Notes from a Dug - Jaipur to Pushkar

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Notes From A Dug - Jaipur to Pushkar

Ah, Pushkar, home, home on the range. Site of the annual Pushkar Camel Sale where 20,000 camels descend on a 30,000 person village. Part of that entourage includes about 200,000 camel herders and jockeys. Unfortunately that sale is in November. What remains when we arrive are the rejects and the only temple in India to Brahma, one of the three major gods in the Hindu deity. First we check into our hotel. Pushkar is located in what appears to be an Indian backwater. No geographic reason for it to exist. No waterways, no government facilities, no rail lines. We are not expecting what we find for accommodation. Gated and designed like an upscale Hawaiian resort, we all want to melt into the loungers by the pool. Dug does the check-in thing. Five women do the "look beautiful by the pool thing". Beautiful by the pool works. Check-in is like a carny show in a Marx Brothers movie except with more Marx brothers. Obviously, in backwater India, check-in is complicated. So complicated, in fact, that one competent woman couldn't do it. It requires six incompetent men. There are subliminal signs of the head-bobble happening. It's an indication that they don't know what the fuck they are doing and are hoping that if they agree with everything I say all will be well. First thing, I need to remind them, is they need our passports. Ever so gingerly, man #1 takes our six passports. Looking at them as mysteries, he hands them to man #2. The mystery continues as they are handed to man #3 who then takes them behind the curtain to, hopefully, photocopy them. Many painful moments, minutes, tens of minutes later, check-in is done. Passports, however, are still behind the curtain. Probably two more men in the back trying to figure out how the machine operates. I rejoin the beauties by the pool. They are still enjoying a false sense of Nirvana. Up we go to our rooms. A faint aroma of poop floats by our nostrils. We pay no attention as the beauty of the setting overwhelms. The rooms are stunning - outdoor showers, exotic hardwood floors, walk in wardrobes and luggage storage, spectacularly crafted inlaid marble floors and counters, private outdoor lounge areas. Wowee, let's stay for a few days.



We all hide in our rooms for a bit. Then, like the hotel in The Shining, little things emerge. No soap in the soap dispenser, curtain pulls that aren't attached to the curtains, drawers with no bottoms, improperly measured glass shower doors, empty bar fridges, the outdoor shower with only cold water, unfastened transition strips from one surface to another, non-functional AC and heat, an improperly designed septic system, missing ceramic tiles in the swimming pool, checked and popping decking that has only been nailed in place. And, we only see one other group of eight people in the 62 room facility. It all adds up to a cluster-****. Hey, and we haven't even made it to town yet.



There are two main reasons we are here. One is the temple dedicated to Lord Brahma, the other Pushkar Lake and its associated spirituality. Our local guide, a very nice and well-meaning man takes us first through the local streets en route to the temple. We arrive at the perimeter of a building like many we have passed. We leave our shoes outside and enter into what we think will be a divine site. No, it could be a walk-up to cheap back-packet lodging. Lord Brahma must be shaking his head. I may as well be in his closet. We leave, mystified that this is the only site created to celebrate his position within the pantheon of Indian life. Obviously Brahma, the Creator, is a passing thought in people's meditations and blessings. Oh well, let's see the lake. Turning a few more corners and stopping at a couple of bangle shops along the way, we walk down some steps that open to a ...... pond. Boy, a bum hotel, a bum temple and a bum lake. Barnum & Bailey are alive and well and taking Five Women & A Dug for a ride. Thinking the ride is over, we prepare to leave. Our guide says, if we want to, we can scatter rose petals on the pond/lake. Sure, why not. Poof, a Brahmin priest emerges. I ask our guide if he is legit. Our guide is in a delicate position. Bad karma to poop on the priest. Three of us take our chances and follow the priest. Terry and I go with one priest; Anna goes with the other, We sit on the ghats (steps) to the pond. Some Sanskrit is invoked. We are to repeat the invocations from the priest. We mangle in unison. Just when we think the time has arrived to gently blow the rose petals onto the water, the priest does a different blow job. He asks how many families we want to sponsor. Pardon? How many families do we want to feed? "One thousand rupees ($20) will feed one family for a day", he replies. "Please come", he says. "Fuck you", I say to myself. But, we follow. Right up to the top of the ghat where the priesthood will take all forms of cash, travellers cheques and credit cards. Terry croaks and I bark. I leave; Terry leaves 100 rupees for a 10 second meal and follows. Guide apologizes and says he will learn from our experience. I believe him. I think our guide is new enough to the craft that he is trying to uncover what works and what doesn't. A bad experience for the tourists is a bad tip day for him.



Back to what should be our five star hotel experience. Same staff. Same level of ineptness. Dinner could be a disaster. We're too far out of town to go elsewhere. To our surprise, the food is good. The service staff try to do their untrained best. The management don't. Overcharging and blaming the guests leads Lisa to put on the Mike Tyson gloves. Just like Mike, she takes a piece out of the management's ear. He turns deaf; we turn sour. Hellooooo Trip Advisor. Five Women and A Dug coming soon to a website near you.



We return to what are now our freezing rooms in the septic desert night, huddle in Eskimo gear and prepare for our next day release to Mandawa.



Have a good sleep in your peeps.

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