Into the Monsoon

We arrive at the Goan airport a little early, and wait for our flight. As we’re waiting we order mango lassis and ras malai from a “dairy bar” stand inside the airport. We’re pretty nervous---we have a connecting flight in Chennai that leaves exactly 35 minutes after our flight from Goa arrives. The woman at the check-in desk promises that everything will make it (us and our checked bags), but we can’t be sure.

Our plane boards precisely on time. There are only about 15 or so people on the plane, and we’ve been seated up front so we can get out quickly to run to our other flight. About twenty minutes into the flight—once we’ve taken off—we experience some horrifying turbulence.

Now, let me tell you. I love to fly. I love the roaring sound of the engines as they start up, the incredibly fast speed of the plane soaring down the runway, and the sudden feeling of being in the air. I’ve had a few rough flights---including a near-miss landing at the Tri-Cities Airport--but nothing that really made me feel afraid. But this flight terrified me.

In the air, we experience winds that push our plane down suddenly---I literally fall forward, out of my seat, as the plane sinks. The captain whizzes the plane back up, but a few more times we are seriously shaken. It is not until the end of the flight that he apologizes for the rough ride, due to monsoon weather. Obviously! What were we thinking? Flying into south India at the peak of monsoon season?

By the time we land, I hate flying. But, tough luck! I have the transfer flight to Kerala (even further into the monsoon) and then the flight back to Delhi, and of course, the 27 hour flight home (including transfers and such). We run out of the plane, completely confused. The cabin crew, guards, and airport staff are really no help. Finally, we find the transfers sign, and head back through security, and make our plane to Kerala—with a few minutes to spare.

The flight to Kerala is not as bad, but it still shaky and rough. My poor stomach ulcer, which has been mostly fine during our journey, is burning tremendously, and I know I’m going to have to take a lot of medicine to make up for this. But I sit back, breathe deeply, and keep my eyes closed, counting down the time until we land. The second journey feels tenser, because the captain doesn’t talk to us at all and even forgets to tell the crew we’re landing until about 5 minutes before we’re on the tarmac.  He apologizes, and says he was distracted by paying attention to the weather. Awesome.

But, despite the harrowing travels, we make it. Our bags are almost the first ones out too. Perfect. We grab our things, get our prepaid cab, and head out into the humid and cool Kerala night.

The trees lining the streets are tall, but it is too dark to really see much else. Our driver gets lost trying to find our hotel---a backpacker place called John’s Residency. Instead he tries to leave us at the doors of a glamorous, ritzy (and far too expensive) place. We ask for directions to John’s, and finally I convince the driver just to call John. We eventually find the guest house, set back on a little street off the main road in Ernakulum. It is clean and airy, with shiny marble floors. Our room is simple, but large. We curl up on the sheets, wrap our shawls around us, and fall asleep.

The next day, we decide to have John call around to the houseboat companies he works with to get several prices. The company where we pre-booked (but not pre-paid) for our houseboat--CoCo Tours--is not returning our calls. We leave John to calling as we stroll out onto the streets for breakfast.

Ernakulum is a busy borough inside of Cochin. Despite this, the streets are clean and relatively small, and the surrounding environment is unbelievably lush. On our way to find a restaurant (we’re looking for the Lonely Planet recommended Grand Hotel’s restaurant), we come across a beautiful and sprawling park. We circle around, looking at the tall, glassy malls and colorful, painted houses. Unlike anywhere else we’ve been, people are up and about at 8 in the morning. Of course, it was a deep dark at 7:30 pm last night, so I suppose they need an early start to their days.

We never find the Grand Hotel or its accompanying restaurant, but we do come upon a nice looking place called Kanai Thali House. We stop in and have a traditional Kerali breakfast. I have an oonthapam (like a rice-flour griddle cake), and Cindy has a vegetable curry. These go perfectly together. In addition, they bring us a spicy mustard-like coconut sauce. I also have masala tea (chai). It’s amazing.

After eating, we head back out to the hotel to hear the prices. I also finally get in touch with the CoCo Tours company. Since we’ve been corresponding with them, and know their boats are eco-friendly, we decide to go with them. Also, their prices really are the best. So we book a cab to Aleppey (or Alappuzha) and head on our way to the Kerala backwaters.

The ride is a bumpy hour and a half. We make it to the CoCo Houseboat stall and sit down with the owner, Mr. George. We finalize details and pay for our boat, then head out—luggage and all—on an autorikshaw straight through the jungle. (Okay, this may be a slight exaggeration—there was a small path, but really, it felt like we were driving straight through the jungle).

We arrive at a dock with several beautiful Kerali houseboats---large boats with thatched roofs and open foyers. We jump over the water to the first boat, then crawl across two more boats, and finally come to our boat. It is beautiful.

The furniture in the foyer is a deep burgundy, ornamented with little golden flowers. A large fruit basket sits atop a dining table. We are led to our room in the center of the boat. It is clean and elegant. A breeze blows off the river over us. We settle in and prepare for the ride.

We first enter the enormous Vembanad Lake, a flat, rippling body of water that seems to extend into forever. In the dreary monsoon drizzle, everything appears gray but beautiful. Water plants float along its surface, and canoes with fisherman ease past us every once in a while. Surrounding the lake are endless rows of palm trees, coconut trees, mango trees, banana trees, and more. A cool breeze keeps the air cool as we watch the scenery pass from our open cabin.

We eventually come to a long bridge-like wall built through part of the lake. We dock for lunch, and out of a small gray concrete building come a fisherman and his wife. Our driver asks if we want to buy any tiger prawns or fish, but we decline. For lunch, we have Kerali fried fish, fresh cucumbers, rice, poppadums, and a green bean curry.  The fish is just-caught fresh, and the spices are reminiscent of Thai food---coconut, mustard, and basil. It’s delicious. After lunch we continue on our way.

The journey is mostly uneventful in precisely the way we need it to be. The air blows over us, a slow rain pours out of the sky every so often, and the lush trees languidly pass by us. Beautiful bright blue, white, or orange birds occasionally dive into the water to retrieve an unlucky fish. Cows (we call them jungle cows) rest on the small bridges connecting the various village islands. Every so often a coconut falls from a tree and splashes into the lethargic water. It truly is a paradise.

At some point we are served an interesting snack of bananas fried in mustard seed and cumin, with masala chai. It’s quite interesting.

Before nightfall, we dock at our driver’s house. As we pull to the small bridge, I can hear him say “Americans” followed by enthusiastic shouts in Malayalam (the language of Kerala). When we dock, we are suddenly surrounded by a large group of small children. One of them introduces herself as the driver’s daughter, and asks if she can show us her church a little ways down the island. She is the only person who can really speak English, but her English is impressively good. She tells us that she does well in school and wants to be a doctor someday.

As we walk down the narrow footpath between the river and the rice paddy fields, she asks us about ourselves. Are you married? I, of course, answer yes---it would be impossible to explain why I’m a 26 year old woman who is unmarried, as most women here are married before they are out of their teens (and it is a status they carry with great pride and achievement). However, when she asks if I have children I tell her no, to which her reply is a deep and sorrowful “I’m so sorry.” It’s almost funny, except that she is incredibly sincere.

We continue on to her church, a Christian church (Catholic) that is painted a vibrant pink and towers over the small village houses nearby. It is quite beautiful, and somehow strange. She shows us the playground and tells us about going to church and school every week. Her school is in “the city,” which is across the river and somewhere down to our right, through the rice fields. She tells us she rides her bike there every Monday-Thursday.

We return to her home, a small concrete structure with an open-air front room. She brings us chairs to sit outside, and we sit while the entire neighborhood gathers around us. First, all of our driver’s family—his children, his wife, and his mother. Next, the neighbors and their children. Finally, the neighbor’s friends even make their way down. We sit in the chairs while everyone smiles and stares at us excitedly. The young girl is the only person who can speak English, and she half-way interprets for the handful of people standing around us. After a while, it begins to rain slightly, and we thank them all for letting us share their home and head back to our boat. There, we eat a dinner of vegetable curry, fried okra, rice, and chapatis. It is early—only 8:30, but the outside world is an endless black.

We take a mango to our room, cut it with a knife borrowed from the kitchen, and eat the juicy fruit from the peel. After cleaning up our sticky mango mess, we slide under our mosquito net and drift off to sleep.

We wake up late the next morning---at 8:00 am. Our air conditioner made our small room quite cold, so we kept waking up. Our breakfast is waiting for us—a curried omelet with vegetables and nearly a loaf of toasted bread with butter and pineapple jam, along with freshly cut pineapple. Unfortunately, due to my ulcer, I can’t have the pineapple, but I do attempt the jam (which goes over quite well!). We eat, go back to sleep, and abruptly awaken at 10 am when the boat engine turns on. Off we go.

We meander through narrow canals between villages, watching the beautiful brightly painted houses slide by us. Every once and a while a church rises up from the scenery, but mostly it is just trees and rice fields. For lunch we again have fried fish, but different kinds of vegetable curry, and rice. After lunch, as I’m sitting in our room gathering my things, I see a small speckled snake swim through the water in front of our window. I excitedly shout for Cindy and we try to take pictures of it as it rests its head above the river. After it swims off, we return to the main cabin.

During lunch, we give our driver 600 rupees to go into town to buy us three large beers. He returns right after we’ve eaten and we crack open a Bullet Extra Strong IPA. The perfect accompaniment to our lazy afternoon.  Later we have a snack of what seems to be bananas, potatoes, and onions mashed together and fried (it’s pretty good!). 

Sometime in the afternoon we stop at a larger village to look at a big, beautiful church. Our driver also shows us some artisan shops, and we trek back and forth through the mud of the village’s one narrow footpath. Then on we go.

We dock before dark. An adolescent appears at our boat, and suddenly we find ourselves on a canoe ride through the river. It’s a very low, long canoe that ripples with the water. We’re a little uneasy, but the ride itself is peaceful. We pass closely by the strange plants growing up from the water, and I notice several have small purple flowers. We return to our boat, and tip the canoe driver. We drink another beer, and I fight with the flies over the bananas in the fruit basket.

As dark begins to settle in, we eat dinner—delicious steamed vegetables, a “salad” of cucumber, tomatoes, and onions in a lemon-style sauce, and rice. We finish our last beer and head to our room with our nightly mango. Tomorrow brings a new adventure and the start to our last excursion in India. We’ll stay one more night in Ernakulum, then head off to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. Despite our grand time, I am looking forward to returning home.

 

Until then,

 

Namaste!

On the Beaches of Goa

We wake up around 7, pack, and check out of our hotel. A very nice car is waiting for us outside---a taxi owned and operated by the hotel itself. The driver asks us if we did the city tour of Mumbai, and we tell him no—we only visited the Elephanta Caves. He laments our lack of sightseeing and tells us we have plenty of time to get to the airport (the morning is slow and few people are out), so we can quickly stop by a few places if we want. We decide we might as well.

Our first stop is the renowned colonial-era railway station. It is an expansive Victorian-style building that takes up a city block or more. A large clock sits directly in its center tower, keeping an even, ticking pace over the chaos of the city. It is beautiful, framed by the rising sun.

Next we drive down a narrow street to see the house that Gandhi lived at while in Mumbai. It has been turned into a museum, now, but of course it is closed this early in the morning. The house itself is a very English style white and brown construction, towering three or four stories into the air.

Our next stop is a small, but elegant, Hindu temple. People are feeding the birds, and pigeons swarm about us in the hundreds. The building is the usual white and orange temple structure, with high domed archways.

As we drive out of the city, we see the 27 story house of India’s richest man. He, his wife, and his three children occupy this enormous, glassed structure, with over 400 servants living inside. Juxtaposed directly underneath the house are some of Mumbai’s most famous slums (in fact, we pass by the one where Slumdog Millionaire was partially filmed).

Our last sight is the sea-bridge. A beautiful, winding bridge built out over the ocean—taking you directly from south to north Mumbai. Large, white ropes hold up the bridge in a beautiful geometric pattern that appears to open and shut as you speed through.

Finally, we arrive at the airport, check in, and take our seats to wait for our plane to Goa. We are bussed out to our plane when it lands, settle in, and nap the two hours south. We land in an incredibly small airport, surrounded by lush trees and red dirt. It is dark and humid inside, with two half-floors. We easily make our way out and book a prepaid cab to Anjuna—a northern beach known for its happenin’ atmosphere.

Our drive begins interestingly. We have to haul ourselves and our luggage about half a mile across two streets to get to the cab. About twenty minutes down the road, the driver stops for gas, and the English interpreter tell us the driver’s son is going to school and needs a ride---it’s on the way. We hesitate, but it’s difficult to say no (it is his son, after all), so we just agree. However, the driver’s son isn’t even there yet. We wait five minutes and tell the driver we really have to go.  It’s already 4 by this point, and the sun is beginning its slow descent across the sky. We wait a few more minutes, and finally an adolescent boy finds his way to the car and gets in. About twenty minutes later, he gets sick. The rest of our drive to Anjuna is spent (faces covered) watching the driver pull over every twenty or so minutes so the boy can throw up out of the window. Great. I hope it’s just travel sickness. If I get some strange, tropical illness from this kid I’m going to be kind of upset.  But anyway, here we are, so we trek on.

We arrive at Anjuna a little while later. It is remote, tropical, and very reminiscent of Latin America. The streets—if they are that—are incredibly small and narrow, most lined with red dirt. The coconut and banana trees hang overhead, and small, white, Portuguese designed Catholic churches dot the landscape. We arrive at our hotel---a beautiful wooden house with several rooms on the second floor. The outside is a bright blue, while the inside is a pastel purple. It smells of sandalwood and saltwater.

A young boy with piercings through the bridge of his nose, and his short hair tied back in a ponytail greets us at the door. He smiles kindly and grabs one of our bags and runs off to the hotel. We follow as he shows us our room. He doesn’t really say anything, but hands us the key and then heads on his way.

Our room is pretty cool. It’s a spacious lounge area, which has a bed in one corner tucked near a built-in bookshelf (where all of the books are in French), another wall has a fluffy futon sitting in front of it, and the bathroom is a half-room built into another corner, walled off by a shower curtain.  Little enclaves in the wall hold lit-up lamps, and framed, old pencil drawings of elephants dot the walls. I can definitely see some laid-back Western folks philosophizing the night away in a room like this.

Aside from the extra-powerful Indian ceiling fan above our heads, everything is quiet. This is Goa’s off season, but we didn’t quite realize how off it was. All of the restaurants, shops, and shacks that we’ve seen so far have been closed down—covered in tarps, silently awaiting the monsoons. We meander down a few pathways, trying to find our way to the beach, until we finally find the café associated with our hotel---The Elephant Art Café. Its Facebook page had proclaimed a central, activity-filled area, full of yoga, parties, Ayurveda, and more. However, we find that it is empty—the thatched roof has been dismantled and the kitchen closed for the season. How about that?

We start to get a little nervous. We haven’t seen another person, there appears to be no food thus far, and definitely no cars or taxis. We get the feeling that we’ve entered an alternate universe that we may not escape from.  We walk down the stairs at the front of the deserted café to the beach.

It is beautiful. The sand shimmers a striped gold-crimson-black under our feet. The golden Arabian Sea sweeps to our heels as the sun sets in a wash of purple, blue, and pink in the sky. In the distance, we see lights and people. Thankfully!

About two minutes down the beach from our desolate café, we find Café Lilliput---a tiered restaurant that meets the ocean at its front door. Cool retro lights are strung up overhead, a pool table is in the back, and waiters busily run this way and that. We settle down into the low cushioned chairs and order drinks (I order a basil-watermelon margarita) as the waves roll in.

The ocean literally splashes up over the bottom tier of the restaurant, spraying our faces every so often. Exotic, ambient music plays through the speakers. We order dinner and sit for some time, just watching the water. After resting and assuring ourselves that we are still in some sort of civilization, we head back to our room to change clothes and freshen up. We are far too overdressed—me in my jeans, t-shirt, and shawl. I change into a beautiful shimmering blue dress that I bought yesterday in Mumbai, and we head out into the night. We really only know how to get to Café Lilliput, so we return there, where we order more drinks and some fries. A group of young Indian folks are sitting around, playing in the ocean, drinking, and dancing. They ask us where we’re from and if we want to go to a party with them. We tell them we really just got there and we are kind of resting.  “It’s okay” they reply “we’ll wait for you.” Say what?

They tell us we can even have our own bike if we want—they have three. Could you imagine? Cindy and I rolling around in the Goan night, in a place we’ve never been, on a bike we’ve never drove, on Indian streets? After they see our expressions, they tell us we can ride with them on their bikes—they’ll drive.

They already seem a little drunk and we have no clue where they’re going. After politely talking with them for some time, they finally realize that we really are not going with them. They wish their farewells and head off to partake in some trance-induced Goan nightlife. We head back to our hotel room---with a large bottle of Kingfisher to-go, and rest in our pretty little room.

The next morning, we head out into the sun. It’s been up since at least 4 am (the first time I woke up), and it’s directly overhead now. We have heard about the famous Anjuna Flea Market, and we ask directions and head that way. We walk down a tiny footpath, complete with palms, draping flowers, tall stone walls, and sandy paths that lead to the beach. We walk past a few more Catholic churches, and even stumble upon a closed Tantra center. Finally, we reach the Flea Market. Like the rest of Goa, it too is closed down. The vendor’s tents are dismantled, leaving only ghostly frames and empty wooden tables. We explore the empty stalls for a minute or so, then head back over toward the beach. We walk down sandy beach path and stumble out from under the palm trees onto the shore. It is midday now, and the sand is a vibrant crimson-black. Beautiful red, coral-like rocks wash up from the ocean, and we notice that the same rocks make up the shoreline. This must be where the sand gets its stunning color from.

We stroll down the beach, taking pictures of our various findings as we go. We head about a mile down from Café Lilliput and find another open restaurant called Hippies. Three sunbathing cows sit nuzzling each other out front.

We have found some small washed up liquor bottles, and we use these to collect sand in front of Hippies. Going about our business, we don’t notice when a tall, sleek Goan man walks up to us to inquire as to what we are doing.  “Are you playing in the mud?” he asks, referring to the sand. “Why yes, yes we are,” I respond unquestionably. “You like mud?” he asks. “Yes, it is beautiful mud!” we answer. He laughs, shakes his head, and tells us to come to his restaurant. After we fill our bottles with “mud” we head inside, under the cool shade of the restaurant’s tent.

A thin, enthusiastic man greets us. He tells us his name is Raj and that this is his restaurant. He’ll get us anything we like. We order drinks---Cindy a margarita and me a pina colada. We drink a few rounds of these while watching the glistening ocean, before we order a small plate of fries. We decide that we should actually eat lunch, and we ask what Raj recommends. His eyes sparkle and he says he’ll be right back.

He returns with a plate of freshly caught fish and prawns. These are on special for today and they are delicious, he tells us. I decide to try the prawns—after all, they are a Goan specialty. I get them in a Goan curry, extra spicy.

When our food arrives, it is amazing. The prawns are one of the best things I’ve had. The Goan curry is tropical and intense. Alongside the prawns I also have a small fried fish (which literally is the whole fish, dropped in the fryer). The plate is decorated with French fries and slaw-like vegetables. It’s beyond filling and a perfect meal for the hot afternoon.

After letting our food sit, we head back down the shore, returning to Café Lilliput. It’s about 4 pm, and the café has set up sun-bathing chairs outside. We ask for two, and lay out in the slowly sinking sun.

With the sound of the ocean at my feet, and a cool breeze blowing over me in the warm, sandy afternoon, I fall asleep. I wake some time later as a group of chatty Indian men stroll by. They say hi to me and walk around the bend. I close my eyes. A few minutes later, one of them is tapping me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, can we have a photo?”  they ask. “Ummm….I guess?” is my reply. There are about eight of them, and they each take turns posing with me for various photos.  Oh, India. 

I lay back down and realize that my legs and shoulders are turning red. The last time I tried getting a tan (which was in a tanning bed) I ended up in the hospital. But I figure if I drink my electrolyte water and put aloe on my burns, I should be in good shape. I don’t feel sick, after all.

To immediately cool myself off, I run into the Arabian Sea. Now, those of you who know me should know that I am terrified of water. It’s not that I can’t swim, it’s that there are a lot of things in open waters that I simply cannot compete with. Enormous fish, sharks, snakes, crabs, eels, whatever. Things with slimy skin, teeth, and poison. And they swim by nature. I’m a feeble, thrashing human who can’t even see underwater. So, generally I leave the water to water-things and I take my chances on land. But, the sea was so inviting and my skin was hot, so I decided to break my rule and head into the water.

It was amazing. The water was warm and silky, crashing around my body. I’d run about a foot into the tide, and be swept ashore by an incoming wave. That’s the thing about the Arabian Sea—it is wild and jagged. A thunderous, hurtling body of water. Only the most insane would dare to go more than a few feet in. So, I would run up to where the sea met my knees, and let the waves roll over me until I was back to shore. More than once I ended up with sand scrapes on my thighs and back. But it was joyous and fun.

The sea came sweeping further and further ashore. I wandered back up to Cindy, wiping the water off my face. She’s laughing at me, when suddenly a wave reaches up and claims one of her silver sandals. We both shout and dive toward the shoe, as the water carries it out to sea. I run this way and that, battling the low tide, falling here and there, and finally, I emerge with the shoe in hand. My small warrior triumph for the day. We laugh and head back to our hotel to rest and dry off for a bit before coming back out for the night.

I shower the salt out of my hair, change out my glasses, and we head back out. We decide to make our way to Hippies, but we want to try the road, since the ocean is back at steps of the buildings on shore.

The night is dark and humid. Strange birds and tropical creatures call and whistle at us from the tree tops. The path we’re following suddenly ends at an abandoned sea shack, so we have to turn around and find another road. With the small beams of our flashlights, we find the main road. After winding around its various curves and turns we reach Hippies. The owner, Raj, is ecstatic to see us again. We eat dinner and watch a family build castles in the sand. The night is dark, lit up only by small lamps and candles. The ocean slowly goes back out. We walk along the shore back to our hotel. I almost stumble across something, and look down to see the fattest fish I’ve ever seen. It probably died in the ocean, but has now been washed ashore. Its dead silver eyes shine in the moonlight. Crabs crawl around it. I shudder and we continue on.

We make our way back to Café Lilliput and order two waters, watermelon juice, and an unripe mango shake (we didn’t intentionally order the unripe mango shake—it just came that way). We talk to our waiter friend for a while as the candle on our table burns low. The black water crashes against the lowest step, and we breathe in our last night in Goa.

We return to our hotel and pack, and finally fall asleep.

The next morning, we wake up early to find breakfast before heading out at 11 am. However, nothing is open. Even our Café Lilliput is closed. So we walk along the main road, meandering in and out of small villages, finding beautiful buildings but nothing open.

At one point we see a dog who has his head stuck in a large bucket. We tell some people nearby, and they find the woman who owns him, and later we see her chasing him around, trying to free him.

We slowly return to the beach, hoping our café will be open. Along the way we discover an enormous dead snake, turned belly-up on the sand. The sight is disturbing and sad, and we continue on, wondering what kinds of snakes lurk in the trees above us.

When we return to Café Lilliput, it has finally opened. We take the “eagle’s nest”—a small overlook directly above the shore—and order breakfast and tea.  After eating, we collect our bags and head out toward our next adventure---the southern shores of Kerala.

 

Until then,

 

Namaste!

First Class to Mumbai

Our flight leaves at 7:30 am, which means we have to be to the airport and checked in by 6:30. To give ourselves room for error and the chaotic Indian streets, we have to leave by 5 am. We get back to our room after dinner around 11:00 pm. I’m nervous that if I fall asleep I will not wake up by 4, so I spend the night tossing and turning, watching the bright little clock on my phone. I must fall asleep at some point, though, because I have a vivid and dark dream. But I’m awake again by 2 am, and finally admit defeat and just lay in bed, eyes open, thinking about the trip thus far.

Four am comes early, and we stumble out of bed and pack hurriedly. We meet our taxi outside at 5 am in the pink and purple Jaipuri morning. We check into the airport and wait for our plane to arrive. It lands early and they begin calling all passengers to immediately come to the boarding area. So we rush through the gates just to find that we still have to wait until the regular boarding time anyway.

When we are seated on the plane, we discover that they have double-booked our seats. An Indian couple paces frantically back and forth as we all show the cabin crew our boarding passes. Cindy loses hers momentarily, but quickly finds it tucked under her leg. Cindy and I are then taken to the front of the plane, where we are informed we have been transferred to first class! They apologize, but we kindly tell them it’s quite alright. I’ve never flown first class, so I’m incredibly excited! There are eight seats total on this plane’s first class cabin. They are HUGE. I have enough space to stretch my body out completely straight if I want. Or, I can curl up and fold easily into the pillowy chair. The trays fold out of the seat side, as you’re not even close enough to the chair in front of you to have a tray on the back of its seat.

We are immediately greeted with fresh mango juice. Then, they take our breakfast order. Cindy and I both get the “veg” sandwich, which consists of a Mumbai-style corn curry between two slices of bread, with a red curry sauce.  And off we go.

As we land two hours later in Mumbai, the staff passes out scratch-off cards to win items from the airport’s luxury store. Lo-and-behold I win any item of my choice! After we’re off the plane I pick out a shimmer golden jewelry set, complete with necklace, earrings, and a bangle. What a trip! (Later, we find out that you basically always win on the scratch-off, but hey—it was super cool!)

So, Mumbai. There are tall palm trees lining the wide, paved streets. The buildings are tall—like, New York City tall. Elegant, glassy, blue and white. Situated underneath them are well-organized slums and squatter settlements, covered in blue tarps. To either side, the sea lines our way. We drive about an hour and half to Colaba—the southern area of Mumbai, near Mumbai’s India Gate and the ferries to Elephanta Island.

All of the hotels we had looked at were outrageously expensive. We finally settled on one near the beach front, just about half a mile away from India Gate. It’s still expensive, but not several-hundred-dollars-per-night expensive. It’s a sleek Western-style hotel. The lobby is nice, with shining hardwood floors and burgundy couches. All of the staff wears well-pressed gray and burgundy suits. Otherwise, our room is pretty simple. It has two small beds, white walls, and a teeny-tiny poorly lit green bathroom (it is worth noting, though, that the Western-style shower has ridiculously hot water). We also have wi-fi, which is a plus. Anyway, we settle in to the hotel and look up Elephanta Caves.

The Elephanta Caves are a World Heritage Site situated on Elephanta Island.  The caves are hand-carved out of solid rock, with the prominent feature being the enormous Sadhashiva statue---a three-headed Shiva where he is depicted as destroyer, creator, and preserver of the universe. The caves were carved between 450 and 750 ad. Our research indicated that the caves were closed on Monday, but no one can quite tell us for sure.

It is Sunday, and we decide not to risk it. So as soon as we settle into our hotel we walk down the beach to the towering India Gate. It is about 1:00 pm at this point, and the streets are PACKED. It’s like a carnival—people are even walking around selling cotton candy. Hundreds of families sit on the street and in the courtyard of India Gate sharing picnics, getting photos taken, and purchasing the tons of sweets and toys passing by. It’s nearly impossible to get through the crowd. Somehow we make it, though. We begin to wonder how to buy a ticket to the ferry to Elephanta Island, but as soon as we walk into India Gate a man walks up to us with tickets  in his hand, and surprisingly they are the correct price! We take the tickets and hurry to the ferry dock. People are crowded together, jumping down onto ferries as they breeze by dock. We pause to look at each other--this will definitely be an adventure.

We squeeze through the hot, sweaty, colorful crowd and make our way onto a boat. We have to jump across a three-foot gap and down about two feet to land on the boat. But we make it—the boat staff must be very experienced at getting the throbbing crowd safely and efficiently onto the ferry.

After the boat is packed to its absolute carrying capacity, we head out. It is an hour and half ride across the Arabian Sea to Elephanta Island. Cindy and I have secured seats on a ledge in the middle of the boat, and we lean against each other, dozing off and starting awake as the boat jumps along the waves.

At first glance, the Arabian Sea is a murky sister to the Atlantic Ocean. However, as we have time to actually look at the water, we realize it is a beautiful shimmering amber color. The crests of the waves break a solid white. The rough surface gleams gold under the sun as we pass through it.

By the time we arrive at Elephanta Island, we are burning hot and sweaty. We down our two “mineral” waters (the Indian code for bottled water), and head onto the dock. The crowd is pushing around us, but most of them stop to wait on the train that makes the trek half-way up and down the mountain to the caves. We rush forth and break in front of the crowd. Next is the long hike upward, through a narrow pathway of shops and higher and higher stairs.

Luckily, the shop owners do not harass the tourists as much. If you ignore their first attempt at a sale, they generally retreat to their shaded seats. So onward we go, sweating and huffing but making timely progress up the endless mountain. We stop a couple of times to drink even more water (at this point we’ve downed about two gallons or so of water), but finally we break through to the top of the mountain.

Here we pay the entrance fee of 300 rupees each, and enter the caves. Let me begin by saying Sunday is not the day to visit sites in India. Most people are off for the day, so hundreds (thousands?) of families make their way to tourist centers, celebrating family picnics with endless photos. The Elephanta Caves are packed. However, we manage to make our way to the first cave—the most renowned—and are awed by the carvings facing us from out of the rock.

Of course, the most celebrated is the 10 or 12 foot tall Sadhashiva statue, carved in the center of the cave hall. However, all around this statute are statues of other gods and goddesses. Unfortunately, most are terribly worn by the climate and too many years of too many tourists. Teenagers pose atop carved shrines, holding the legs of statues, or even sitting on statues themselves. There are no safety barriers between the hordes of people and the timeless, ancient feats of work. However, what is left is still awe-inspiring and beautiful. We venture to the other caves and see hollowed out square rooms, smaller Shiva temples, and even a few large, worn Ganeshes. Monkeys roam freely, hissing at people as they pass by. A few tiny baby monkeys sit atop ledges and posts and snack on fallen food.

In all, there are five caves. Aside from the famous first cave, most of them are very small, with little rooms and few carvings.  However, the view of the Arabian Sea—towards Mumbai—is amazing. The golden ocean glitters around the distant haze of skyscrapers and temples. After about an hour, we make our way back down the mountain, once again passing through the stalls of vendors and the endless crowd of people. We catch a boat back to the mainland and doze off, our heads resting against the wooden beams of the ferry.  We wake up briefly as we sail through a fleet of the Indian navy. People run to the sides of the ferry to take pictures of the gigantic metallic orange naval boats. We doze back off.

After a little boat guffaw, we finally make it back to the mainland and dock. We have to crawl up and out of the boat this time, over another 3 foot gap. Once again, we make it, and scramble up the hill back to India Gate. The slowly setting sun is framed by the enormous arched structure. Throngs of people still fill the courtyard, and we navigate our way out like a maze. The police have barricaded most of the entryways, leaving only one small narrow opening for the endless people to come in and out of. It takes us several tries, but finally we figure out exactly how to get to this opening. We rush out with the oncoming crowd and make our way to the Mumbai street. Across from India Gate is a beautiful historical hotel known as the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel. It is both British and Gothic, and runs a full city block. It towers over the street, with its deep gray and red bricks. White, domed archways grace its roof, and hints of gold glitter around its windows and doors. We walk pass this, watching the sea to the other side, as small fishing boats make their way in for the night. We make it back to our hotel, and head to the restaurant bar, where we order wine and beer and share hummus and baba ganouj. The bar sits on the second floor of the hotel, near the poolside. Bright blue lights are strung up over us, reflecting the vibrant cerulean of the pool.

We are exhausted.  It has been an incredibly long day---beginning before 4 am. It is all we can do to keep our eyes open at our table. After eating, we head down for the night and crash into a deep sleep.

We sleep in the next day. This feels like our first actual night of rest since we’ve been in India. While we could go out and do a city tour or engage in more adventures, our bodies are simply not ready. Mumbai is huge---overwhelmingly huge. And while it is prettier and more organized than Delhi, it seems like a lot of work to venture out into its winding streets. Instead, we opt for shopping at the local bazaar behind our hotel. We spend the day meandering through stalls, chatting with vendors, and bargaining our way into some souvenirs. We stop for lunch at a place called Leopold’s Café, that has faded pictures of American actors and singers from the 1950s. The menus are stylistically tucked under the glass of the dining room tables, and the whole feel is that of a southern-style American diner. The food, of course, is a multi-national cuisine of Chinese, Indian, and Italian (as most restaurants are for some reason).

One interesting feature of this restaurant is that they serve a beer “tower” for a whopping 1500 rupees. However, we soon discover just what a beer tower is; a man across from us orders one, and is brought a four gallon dispenser of beer. Seriously. We took pictures, you’ll have to see later.

They also offer a buy-three-get-one-free feature for the regular cocktails. Cindy and I order fresh kiwi and watermelon margaritas. That’s the thing about India, by the way--all juice is made fresh in a juicer. So our drinks arrive with fresh, pulpy bright green and juice, combined with our delightful friend, Tequila.

We order a second round. This time the tequila is even stronger. To go with our drinks we also order spicy Chinese fried rice and French fries. Both are amazing, but the portion of rice is absolutely ridiculous. It could feed five or six people. We finish our drinks, eat, and chat for some time. We notice that it is getting cloudy and windy outside. We’d better hurry back to the hotel before the monsoon hits.

So we pay our check and dash out onto the windy street. We head for the beach---a way back we know for sure. The streets on the way there are beautiful. They are narrow and lined with flowering tropical trees. Houses and hotels, painted white, blue, pink, or gold, hide behind tall iron gates. Elegant Gothic style buildings dot the scenery. The clouds are getting lower, though, so we move on. We make it back to our hotel and after resting for some time, head up to the restaurant for another round of hummus and drinks.

Outside the sky is a deep blue-black. In the distance we hear a parade, complete with drums and horns. Lightning strikes overhead. We hear a deep grumble as the sky slides open. Rain briefly pours out onto the patio—barely missing our heads. The storm is beautiful. The purple and white flashes of lightning brighten the cloudy Mumbai sky---briefly outlining the myriad of tall buildings lining the sea. The warm wind blows over us as we eat and drink. After a while, we head back to our room to prepare for our departure tomorrow. Our flight for Goa leaves at noon, and we’ll be heading out at 8 am.

 Until then,

Namaste!

Two Days in Jaipur

Jaipur is the capital of Rajasthan--the land of the Rajputs. Warrior clans who originated from the sun, moon, and fire. Proud ancient peoples who would rather die than surrender. Majestic rulers ornamented in fine silk robes, jewels, shimmering turbans, with swords, knives, and elephants. A land complete with fortresses, palaces, harems, and all the myth and magic of India.

 

In fact, when you think of India, you're probably thinking of Jaipur. A red (so-called pink) city, painted with ornamental designs, structured with bedazzling buildings, and walled off by enormous stone fortress walls. Camels rest along the street in the midday sun, elephants saunter down shaded pathways, and cobras are sung to life by snake charmers with flutes.

 

This was India's first planned city, created by the Rajput warrior-astronomer Jai Singh II, who came to power at age 11. Well built streets, cordoned off blocks, and tall, orderly buildings shape the landscape.

 

After leaving Delhi at 6 am, we finally fly over this new land around 9. I'm impressed by how organized everything appears to be. Even though the land is dry and sandy, it is still beautiful--filled with desert enchantment. As soon as we leave the tiny airport, we can tell the air is different. Cleaner, brighter. The streets are wider. There is less honking. Traffic is better directed.

 

The walls of streets and buildings are painted with Jaipur's history. The heat swelters in---this truly is the land of the sun. We arrive at our hotel by 10:30 or so. A small clean room painted with elephants. We immediately visit the upstairs open-air restaurant---a tropical place with palm trees, peacock statues, and a stunning view of Hathroi Fort. As we order our food (a veggie burger and enchilada) we read over the tourist handbook they've given us. It is then that we realize we have the wrong hotel! We had booked the Pearl Palace Heritage, but we've arrived at the owner's other hotel, the Pearl Palace Hotel. We were expecting themed rooms and a different atmosphere. No wonder they didn't have our booking downstairs, and no wonder we're confused! We contemplate whether we should just stay in our room or move to our expected hotel. Finally, we decide to just ask.

 

After our meal, we head to the front desk to ask about a change. He tells us to go look at the other hotel, and we can switch--no problem. We take a free autorickshaw about a block away, and immediately, we make our choice. The outside of the Pearl Palace Heritage is glamorous. A tall, stone archway frames the large wooden front door. We walk inside to intricately painted black and white walls which illuminate framed paintings of famous Jaipuri rulers. Carved elephant statutes grace the lobby. We are stunned.

 

 

As we walk up the marble stairs we see the walls, which are made from stone and depict rows of immaculate carvings. Rows of Ganeshes, Buddhas, Shivas, and more frame our walk to the room. Tables rest against walls stacked with books for travelers to indulge in.

 

They show us or room---the "Indus Valley" room, an homage to largest known ancient civilization. It is enormous! Two full rooms with immaculately carved wooden tables, handmade clay pot lamps hanging from the ceiling, red Indus-style tribal paintings on the wall, a tall bed, white robes in the bathroom, and a computer in the corner make up our suite. This is heavenly. We bring our luggage over and settle in over two fresh glasses of cold mango juice. We rest for a while, then head out to do a walking tour of the Old Pink City.

 

Enormous painted gateways frame the entrance of this part of the city. Everything is painted a beautiful burnt sienna color---the "pink" of happiness and hospitality. The large gateways are ornamented with painted flowering white vines and outlined arches. The city is named the Pink City because in 1876 the Maharaja Ram Singh had the entire city painted "pink" to welcome the Prince of Wales to Jaipur. Today, the government mandates that shops and houses here maintain the pink façade.

 

However, the city itself is now a chaotic hub of bazaars, shops, and restaurant stalls. Hawkers are everywhere, throwing themselves at you and following you endlessly down the street. The tireless chant of  "m'am, m'am, madam, m'am, m'am, m'am" echoes behind us as we walk on. The variety of goods is overwhelming. Hand-carved wooden dolls, cloth of all assortments and patterns, sparkling jewels, long jingly bells with painted wooden elephants attached to them, and more. The scent of incense, cows, samosas, and wet streets fills the air.

 

We stop in several shops, shopping for linen for men's suits. It takes us some time to find a man who directs us the "gents" section of town. We find the perfect fabrics, and move on. Later, we stop in a jewelry store and peruse the freshly hand-made items. A man sits on the floor, still working on several pairs of earrings and necklaces. We haggle and bargain our way into some good finds.

 

As the day passes into night, we realize that we are tired and hungry. We need food and beer. We look through our India book and find a place called Red's that sounds perfect. However, after arriving in the mall it's supposedly located in, we find nothing. In fact, the entire mall is grungy, dark, and half-way closed down. We move down the street to a nice, more upscale looking shopping center. Here we find an amazing Italian restaurant, owned by a man from Italy. We eat fine pasta and get a recommendation for a good bar--Niro's, which has been open since 1949. It is just around the corner, and we walk there in the hot Jaipuri night, passing by a beautiful cinema and McDonald's on our way there.

 

Niro's is elegant. A small, white-walled place covered in mirrors. I can picture it in 1949, with classical Hindi music emanating from its speakers and men in freshly tailored suits smoking cigars and talking politics over their fine scotch. Today, many Indian families are celebrating the evening here. We order a small bottle of wine and a large Kingfisher. After we finish, we head back out into the night. Bright lights fill the street and the air is buzzing with a festival energy. More food carts have made their way out and crafters line the streets, their wares displayed on thin sheets draped across the stone sidewalks.

 

Several rickshaw drivers besiege us, and one artist attempts to get us to visit his store. However, we're able to use the number of people around us as a good bargaining tactic, and get a good rate on the ride back to our hotel. We arrive, still stunned by the elegance and beauty of the hotel. After a while, we fall asleep on the amazing bed and sleep well until the morning. For the next day we have a city tour booked.

 

 

We wake up early at 6:30 am to get ready. Our driver will be waiting at 8:30. The Peacock Restaurant (located atop the other hotel) opens at 8—just enough time to scrape by with some breakfast. We take the free autorickshaw over and eat (I order a banana and honey “pancake”—more of a crepe, really). Our driver arrives at the Heritage hotel, but they have him pick us up outside the restaurant. He introduces himself as Raj and we head off into the brightening morning.

Our first stop is the massive Amber Fort outside of town. It is pronounced Amer, and was financed by the spoils of war under Maharaja Man Singh in 1592. On our way there we briefly stop outside of Hawa Mahal, a honeycombed structure rising above the Old Pink City. It is painted with intricate white decorations and rests between two shopping bazaars. Hawa Mahal was built in 1799 by Maharaja Sawai Pratap Singh so that royal women could look out over the city, without being seen. We head on to Amber Fort. It is a palace, rising above the Jaipuri landscape, built into the surrounding hills. Yellow and pink sandstone, adorned with white marble, make up this majestic place. Immense gardens, set apart in small lakes, rest under the shadow of the main structure. We stop along the road to take in the view.

Immediately, a humongous elephant ambles up to us—her face painted with pink and yellow designs. The rider atop her graceful, large head jumps to the ground. We think they are going to stop at the road—about 10 feet or so from us. Even from this distance we are in awe. The elephant’s gentle eyes and long flowing trunk frame her beautiful face.  She keeps walking. In less than a minute she is standing above us, her body towering over us, her trunk in the air over our heads.  “Do you want to touch? Go ahead, touch!” the elephant rider urges us.  Cindy and I step back—amazed by the grace and power of this stunning creature. The rider takes our hands and puts them on her face.

She stands still—a sign that she does not spend her days shackled to a wall. She looks incredibly healthy, her skin shimmering in the sun. Her ears are spotted gray and pink and her eyes are deep amber, framed by long, glistening lashes. We gently touch her face and her trunk. She nudges toward us. We step back again. “No, no! Is okay!” the rider insists. We pet her long trunk again. He reaches for my camera “I’ll take a photo!” he eagerly says and steps a few feet away, leaving Cindy and I alone with the animal. The elephant clearly senses our discomfort, and takes advantage of her freedom. She sticks her trunk deep into her mouth, and then sprays herself—over our heads—with her saliva. She shakes her head slightly. She then begins to wander this way and that, as Cindy and I give her free reign to do as she wishes. The rider, laughing slightly comes back “okay, okay, one photo at a time.” He hands me the camera, and puts his arm around the elephant’s trunk. He says her name—which I miss—and tells her to stand still. She stops moving about and stands with Cindy for a picture. The rider tells her to salute, and she immediately sticks her trunk up into the air and lifts her right foot up—a picture perfect pose. We laugh with joy, and in the next picture the elephant appears to be laughing too---her mouth wide open and her trunk flailing in the air. Then it is my turn. I slowly walk up to her, and gently put my hand on her cheek. She leans into it and waves her ears in the air. The rider tells her to salute again, and instantly she does. I take a few pictures this way and we tip the rider and head back to the car, completely awed and amazed.

Before we make it to the car, though, we discover that a man has positioned himself on the sidewalk right behind us. He places a basket on the ground in front of him and begins playing a large wooden flute-like instrument. A cobra arises out of the basket on queue. I believe I am dreaming and there is no way this is actually real life. But it is. The cobra dances for a second, and then lazily slithers back down into her basket.

“Aww, Juli, come come!” the cobra enchanter beckons to the snake. She lifts up slightly and slides to his arm. He holds her up and offers her to Cindy and me. “Touch, touch!” he insists. I, of course, back away several steps. “No, no, she is not poisonous, she will not bite” he offers. I am not convinced. This is a freaking cobra! Cindy, clearly giddy with excitement, reaches forward to touch Juli the cobra. Juli slithers toward her hand and flicks out her thin, pink tongue. “Sit, sit! Hold her!” the man urges. Cindy eases herself to the sidewalk and sits. The man places Juli around her neck, and Juli lazily slides around Cindy’s arm as I snap photos. After Cindy holds her, the man offers her to me. I look nervously at Cindy, who is laughing and telling me to go on. I sit rigidly on the sidewalk.

The man places Juli around my neck and she instantly calms me. Her silky, black skin smooth on my neck and arm. She is at ease and peacefully slithers around my body. She turns her small snake head to look at me, with her cobra flap fully opened. She seems disinterested and continues down my hand. Once again, I am awestruck. This powerful creature, so gentle, graceful, and elegant, is enjoying the universe from the resting point of my hand. “Okay, come Juli” the man says, and places his arm out for her to slither to. She returns to her basket and coils up for a nap. We tip the man and get back in our car to finish our journey to the fort.

About a mile away, we stop at the gates of Amber Fort. Our driver shows us where he will be waiting and tells us to take our time. We enter the gate---a small sandstone archway that opens on a small corridor. We walk inside and are immediately inundated by hawkers. “Where are you from? Do you want art? No, look through. Best price. Do you want an elephant—hand carved! Best price,” the voices cry from all sides. We lower our eyes and push through to the second gate—a larger, red sandstone archway.  This one opens to marble floors and leads to a walkway that initiates the long haul up the hill. To our right we see people riding elephants up a different path, and we decide to head that way. We are followed by a few hawkers selling blankets as we walk. They continually offer us lower and lower prices, and we try not to encourage them. We make it to area where elephant rides are being offered as alternative transportation up the hill to the fort. Riders rest lethargically atop beautiful, decorated elephant heads. Most of the elephants look well cared for. Some munch on hay, while others doze in the shade. A couple of elephants exhibit the tell-tale front and back sway of confined and chained quarters. We definitely do not want to support these owners.

We head to the stairs where you settle into the large seat that serves as an elephant saddle. A large, striking elephant awaits us there. We carefully ease onto her back and pay our “driver” the somewhat expensive 900 rupees for the ride. It is definitely worth it. The elephant slowly saunters up the large hill, her back swaying as we go. We have pristine views of the surrounding hills and gardens. It would be peaceful, save for the hawkers who continue to harass us as we ride. Still with the blankets! We tell them no several times, followed by “maybe later.” This is a bad response—one of the hawkers, a young boy, immediately begins proclaiming “but madam, look! The elephants are emp-e-tey! See! Emp-e-tey! You must buy now!” The blankets are beautiful, but overpriced (of course). Finally, they get to a price reasonable enough for us to consider. We give them man the 70 rupees he has lowered his offer to and he throws up the blankets. After a few seconds deliberation he returns “m’am, it is 70 U.S. DOLLARS!” He had clearly said rupees earlier. Seventy dollars is absolutely ludicrous. We tell him no, give us back our money. But he decides to start making offers again. He never reaches anything reasonable, and we hold onto the blankets to return to him when we dismount. When we arrive at the third gate—an even larger red sandstone archway—the elephant “driver” begins silently asking us for a tip. “Police do not like it, so you have to now” he tells us. However, there are signs hung everywhere that clearly say “do not tip the elephant driver.” We tell him we’ll get in trouble, and he takes his time to the dismount station. The elephant slowly ambles around the courtyard, with us swaying atop her the whole time. We finally dismount, and get our rupees back for the overpriced blankets.

We stand confused for a moment, but are greeted by a man who leads us to the ticket counter. Immediately he offers us guide services, which we refuse. We head up to the main entrance of Amber Fort, finally away from the hawkers.

The main courtyard is beautiful. To one side are views of what must have been the rulers’ entire kingdom---all the way to the high stone walls separating the hillsides. The floors are marble, and in the back of the courtyard sets a large red sandstone open-air forum. It has intricately carved elephant heads, flowers, and other decorations covering tall pillars that rise into the air. The gateway to the actual palace, to the right of forum, is an enormous structure of yellow sandstone, painted with elaborate blue, white, and pink designs. A full flight of stairs rises to the gate entrance. After walking around the first courtyard, we finally head inside to a maze of staircases and hallways. We come out to the first floor, a beautiful garden enclave, complete with a shimmering pool, pristine white marble corridors, and a cool breeze. The hall is framed by elegant archways, and to the left is a beautiful structure covered in mirrors and silver. You can almost hear the ghosts of maharajahs past as you walk the cool halls.  We go to the next floor—open-air hallways that surround the interior of the palace. There are four viewing points, towering over the sides of the fortress. We stop at the two open ones and peer out of the carved windows. We head back down into the maze of hallways and corridors and explore several narrow, dark pathways. One leads us to a third floor, where a resting janitor shows us the wives’ chambers. The first of which is an elegantly painted dome, cool and shadowy. Outside of the viewing room attached to this chamber I see the largest hive of bees I’ve ever come across. It drapes down from a protruding structure, and black and yellow wasps swarm around it.

We head on, adventuring to the other side of the third floor, which contains more wives’ chambers. Sitting atop a large domed protrusion, we see several silver monkeys resting. Two comb each other, while a third sits at the very top of the dome, his head resting on his hand as he looks over the endless landscape. We find a set of stairs and head back down, finally deciding to leave the majestic fort.  As we wind our way to the exit, we are once again besieged by hawkers. However, two are holding photos that were taken of us riding the elephant up to the fort entrance. This may be worth buying. I also find it very interesting that they are somehow able to find us, despite the throngs of people flowing in and out of the fort. We purchase the three pictures at 50 rupees (down from their original asking price of 300). We make the long trek down the hillside stairs, past the multitudes of hawkers, and finally back to our driver.

By this point we are burning hot and our skin glistens with sweat. We are tired and hungry, but read that there is a restaurant at the next stop—Nahargarh. This is a remote fort, built in 1734 to house soldiers and protect the royal family. It is up a silent hill, outlined by tall, wiry trees. The fort itself is almost desolate. A languid security guard takes our ticket (purchased as  part of a composite ticket at Amber Fort), and we enter the yellow structure. We first come across soldier’s quarters—hollowed out, but somehow elegant, hallways with barren rooms and open-air courtyards.  On our way to the main entrance, we are stopped by some Indian tourists who want to take their picture with us (we, the ever-strange and curious pale white foreigners). The actual fort is hidden inside of an arched gateway, and opens onto a marble-floored square. The walls are decorated with vibrant paintings of elephants and maharajahs. We enter a side door and find the old kitchen space, supply room, and even queen’s quarters. The most stunning thing about this fort is the incredible view over the city. Every window seems to be placed atop a mountain, with no trees or buildings obstructing its sight. We head to the top floor and walk around the narrow hallway bordering the structure. Every few feet are colorfully painted enclaves, housing closed off quarters for the queen and her servants. Some are painted a bright blue, while others are pink or yellow. Each has beautiful decorations and intricate designs.  We are followed for some time by a young security guard, who tries to get us to go here or there as he half-way explains the history of the structure, until we make it clear we aren’t going to tip him (once again, signs declare that no extra money is to be paid to any staff inside the premises). After, he wanders off aimlessly, I suppose back to the guard station where he emerged from.

After perusing the top floor, we meander back out of the entrance, and head toward the restaurant. Following a sign that points to the top of the hill, we are stopped by a brigade of curious security guards. They all shake our hands and introduce themselves excitedly. They ask us where we’re going and then tell us that the restaurant is closed. We sigh, defeated, and head back toward the car. As we pass the restaurant sign we see that it opens at 5:30 pm---a good hour after the fort itself has closed.

We tell our driver we need to stop and eat—preferably at a place that has beer. He acknowledges our request and heads down the hill, back toward the city below.  On our way we stop at an overlook to take in the sight of the Water Palace—an enormous marble palace that sits atop a giant lake in Jaipur. It is built partially underwater, but apparently is waterproof. It was a retreat for the ancient royal families, and I’m sure it afforded a great deal of protection and cool air. Unfortunately, there is no visitation to the Water Palace, but we were still able to get a great view of its exquisite structure.

We head across the street to an Mughali/Indian restaurant and sit upstairs under the cool air conditioning. I order Pindi Channa Masala—a Jaipuri spin on the popular chickpea curry, and Cindy orders rice with vegetables. I also purchase a refreshing Kingfisher to down my meal with. On the wall next to our table are old paintings of former Jaipuri rulers. The painting closest to my shoulder is from 1873. The fabric looks old, but the paint is still vibrant. Above my head the still eyes of a royally clothed ruler stare stoically into the distance.

After eating we continue on our journey. Our driver takes us to the Royal Gaitor, a beautiful set of marble buildings hidden beneath the hills. No one else is here, save for a few Indian men sitting on the stone steps near a temple inside. Trees shade most of the structure. As we enter, a man charges us 30 rupees each, and we are given free rein to wander where we please. The each building is made from beautiful aged white Italian marble, with detailed carvings of elephants, flowers, gods, and goddesses. Birds fly overhead and monkeys whistle in the distance. The men sitting near the temple give us curious looks, but mostly ignore us as we walk past. In the third building, we find a secret stairwell that leads to a ledge on top of the structure. We wander around for a minute, taking in the surrounding scenery and elegant domes breaking the skyscape. It is peaceful, cool, and quiet here. We spend some time wandering in and out of the carvings before heading out.

Next, we drive back into the city, where we visit the City Palace, an enormous structure built in 1729 by Jai Singh II. It is a more modern palace---an enormous structure with large domes, painted walls, and shaded interior corridors. Along the walls are paintings of maharajahs playing polo with English royalty. After passing the armory museum in the main courtyard, we enter a second gate and come upon a majestic pink sandstone courtyard.  Enormous, sparkling chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Two large silver pots, protected by glass, sit to either side of the courtyard. We read plaques that explain that the pots are the largest pieces of complete silver in the world. On the walls behind us a sun design is spiraled behind a glass encasing, made from iron rifles and swords.  After wandering about this elegant structure, we head to a shaded corridor and enter an office area. In the center of this building are carved wood doors, framed by elegant silver painted designs. One showcases Shiva, another peacocks. The flooring here is of white marble. We meander around for a bit, and the City Palace official attorney meets us in the hall. He tells us who he is, and that he used to be a judge. He lets us go to the center of the open courtyard, and we take pictures under the gorgeous doors.  We meander back out to the central courtyard and find our way to the exit; next, we head across the street to Jantar Mantar.

The warrior-astronomer Jai Singh II was fascinated with science. To observe the planets, time, and earth’s universal alignment, he built enormous measuring instruments. These are all housed in Jantar Mantar---a collection of Singh’s great scientific feats. Upon entering the front gate, we walk immediately upon a circle with two cross-sections within it. Next to it, across a small pathway, are two enormous circles—one depicting the earth and another, the universe.  In the distance a huge, sloping building keeps time via shadows and light. Another section of the exhibit showcases astrological signs, aligned under their respective stars. I find my Aries sign—complete with my signature ram’s horns---and take several pictures. After ambling through this wondrous exhibit, we

Our tour has ended, and we drive back to our hotel. We make arrangements for the driver to pick us up at 5 am the next morning to catch our early flight. We retreat into the elegant peace of our hotel, and rest for a while before going to the Peacock Restaurant for dinner.

On the rooftop balcony, they have small white lights framing the statues and flowers, and water mists us from overhead. We have a couple of drinks, eat our light dinners and head back to our hotel for the night. Tomorrow we wake up early---4 am—and head further south to the cosmopolitan city of Mumbai.

 

Until then,

 

Namaste.