Advertisement
Published: December 10th 2005
Edit Blog Post
R. Park - Please Note Dust
I have a sunset fetish (ex.1) ... oh, what a week.
My last 12 hours in Jaipur were interesting, to say the least. I got thoroughly yelled at (perhaps 'chastised' is a better word) by a stranger on a street corner, which opened my eyes to how I've been seeing this portion of the trip. V and I were racing around the city in our usual "avoidance" march of blank stares and brisk pace when a man whose "hello"s we'd been ignoring suddenly said "so you don't speak to Indians?" It was insulting, and yet embarassingly on point. A rather heated conversation followed in which we were lectured for refusing to talk to the locals who spoke to us, and likened to the tourists who come to India and manage to avoid everything and everyone authentically Indian. We escaped the conversation unscathed, but were definately rattled. So rattled in fact (and desperate to prove I wasn't like those "other" tourists) that I took off my sunglasses, and started returning smiles and hellos. The same hassle-factor remained, but my interactions became more friendly and playful, and less threatening. I felt even more embarassed by my past behaviour when a man who engaged us in light conversation and
Peaceful Park
Til you spot the croc! (I swear to God I did not intend for that to rhyme) directed us to a quality jewelry wholesaler (I got a rad Ganesh ring) mentionned that we were the first tourists he'd seen smiling in days - "they're usually so sad" - eeps. That said, we were also grabbed my beggars, nearly run over by motorbikes, bullied into buying a scarf by a store-owner who, quite literally, blocked the exit, ripped off by our rickshaw driver, and tricked into listening to about a dozen sales pitches... But I guess I'll just have to take the bad with the good.
Happily leaving Jaipur, we made our way to Ranthambore National Park, the locale of our tiger-spotting safari. Unfortunately the night before we left we came across the sad news that the number of wild tigers in the park had diminished from 30-45 to 20-35, as three rangers had just been arrested for poaching. You'd think the continued survival of the species would be of more value than the monetary recompense of a few dead animals, but apparently not. Nonetheless, the accomodation was beautiful (par for the course on this tour), the park serene, and the safari... an experience? I had the lack of foresight to sit myself on top of the
Regal Looking
Painful riding wheel of the jeep-bus, and so got the brunt of the dust of the very dusty park. My black pants came out of the ordeal brown, and I had an admirable "tan", but it was a fun little adventure regardless, and we spotted lots of deer, elk-like things, monkeys, birds, jackals, and crocodiles.
The next stop was the town of Bundi, a dusty little city seemingly populated entirely by men aged 15 to 45. We'd been warned by the guide that the men here may be a little "nasty" and, considering my sejour here has been characterized by the stares and comments of the male populace, I wasn't too eager to venture forth and make the acquaintance of this new breed. I did go see the step-wells for which Bundi is famous, but I mostly just stayed in the hotel. Bad tourist.
We hopped a train to the next city, and somehow I ended up in the position where my two perceived options were a) to jump from the moving car, or b) to stay alone in the local train, without the buffer of being part of a large group to save me from the creepy men. Obviously
Me and my Camel
As close as I was willing to get! I jumped, and it wasn't until I noticed the white faces of the rest o the group, safely on the platform, that I realized maybe, just maybe, staying on the train until the conductor stopped it was the more viable option. Oh well, I remain relatively whole, and I definately think "jump off a moving train" is worthy of a "Things to Do Before I Die" list. Bijaipur was another of those stops where the raison-d'etre was the accomodation, but what accomodation it was - a real life castle, I must really be a princess. I opted out of the activity (I'm sick damn it), because it's too hard to resist the opportunity to hang out in a castle, especially when said castle has a pool, and alcoves lined with cushions reminiscent of a royal brother and views for miles. The sunsets in India are unreal.
That brings us to my current home, the holy city of Pushkar. Pushkar is a very interesting place, because more than just a holy pilgrimage site for Hindus (the lake around which it is situated is said to have been created when a lotus blossom fell from the hand of the creator Lord Brahma, and any pilgrims who bathe in its waters will be absolved of their sins), it's become a veritable tourist mecca. Busy with domestic and international tourists alike, the narrow streets are dotted with hotels, restaurants with english menus listing Israeli breakfasts, pizzas, and the ubiquitous muesli-fruit-yogurt (god, how I love thee), and lots and lots of souvenir shops. It's a beautiful place, with a real sense of spirituality, but I've observed over the past few days that many of the tourists who come here are looking for a different kind of 'experience', and can be divided into two groups. There are the middle-aged package tourists, mostly French and German, who are dropped off at five-star hotels one afternoon, driven to the lake to snap a photo of the sun setting behind the bathing ghats, marched through the Brahma temple in the morning, and cruising away on their a/c buses by lunch... Somehow having also managed to squeeze in some shopping. Then there are the "hippies", aged 18 to 35, mostly Israeli, who camp out in dodgy accomodation for weeks, and search for enlightenment through the adoption of an Indian-cum-hippie-cum-slob warddrobe which is apparently the uniform of Pushkar, and the ingestion of a lot of 'bhang'. I'm eyed with some curiosity because I don't fit into either camp, but rather toe the line, sneaking into the swish pool of a beautiful hotel (where I got to stay when I was on the tour, sniff) and saving money by staying in a cheap one, blocking out the sounds of three am bhang-inspired drum and didgeridoo circles with my blessed ear plugs. It really is lovely to stay somewhere for more than two weeks - you get to know the city, maybe adopt a favourite restaurant, and fully unpack your bag for the first time in weeks.
Before leaving the group (or rather them leaving me) I got to partake in a camel safari, and let me just tell you... Camels look cute and cuddly from afar, but up close they are mighty and fearsome creatures, and should be treated with respect (and, in my case, a whole lot of fear). I was, honestly, terrified. Lurching back and forth, and nearly slipping off the 7-foot beast, I made my way into the countryside, and eventually (sort of) relaxed enough to enjoy the scenery and the sunset, and get into a (sort of) rhythm with my chosen beast. Still, I no longer harbour any romantic notions about riding the ridiculous looking animals, and will from this point further look at local buses/trains with a little less trepidation.
- robin
Edit: Indian computers, regardless of perceived connection speed, apparently have real problems uploading photos. Sorry, but you won't be able to witness my stunning attempts at artisticness until the 16th, when I arrive in Kathmandu... hopefully.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.107s; Tpl: 0.011s; cc: 18; qc: 77; dbt: 0.0683s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.2mb