Cold Spaghetti

No visit to Jaipur is complete without a trip to the Amber Fort!  The kids heard about the elephant ride up to the fort… and once they heard, there was no going back.

As much as we eschew tourist traps, some things you just have to do once.

For the kids.  Of course.

Had the price not been negotiated by locals, I think the ride up would have been more.   We paid 900 rupees total  (roughly US $20) for the experience.

The pricing made me wonder: how much does a handler have to make in a day to feed and care for an elephant (not to mention himself and his family)?

I know folks who refuse to ride an elephant (or camel, for that matter) for reasons of cruelty and mistreatment.  To that end, for a good discussion about the elephant rides, go here.

Here are our Indian friends, waving and laughing at us.  Silly tourists.

They didn’t go up to the fort by elephant… just us.

So, off we go.  On an elephant.  The ride is bumpy.   The elephant must have reminded Kate of our car journeys in India, where she often becomes nauseous from the combination of sitting low in the seat (can’t quite see out of the window) and the rough ride.  When she complains of nausea, we tell her that she is a little “car-sick.”  So, after a few minutes on the elephant, Kate declares: “I am getting a little elephant-sick.”

Many of the elephants are painted and decorated.

The view is excellent.

After a little while, it hit me just how high we were on the elephant… and just how easily he could throw us off if he should wish to rid himself of the extra weight.

We found that it was an elephant rule that they must meet to pass each other in the narrowest areas of the inclined path.  It is also an elephant rule to snort only when the truck is upright, thereby projecting volumes of elephant snot on all downwind riders.

We saw the saffron gardens — this is where Jaipur’s royalty grew saffron in the star-shapes of the garden below.

The lake had been dry for almost a decade, the result of poor monsoon rains.  But this year’s monsoon was very good — hence, a nice lake.  There were birds taking off all around and flying about the lake and the gardens.

Finally, we entered the fort!

Here is a picture Bela took of us all on the elephant, making our way around the entrance.

The ultimate purpose of our bazaar trip was to visit the bangle shop… this preferred shop (my friends like this owner) was one of dozens along this particular section of market.

Bangles are first made — as below:

The jewels are added later.  They can be sized — made larger or smaller — with heat applied through skilled hands.  More on that below.

But first, the shop: a narrow strip with walls covered in bangles of all kinds.  You sit on a row of benches while shop attendants put on a show of their wares.   People come in and out.  There is much negotiation, much discussion, much trying on and taking off…

Here is an artist shaping these bangles for Kate’s small wrist.

We tried on MANY bangles!  (Hint: lots of options for Mardi Gras and Saints-wear!)

After we chose what we wanted, the bargaining began.  It was like watching an opera — the banter was musical, dramatic, and intense!  But all in good humor and very respectful.  After deciding on a price, paying, and having wares packed up — we were guests in the shop, and accepted a cold drink (cola), and photographs.

… and viewing of the “Top Shelf” variety of bangles!

I have the information for the shop owner, should someone want to talk about wholesale…!!!!

Jaipur, the Pink City, is a wonderful representation of all that Rajasthan has to offer!  300+ year old pink sandstone buildings, an impressive fort complex stretching over hillsides, palaces, monuments, markets, parks — history, intrigue, and adventure!

Today, we were joined by our friend, Bela, and members of her beautiful and gracious family, who were kind enough to have us for dinner last night.  After an exciting morning that included riding an elephant up a hillside, being blessed by Shiva Devi, and gazing at vistas over the city — we set off for the city’s famous bazaars.

With our guides, we tried a variety of snacks and treats — and delighted at the beautiful fabrics and wares geared towards the upcoming Diwali holiday.  It is festival season!

Definitely a must-do experience.  There were 8 people in our group (including the 4 of us) — with at least 15 armed guards.  The viewing is restricted to the Fort Platform, no further.

Still, it was incredible to be there at night…

The guidebooks agree: if you only splurge once, this is where to do it.

In part, they say, you do it for the hotel.  It’s an award-winning facility (Travel + Leisure rating #2 in Asia and #5 in the world for 2010) with posh services and amenities.  All that is nice, of course, but the true reason you shell out for this place is because of the view.

It’s the only hotel in the Green Zone and the closest to the World’s Most Beautiful Monument.  And all the rooms have this view.

We’re doing it right.  We ordered dinner through room service and ate on the balcony, watching the sunset on the city while the local mosques answered call to prayer.  The music and prayer are a constant soundtrack to the experience of being here — so much so, that the hotel provides earplugs to get you through the night and morning.

In addition to the views and music, the hotel offers nightly music and entertainment (dancing) on a platform above the pool deck — another little something to watch from our balcony vista.

With the help of the hotel, we were able to get special night-time viewing tickets for tomorrow night.  Night-time viewing is available each month during the time of the full moon.  Actually having the opportunity to participate is a process that involves delivering your passports to the Indian Archeological Society at least 24-hours in advance of the viewing time (if not before).  They decide whether you are granted the opportunity to buy a ticket.  Only 50 people are allowed in at a time and only for 30 minutes at a time.

The staff at the hotel managed to get us a viewing time tomorrow night.  In lieu of this opportunity (and at how tired the kids were after the long car-ride to Agra this morning), we are staying in Agra 2 nights.

It was a wonderful evening.  In fact, it would be the most romantic evening Paul and I have ever had together… if not for the two reminders of romantic nights past along with us!

The day starts with chai.  Chai is the Hindi word for tea — so when you say “chai,” you’re really only saying tea.  In the States, people confuse “chai” with “spiced tea,” which it isn’t really correct.  Most Indians prepare chai (stewing tea leaves, etc.) by adding steamed milk, sugar, cardamon and/or cloves with the infused tea.  Others may add things like cinnamon, but I was taught that this was sort of like preparing a dinner of hamburger to your dearest Hindu friends.  People can be very particular about how they like their chai.

Not that Will particularly cares.  He just knows he LOVES it.  His favorite part of the day is 6:30am, when the bedside chai service arrives at the door.

There are monkeys living on the campus.  They hang around the trees trying to poop on our heads.  Kate finds them adorable, especially the babies.  (Based on an experience in India 8 years ago, which involved a monkey-sting-operation to steal my camera, I find the varmints mean and creepy.  We are keeping a respectable distance.)

But it is pretty cool to have monkeys living right along with you.

Okay, so maybe the wrinkly baby face is sort of cute, if you’re into the whole Vulcan-look.  Doesn’t that baby monkey look like Leonard Nimoy as Dr. Spock?

On Tuesday, we went down to India Gate and the Taj Mahal Hotel, which, with Mumbai traffic is a 14-hour commute into the city.  Or something like 14-hours.  The main city is crushed into a tiny pennisula, where hundreds of thousands commute in each day.  There are a variety of building projects for expansion of fly-overs (over-passes which cross over the city), a second commuter rail, and a monorail.  In the west of the city, there is a “Sky Bridge” which literally goes out over the sea to take traffic off of the crowded land.  I’d imagine that the logistics are what make up both the dreams and the nightmares of urban planners.

Here’s us in front of the Taj Mahal Hotel.  (Note: remember the terrorist event a few years back?)

My favorite part of the hotel is it’s history.   Back around the turn of the century, Brits had a super-fancy hotel that they kept “whites only.”  Enter the building of the Taj Palace, “a hotel fit for India.”  The detail on the exterior is truly exquisite.

Here is the Gateway of India.   Not to be confused with the India Gate (the national monument, made in honor of the British Raj — Indians who fought for the British in WWI — which is in New Delhi).  The Gateway was made between 1911-1924.  The British built it to commemorate the visit of their monarch (George V, with wife Queen Mary) to the subcontinent.  George and Mary saw a big cardboard structure, not the one that stands today with tall letters bearing the information from their royal visit.

It’s big.

Big and cool.

Kate was also a tourist attraction.  Even though she was a little grumpy, having slept through the bumpy, traffic-filled trip to south Mumbai from the northern suburb of Chembur (where the university is located).

Then we headed along the bay and to the Taj hotel.   Fishing boats were tied all along the docks, with tourist boats to Elephanta Island and Indian Naval vessels anchored further out.

After passing a full 359 degrees around the protected perimeter of the building, we found the entrance.  Walking by the guards and into the check-points and metal detectors in bold, direct steps, we passed for guests and didn’t get hassled going in.

Where we proceeded to play “hotel tourist,” soaking up as much A/C as possible and using the fancy bathrooms with Western flush toilets at least once every 10 minutes.  Just because.

The hotel is, by any standard, quite nice.

Several guests commented on how cute Kate was in her salwar.  And when she turns and says, “Namaste” — well, Paul swears that he saw an Indian grandmother tear up.

Kate is rocking both silly bands and jasmine here.  The jasmine was tied on by an enterprising hussler on the street, who followed us around the building for 350 of those 359 degrees of that round-the-building tour.   Folks here are quite aware of the sorts of costs involved with traveling to India — and for most of the subcontinent (more than 60% of Mumbai live in slums — remember Slumdog Millionaire? — and at 13.6+ million people, that’s over 8 million folks) having the ability to travel means incredible wealth.  So we don’t begrudge folks just trying to make a buck by selling stuff on the street.  (We just wish they would give us a chance to come to them and not rush us at first sight.  But hey, it’s hard not to appreciate their tenacity.)

The kids perked up a bit after being in the withering heat.  Enough to start playing around.

We gave Will the little camera to take pictures.  He canvased the lobby (including making a creative series of photos involving Kate holding up various silly bands) and then posed us for a picture.  I think you can tell from the look on our faces what we’re saying to him… he’s a breath away from knocking over a glass flower vase or priceless antique.

We loitered some more, even in the pool area.  We didn’t see any celebrities, but were trying not to look too suspicious.

We checked out the various halls, displays with jewelry from the shops inside the hotel (mont blanc, Dior, silks and other fineries), and even walked into Chef Morimoto‘s restaurant, Wasabi.  We were chased out of Wasabi.  Turns out they weren’t open yet (but hadn’t yet told the front desk of this change in opening time) and kids aren’t allowed in the bar.  Oh, well.  Iron Chef is so 1990s, anyway.  We went back to exploring.

Then Paul went and had a man-to-man with the concierge.  We were going to have lunch there, one way or another.  20 minutes later, were we sitting in our reserved lunch at the roof of the building, looking out over Mumbai…

In simplest terms, it’s a triumph of good over evil.  This particular version of that iconic theme go like this: the Demon King of Lanka, Ravana, gets ticked off at the royal family and steals away the princess.  Her husband, Rama, and his brother, Lakshmana, go off and rescue her in a huge battle involving earth, water, and sky.   This battle is celebrated by Hindus (and non-Hindus alike) in many countries as the 10-day Navaratri festival.  The culmination of it all is Dasara, a big night of dancing and music, with marigold-draped cars (and horses!) drawing platforms of festively-decorated deities through streets, passengers tossing brightly colored fistfuls of dust into the crowd as they pass.

This particular holiday was last night.  We arrived in Mumbai right at the height of the evenings’ festivities.  Now that we know what, exactly, was going on, we feel awfully badly for our driver missing out on it all to retrieve our sorry selves from the airport!  From the terminal, we wove through the streets, appreciating the celebration even if we did not yet appreciate the context.  My memorized Hindi phrases and words don’t lend themselves to conversations around Hindu festivals and even if I could truly converse in Hindi, understanding the ins and outs of the Ramayana requires the accompaniment of family charts, maps, timeline histories, and full-color illustrations.

We’re in India for my new job.  I have students completing semester long field placements in Mumbai, based out of a Social Justice program at a partner University based in the city.  The last time I’d seen India was 8 years ago, but there was never any doubt that we would all go again.  If you’re open to adventure and willing to be tested, India is unlimited in its opportunities.

The timing of a hundred things coincided perfectly to support and justify this trip.  We’re in Mumbai for a week with the students and the University (we’re staying on campus in the lovely guesthouse) and then will move on to North India, flying to Delhi to visit friends and do sight-seeing up north.  In total, the trip is just under 4 weeks.  In one of the beautiful synergies that formed in the planning for this trip, a few days before we left, a colleague from India flew into town to teach a course in the School of Social Work.  She is living in our home while we travel, scheduled to depart on the very day we get back.

We’ve been in the country for less than 24 hours and are slowly adjusting to being almost exactly on the other side of the earth.  More to come as our trip unfolds…

Somewhere over Quintana Roo, Mexico…

Belize!  This is the coastline north of Belize City.  The well-known islands (Cayes) are visible on the other side of the plane.  The water was so clear and still that it didn’t look at all like water… it looked like odd, Dr. Seuss-inspired, green desert.

I landed at the airport and waited around to see if, by chance, the last minute pick-up request I’d sent to my hotel in San Ignacio had been received.  After a good 15 minutes, I figured it was time for an adventure… and set off via taxi to the Belize City bus station.

As we pulled away…

Me: “What language were you speaking back there?”

Driver: “Creole.”

Me: “Is that a type of Spanish Creole?”

(laughing) “Oh, no.”

“A French Creole?”

(laughing harder) “No, no no nono…  It’s broken English!”

“English?!  And here I thought I spoke that language pretty good!”

“Yeah, you’re doing alright to me.”

“But I did not understand A WORD you said!”

Thus begun my introduction into Creole.  Best I could tell, you take an English sentence, cut every word in half, and them jam them all together.  Then I saw the Coca-cola ad: “Di One Dala Deal.”  And suddenly, the world of the Creole language opened up.

But it didn’t help me understand the friendly folks at the bus stop.  The bus stop itself was like any other I’d been to in Central America.  Except much, much more diverse — and diverse in its local population, I was the only gringa tourist there.  Mennonites.  Asians.  Mayans.  Guatemalans.  Rastafarians.  And more.

I would have loved to photograph it all, capture the moments in color perfection to go back and study the detail: the texture of the paint, the funny captions on the ads, the expressions on the kids faces as the sucked plastic bags of pureed fruit.  But if I’d done this, I would have become a voyeur in that space, turning it into something uncomfortable and suspicious.  Better to be there, than to take it away.

Instead, I missed my express bus.

The local buses looked a bit daunting — crowded, and with the understanding that it would take almost 4 hours to get where I needed to go.  I needed another option.  After all, I was suppose to get be getting to work.

Admitting defeat, I went to study the ultra-confusing bus schedule, where once again, I broke into conversations.  First with a Mennonite who went out of his way to be helpful.  Then with a bus station employee.  She wasn’t feeling her best and wanted to go home… which just happened to be the very place I needed to go.  I paid her gas, she drove us West, into the jungle.