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Published: March 6th 2007
Something seems to have shifted as we have made our way through India to our third big region, Rajasthan.
It feels as though we have been through the tougher part and are now sailing along much more easily. Like eating your spinach first, and saving dessert for last.
I last left off with us anticipating another train station. After Katni, our enthusiasm for it was low. Happily, the station in Jaipur was pleasant enough -- yes, the requisite beggars -- but airy and much less intent. We had three young hoods stop and ask, of course, "Where you from lady?" and proceed to tell us that the kind young man who had escorted us to the station was a "very bad man". Of course he was nothing of the kind. While I have stuffed his name somewhere and can't recall it right now, he was great. We headed to track four hefting our bags up 45 steps, over the tracks, and then down the 45 steps on the other side. The track was then changed to 3 --and so we repeated the whole cumbersom process. Then from 3 to 2 -- an easy move to the left. Then from 2 to a final track #1 -- over more steps and down one more time.
At track two, in my occasional manic way, I chatted up the 21 year old escort (remember what I said about being cosseted?!) and found out more about his life. A young man sitting beside Sandi no doubt found my questions humourous with what English he had, so I got him involved in the conversation. He was a young man in the army, 22, who was a doctor's assistant. Chatting passed the long time before the train came and it was all very pleasant.
The ride was simple and we arrived in Jodhpur only a half hour late. Same schlep up and down a bunch of steps only this time, the crowd pushed a bit harder sending poor Tiina and, behind her like the next bowling pin, Larrye to the ground near the top of the stairway.
We were taken to a pleasant hotel that had the mixed feel of Fred Flintstone meets Disney's Frontierland meets Rajasthan. Our rooms were in individual huts and were directly across from an antique car collection. While many might have enjoyed the opportunity to examine a worthwhile assortment, I took one glance from afar at the 1942 MG, remembered fondly driving the 1956 MGA I used for university (Dad had traded a horse for the car, but that is another story...).
Early next morning, we were met by Pradeep who spun us around the city. It was a lovely town. Population is about 1.3 million which creates a much saner experience. Less cows, better roads, and even better preserved monuments.
At the time, we were most grateful that he took us to a shop to buy textiles. The first floor was unprepossessing -- a place laden with chachkas of dubious worth to us tourists. However, there were eight floors to the place. Oh, dear, we thought, we are in for it now! But, we quickly discovered, there might just be something extraordinary to this retail experience. We were told by the proprietor that his company produced items for famous designers, Donna Karan, Erto, Hermes, Valentino, Dolce & Gabbana. He proceeded to show us a picture of himself with Richard Gere, who had been there in October on his way to spend yet more time with the Dalai Lama. He also showed us the piece from the newspaper that confirmed Richard Gere had bought 108 pieces from the store and that it was one of the best places to shop in Jodhpur. He then mentioned that he had four Canadians through recently and did we know them. One was Heather Reisman and he thought she owned a company called Indigo. She had a private jet and was with her husband (of Onex fame). So, yes, we did indeed know her as the owner of the biggest bookstores in Canada. The other pair included the founder of another little Canadian company, Roots.
So, we four naive souls think, we are in very exceptional company and aren't we lucky to have been brought here to buy this man's very chi-chi wares at Indian prices?! And, wasn't the downstairs a distraction to keep the riff-raff away?
I am now carting things far too heavy home with me, as is Sandi. The others can report for themselves what they bought. We were thrilled, both Sandi and I, thinking that we had each bought a beautiful Valentino bed cover set shot with pure silver work for $450 CAD when the Italian retail price is over $8,000. (As an aside, things may not be as they seem in Italy either -- our set included seven pieces, while the Italian includes 12 -- the difference is four linen pillowcases and the bed skirt -- Valentino can then splash "Made in Italy" on the set as the five pieces are made there while the others, quietly made in India, need not make a fuss at all!).
Fast forward to another city, another textile store. We could almost see it coming. The proprietor started pulling out his wares (the standard procedure is to put the four of us on a bench in a row, offer drinks and then start laying out layers of bedspreads, throws, shawls, and so on until the stack is thick and we look glazed. Then, each piece's price is revealed and it is removed if no interest is shown.).
"Many people in India will tell you that they produce things for designers. In fact, all they do is steal the designs for themselves. I sell things in the style of designers", he tells us.
We braced ourselves. For there, in the new pile, was our same Valentino bedding. I don't even want to tell you the price. Sandi and I have comforted ourselves with small solace - we got six pillow shams instead of two, and we think our edging may be better.
But, Mom, I sure hope you like the real Hermes throw you are getting for your birthday. Honest, this is what they buy on the High Street in London. Honest.
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Bill Brymer
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What a hilarious story.