Upon our arrival to India, our group was adamant about traveling through The Golden Triangle, the aptly-named route between the cities of Delhi, Jaipur and Agra. We had planned for weeks for the trip, and I was ridiculously excited as I went to bed the night before we left. The beginning of our journey to The Golden Triangle can best be described as a bit of a challenge. We woke up at 3 AM to catch our rickshaw to Katpadi, and hopped the 4 AM train to Chennai. Though it's only 2 hours away from Vellore, we haven't been to Chennai since our arrival, and after our experience this time, I have to say I'm glad. We walked by the train tracks to the main station, cringing at the rats scampering across the tracks and the stench of human waste from the train toilets that connected directly to the tracks below. We were accosted by a multitude of rickshaw drivers, one that was particularly aggressive to the point I was sure Michael was going to take a swing at him. Thankfully we got to the airport uneventfully, and had some coffee and breakfast while waiting to check in for our flight. We were in a jovial mood, anticipating our trip to the north of India, excited to see a side of India different than our beloved Vellore. It wasn't until moments before we entered the security line that we got notice our flight to New Delhi had been delayed. We took it in stride, camping out on the airport floor, thankful that though the flight was delayed, we would still arrive in New Delhi in enough time to make our train to Jaipur. It was when our plane was further delayed that we began to worry, now knowing we wouldn't make our train, and concerned because the rest of our trip was a sequential line that began in Jaipur. So Cristine and I whipped our our phones to re-book trains, and I had the delightful discovery that my phone had been switched off due to improper submission of documents (in India you have to submit your passport, visa, address and several other things to obtain a phone). I had submitted all these things three weeks prior, but given the typical manner of business proceedings in India, I honestly wasn't surprised. So Cristine spent her voice and hours on the phone trying to re-schedule our train while I dashed around the airport, exploring other possible flight options that would get us to Jaipur. After much frustration and unsuccessfil conversations with the Indian Railway Transit Corporation, we decided we'd just head to the Delhi train station upon arrival and try our luck in buying tickets to Jaipur. We were exhausted by the time we boarded our flight, and immeadiately fell asleep, only awakening when we heard the announcement that we'd soon be landing in New Delhi, the capitol of India.
Stepping outside the airport I was surprised by the crisp coolness of the air in northern India, so different than the humid heat of the south. We opted for a pre-paid cab to the train station, the morning negotiations with the Chennai rickshaw driver still fresh in our minds, and we were soon weaving in and out of five o'clock traffic in Delhi. We were amused by the wild peacocks perched on bilboards and the monkeys that scampered on top of the buildings as we passed cars that ranged from dingy rickshaws to brand new BMWs. New Delhi has definitely been touched by the hand of modernization and progress, and I thought many times how clean it was as we passed the numerous green city parks and gardens. We swung through several roundabouts and kept pointing out beautiful buildings, the imposing walls of the Red Fort and the bustling city streets that twirled by. It was all kind of a tease to see Delhi this way, knowing that we were just passing through on our way to Jaipur. I was happy that we'd be back to stay a night on the weekend on the way back because there was so much to see.
Thankfully there were tickets for the 8:50 PM train to Jaipur, and we were all grateful to stop our onward progression for a moment and sit in a safe haven at the train station: McDonald's. Their menu has a few similar items to McDonald's at home, but since they don't serve beef there are many fabulous vegetarian options, the best in my opinion being the McAloo Tikki. We felt quite relaxed as we boarded our train, especially when we realized our tickets were for the third tier a/c sleeper car! I digress at this point to comment that I had a transportation revelation. On our prior train trips in India, we had been booking the 'sleeper class' train, thinking it was the only the aptly-named sleeper car on the train where you could lie down on long padded benches to sleep. As I walked through the three tier a/c car, I realized that it was an upgraded version of the sleeper cars-nicer benches, privacy curtains, a/c and your own sheets, pillow and blanket. Also less cockroaches. So essentially, all cars on every train are sleeper cars in theory (with the exception of the chair coach cars), but we had been booking the absolute worst class because we thought it was the only place where we could recline. Oops. Anyways, we were quite comfy as we settled into our newly found luxury accomodation, and I gradually fell asleep despite the obscenely loud snoring, loud chatter and the chaiwalla's loud chants of "chai chai chai" that are ubiquitous no matter what class of train car you're in.
I set my alarm for 1 AM and when it went off held vigil for our group so that we wouldn't miss our stop in Jaipur. Since there are no announcements, it would be so easy to completely miss our stop and go straighton to the last stop in Jodhpur. I was relieved when the conductor passed by and I asked if the next stop was Jaipur. I strapped on my sandals, gathered my things, and went to wake Cristine. She and I then went to Michael and Julie's car, woke up Jules, then went to find Michael...to no avail. I began to panic as I felt the train slow down, worried we wouldn't find him and we'd miss our stop. The girls and I began frantically pulling aside curtains, shining our phone lights into the beds, loudly whispering his name. We must have woken up 20 sleeping people before the conductor came up to us, made the sign for 'glasses' by putting his fingers around his eyes, and we realized he was telling us Michael was waiting between the train cars. We breathed audible sighs of relief when we found him, a little sleepy and wearing glasses, standing on the platform between the cars. We happily disembarked at Jaipur Junction, and walked to the pre-arranged meeting spot I had set up with our driver from the hotel I booked in Jaipur. He called my Cristine's cell and I answered, listening to his voice as we walked outside the station.
"Hello Madame, are you outside?"
"Yes! Yes! Where are you?" I asked excitedly.
"I am outside Madame, I can see you."
"Where are you? I don't see you." I said, casting searching glances around the parking lot.
This went back and forth with me leading the group, talking to our driver and blindly walking around in the dark in front of the train station. After about one minute I realized that I could hear him not just on the phone, but also very close, and I turned around to find him standing with Julie, Michael and Cristine a few feet back, everyone laughing at me and enjoying his antics. And this was how we met Iswar, the 22 year-old impish, rickshaw-driving jokester from the hotel. He was quite hilarious on the short drive to the hotel, taking a circuitous route to allow each one of us to come up front and in turn drive the rickshaw. He was an expert coach, instructing us how to smoothly change gears by using the handlebar gear shift. He was quite enamored with Julie, and sang her a little song about a girl named Julie and a boy named Johnny.
"You're Julie. I'm Johnny. We can get married, I'll buy you a rickshaw, and we can have a business together."
He offered to give us a tour of Jaipur the next day, but since we had a driver booked already, we declined, though we found him quite charming. We were very pleased with our accomadationa at the Hotel Sunder Palace, a tall white structure that appeared simple on the outside, but inside held four spacious stories of rooms and a rooftoop garden terrace restaurant. It was decorated with lively colors and ornamentation on every wall, and I particularly liked the sitting area in our room, a lavish woven carpet on which were placed a low table to sit at as well as plump pillows, above which hung a red and yellow glass lamp that transformed the ordinary light in our room to a sultry yellow and scarlet hue. We had been traveling a full 24 hours at this point, and I fell into bed exhausted but very excited to be in Jaipur and to see the enchanting sights I had read so much about.
We woke up to the sounds of drumming outside our hotel in Jaipur, got ready and made our way to the rooftop restaurant of the lovely Hotel Sunder. The morning was crisp and cool, and we all appreciated the steaming kettles of hot coffee and tea that were brought to the table along with banana pancakes, fresh fruit and toast. Because we only had one day in Jaipur, we decided the best way to see all of the sights was to hire a driver for the day. Cristine had the number of a her father's former student's father's friend in Jaipur (that's like "7 degrees of Kevin Bacon right there) whom we unsuccessfully tried to communicate with several times. Because of the language barrier, we never reached a consensus about when our driver would arrive to the hotel, and these are the fortuitous circumstances that introduced us to Rafiq. Cristine and I were standing on the hotel driveway, looking for the unknown driver who we thought may have somehow shown up after I had almost shouted, "Hotel Sunder. 10 AM. Tourism. Driver!" to the poor man several times on the phone. We were a little disheartened that the driver hadn't worked out, when fate smiled our way and Rafiq walked up and said,
"Hello ladies! Good morning! I take you on beautiful tour of Jaipur. You will love it."
We were immediately sold by his jolly round face and happy smile, and agreed to the bargain price of 1200 rupees for a day of driving us around Jaipur. I liked him even more as he saw me watching the colorful clash of a wedding procession across the street, and he urged me to run over and take pictures.
We were soon packed into his small car and cruising the streets of Jaipur. He explained that we were staying in the New City, and that we soon would be entering the Old City, or the Pink City. He was a savvy tour guide, pointing out his favorite lassi stand, the post office and the theater that showed Bollywood movies. Throughout the day Rafiq told stories of his touring business, whipping out a tattered notebook in which his customers touted his impeccable driving, exciting tours and childlike charm. They were written in many languages, and Rafiq inquired if I could read any other than English. When I told him Spanish and a bit of the French and Italian, he giggled joyously and asked me,
"C'est va?"
To which I replied, "Tres bien!", which began our little comedy routine that we'd perform at every new stop, each time resulting in his supreme enjoyment. He was quite thoughtful, stopping once to get coughdrops for Cristine whose laryngitis had dropped her voice to a barely perceptible whisper.
Rafiq told us proudly that he had been born in Jaipur, had always lived in Jaipur, and loved his city. I could see why as we came upon the massive, dusky pink and majestic Ajmeri Gate that guards the entrance to the old city. We got out of the car to take pictures, and I was struck by the dichotomy of modern cars and rickshaws passing beneath the elegant beauty of such an architectural masterpiece.
Our next stop was the City Palace, built between 1729-1732 by Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh, the founder of Jaipur. The City Palace is a powerful blend of Rajasthani and Mughal architecture, an expansive complex composed of exquisite courtyards, gardens and buildings of fanciful and intricate design. The architects left no blank canvases on any facade, as each is transformed by spiraling minarets, symbolic paintings and elaborate marble carvings. My favorite room was the Diwan-I-Khas, the hall meant for private audiences of the maharaja and formal gatherings. In the center of the room was a raised platform covered in royal red carpeting, headed at one end by a beautiful gilt throne and surrounded by marble columns as a perimeter. Around the room hung portraits of the many maharajas, and it was interesting to read about their lives, accomplishments and interests. Many of them were brilliant scientists, musicians, skilled diplomats and all were dedicated to their beloved state of Rajasthan. During our visit to the palace, there was the hustle and bustle of preparing for a wedding. The columns of the courtyard were festooned with red, yellow and orange flowers, and 6-foot red crescent moons hung with shimmering strands of silver mirrors lined the walkways. We had fun envisioning the party that would follow that evening, what the bride would be wearing, and if there would be a deejay or a band (hee hee).
The next stop was the Jantar Mantar, the largest stone astronomical observatory in the world and a World Heritage Site. It was also built by Majaraja Sawai Jai Singh between 1727 and 1733, and is an enormous enclosed courtyard full of architectural astronomical instruments. The observatory has fourteen statistical instruments for measuring time, predicting eclipses and to ascertain other astronomical events. One of them, the sundial, tells the time to an accuracy of about two seconds in Jaipur local time. As I walked by each of them, reading about the intricate design and construct of each instrument (some of which were several building stories tall), I couldn't help but think that if Landon was a Rajasthani back in the Indian Medieval ages, he would certainly have had a hand in the construction of the Jantar Mantar. I know he would have loved to read about the instruments, and I would have appreciated his explanations as to the workings of such complex entities. Underlying the beautiful and abstract-looking constructions was a sense of the powerful curiosity and dedication that these scientists had possessed so many years ago.
Exiting the Jantar Mantar we were transfixed by two snake charmers, playing a haunting melody on their instruments as I watched in mixed fascination/horror as two massive black cobras silently rose and wavered from their straw baskets. Julie managed to snap a photo, and was immediately accosted for a 10 rupee photo fee, so we hightailed it out of the parking lot and Rafiq whisked us to the Hawa Mahal, or the Palace of the Winds. Built by Maharaja Sawai Pratap Singh in 1799, the palace is a five-story sandstone, pyramid-shaped facade with 953 small windows adorned with lacy lattice work. From the front, the hundreds of windows give the appearance of a giant, rose-colored honeycomb. The story tells of the women of the royal families who in strict "purdah" (cover), were only allowed to watch the procession of daily life and activity from these small windows and the numerous screened in balconies that mark the Hawa Mahal. I can't imagine living as a woman in these times, shut off from outside social contact and expected to remain unseen from all eyes other than those of your husband or family. I had Michael take a picture of me peering out of one of them, and then decided I'd go crazy if my world was confined to one I could only view through tiny stone lattice work. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows of the parlor rooms, coloring the cool marble floor with a dancing jewel mosaic. We climbed the steps to the top towers, and were rewarded with incredible views of the surrounding city.
We drove on to Royal Gaitor, the place of the tombs, or cenotaphs, of the maharajas. I exclaimed loudly when we saw the camel pass right outside my window, pulling his master in a cart down a busy street that was also trafficked by cars, buses and rickshaws. He was foaming at the mouth from the exertion of pulling at the cart, and I quite sorry for him as I do for the poor cows in Vellore that draggedly pull carts all over town. Upon arrival to Gaitor, we were immeadiately approached by two adorable boys, probably around sixyears old, begging for money. The begging is a constant presence in India, and every time I pass by someone asking for money, I feel a pain in my chest. If I know that I won't get mobbed by the crowd, I give money to those that I see, and these boys were no exception. I handed them coins and smiled at their camraderoe as the one threw his arm around the neck of the other and they walked away. The Gaitor was a serious of gigantic white marble tombs, nestled in the arms of two towering rocky hills, both of which were lined with rock walls and towers. Each monument had detailed carvings of elephants, horses, camels and to adorn the final resting place of the Maharajas that they guarded.
It was on our way from Royal Gaitor to the Amber Fort that I had my first elephant encounter. I saw her from a distance down the street and urged Rafiq to stop so I could get out for a better look. As I stepped from the car to get a closer view, her rider turned her towards the car so that in a few short seconds, she was standing right in front of me. I was rendered speechless for a moment, comprehending the fact that I was standing inches from this towering and beautiful creature. She was enormous, her head towering feet above mine, and her face, trunk and ears were covered in intricate painted designs in all the colors of the rainbow. Regaining my senses, I reached out my hand and was rewarded with a gentle nuzzle as she flicked her trunk to my outstretched hand. Being the socialite that he is, Rafiq knew the rider and the elephant. He told us her name was Muni, and that she was very sweet. I could have watched her forever, especially her quiet brown eyes, but Rafiq urged us on, saying we would see many more elephants on the way to the Amber Fort. We weren't disappointed because we saw many elephants, in similarly-painted fashion to Muni, on the ride to the Amber Fort. They all had riders on their backs as they plodded along the road, their natural beauty looking completely out-of-place next to the cars and buses that passed by them.
Rafiq skillfully drove around the curves that led us out of town, and we soon found ourselves in the foothills outside Jaipur. Rounding a bend, the Amber Fort came into view and we stopped a distance away to take in the way the sharp, straighr-lined geometry of the fort contrasted with the uneven crags of the mountains that supported the structure. The fort-palace of Amber used to be the ancient capital of Jaipur state, and we could see the fingers of battlements stretching in all directions over the hills with the magnificent honey-hued fort-palace nestled in the valley. The paths leading up to the fort crossed through courtyards of leafy trees and green grass, then bridged over the shining lake that surrounded the side not protected by the mountains. The fort was about a mile walk from the road up a stone path, and each step offered an increasing vantage point of the Rajasthani landscape. Upon reaching the top and the main entrance to the fort, we were met by several of its devoted guardians: monkeys! They adorned the walls and roofs of the structure like the gargoyles of Notre Dame, spontaneously changing poses to scamper across the roof to taunt one another or peer at the tourists that were equally curious about them. I was quite taken with one fellow in particular who was completely at ease, leaning against one of the towers and feigning disinterest as I snapped his picture.
We wandered around the Amber Fort for hours, losing ourselves in the hundreds of passageways that led to balconies, towers and hidden staircases. The Rajput architecture was ornate and impressive as we kept taking turns at random to see where the intricate maze might lead us. We ended our time at the Amber Fort with a trek up one of the perimeter walls to the top of one of the mountains. We climbed rough-hewn steps so crude and high at points that I had to use my arms and hands to crawl up some of them. Breathlessly we reached the top, and our efforts were rewarded with sweeping views of the nearby fort, the green valley below and the distant city just beyond the gate of the mountains. We sat in silence for a bit, marveling at what lay before us, thenstarted down to meet Rafiq at the car.
With two stops left to go, we broke for a late lunch of typical Rajasthani cuisine as well as some of our other more familiar favorites. We sat at a table next to a young Indian couple, the woman adorned with a multitude of colorful bangles and other ornate jewelry, and we surmised they were newlyweds celebrating their first week of marriage as it's the custom here that after the wedding the women continue to wear tons of elaborate jewelry in the weeks to follow. Lunch was delicious, and we thanked Rafiq for such an excellent suggestion when we returned to the car. With the sun past the midpoint of it's journey through the clear blue sky, we stopped on the banks of a silvery lake to gaze across the water at the palace that formed an island in it's center. Reachable only by boat, freestanding with no perimeter of land surrounding it, it seemed like an impossible mirage that could disappear in the blink of an eye. We snapped several photos by the lake with the Water Palace in the background, as well as several with Rafiq to remember our fabulous new friend.
The day of sightseeing concluded at Galta, the site of Surya Mandir (the temple of the Sun God), but also known as the Monkey Temple. As we climbed out of the car and walked up the stone path to the temple that jutted out over the top of the large hill, we learned that its moniker only described a fraction of the fauna we met on the way up. After buying peanuts to feed the monkeys, we were accompanied by a family of goats who insisted on walking side-by side with us to the top, hoping to catch a few stray peanuts. The path and hillsides were also home to cows, stray dogs and the occasional fat pig that lumbered by. At one point, I was able to snap a picture with all five different animals in it-monkey, dog, pig, cow and goat, cohabiting in a way that would have made Noah proud had they been roommates on the ark. However, as suggested by the name, the path to the Monkey Temple was indeed home to many monkeys of all ages and sizes. We witnessed agressive fights between males, mothers carrying their babies and brothers and sisters teasing and taunting as they scampered and climbed the walls. By holding a peanut between your thumb and forefinger, a monkey would creep up and gingerly pluck it from your hand and place it directly in their mouth, shell and all. I got a bit distracted by the baby monkeys gathered all around me, and it all happened very fast. The biggest male of the group swooped in and grabbed the entire bag of peanuts out of my hand before I could even react.
"Ugh!!! You jerk!" I exclaimed, shaking my fist and glaring at him.
He didn't show a bit of remorse and in fact was overtly rude, squatting on the wall just out of my reach and stuffing his face with his loot. I heard a cackle behind me and turned to face an old man that had watched the whole thing go down.
"That Big Boss!" He whooped, his sides shaking with laughter at my indignant expression.
I had to laugh at it all, especially when I felt a little hand spank my bottom, and turned to see one of the babies crouched on the wall beside me, beseeching me for more snacks. They were all quite eager, with one trying to pry open Julie's purse in search of more food. Extremely amused by our playmates, we continued to the top to see the Surya Mandir, the Temple of the Sun. We slipped off our shoes outside and entered the archway, feeling cold stone on our feet. We were urged by the temple keeper to come to the altar and he surprised us with a blessing from the sun god and a deft flick of the wrist and index finger that left us with a dot of yellow paint on our foreheads. Obliged to the Sun God after receiving the blessing, we each left a donation to which the temple keeper replied,
"Hmmm, only 20 rupees for the Sun God?" And shook his head.
I wondered how much of our rupees the Sun God himself would see, but just smiled as we exited the temple and walked to the stone wall at the edge of the cliff, where we could see Jaipur bathed in the hazy orange glow of a splendid setting sun. It created a homogenous beauty to the varying shapes of the buildings and houses below and the mountains on the outskirts of the town. On the walk down we stopped to let Michael feed a cookie to a bored-looking cow, and watched in fascination as another one gingerly climbed a flight of narrow stairs into a house. I completely agreed with Rafiq's comment when we returned to the car after narrowly avoiding a dog-pig-cow fight and watching a stampeding cow almost take out two girls waiting for the bus:
"This is India! It's a zoo! I love my country."
We spent the early part of the evening purusing the local bazaars. Jaipur is extremely famous for its precious stones and exports them all over the world. We were welcomed to the upstairs of a building where we watched workers polishing sapphires, rubies, turquoise and emeralds on stone wheels. The intricate shapes and facets they were able to carve into the unadulterated stones were beautiful, and I bought two pairs of earrings. Our next stop will go down in history, because it was in this quiet and lovely textile store that Julie, Cristine and I bought our sarees! The young and charming shopkeeper urged us to sit on a long upholstered red bench that ran the length of the store in order to face the massive wall of saris that also ran the length of the store but was stacked to the ceiling with sarees. A little intimidating, but very fun. And so began an endless parade of the most fantastic colors and textures I have seen and felt as he passed sari after sari through our hands. No two sarees were exactly alike, and they ranged from sequined to embroidered, shiny to matte, sheer to solid and in all imaginable colors. If I showed any interest he would quickly pull me off the bench, rapidly tie the sari around my waist and expertly form the pleats and finish with a flourish as he tossed the end over my shoulder. I tried on several beautiful ones before settling on one of brilliant blue, threaded with silver and gold, with a background of delicate tiny flowers and a border of gleaming gold embellishment. I knew the moment he unfolded it that it was the one I wanted, but he fashioned it to my body and when he was done whispered,
"Go look at yourself."
I stood in front of the three way mirror, admiring how smoothly the silk fell from my shoulder to the ground, the pleats flowing smoothly like a river.
"Ok." I said with a smile."
"Ok!" He said happily, then called for the tailor to take the seven complex measurements to make the sari top shirt that goes underneath. Julie chose a stunning indigo sari, dotted with gold, bordered with brilliant burgundy and gold, and with a stunning turquoise sari top. Cristine chose a shining deep purple, intricately inlaid with a scrolling gold pattern. We are excited to wear them to celebrate Cami and Roshan's wedding next year, and I am happy that when I'm at home, I will always have a visual reminder of the India that is so colorful and beautiful in my mind.
Mike was quite a sport during the whole sari process, and as always we were thankful for our lone male traveling companion for so many reasons, one of them being that he so kindly tolerates our shopping. He grew up with three sisters, so he's quote accustomed to the craziness of women. A fact that I believe has allowed him to survive this long. :)
Pretty tired from our whirlwind tour of Jaipur, we opted to dine on the rooftop of the Hotel Sunder Palace, sipping Kingfishers, eating scrumptious Indian food and watching the twinkling lights of Jaipur below. I hadto admit, Rajasthan was the side of India I had dreamed about from watching Aladdin. The imagery of incense-filled ornate palaces with keyhole-shaped doors, shrouded in the majesty of true royalty of days gone by is the precise image that Jaipur embodies. As I lay down to sleep that night, I wished that we could have spent more time in this jewel of Rajasthan, but I knew that The Golden Triangle had more in store for us.
Stepping outside the airport I was surprised by the crisp coolness of the air in northern India, so different than the humid heat of the south. We opted for a pre-paid cab to the train station, the morning negotiations with the Chennai rickshaw driver still fresh in our minds, and we were soon weaving in and out of five o'clock traffic in Delhi. We were amused by the wild peacocks perched on bilboards and the monkeys that scampered on top of the buildings as we passed cars that ranged from dingy rickshaws to brand new BMWs. New Delhi has definitely been touched by the hand of modernization and progress, and I thought many times how clean it was as we passed the numerous green city parks and gardens. We swung through several roundabouts and kept pointing out beautiful buildings, the imposing walls of the Red Fort and the bustling city streets that twirled by. It was all kind of a tease to see Delhi this way, knowing that we were just passing through on our way to Jaipur. I was happy that we'd be back to stay a night on the weekend on the way back because there was so much to see.
Thankfully there were tickets for the 8:50 PM train to Jaipur, and we were all grateful to stop our onward progression for a moment and sit in a safe haven at the train station: McDonald's. Their menu has a few similar items to McDonald's at home, but since they don't serve beef there are many fabulous vegetarian options, the best in my opinion being the McAloo Tikki. We felt quite relaxed as we boarded our train, especially when we realized our tickets were for the third tier a/c sleeper car! I digress at this point to comment that I had a transportation revelation. On our prior train trips in India, we had been booking the 'sleeper class' train, thinking it was the only the aptly-named sleeper car on the train where you could lie down on long padded benches to sleep. As I walked through the three tier a/c car, I realized that it was an upgraded version of the sleeper cars-nicer benches, privacy curtains, a/c and your own sheets, pillow and blanket. Also less cockroaches. So essentially, all cars on every train are sleeper cars in theory (with the exception of the chair coach cars), but we had been booking the absolute worst class because we thought it was the only place where we could recline. Oops. Anyways, we were quite comfy as we settled into our newly found luxury accomodation, and I gradually fell asleep despite the obscenely loud snoring, loud chatter and the chaiwalla's loud chants of "chai chai chai" that are ubiquitous no matter what class of train car you're in.
I set my alarm for 1 AM and when it went off held vigil for our group so that we wouldn't miss our stop in Jaipur. Since there are no announcements, it would be so easy to completely miss our stop and go straighton to the last stop in Jodhpur. I was relieved when the conductor passed by and I asked if the next stop was Jaipur. I strapped on my sandals, gathered my things, and went to wake Cristine. She and I then went to Michael and Julie's car, woke up Jules, then went to find Michael...to no avail. I began to panic as I felt the train slow down, worried we wouldn't find him and we'd miss our stop. The girls and I began frantically pulling aside curtains, shining our phone lights into the beds, loudly whispering his name. We must have woken up 20 sleeping people before the conductor came up to us, made the sign for 'glasses' by putting his fingers around his eyes, and we realized he was telling us Michael was waiting between the train cars. We breathed audible sighs of relief when we found him, a little sleepy and wearing glasses, standing on the platform between the cars. We happily disembarked at Jaipur Junction, and walked to the pre-arranged meeting spot I had set up with our driver from the hotel I booked in Jaipur. He called my Cristine's cell and I answered, listening to his voice as we walked outside the station.
"Hello Madame, are you outside?"
"Yes! Yes! Where are you?" I asked excitedly.
"I am outside Madame, I can see you."
"Where are you? I don't see you." I said, casting searching glances around the parking lot.
This went back and forth with me leading the group, talking to our driver and blindly walking around in the dark in front of the train station. After about one minute I realized that I could hear him not just on the phone, but also very close, and I turned around to find him standing with Julie, Michael and Cristine a few feet back, everyone laughing at me and enjoying his antics. And this was how we met Iswar, the 22 year-old impish, rickshaw-driving jokester from the hotel. He was quite hilarious on the short drive to the hotel, taking a circuitous route to allow each one of us to come up front and in turn drive the rickshaw. He was an expert coach, instructing us how to smoothly change gears by using the handlebar gear shift. He was quite enamored with Julie, and sang her a little song about a girl named Julie and a boy named Johnny.
"You're Julie. I'm Johnny. We can get married, I'll buy you a rickshaw, and we can have a business together."
He offered to give us a tour of Jaipur the next day, but since we had a driver booked already, we declined, though we found him quite charming. We were very pleased with our accomadationa at the Hotel Sunder Palace, a tall white structure that appeared simple on the outside, but inside held four spacious stories of rooms and a rooftoop garden terrace restaurant. It was decorated with lively colors and ornamentation on every wall, and I particularly liked the sitting area in our room, a lavish woven carpet on which were placed a low table to sit at as well as plump pillows, above which hung a red and yellow glass lamp that transformed the ordinary light in our room to a sultry yellow and scarlet hue. We had been traveling a full 24 hours at this point, and I fell into bed exhausted but very excited to be in Jaipur and to see the enchanting sights I had read so much about.
We woke up to the sounds of drumming outside our hotel in Jaipur, got ready and made our way to the rooftop restaurant of the lovely Hotel Sunder. The morning was crisp and cool, and we all appreciated the steaming kettles of hot coffee and tea that were brought to the table along with banana pancakes, fresh fruit and toast. Because we only had one day in Jaipur, we decided the best way to see all of the sights was to hire a driver for the day. Cristine had the number of a her father's former student's father's friend in Jaipur (that's like "7 degrees of Kevin Bacon right there) whom we unsuccessfully tried to communicate with several times. Because of the language barrier, we never reached a consensus about when our driver would arrive to the hotel, and these are the fortuitous circumstances that introduced us to Rafiq. Cristine and I were standing on the hotel driveway, looking for the unknown driver who we thought may have somehow shown up after I had almost shouted, "Hotel Sunder. 10 AM. Tourism. Driver!" to the poor man several times on the phone. We were a little disheartened that the driver hadn't worked out, when fate smiled our way and Rafiq walked up and said,
"Hello ladies! Good morning! I take you on beautiful tour of Jaipur. You will love it."
We were immediately sold by his jolly round face and happy smile, and agreed to the bargain price of 1200 rupees for a day of driving us around Jaipur. I liked him even more as he saw me watching the colorful clash of a wedding procession across the street, and he urged me to run over and take pictures.
We were soon packed into his small car and cruising the streets of Jaipur. He explained that we were staying in the New City, and that we soon would be entering the Old City, or the Pink City. He was a savvy tour guide, pointing out his favorite lassi stand, the post office and the theater that showed Bollywood movies. Throughout the day Rafiq told stories of his touring business, whipping out a tattered notebook in which his customers touted his impeccable driving, exciting tours and childlike charm. They were written in many languages, and Rafiq inquired if I could read any other than English. When I told him Spanish and a bit of the French and Italian, he giggled joyously and asked me,
"C'est va?"
To which I replied, "Tres bien!", which began our little comedy routine that we'd perform at every new stop, each time resulting in his supreme enjoyment. He was quite thoughtful, stopping once to get coughdrops for Cristine whose laryngitis had dropped her voice to a barely perceptible whisper.
Rafiq told us proudly that he had been born in Jaipur, had always lived in Jaipur, and loved his city. I could see why as we came upon the massive, dusky pink and majestic Ajmeri Gate that guards the entrance to the old city. We got out of the car to take pictures, and I was struck by the dichotomy of modern cars and rickshaws passing beneath the elegant beauty of such an architectural masterpiece.
Our next stop was the City Palace, built between 1729-1732 by Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh, the founder of Jaipur. The City Palace is a powerful blend of Rajasthani and Mughal architecture, an expansive complex composed of exquisite courtyards, gardens and buildings of fanciful and intricate design. The architects left no blank canvases on any facade, as each is transformed by spiraling minarets, symbolic paintings and elaborate marble carvings. My favorite room was the Diwan-I-Khas, the hall meant for private audiences of the maharaja and formal gatherings. In the center of the room was a raised platform covered in royal red carpeting, headed at one end by a beautiful gilt throne and surrounded by marble columns as a perimeter. Around the room hung portraits of the many maharajas, and it was interesting to read about their lives, accomplishments and interests. Many of them were brilliant scientists, musicians, skilled diplomats and all were dedicated to their beloved state of Rajasthan. During our visit to the palace, there was the hustle and bustle of preparing for a wedding. The columns of the courtyard were festooned with red, yellow and orange flowers, and 6-foot red crescent moons hung with shimmering strands of silver mirrors lined the walkways. We had fun envisioning the party that would follow that evening, what the bride would be wearing, and if there would be a deejay or a band (hee hee).
The next stop was the Jantar Mantar, the largest stone astronomical observatory in the world and a World Heritage Site. It was also built by Majaraja Sawai Jai Singh between 1727 and 1733, and is an enormous enclosed courtyard full of architectural astronomical instruments. The observatory has fourteen statistical instruments for measuring time, predicting eclipses and to ascertain other astronomical events. One of them, the sundial, tells the time to an accuracy of about two seconds in Jaipur local time. As I walked by each of them, reading about the intricate design and construct of each instrument (some of which were several building stories tall), I couldn't help but think that if Landon was a Rajasthani back in the Indian Medieval ages, he would certainly have had a hand in the construction of the Jantar Mantar. I know he would have loved to read about the instruments, and I would have appreciated his explanations as to the workings of such complex entities. Underlying the beautiful and abstract-looking constructions was a sense of the powerful curiosity and dedication that these scientists had possessed so many years ago.
Exiting the Jantar Mantar we were transfixed by two snake charmers, playing a haunting melody on their instruments as I watched in mixed fascination/horror as two massive black cobras silently rose and wavered from their straw baskets. Julie managed to snap a photo, and was immediately accosted for a 10 rupee photo fee, so we hightailed it out of the parking lot and Rafiq whisked us to the Hawa Mahal, or the Palace of the Winds. Built by Maharaja Sawai Pratap Singh in 1799, the palace is a five-story sandstone, pyramid-shaped facade with 953 small windows adorned with lacy lattice work. From the front, the hundreds of windows give the appearance of a giant, rose-colored honeycomb. The story tells of the women of the royal families who in strict "purdah" (cover), were only allowed to watch the procession of daily life and activity from these small windows and the numerous screened in balconies that mark the Hawa Mahal. I can't imagine living as a woman in these times, shut off from outside social contact and expected to remain unseen from all eyes other than those of your husband or family. I had Michael take a picture of me peering out of one of them, and then decided I'd go crazy if my world was confined to one I could only view through tiny stone lattice work. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows of the parlor rooms, coloring the cool marble floor with a dancing jewel mosaic. We climbed the steps to the top towers, and were rewarded with incredible views of the surrounding city.
We drove on to Royal Gaitor, the place of the tombs, or cenotaphs, of the maharajas. I exclaimed loudly when we saw the camel pass right outside my window, pulling his master in a cart down a busy street that was also trafficked by cars, buses and rickshaws. He was foaming at the mouth from the exertion of pulling at the cart, and I quite sorry for him as I do for the poor cows in Vellore that draggedly pull carts all over town. Upon arrival to Gaitor, we were immeadiately approached by two adorable boys, probably around sixyears old, begging for money. The begging is a constant presence in India, and every time I pass by someone asking for money, I feel a pain in my chest. If I know that I won't get mobbed by the crowd, I give money to those that I see, and these boys were no exception. I handed them coins and smiled at their camraderoe as the one threw his arm around the neck of the other and they walked away. The Gaitor was a serious of gigantic white marble tombs, nestled in the arms of two towering rocky hills, both of which were lined with rock walls and towers. Each monument had detailed carvings of elephants, horses, camels and to adorn the final resting place of the Maharajas that they guarded.
It was on our way from Royal Gaitor to the Amber Fort that I had my first elephant encounter. I saw her from a distance down the street and urged Rafiq to stop so I could get out for a better look. As I stepped from the car to get a closer view, her rider turned her towards the car so that in a few short seconds, she was standing right in front of me. I was rendered speechless for a moment, comprehending the fact that I was standing inches from this towering and beautiful creature. She was enormous, her head towering feet above mine, and her face, trunk and ears were covered in intricate painted designs in all the colors of the rainbow. Regaining my senses, I reached out my hand and was rewarded with a gentle nuzzle as she flicked her trunk to my outstretched hand. Being the socialite that he is, Rafiq knew the rider and the elephant. He told us her name was Muni, and that she was very sweet. I could have watched her forever, especially her quiet brown eyes, but Rafiq urged us on, saying we would see many more elephants on the way to the Amber Fort. We weren't disappointed because we saw many elephants, in similarly-painted fashion to Muni, on the ride to the Amber Fort. They all had riders on their backs as they plodded along the road, their natural beauty looking completely out-of-place next to the cars and buses that passed by them.
Rafiq skillfully drove around the curves that led us out of town, and we soon found ourselves in the foothills outside Jaipur. Rounding a bend, the Amber Fort came into view and we stopped a distance away to take in the way the sharp, straighr-lined geometry of the fort contrasted with the uneven crags of the mountains that supported the structure. The fort-palace of Amber used to be the ancient capital of Jaipur state, and we could see the fingers of battlements stretching in all directions over the hills with the magnificent honey-hued fort-palace nestled in the valley. The paths leading up to the fort crossed through courtyards of leafy trees and green grass, then bridged over the shining lake that surrounded the side not protected by the mountains. The fort was about a mile walk from the road up a stone path, and each step offered an increasing vantage point of the Rajasthani landscape. Upon reaching the top and the main entrance to the fort, we were met by several of its devoted guardians: monkeys! They adorned the walls and roofs of the structure like the gargoyles of Notre Dame, spontaneously changing poses to scamper across the roof to taunt one another or peer at the tourists that were equally curious about them. I was quite taken with one fellow in particular who was completely at ease, leaning against one of the towers and feigning disinterest as I snapped his picture.
We wandered around the Amber Fort for hours, losing ourselves in the hundreds of passageways that led to balconies, towers and hidden staircases. The Rajput architecture was ornate and impressive as we kept taking turns at random to see where the intricate maze might lead us. We ended our time at the Amber Fort with a trek up one of the perimeter walls to the top of one of the mountains. We climbed rough-hewn steps so crude and high at points that I had to use my arms and hands to crawl up some of them. Breathlessly we reached the top, and our efforts were rewarded with sweeping views of the nearby fort, the green valley below and the distant city just beyond the gate of the mountains. We sat in silence for a bit, marveling at what lay before us, thenstarted down to meet Rafiq at the car.
With two stops left to go, we broke for a late lunch of typical Rajasthani cuisine as well as some of our other more familiar favorites. We sat at a table next to a young Indian couple, the woman adorned with a multitude of colorful bangles and other ornate jewelry, and we surmised they were newlyweds celebrating their first week of marriage as it's the custom here that after the wedding the women continue to wear tons of elaborate jewelry in the weeks to follow. Lunch was delicious, and we thanked Rafiq for such an excellent suggestion when we returned to the car. With the sun past the midpoint of it's journey through the clear blue sky, we stopped on the banks of a silvery lake to gaze across the water at the palace that formed an island in it's center. Reachable only by boat, freestanding with no perimeter of land surrounding it, it seemed like an impossible mirage that could disappear in the blink of an eye. We snapped several photos by the lake with the Water Palace in the background, as well as several with Rafiq to remember our fabulous new friend.
The day of sightseeing concluded at Galta, the site of Surya Mandir (the temple of the Sun God), but also known as the Monkey Temple. As we climbed out of the car and walked up the stone path to the temple that jutted out over the top of the large hill, we learned that its moniker only described a fraction of the fauna we met on the way up. After buying peanuts to feed the monkeys, we were accompanied by a family of goats who insisted on walking side-by side with us to the top, hoping to catch a few stray peanuts. The path and hillsides were also home to cows, stray dogs and the occasional fat pig that lumbered by. At one point, I was able to snap a picture with all five different animals in it-monkey, dog, pig, cow and goat, cohabiting in a way that would have made Noah proud had they been roommates on the ark. However, as suggested by the name, the path to the Monkey Temple was indeed home to many monkeys of all ages and sizes. We witnessed agressive fights between males, mothers carrying their babies and brothers and sisters teasing and taunting as they scampered and climbed the walls. By holding a peanut between your thumb and forefinger, a monkey would creep up and gingerly pluck it from your hand and place it directly in their mouth, shell and all. I got a bit distracted by the baby monkeys gathered all around me, and it all happened very fast. The biggest male of the group swooped in and grabbed the entire bag of peanuts out of my hand before I could even react.
"Ugh!!! You jerk!" I exclaimed, shaking my fist and glaring at him.
He didn't show a bit of remorse and in fact was overtly rude, squatting on the wall just out of my reach and stuffing his face with his loot. I heard a cackle behind me and turned to face an old man that had watched the whole thing go down.
"That Big Boss!" He whooped, his sides shaking with laughter at my indignant expression.
I had to laugh at it all, especially when I felt a little hand spank my bottom, and turned to see one of the babies crouched on the wall beside me, beseeching me for more snacks. They were all quite eager, with one trying to pry open Julie's purse in search of more food. Extremely amused by our playmates, we continued to the top to see the Surya Mandir, the Temple of the Sun. We slipped off our shoes outside and entered the archway, feeling cold stone on our feet. We were urged by the temple keeper to come to the altar and he surprised us with a blessing from the sun god and a deft flick of the wrist and index finger that left us with a dot of yellow paint on our foreheads. Obliged to the Sun God after receiving the blessing, we each left a donation to which the temple keeper replied,
"Hmmm, only 20 rupees for the Sun God?" And shook his head.
I wondered how much of our rupees the Sun God himself would see, but just smiled as we exited the temple and walked to the stone wall at the edge of the cliff, where we could see Jaipur bathed in the hazy orange glow of a splendid setting sun. It created a homogenous beauty to the varying shapes of the buildings and houses below and the mountains on the outskirts of the town. On the walk down we stopped to let Michael feed a cookie to a bored-looking cow, and watched in fascination as another one gingerly climbed a flight of narrow stairs into a house. I completely agreed with Rafiq's comment when we returned to the car after narrowly avoiding a dog-pig-cow fight and watching a stampeding cow almost take out two girls waiting for the bus:
"This is India! It's a zoo! I love my country."
We spent the early part of the evening purusing the local bazaars. Jaipur is extremely famous for its precious stones and exports them all over the world. We were welcomed to the upstairs of a building where we watched workers polishing sapphires, rubies, turquoise and emeralds on stone wheels. The intricate shapes and facets they were able to carve into the unadulterated stones were beautiful, and I bought two pairs of earrings. Our next stop will go down in history, because it was in this quiet and lovely textile store that Julie, Cristine and I bought our sarees! The young and charming shopkeeper urged us to sit on a long upholstered red bench that ran the length of the store in order to face the massive wall of saris that also ran the length of the store but was stacked to the ceiling with sarees. A little intimidating, but very fun. And so began an endless parade of the most fantastic colors and textures I have seen and felt as he passed sari after sari through our hands. No two sarees were exactly alike, and they ranged from sequined to embroidered, shiny to matte, sheer to solid and in all imaginable colors. If I showed any interest he would quickly pull me off the bench, rapidly tie the sari around my waist and expertly form the pleats and finish with a flourish as he tossed the end over my shoulder. I tried on several beautiful ones before settling on one of brilliant blue, threaded with silver and gold, with a background of delicate tiny flowers and a border of gleaming gold embellishment. I knew the moment he unfolded it that it was the one I wanted, but he fashioned it to my body and when he was done whispered,
"Go look at yourself."
I stood in front of the three way mirror, admiring how smoothly the silk fell from my shoulder to the ground, the pleats flowing smoothly like a river.
"Ok." I said with a smile."
"Ok!" He said happily, then called for the tailor to take the seven complex measurements to make the sari top shirt that goes underneath. Julie chose a stunning indigo sari, dotted with gold, bordered with brilliant burgundy and gold, and with a stunning turquoise sari top. Cristine chose a shining deep purple, intricately inlaid with a scrolling gold pattern. We are excited to wear them to celebrate Cami and Roshan's wedding next year, and I am happy that when I'm at home, I will always have a visual reminder of the India that is so colorful and beautiful in my mind.
Mike was quite a sport during the whole sari process, and as always we were thankful for our lone male traveling companion for so many reasons, one of them being that he so kindly tolerates our shopping. He grew up with three sisters, so he's quote accustomed to the craziness of women. A fact that I believe has allowed him to survive this long. :)
Pretty tired from our whirlwind tour of Jaipur, we opted to dine on the rooftop of the Hotel Sunder Palace, sipping Kingfishers, eating scrumptious Indian food and watching the twinkling lights of Jaipur below. I hadto admit, Rajasthan was the side of India I had dreamed about from watching Aladdin. The imagery of incense-filled ornate palaces with keyhole-shaped doors, shrouded in the majesty of true royalty of days gone by is the precise image that Jaipur embodies. As I lay down to sleep that night, I wished that we could have spent more time in this jewel of Rajasthan, but I knew that The Golden Triangle had more in store for us.
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