I am finishing the last leg of my trip in Agra, the home of the Taj Mahal and the Agra Fort. I was worried that leaving the Taj until the end of my trip would be a mistake, that I would be all toured out and bored with India. But that wasn't true at all. The Taj Mahal is just as magnificent as I hoped it would be and I was not disappointed. I was a little surprised at the size, of course. From the front it appears to be a huge structure, but when you get inside you see that it is simply a mausoleum with a really, really high ceiling. I took a bunch of pictures and I will post them to facebook soon and leave you all with a link to view them.
After visiting the Taj I returned to my hotel to take a nap. I couldn't sleep the night before due to a combination of excitement and the noise of a construction crew, still going strong at midnight right above my room. The hotel I am staying at doesn't hold a match to the other hotels and guesthouses I have been to in India. I was in a room for two nights until I noticed a curious section of one wall that seemed to be open to a room next door. It's a little hard to explain, but the wall was wood paneling with one inch gaps and screening between. At one point I saw a light from the other room and realized that my room gave the workmen's storage room full view of whatever was going on in my room. I immediately pointed this out to the guy at the front desk and only after asking if he had a daughter, sister or wife did he seriously think about switching my room. The second room was a slight upgrade. The toilet has a seat and the room has a small window. That'll do.
The day before my birthday I splurged and spent the day at the pool of a nearby three star hotel. For the last ten weeks my bathing suit shoved at the bottom of my back pack looked like a preposterous waste of space. I probably would have thrown it out back at Gram Chetna if it wasn't mildly expensive and fairly cute. But I finally made use of it and the day was great. For the small fortune it took to get into the pool as a nonguest, I resigned myself to spend the entire day there, swimming and lounging about. Muna gave me her sunblock before leaving Udaipur and I apparently put a little too much faith in the label advertising the product as water resistant. So, for my pictures in front of the Taj Mahal I am wearing a long sleeved t-shirt under my tunic shirt to cover my sunburn. For generations my progeny will pass down photos of their mother, aunt, great aunt, or whatever else looking like a wreck in front of one of the most beautiful monuments on the planet. Ha ha. Oh well.
So that's all the news for now. I only have three days left in India, one day left in Agra. Tomorrow morning I will board a train at 7:35 a.m. and arrive at the New Delhi Rail Station in the late morning. I have about two days in Delhi before heading to the airport. Those two days will be spent buying souvenirs for my friends and loved ones. Souvenir shopping is one of the hardest things for me to do. After spending two and a half months in this country, I can hardly bring myself to pay the inflated tourist prices in Delhi. This is one of those things I shouldn't have waited till last minute to do. But I did wait, now I am forced to haggle and haggle hard.
Later gators!
MCC
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
No hurry, no worry, no chicken curry.
I decided to break out the dusty laptop and pre-write an entry about my days in Jaisalmer. Five days is way too long to spend in this desert town if a girl is in a rush to see as much of India as she can. But I am in no rush, so I have happily and lazily spent five (!!!) days here, sleeping in every morning, drinking chai whenever I please, and chatting with the two brothers who own the place. Actually, my first two days here were spent in the fetal position under a wimpy blanket in my room and didn’t really count. I thought I had malaria and that’s why I went to the hospital. If I knew it was just a really strong and persistent bug I would have made myself sweat it out like normal. But I must say the antibiotics did wonders and I was quickly back to my old self.
Jaisalmer is one of the only cities (it might actually be the only city) in India with what is called a living fort. This means that people still live, and businesses and hotels still operate within the fort. The fort itself is suffering major problems with drainage, and has begun to fall apart. Lonely Planet recommends travelers do not stay in hotels or eat in restaurants within the fort’s walls for this reason. Luckily the owner of the guesthouse I stayed at in Udaipur recommended a hotel for me in Jaisalmer, and it happens to be just outside the fort. It’s awesome and the owners (the two brothers mentioned above) are very nice and friendly.
The guys who work in the local shops try to lure tourists in by engaging them in polite conversation, usually beginning by asking what country the tourist is from. Since I arrived in India, I have been mainly ignoring everyone who tries to talk to me. But in the last few weeks I’ve simply gotten sick of acting like a bitch all the time. It’s tiring! I’m an unconscious smile-er and an accidental flirt so the ignoring game doesn’t come naturally and it wears me down. So on this particular day, I gave in. I said I was from America and the young man, whose mane is Kusi, told me that his girlfriend is from America, too! He then brought me into his shop for chai and told me the whole story. She had come to India for a friend’s wedding in January and traveled for a few days in Jaisalmer. He even showed me pictures of their trip to the desert and a letter she wrote him explaining why things “didn’t work out”. After he thoroughly explained how broken his heart was, he asked me to write a letter for him to her and mail it from my home. So I wrote a letter to Catherine in California about how much Kusi misses her, and how often he thinks of her.
Poor girl! She thought she was just having a sweet, innocent two day flirtation with a cute Indian boy. It’s now seven months later and he still doesn’t get the hint. The letter is in my purse pocket after I promised I would mail it. Part of me wants to just lose it and save the girl from more harassment, but the other part knows I will keep my promise. Man oh man. These Indian boys and their romantic love!
In other news, yesterday I went on a half day camel safari in the Thar Desert. Even though Muna, the girl from Jordan I met in Udaipur, told me I had to see the desert, I couldn’t bring myself to go back to Rural India. But I had met another American (the first American I’ve met in India) and he was going, and asked if I wanted to come. He was tagging along with a large group of Spaniards and I think he wanted the American company. I hesitated, but in the end, it was something to do, the price was right and food was involved. Those are apparently my standards these days.
At this point I need to tell you that riding a camel in the desert is not nearly as glamorous as it ever appears on television or in movies. I know you’re all thinking, “Well, of course not. Duh” But honestly, I have never been more uncomfortable in my life. My days horseback riding in Girl Scout camp did not prepare me for any of what I experienced yesterday. All in all, I’d have to say the fleas were the worst part. I was convinced they were getting into my hair and clothes and laying eggs. I spent the first third of the trip strategizing how I would get into my hotel room without them take over the place. The second third I spent obsessing and tugging my rain jacket hood close to my head, and by the final third I had given up.
After the safari bit we did the whole awkward village visit where the Spaniards took pictures of the sari-clad women and scraggily-haired children. It’s funny that it took me to the middle of the Thar Desert with a bunch of tourists to realize how unique of an experience I received at Gram Chetna. The tourists were taking pictures of things I had seen every day for the last two months. Dirty children, click. People riding on the top of a bus, click. Camels pulling carts, click. Despite the problems I had and the reasons I left, through my internship I was able to see and experience a side of India that many people only dream about. That really is awesome.
But of course, anything planned, paid for, and involving food in India comes with problems and long waits. The other American, whose name is Ravi, was also working for an NGO during the summer and he knew the drill. But the Spaniards, unfortunately, did not. The nonsense involved was so little, and not a big deal to me or Ravi. Basically, our dinner consisted of eating another tour group’s leftovers in the dark. I wasn’t picky at that point; I was so hungry I would have eaten stale chapatti and cold daal! But the Spanish tourists were red faced and pissed. They were getting people on the phone, asking to talk to the manager, complaining about customer service. You don’t do that crap in India.
Ravi and I were quite embarrassed, Ravi more so that I. Ravi is of Indian descent and the Indian men running the place were trying to appeal and explain the situation to him. We both felt pretty bad about the whole thing, which was only resolved by Avinash (part owner of the hotel and the arranger of the tour) agreed to feed us when we got back to the hotel at eleven at night. By the next morning the situation seemed to have blown over. But as I am writing this in my room I am listening to them argue with the manager about the price of the safari and the availability of light in the desert. What a bag of assholes.
Tomorrow I am off on the night train to Jaipur. From there I will take a bus to Agra for the last leg of my adventure. I have one more week in India and although I am looking forward to coming home I am leaving India with fine memories. I have enough books to keep me entertained and my trip to the Taj Mahal keeps me looking forward to this final week.
Oh, did I mention that while on the camel I was 30 km from Pakistan? Pretty cool, huh?
Jaisalmer is one of the only cities (it might actually be the only city) in India with what is called a living fort. This means that people still live, and businesses and hotels still operate within the fort. The fort itself is suffering major problems with drainage, and has begun to fall apart. Lonely Planet recommends travelers do not stay in hotels or eat in restaurants within the fort’s walls for this reason. Luckily the owner of the guesthouse I stayed at in Udaipur recommended a hotel for me in Jaisalmer, and it happens to be just outside the fort. It’s awesome and the owners (the two brothers mentioned above) are very nice and friendly.
The guys who work in the local shops try to lure tourists in by engaging them in polite conversation, usually beginning by asking what country the tourist is from. Since I arrived in India, I have been mainly ignoring everyone who tries to talk to me. But in the last few weeks I’ve simply gotten sick of acting like a bitch all the time. It’s tiring! I’m an unconscious smile-er and an accidental flirt so the ignoring game doesn’t come naturally and it wears me down. So on this particular day, I gave in. I said I was from America and the young man, whose mane is Kusi, told me that his girlfriend is from America, too! He then brought me into his shop for chai and told me the whole story. She had come to India for a friend’s wedding in January and traveled for a few days in Jaisalmer. He even showed me pictures of their trip to the desert and a letter she wrote him explaining why things “didn’t work out”. After he thoroughly explained how broken his heart was, he asked me to write a letter for him to her and mail it from my home. So I wrote a letter to Catherine in California about how much Kusi misses her, and how often he thinks of her.
Poor girl! She thought she was just having a sweet, innocent two day flirtation with a cute Indian boy. It’s now seven months later and he still doesn’t get the hint. The letter is in my purse pocket after I promised I would mail it. Part of me wants to just lose it and save the girl from more harassment, but the other part knows I will keep my promise. Man oh man. These Indian boys and their romantic love!
In other news, yesterday I went on a half day camel safari in the Thar Desert. Even though Muna, the girl from Jordan I met in Udaipur, told me I had to see the desert, I couldn’t bring myself to go back to Rural India. But I had met another American (the first American I’ve met in India) and he was going, and asked if I wanted to come. He was tagging along with a large group of Spaniards and I think he wanted the American company. I hesitated, but in the end, it was something to do, the price was right and food was involved. Those are apparently my standards these days.
At this point I need to tell you that riding a camel in the desert is not nearly as glamorous as it ever appears on television or in movies. I know you’re all thinking, “Well, of course not. Duh” But honestly, I have never been more uncomfortable in my life. My days horseback riding in Girl Scout camp did not prepare me for any of what I experienced yesterday. All in all, I’d have to say the fleas were the worst part. I was convinced they were getting into my hair and clothes and laying eggs. I spent the first third of the trip strategizing how I would get into my hotel room without them take over the place. The second third I spent obsessing and tugging my rain jacket hood close to my head, and by the final third I had given up.
After the safari bit we did the whole awkward village visit where the Spaniards took pictures of the sari-clad women and scraggily-haired children. It’s funny that it took me to the middle of the Thar Desert with a bunch of tourists to realize how unique of an experience I received at Gram Chetna. The tourists were taking pictures of things I had seen every day for the last two months. Dirty children, click. People riding on the top of a bus, click. Camels pulling carts, click. Despite the problems I had and the reasons I left, through my internship I was able to see and experience a side of India that many people only dream about. That really is awesome.
But of course, anything planned, paid for, and involving food in India comes with problems and long waits. The other American, whose name is Ravi, was also working for an NGO during the summer and he knew the drill. But the Spaniards, unfortunately, did not. The nonsense involved was so little, and not a big deal to me or Ravi. Basically, our dinner consisted of eating another tour group’s leftovers in the dark. I wasn’t picky at that point; I was so hungry I would have eaten stale chapatti and cold daal! But the Spanish tourists were red faced and pissed. They were getting people on the phone, asking to talk to the manager, complaining about customer service. You don’t do that crap in India.
Ravi and I were quite embarrassed, Ravi more so that I. Ravi is of Indian descent and the Indian men running the place were trying to appeal and explain the situation to him. We both felt pretty bad about the whole thing, which was only resolved by Avinash (part owner of the hotel and the arranger of the tour) agreed to feed us when we got back to the hotel at eleven at night. By the next morning the situation seemed to have blown over. But as I am writing this in my room I am listening to them argue with the manager about the price of the safari and the availability of light in the desert. What a bag of assholes.
Tomorrow I am off on the night train to Jaipur. From there I will take a bus to Agra for the last leg of my adventure. I have one more week in India and although I am looking forward to coming home I am leaving India with fine memories. I have enough books to keep me entertained and my trip to the Taj Mahal keeps me looking forward to this final week.
Oh, did I mention that while on the camel I was 30 km from Pakistan? Pretty cool, huh?
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