the sacred to the profane and the old market to the new, we head out to visit the upscale City Walk mall in Delhi's suburbs. Unfortunately, everyone is Delhi has had the same idea. The traffic! The traffic! We find ourselves sitting in an unbelievable snarl of vehicles tantalizingly close to the mall, which we can see just across four lanes of honking cars. Down the middle is a daunting three-foot high median divider. It will take at least another 30 minutes to go around the block and make a "Uvee" that will bring us to the right side of the divided roadway. What to do! Should we abandon the bus, pick our way through the mass of honking cars, climb across the elevated center island, and cross another stream of cars to get to the mall? We go for it -- even Joanne, the oldest in our party.
It takes a village. Some hold up hands to implore the cars to let us pass, and the men give Joanne and Dorothy, who both sport bad knees, the extra boost needed to climb up one side of the center divider and down the other. We make it! Anything to shop -- do you detect a theme here? What a contrast to the markets of Old Delhi! Gleaming marble floors, chrome, glass -- there are a few shops we recognize but thankfully most stores feature products that cater to the local population. Designer sari's, colorful house wares, leather goods -- sensory overload of a different kind than yesterday. The women stay and shop and the men have a coffee and set out to try Delhi's new elevated metro system. They report that it is beautiful and spotless. And why not considering the rules -- no smoking, no spitting, no urinating and no riding on the roof of the trains. It costs them 20 cents to cross the city, making the journey in 15 minutes and beating their car by 20 minutes. When this Metro is finally finished, this will be the way to leave the traffic snarls behind.
January 18... Today we are on the road again, en route to Agra. We let Susan and Tim have their first experience in the front of the bus riding "shotgun." Susan captures the experience perfectly when she exclaims, "It's like being in a video game for real!"
By this time in the trip, we have all settled into our roles. Rama is, thank goodness, our pharmacist and translator, able to get Susan an inhaler to cope with the smog. But her more important role is as shopping guide. How else would we have found Fabindia and Shoppers Stop? Susan is our fashion consultant, advising on which of the fabulously colored kurta look best. At $6 to $10 apiece who can resist? Susan is also working with me on a restroom rating system. The lowest rating so far is a -1 for the "facilities" at the Park. Dorothy is providing medical advice and documenting the trip with photos of EVERYTHING. She promises a new guidebook entitled Massages of India. Me, I'm the blogger and official purveyor of mangled Hindi. Suru, our guide, has already had to tell me that my attempt at "good morning" ("supra bhaat" and straight from the phrase book) is archaic -- equivalent to "how are thou?" in English, I think. The men are our semi-pro photographers, our bookkeepers, accounts payable staff and also the not entirely effective shopping police! Last of all, there is Joanne who is 78 and has a bum back and knee. She is game to go anywhere and do anything -- including scale 3-foot high median dividers. She is our devi (Hindu godess) and our inspiration!
We arrive in Agra late in the day. Rama has arranged for us to stay at the Oberai Amervillas, a 5-star hotel that is considered one of the best in the world. Every room has a view of the Taj Mahal. Wow! The pool, pavilions, fountains are spectacular – a Disneyland-like re-creation of the splendor of India. A quick check-in and then we head for the Taj. I've been wondering if the Taj is over rated -- NOT. We catch it in the fading light of the day, dominating the beautiful gardens and pools. Because this is Sunday, the monument is crowded with Indian tourists as well as foreigners. We enjoy seeing the honeymoon couples that stand out because the brides are wearing fabulous saris, usually with jeweled and golden trim, and matching thin bangle bracelets that reach halfway up their arms.
Back to the Amervillas, where this time, the massages are for Susan and Anne. The men linger at the Taj longer and when they return, Tim tells us of the puppy who bonded with him during the 5-minute walk back to the hotel golf cart.
The hotel staff is incredibly attentive and the ratio of staff to guests must be five to one. (Is this normal or a result of Mumbia cancellations?) Dorothy and Joanne share a room and have a hard time readying for dinner as their personal butler keeps knocking on their door with offers of pillows, water, etc. Dorothy launders her money, an experience you will have to investigate directly with her. Dinner is fabulous. Several of the group share "thali" which literally means "plate" and consists of a sample of different Indian dishes. Musicians play sitar and drum and we all try to remember which Beatles album featured the sitar. Dorothy takes away leftovers in what will literally be a "doggy bag" as she will feed it to Tim's puppy the next morning. Susan is worried that the puppy will end up in the bus with us when we leave Agra.
January 19... Up early to try to catch the Taj at sunrise. Sadly, the air does not cooperate but the Taj's white marble shines even when the sun is hidden. Inside, the stone inlay and carving is stunning. Rama mutters disapprovingly when she sees various guides touching the inlay work. After we emerge, John, who has not heard her, reaches out for a quick stroke and gets his hand slapped. Don't mess with Rama! We wonder if she learned this technique during her days as a docent at the Bellevue Art Museum. As we leave the usual onslaught of vendors begins. Anne has her eye out for 9-year old Rajah who has charmed her on the way in and is waiting to sell her tacky postcards for an exorbitant price. Joanne, another soft heart, comes away with some as well. One vendor jogs behind the golf cart continuing his spiel all the way back to the hotel and literally makes a sale "on the run" to one of our party on the back of the cart.
At the hotel, we have another wonderful meal -- breakfast from a sumptuous buffet. Dorothy and Anne call over a staff member to inquire about the "fabulous" peanut butter. "It's Skippy," she says and laughs. We have to leave all too soon, but are glad to have made quick escape when we learn that Susan has absconded with extra beauty products. We are just relieved that she left the robe and fabulous bed coverings.
We are on the road again -- to Jaipur, the pink city. It's another driving experience but more Western in the tourist friendly region of Rajasthan. We travel on a divided four-lane highway where the only obstacles are slow moving traffic (tractors, bull carts, and the occasional cow). The only heart-stopping moments come when we encounter a truck driving in the wrong direction heading for the nearest break in the divider to get to a truck stop on the other side of the road. Yikes! Suru points out yet another type of vehicle to us. Turns out that when you look closely some of the tractors are not tractors at all. They are home built vehicles that use scavenged parts from cars, tractors and who knows what else. These amalgamations are completely illegal and can only hit a top speed of 30 mph or so but fill a critical niche for rural villagers who need to get products and people moved over short distances.
All this talk of traffic seems a good time to discuss the daily reports of accidents that we read in the papers. Sadly, they often involve fatalities and the negligent driver of the bus or truck is usually reported to have fled the scene. Suru tells us the highway fatalities are the leading cause of death in India and the government is working to try and dampen the chaos that causes these accidents.
We arrive in Jaipur later in the day and are charmed to find a city with blue skies and kites flying everywhere. Our hotel, Samode Havilis, is a heritage hotel. It was the city residence of local royalty and has been converted into a hotel by the family. Parts of the building are 150 years old and we climb narrow stairways that twist around interior courtyards with fountains to our rooms. We do a room tour and find that each of our rooms is entirely unique. We all have spacious accommodations with sitting areas and antique style beds but the similarities end there. Rama's and Gopi's room has a series of colonnades of Moghul style arches; Anne and John have a view. Susan and Tim have patio (and a long walk to the bathroom), Dorothy has a balcony, and Joanne has a bathroom to die for.
Rama takes most of us (Tim stays behind to explore) to Anokhi, her favorite shop for famous Jaipur block-printed fabric. The women go nuts; the men have coffee and visit a bookstore. One more stop to track down a jeweler Dorothy has heard about at his home. He is an American, married to an Indian woman, and invites us up to his flat, which is part showroom, part factory. It is after hours but as we enter we pass through the stone cutting room. The showroom consists of a white tablecloth over a folding table, fashion magazine pages featuring Arnold's work are taped to the wall, and the room next store is where six workers fashion the silver. Dorothy gets a great bracelet. Back for dinner at the hotel where a professional astrologer is waiting to review our horoscopes. We sent him our info in advance and he has a little booklet for each of us. We visit with him separately. It is clear we are going to need a tutorial in astrology to understand the booklet. No surprise -- he rates us all as people who are high in expenditures. Not a tough guess for a group traveling through India high-end. We have more fun with the physical descriptions provided. Some of us are destined to be "plumpy" and Joanne and Susan are said to have long "claws." Clearly there are some translation problems. Do we need to avoid Joanne on nights with a full moon or does she just need a manicure?Anne hands out Obama buttons for all to wear on inauguration day and luckily we have an extra for Suru, who would dearly love to have one. January 20... We start out the next day to see the Amber Fort outside of town, some of us sporting our Obama buttons, which are definitely noticed. We quickly realize that those of us with photo buttons are getting the biggest reaction since many people do not read our alphabet. "Obama!" they shout with smiles and waves. Of course, we also realize that our buttons just give the aggressive souvenir hawkers another thing to add to their sales chant.
We ride painted elephants up to the fort and then tour the 16th century palace at the top, making our way through rooms decorated with intricate mosaics and a room covered with tiny mirror tiles. At the top, we have a wonderful view of the city and the old city wall winding up the hill. The terrain reminds us of Southern California in the summer -- jagged hills with the brown vegetation of the summer dry season. From here we visit the City Palace, another royal residence that is now at least partly a museum. The royal family still retains part of it for a home today. Suru has explained that these families now support themselves by using their properties as museums or running them or leasing them as heritage hotels. In early times, their income came from taxes on the land they controlled. The British supplemented the income with annual gifts to secure their approval for the Raj Empire. For a while after independence the Indian government continued the supplements, but Indira Ghandi said "enough" when she took office. This precipitated a sell off of jewelry and furniture until more entrepreneurial types figured out a way to make their properties into businesses.
January 14... And then there were eight. Susan and Tim arrive in Delhi but they will have to share their adventures for the 14th and 15th since I was not there. I hear it involved the national and train museums where school children on field trips were anxious to try out their English with them and couldn't take their eyes off Susan.
The remainder of the group (Gopi, Rama, Dorothy, Joanne, John and Anne) is off early from Mahua Kothi, our lodge at the Park, to make the 5-hour drive to Khajuraho. Another exciting ride! Anne sits in the front seat of the bus with the video camera, as no one at home will believe what it is like to negotiate the roads without documentary evidence. Our driver plays "chicken" with decorated trucks on one-lane roads. We have plenty of encounters with "brake testers" (cows alone or in herds), dodge bicycles, ox carts, women in vivid saris, children, and a holy man (sudru) walking with all his possessions in a satchel over his shoulder. His face is painted red and is bisected by a white stripe that runs from his forehead to the tip of his nose. We see gypsies camped by the side of the road where they are blacksmithing tools for the local villagers. What a ride!
We arrive in Khajuraho in time to visit the famous temples before sunset. Built in the 10th century, these temples are famous for their graphic erotic sculptures, which precede "The Joy of Sex" by centuries. Bas-relief carvings cover nearly every square inch of the temples. Scenes of hunting and battles fought atop elephants wind around the base. And then there are the famous erotic sculptures! When the English colonials stumbled upon these temples in 1838, they were shocked. After all, this was the era when women were told to "close your eyes and do your duty."
January 15... After a morning return visit to the temples (who can get enough!), we head back to Delhi by air to join Susan and Tim. For our big event of the day, Enchanted India treats us to dinner at the Spice Route, one of Delhi's top restaurants. The artwork and décor are so fabulous, we ask for a guided tour after dinner.
January 16... A second visit to Old Delhi for John and Anne and a first visit for everyone else. We visit Jama Masjid (the largest mosque in India), ride bicycle "risk" shaws (really rickshaws) through the narrow streets and get off to explore the wedding street. Every stall displays colorful wear and accessories needed for a traditional ceremony. What fun! The women get side tracked by a store that only sells colorful, decorated envelopes (for invitations or gifts?); the men wait patiently (at least at first) outside. Then off to the spice market where the pungent fragrances nearly provoke asthma attacks in Susan and Dorothy. Dorothy spies a cart wheeling by with something wrapped in cloth and covered in marigolds. "What was that?" she asks Rama later. A body headed for cremation -- darn it, she didn't get a photo. A visit to the red fort, lunch outside in a lovely garden at a restaurant (with good restrooms!). Another wonderful day...
January 17... Some of us are off to see Humayun's tomb in the morning. Gopi and Rama join us later to visit the Ghandi museum that is housed in the home where he lived the last 144 days before his assassination. Concrete footprints mark the path of his last walk to the prayer garden. We follow with lunch at Eatopia for a round of street food made in the more hygienic setting of a food court. Think Crossroads! Lunch for nine costs a whopping $9.
From the sacred to the profane and the old market to the new, we head out to visit the upscale City Walk mall in Delhi's suburbs. Unfortunately, everyone is Delhi has had the same idea. The traffic! The traffic! We find ourselves sitting in an unbelievable snarl of vehicles tantalizingly close to the mall, which we can see just across four lanes of honking cars. Down the middle is a daunting three-foot high median divider. It will take at least another 30 minutes to go around the block and make a "Uvee" that will bring us to the right side of the divided roadway. What to do! Should we abandon the bus, pick our way through the mass of honking cars, climb across the elevated center island, and cross another stream of cars to get to the mall? We go for it -- even Joanne, the oldest in our party.
It takes a village. Some hold up hands to implore the cars to let us pass, and the men give Joanne and Dorothy, who both sport bad knees, the extra boost needed to climb up one side of the center divider and down the other. We make it! Anything to shop -- do you detect a theme here? What a contrast to the markets of Old Delhi! Gleaming marble floors, chrome, glass -- there are a few shops we recognize but thankfully most stores feature products that cater to the local population. Designer sari's, colorful house wares, leather goods -- sensory overload of a different kind than yesterday. The women stay and shop and the men have a coffee and set out to try Delhi's new elevated metro system. They report that it is beautiful and spotless. And why not considering the rules -- no smoking, no spitting, no urinating and no riding on the roof of the trains. It costs them 20 cents to cross the city, making the journey in 15 minutes and beating their car by 20 minutes. When this Metro is finally finished, this will be the way to leave the traffic snarls behind.
January 18... Today we are on the road again, en route to Agra. We let Susan and Tim have their first experience in the front of the bus riding "shotgun." Susan captures the experience perfectly when she exclaims, "It's like being in a video game for real!"
By this time in the trip, we have all settled into our roles. Rama is, thank goodness, our pharmacist and translator, able to get Susan an inhaler to cope with the smog. But her more important role is as shopping guide. How else would we have found Fabindia and Shoppers Stop? Susan is our fashion consultant, advising on which of the fabulously colored kurta look best. At $6 to $10 apiece who can resist? Susan is also working with me on a restroom rating system. The lowest rating so far is a -1 for the "facilities" at the Park. Dorothy is providing medical advice and documenting the trip with photos of EVERYTHING. She promises a new guidebook entitled Massages of India. Me, I'm the blogger and official purveyor of mangled Hindi. Suru, our guide, has already had to tell me that my attempt at "good morning" ("supra bhaat" and straight from the phrase book) is archaic -- equivalent to "how are thou?" in English, I think. The men are our semi-pro photographers, our bookkeepers, accounts payable staff and also the not entirely effective shopping police! Last of all, there is Joanne who is 78 and has a bum back and knee. She is game to go anywhere and do anything -- including scale 3-foot high median dividers. She is our devi (Hindu godess) and our inspiration!
We arrive in Agra late in the day. Rama has arranged for us to stay at the Oberai Amervillas, a 5-star hotel that is considered one of the best in the world. Every room has a view of the Taj Mahal. Wow! The pool, pavilions, fountains are spectacular – a Disneyland-like re-creation of the splendor of India. A quick check-in and then we head for the Taj. I've been wondering if the Taj is over rated -- NOT. We catch it in the fading light of the day, dominating the beautiful gardens and pools. Because this is Sunday, the monument is crowded with Indian tourists as well as foreigners. We enjoy seeing the honeymoon couples that stand out because the brides are wearing fabulous saris, usually with jeweled and golden trim, and matching thin bangle bracelets that reach halfway up their arms.
Back to the Amervillas, where this time, the massages are for Susan and Anne. The men linger at the Taj longer and when they return, Tim tells us of the puppy who bonded with him during the 5-minute walk back to the hotel golf cart.
The hotel staff is incredibly attentive and the ratio of staff to guests must be five to one. (Is this normal or a result of Mumbia cancellations?) Dorothy and Joanne share a room and have a hard time readying for dinner as their personal butler keeps knocking on their door with offers of pillows, water, etc. Dorothy launders her money, an experience you will have to investigate directly with her. Dinner is fabulous. Several of the group share "thali" which literally means "plate" and consists of a sample of different Indian dishes. Musicians play sitar and drum and we all try to remember which Beatles album featured the sitar. Dorothy takes away leftovers in what will literally be a "doggy bag" as she will feed it to Tim's puppy the next morning. Susan is worried that the puppy will end up in the bus with us when we leave Agra.
January 19... Up early to try to catch the Taj at sunrise. Sadly, the air does not cooperate but the Taj's white marble shines even when the sun is hidden. Inside, the stone inlay and carving is stunning. Rama mutters disapprovingly when she sees various guides touching the inlay work. After we emerge, John, who has not heard her, reaches out for a quick stroke and gets his hand slapped. Don't mess with Rama! We wonder if she learned this technique during her days as a docent at the Bellevue Art Museum. As we leave the usual onslaught of vendors begins. Anne has her eye out for 9-year old Rajah who has charmed her on the way in and is waiting to sell her tacky postcards for an exorbitant price. Joanne, another soft heart, comes away with some as well. One vendor jogs behind the golf cart continuing his spiel all the way back to the hotel and literally makes a sale "on the run" to one of our party on the back of the cart.
At the hotel, we have another wonderful meal -- breakfast from a sumptuous buffet. Dorothy and Anne call over a staff member to inquire about the "fabulous" peanut butter. "It's Skippy," she says and laughs. We have to leave all too soon, but are glad to have made quick escape when we learn that Susan has absconded with extra beauty products. We are just relieved that she left the robe and fabulous bed coverings.
We are on the road again -- to Jaipur, the pink city. It's another driving experience but more Western in the tourist friendly region of Rajasthan. We travel on a divided four-lane highway where the only obstacles are slow moving traffic (tractors, bull carts, and the occasional cow). The only heart-stopping moments come when we encounter a truck driving in the wrong direction heading for the nearest break in the divider to get to a truck stop on the other side of the road. Yikes! Suru points out yet another type of vehicle to us. Turns out that when you look closely some of the tractors are not tractors at all. They are home built vehicles that use scavenged parts from cars, tractors and who knows what else. These amalgamations are completely illegal and can only hit a top speed of 30 mph or so but fill a critical niche for rural villagers who need to get products and people moved over short distances.
All this talk of traffic seems a good time to discuss the daily reports of accidents that we read in the papers. Sadly, they often involve fatalities and the negligent driver of the bus or truck is usually reported to have fled the scene. Suru tells us the highway fatalities are the leading cause of death in India and the government is working to try and dampen the chaos that causes these accidents.
We arrive in Jaipur later in the day and are charmed to find a city with blue skies and kites flying everywhere. Our hotel, Samode Havilis, is a heritage hotel. It was the city residence of local royalty and has been converted into a hotel by the family. Parts of the building are 150 years old and we climb narrow stairways that twist around interior courtyards with fountains to our rooms. We do a room tour and find that each of our rooms is entirely unique. We all have spacious accommodations with sitting areas and antique style beds but the similarities end there. Rama's and Gopi's room has a series of colonnades of Moghul style arches; Anne and John have a view. Susan and Tim have patio (and a long walk to the bathroom), Dorothy has a balcony, and Joanne has a bathroom to die for.
Rama takes most of us (Tim stays behind to explore) to Anokhi, her favorite shop for famous Jaipur block-printed fabric. The women go nuts; the men have coffee and visit a bookstore. One more stop to track down a jeweler Dorothy has heard about at his home. He is an American, married to an Indian woman, and invites us up to his flat, which is part showroom, part factory. It is after hours but as we enter we pass through the stone cutting room. The showroom consists of a white tablecloth over a folding table, fashion magazine pages featuring Arnold's work are taped to the wall, and the room next store is where six workers fashion the silver. Dorothy gets a great bracelet. Back for dinner at the hotel where a professional astrologer is waiting to review our horoscopes. We sent him our info in advance and he has a little booklet for each of us. We visit with him separately. It is clear we are going to need a tutorial in astrology to understand the booklet. No surprise -- he rates us all as people who are high in expenditures. Not a tough guess for a group traveling through India high-end. We have more fun with the physical descriptions provided. Some of us are destined to be "plumpy" and Joanne and Susan are said to have long "claws." Clearly there are some translation problems. Do we need to avoid Joanne on nights with a full moon or does she just need a manicure?Anne hands out Obama buttons for all to wear on inauguration day and luckily we have an extra for Suru, who would dearly love to have one. January 20... We start out the next day to see the Amber Fort outside of town, some of us sporting our Obama buttons, which are definitely noticed. We quickly realize that those of us with photo buttons are getting the biggest reaction since many people do not read our alphabet. "Obama!" they shout with smiles and waves. Of course, we also realize that our buttons just give the aggressive souvenir hawkers another thing to add to their sales chant.
We ride painted elephants up to the fort and then tour the 16th century palace at the top, making our way through rooms decorated with intricate mosaics and a room covered with tiny mirror tiles. At the top, we have a wonderful view of the city and the old city wall winding up the hill. The terrain reminds us of Southern California in the summer -- jagged hills with the brown vegetation of the summer dry season. From here we visit the City Palace, another royal residence that is now at least partly a museum. The royal family still retains part of it for a home today. Suru has explained that these families now support themselves by using their properties as museums or running them or leasing them as heritage hotels. In early times, their income came from taxes on the land they controlled. The British supplemented the income with annual gifts to secure their approval for the Raj Empire. For a while after independence the Indian government continued the supplements, but Indira Ghandi said "enough" when she took office. This precipitated a sell off of jewelry and furniture until more entrepreneurial types figured out a way to make their properties into businesses.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
A post, at last
Just going to do a bit of a running account...
January 8 -- and then there were two (John and Anne). Met at the airport. Thank goodness! We could never negotiate roads jam packed with cars, buses, trucks, motorbikes, bikes, auto rickshaws, bicycle rickshaws and pedestrians, all vying for each square inch of space on the road and beeping away in a cacophony of chaos. We arrive at the hotel and crash and then venture forth for a brief walk before dinner. Crossing even a side street is an adventure!
January 9 -- and then there were four (Joanne arrives midday, Dorothy late in the evening). John and Anne tour the streets of old Delhi with Suru our guide who takes into nooks and crannies we would never see on our own. Favorite -- the wholesale spice market where the air is so thick and pungent, we depart coughing. Or is that the air pollution? As we walk around in the dense smog, we appreciate in a new way the pollution controls at home and see how important it is for developed nations to the lead the way in cleaning up the air we all share. Suru finally lets us try street food but insists it can't come from the street. We lunch at the Indian version of a food court, Eatopia, where we join office workers on break and learn to dine with our right hands only! Joanne joins us for dinner. Wonderful to see a face from home!
January 10 -- and then there were six (Rama and Gopi now here). The four early arrivals visit a Sikh temple where Dorothy is afraid to entrust her favorite traveling shoes to the shoe guard but finally surrenders. We enter and sit respectfully on the floor, or so we thought, watching the worshipers acknowledge the holy book and center of devotion. Dorothy is politely kicked out because she can't bend her bad knee and has inadvertently pointed the soles of her feet toward the altar. A definite no-no! She is glad to retrieve her shoes. And then of course we shop and John is patient with this harem of women.
January 11 -- a day of travel with an airline delay and a harrowing journey through country roads to Bandhavgarh National Park, home of the tiger. Alas, we arrive too late for the afternoon game drive but ready for heavy drinks. The game of chicken with truck after truck passing on one lane roads has tested our courage to the limit. Our minibus driver is a saint and his dashboard shrine to Ganesha, the god who removes obstacles, no doubt saved our limbs and lives from disastrous encounters with trucks, herds of cows, and villagers. Anne begins instruction for the women on the art of the "bush break."
January 12 -- finally out in search of the tiger. We see the footprints, hear the distinctive rumbling "arun" of a tiger in the bush but no tiger deigns to appear. We note that the sign at the park entrance does post a message from the tiger -- "please be understanding. I am here. You may not see me, but I have seen you!" Our guide points out that we have frittered our time away looking at birds, jackals, wild boar, mongoose, spotted deer and samba and thus arrived at the magical "central point" too late in the morning to take full advantage of the complex tiger spotting distribution system.
We return in the late afternoon for more bumping down road after road in search of the tiger. As the park is about to close, we and 15 or so other vehicles hear the deep, deep roars of an animal near the entry and jockey to position ourselves where the tiger might appear from the bush, but to no avail. Thankfully a wonderful bush dinner awaits and we console ourselves under the stars with delicious food and drink. We plot to be the first to the park in the AM and resolve to leave the lodge at 5:45 am to be in line by 6 for the 6:30 gate opening.
January 13 -- the knock on the door announcing it is 5 am is brutal even if it is accompanied by steaming hot coffee and tea. We trickle into the main lodge and head out for the park, a little late but close to on target. Will we be the first, second or third in line? Bets are placed. We head down the road and see that at least 15 or 20 other vehicles have beat us there! When the park opens it is like a carnival bumper car ride as everyone jostles to be fast "out of the gate." John predicts we will see three tigers and we roar with laughter.
Today we are disciplined -- we agree there will be no stopping for deer, birds, etc -- no matter how often our chief amateur spotter, Dorothy, begs us to. A leopard or bear will earn a quick photo stop but nothing else. We rush to the central point to get the best chance at a sighting and a place in the queue for a ride atop an elephant to see a tiger should one happen to be hiding in the bush. Elephant assignment in hand and recent tiger spotting info sends us roaring forth.
We need to get there before the tigers leave! Joanne has turned her hat backwards for luck (and so that her hat flower does not distract the tiger.) It turns out that hats play a major role today. Gopi's baseball cap flies off twice and the driver must backtrack to retrieve it. We are mostly good humored about this -- everyone except Rama who insists he must tie his hat down with her scarf. And off it flies again! Rama confiscates the hat. We worry silently that the tiger will be gone but suddenly see vehicles ahead and a huge male tiger and his mate cross the road right in front of us. It appears that Gopi's hat delays have put us in the right spot at exactly the right time. Karma!
Finally, we find the elephants only to discover that we have lost our place in line. Anne tries to charm the park ranger with her awful Hindi while our guide begs his forbearance. Something works and we are off. Four of us (John, Anne, Dorothy, and Joanne) climb from the back of the truck onto one elephant -- poor beast! Rama and Gopi hitch a ride on another animal and we crash through the bamboo in search again. We do not find our tiger but the ride is great!
All tolled we end the day with three tigers and an elephant ride -- not bad. We stop at the shrine of the reclining Lord Shiva to give thanks! Some are off to see the hilltop fort this afternoon but a few of us, including me, are resting (literally) on our laurels. More when I get a chance (Anne) and I will nag the others to post as well! (Not going to proofread -- deal with it!)
January 8 -- and then there were two (John and Anne). Met at the airport. Thank goodness! We could never negotiate roads jam packed with cars, buses, trucks, motorbikes, bikes, auto rickshaws, bicycle rickshaws and pedestrians, all vying for each square inch of space on the road and beeping away in a cacophony of chaos. We arrive at the hotel and crash and then venture forth for a brief walk before dinner. Crossing even a side street is an adventure!
January 9 -- and then there were four (Joanne arrives midday, Dorothy late in the evening). John and Anne tour the streets of old Delhi with Suru our guide who takes into nooks and crannies we would never see on our own. Favorite -- the wholesale spice market where the air is so thick and pungent, we depart coughing. Or is that the air pollution? As we walk around in the dense smog, we appreciate in a new way the pollution controls at home and see how important it is for developed nations to the lead the way in cleaning up the air we all share. Suru finally lets us try street food but insists it can't come from the street. We lunch at the Indian version of a food court, Eatopia, where we join office workers on break and learn to dine with our right hands only! Joanne joins us for dinner. Wonderful to see a face from home!
January 10 -- and then there were six (Rama and Gopi now here). The four early arrivals visit a Sikh temple where Dorothy is afraid to entrust her favorite traveling shoes to the shoe guard but finally surrenders. We enter and sit respectfully on the floor, or so we thought, watching the worshipers acknowledge the holy book and center of devotion. Dorothy is politely kicked out because she can't bend her bad knee and has inadvertently pointed the soles of her feet toward the altar. A definite no-no! She is glad to retrieve her shoes. And then of course we shop and John is patient with this harem of women.
January 11 -- a day of travel with an airline delay and a harrowing journey through country roads to Bandhavgarh National Park, home of the tiger. Alas, we arrive too late for the afternoon game drive but ready for heavy drinks. The game of chicken with truck after truck passing on one lane roads has tested our courage to the limit. Our minibus driver is a saint and his dashboard shrine to Ganesha, the god who removes obstacles, no doubt saved our limbs and lives from disastrous encounters with trucks, herds of cows, and villagers. Anne begins instruction for the women on the art of the "bush break."
January 12 -- finally out in search of the tiger. We see the footprints, hear the distinctive rumbling "arun" of a tiger in the bush but no tiger deigns to appear. We note that the sign at the park entrance does post a message from the tiger -- "please be understanding. I am here. You may not see me, but I have seen you!" Our guide points out that we have frittered our time away looking at birds, jackals, wild boar, mongoose, spotted deer and samba and thus arrived at the magical "central point" too late in the morning to take full advantage of the complex tiger spotting distribution system.
We return in the late afternoon for more bumping down road after road in search of the tiger. As the park is about to close, we and 15 or so other vehicles hear the deep, deep roars of an animal near the entry and jockey to position ourselves where the tiger might appear from the bush, but to no avail. Thankfully a wonderful bush dinner awaits and we console ourselves under the stars with delicious food and drink. We plot to be the first to the park in the AM and resolve to leave the lodge at 5:45 am to be in line by 6 for the 6:30 gate opening.
January 13 -- the knock on the door announcing it is 5 am is brutal even if it is accompanied by steaming hot coffee and tea. We trickle into the main lodge and head out for the park, a little late but close to on target. Will we be the first, second or third in line? Bets are placed. We head down the road and see that at least 15 or 20 other vehicles have beat us there! When the park opens it is like a carnival bumper car ride as everyone jostles to be fast "out of the gate." John predicts we will see three tigers and we roar with laughter.
Today we are disciplined -- we agree there will be no stopping for deer, birds, etc -- no matter how often our chief amateur spotter, Dorothy, begs us to. A leopard or bear will earn a quick photo stop but nothing else. We rush to the central point to get the best chance at a sighting and a place in the queue for a ride atop an elephant to see a tiger should one happen to be hiding in the bush. Elephant assignment in hand and recent tiger spotting info sends us roaring forth.
We need to get there before the tigers leave! Joanne has turned her hat backwards for luck (and so that her hat flower does not distract the tiger.) It turns out that hats play a major role today. Gopi's baseball cap flies off twice and the driver must backtrack to retrieve it. We are mostly good humored about this -- everyone except Rama who insists he must tie his hat down with her scarf. And off it flies again! Rama confiscates the hat. We worry silently that the tiger will be gone but suddenly see vehicles ahead and a huge male tiger and his mate cross the road right in front of us. It appears that Gopi's hat delays have put us in the right spot at exactly the right time. Karma!
Finally, we find the elephants only to discover that we have lost our place in line. Anne tries to charm the park ranger with her awful Hindi while our guide begs his forbearance. Something works and we are off. Four of us (John, Anne, Dorothy, and Joanne) climb from the back of the truck onto one elephant -- poor beast! Rama and Gopi hitch a ride on another animal and we crash through the bamboo in search again. We do not find our tiger but the ride is great!
All tolled we end the day with three tigers and an elephant ride -- not bad. We stop at the shrine of the reclining Lord Shiva to give thanks! Some are off to see the hilltop fort this afternoon but a few of us, including me, are resting (literally) on our laurels. More when I get a chance (Anne) and I will nag the others to post as well! (Not going to proofread -- deal with it!)
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