Where's Grayleen?

what we did: We spent two weeks in the North of India right in the middle of the hot season, decidedly the wrong time of the year to visit. We visited Delhi and took a day trip over the Agra to see the Taj Mahal. Then we headed west into the desert state of Rajasthan to visit Jaisalmer and Jodhpur. We wrapped things up with a trip north to Rishikesh, a holy city situated in the foothills of the Himalayan mountains and on the Ganges River.

The street is mine

exchange rate: 1 USD = 44 Indian Rupees.

relative cost: India can be one of the cheapest places in the world to travel. But, if you want to do it in style, there are ways to spend a lot of money on lodging and food. We almost exclusively chose the budget route, paying $5-10/night for budget hotels and found that we could have delicious meals for just a couple of dollars. Train rides of 20+ hours in modern air conditioned cars were about $10.

our love/hate relationship with India: India is a country of extremes. It is impossible to visit India for the first time and not have it make an impression. There was immense beauty everywhere we looked. But it was so exhausting, sapping us of every last bit of energy we had. Indeed, we found ourselves see-sawing between falling head-over-heels in love on the one hand and feeling a deep loathing that made us want to escape as fast as possible on the other. It seems impossible to provide our usual overall impression for India (our guide book says, “bamboozling”). Here are some of our impressions:

Love: The food. Curries so delicious you want to cry. Masala chai so tasty you wonder why anyone drinks anything else. And the mangoes. Oh, sweet lord, the mangoes!

Hate: The food. Inevitable and most likely violent gastrointestinal problems result.

Love: The rich colors. Vermillion turbans, saris of magenta, turquoise, garnet. India is ground zero for color, and everywhere else seems dull and desaturated by comparison. It appears that they invented color here, and in fact, they kinda did.

Hate: The disgusting filth. There is trash absolutely everywhere. You have to stay constantly alert lest you step in feces. The air is so polluted, our eyes and throats burned and wiping our grimy faces with a wet-wipe after a couple of hours outside turned the wipe dark gray.

Love: The smells. Rich spices, freshly baked naan, deep fried street food, incense.

Hate: The smells. Open sewers, rotting garbage, human and animal excrement.

Love: The warmth of the people. They were eager to help us and share tips about their country. Time and time again, we found ourselves in fascinating conversations with about Indian culture.

Hate: The continuous honking. This drove Aileen so nuts that she feared Gray would have to drop her off at the loony bin and continue the trip on his own.

Love: The constant flurry of activity. This is a country that is quickly modernizing, with an economy that is growing at break-neck speed, and it is easy to see why when you look around.

Hate: Lines. It’s near-impossible to make forward progress with the line cutters and elbow-throwing grannies.

Love: The smiling faces and outstretched hands that greeted us wherever we went. Check some out here.

Hate: The heart-wrenching poverty and how the Hindu religion seems to say that people shouldn’t even try to change it.

Love: The cows everywhere.

And so much more!

One of a sea of beautiful faces

we recommend:

- Eating amazing cuisines local to distant parts of India right in the heart of New Delhi

Aileen stumbled upon a New York Times article that tells of eating in the cafeterias of the government workers who represent the different Indian states in Delhi, the national capital. It’s like learning that the U.S. House of Representatives has a different restaurant, for the workers from each of the 50 states, with imported chefs and subsidized prices no less. We only had time to eat at one, the Southern state of Andhra Pradesh, home of Hyderabad. The all-you-can eat thali cost us next to nothing and was some of the best food we tried in all of India.

- Visiting Jaisalmer and taking a camel safari with Ba

We had an amazing time in Jaisalmer. The ancient, but still living, fort and surrounding city were beautiful and fun at the same time. We visited in the low (read: hot) season and it felt like we had the entire town to ourselves. Your mileage may vary if you’re visiting during the peak season. If you’re heading to Jaisalmer, drop us a line and we’ll point you with the best of our ability to Ba’s hotel.

- Eating lunch at the Umaid Bhawan Palace in Jodhpur, if your budget allows

If you have $80-100 to drop on a mediocre lunch, I guarantee there is no place better in the world. We had an absolute blast and would highly recommend it.

- Taking the train rather than using a driver, and book trains via cleartrip.com.

Many visitors to India hire drivers to take them on tours across the country. Unless you grew up in India, driving yourself would be simply insane. Lacking a clear better option, we traveled with a driver on our overnight jaunt to Agra. The pollution, constant honking, and idiotic drivers drove us bonkers. We used the train to travel throughout Rajasthan and to Rishikesh, and found it to be way more pleasant (and super-cheap to boot!). Book tickets online with ClearTrip.com and take a bit of time searching around IndiaMike.com to learn the intricacies of getting a reservation (e.g. on one trip we actually purchased four tickets each and then canceled three once we received a confirmation of our preferred spots).

Every now and then on this trip we’ve had a simple experience that somehow just seems to capture the essence of a place.  In Cartagena, Colombia it was listening to live creole music in the street late at night with spicy street food in hand.  In Buenos Aires it was sipping wine at packed tables set up in neighborhood square watching everyday Argentinians tango the night away.  These moments in time could never explain a people or a culture of course, but they sure do seem to do a good job getting at the heart of things.  Well, this is India…

After two weeks of traveling around India, we arrived late at night at the Old Delhi train station.  An Iranian girl we’d befriended on the train said that she wanted to use the prepay taxi stand instead of negotiating with one of the many drivers that were sure to hassle us at the exit of the station.  Liking her thinking, we decided we’d follow suit.  For those that don’t know, prepay taxi systems are set up in areas frequented by tourists in order to avoid taxi drivers taking advantage.  It’s pretty simple: you go to an official window where you tell the attendant your destination and fork over some cash in exchange for a voucher.  You give the voucher to the driver and you’re all set. We’ve had great experiences with this system in Colombia, Chile, and elsewhere.  But nothing in India is ever so simple.

The prepay window turned out to be surprisingly hard to find.  The swarming rickshaw drivers certainly weren’t any help, and everyone else we asked either had never heard of this prepay thing or else pointed us in a seemingly random direction.  After six or eight queries, I struck gold with a gun-toting security guard who indicated a decrepit stone shack across the parking lot.  We strolled up and I got into a line of about ten people, mercifully short.  At this point I’d been in a line or two in India (though, to be honest, I’d never before made it to the front of one) so I knew what would ensue.    As I stood there, several men walked up one after the other and put a hand on the shoulder of someone a bit ahead of me, acting like they knew the person (they didn’t) and joining them in line.  I knew this trick and I pointedly told them they were behind me in line.  Directly confronted, they moved behind me.  Then there were the tiny elderly women.  They walked right up to the front of the line and bent their slight frames with the skill of linebackers to the task of shoving the head of the line out of their way.  Again, I was ready.  Along with others near me, I assumed a classic basketball stance and “boxed them out”.  A couple made it through; most did not.  Finally at the front of the line, I handed over my 80 rupees (~$2) and received my prepaid voucher.  Success!

Or so I thought.

I asked the first rickshaw driver I saw and he said that in order to use the prepaid voucher I would need to catch a rickshaw just outside of the gates of the train station.  We followed his pointed finger and hailed ourselves a driver.  Very politely, this new driver informed us that we would need to seek out a rickshaw driver within the gates of the train station.  Great.  Back inside, we saw another line of rickshaws within an inner parking lot.  They helpfully pointed us back where we started.  We tried several drivers there, each one mumbling some slightly different suggestion of where else we should try.  We were not alone in this: there were eight or ten Indians also in the same pickle and looking pretty exasperated.  We noticed that they were starting congregate around a different gun-toting security guard and were having a bunch of heated exchanges with him in Hindi.

I marched up to the security guard and, in my best “you need to listen to me” voice, demanded that he help tame these rickshaw drivers so that I can get the ride for which I’ve already paid.  He gave me the universal “just one minute” sign and proceeded to pull out his phone and start chatting with someone.  He walked right away from me and the rest of the hoard of angry voucher-holders and went inside the voucher booth.  He then fully ignored everyone.  This was when I finally had my “Ah-ha!” moment.  Why would a rickshaw driver ever want to give anyone a ride for the official fare when he can extort more money out of his clients?  It’s not like other countries where there is that pesky “rule of law” and associated civil or criminal penalties.  Not for this sort of thing anyway.  I finally knew what to do.

I walked back over to the first rickshaw driver we’d talked to who had so kindly offered us the advice to head outside the gate and asked, “I have this voucher, how much more do I need to pay?”  After studying the address on the voucher, told us 40 more rupees (~$1) would cut it as a “nighttime fee”.  The deal struck, Aileen and I hopped into the back of the rickshaw.  The driver revved the engine and then turned around and confirmed, “You will give me an extra 50 rupees with the voucher.”  I had to stop Aileen from protesting – I was not willing to lost this ride over 25 cents.  I agreed, 50 rupees, and we were finally off (well, after he pulled over to buy himself some cigarettes and something to eat, and pulled over again to chat with another rickshaw driver a while, but close enough).

The ride itself was pretty normal for India – lots of pollution, horns blaring, kids begging, running red lights, seemingly random turns – except it turned out that our driver had absolutely no idea where he was going.  He kept stopping and asking random people on the side of the street where to go – again and again.  When we were finally in the right neighborhood, but hadn’t yet found where we needed to go, he pulled over and suggested that we had arrived at our destination and asked us to pay.  Uhm, no thanks!  He then said that he expected us to pay him a “tip” on top of the our original agreement.  Not really having much of an option, we agreed.  After two more stops for directions and some helpful suggestions from the back seat, we finally arrived at our hotel and forked over the voucher for 80 rupees, the “night fee” of 50, and a “tip” of 20.

During the ride Aileen and I had been surprised and amused to see that the rickshaw was actually equipped with a meter.  The final listed fare?  63 rupees.

Rishikesh is one of the sites where Hindu pilgrims come to bathe in the sacred Ganga.  Many Hindus believe that life is incomplete without taking a bath in the Ganga at least once, which is purported to cleanse the soul of sins and the body of ills.  It was fun to watch everyone, especially the kids, splash around.

More photos from Rishikesh here.

With a long morning of Jodhpur sightseeing under our belts and stomachs grumbling for attention, I nonchalantly mentioned to Aileen that I had read something in the guide book about being able to dine at the Umaid Bhawan Palace, home of the Rajastani Maharaja, which was right then a magnificent, curvacious silhouette on the hazy desert horizon. In 1972, when he ceded all of his remaining official royal authority to the Indian government, the Maharaja became just another guy needing to make a buck and shrewdly decided to turn the lion’s share of his palace into a hotel with associated restaurant.

Umaid Bhawan Palace seen from back garden

We arrived by rickshaw at the massive palace set on the highest point in town and headed over to the main gate manned by several serious looking security guards who were eyeing us more than just a bit suspiciously. Feeling quite intimidated and very out of place, I squeaked out something about wanting to eat lunch. The head guard quickly informed us that non-resident guests must spend a minimum of 2,000 rupees (US $45). Per person. Gulp. Would we like to reserve a table? Aileen and I risked a glance at each other, both falsely hoping the guards couldn’t read the looks on our faces. $90 is an obscene amount of money to spend on lunch anywhere, but in India it’s plain crazy. I mean, our none-too-shabby hotel room in town was $5/night. But we were there to experience this other, and very real, über-opulent side of India and so we responded, “No problem!”

The security guards were taking things pretty seriously – passport checks, metal detectors, and pat downs – but hey, there’s a king in there after all! I felt like an underage kid with a fake ID as he asked me to confirm various pieces of personal information from my passport. My confidence hit rock bottom when he asked where we were staying. I blurted out “Ku-Ku’s Palace” and they looked at me like I was nuts. But then the gates swung back and Aileen and I held our heads high as we walked across the grounds and up the massive marble staircase like we owned the place. We were in!

I think I was a bit stunned by the grandness of it all because I have only vague memories of walking into the palace. I know there was a massive front desk area and I know the foyer was stunning with dual winding marble staircases; I know I was taken aback when we walked through the main dome which has to be larger than the rotunda at the Capitol in Washington, D.C. And, very strikingly, while there were staff everywhere tending to this or that, we were the only guests within sight. We were ushered into a gorgeous dining room and seated at a princely table set with real silver.

Inside the rotunda of the palace

The food was… not special. It was no better than the average $2 meal that we had elsewhere in India I’m afraid. Bummer. Luckily, we were having such a grand time giggling over the absurdity of the fanciness that we weren’t fazed at all! The service was unparalleled by any other experience I’ve had with four or five staff waiting on us alone. They even brought over a little side table for us on which to place our camera bag so that it wouldn’t have to rest on the floor or the back of a chair.

After lunch, we decided to take a tour of the grounds, an oasis of green grass and pink flowering bushes in the midst of the Thar Desert. We passed by two tennis courts, the gym and fitness centers (don’t ask me the difference between these two), and the pool which is where we spied another guest for the first time. He had a spread of appetizers and cool fruit juice in front of him at his pool-side table and was being chatted up by a few members of the staff – tough life! Back inside, we decided to cool off by relaxing under the rotunda for a bit. We sat on fancy chairs and tried to look like we belonged as we chatted about how cool this place was. We watched as several people replaced huge beautiful orange streamers draped down from the floors above with, well, orange streamers draped down from the floors above of a slightly different pattern – go figure. After our respite, we wandered the halls of the hotel taking it all in and, most importantly, ensuring that we gave off the air that we belonged and hadn’t simply overstayed our lunch appointment. Highlights were the circular pool in the basement directly below the rotunda and sneaking a peak into the open door of one of the hotel rooms (which is where we saw two more guests for a grand total of three). A staff member caught onto our schoolchildren excitement and offered to show us one of the suites. I won’t suffer you the description, but suffice it to say it had a hardwood dining room table set for six.

Rwwaaarrr!

On our way out, we walked back down the marble staircase towards the entryway and took a moment to sneak some photos of the stuffed cheetahs. At the door, the doorman double checked: you have phoned your driver, correct? Yes, of course! But first we said we were heading to the museum. He walked us over to the museum so as to ensure that we received the free entry that comes with staying at the hotel. When he was out of sight, we quickly dove into the stream of tourists looking at a little model of where we’d just been. Back among our kind, we laughed as we walked out the circuitous museum exit geared to keep the riffraff far away from the hotel. We hopped into a rickshaw for the ride back to town. I did a pretty good job negotiating on the price – I saved us about 40 cents.

More photos of Jodhpur here.

The Jaisalmer fort rose out of the Great Thar Desert like a massive golden sandcastle. I immediately felt transported back in history to old Rajasthan, land of Maharajas, lavish palaces, and formidable forts. The monochrome landscape– buildings, streets, desert, all the color of sand– was a perfect backdrop for bright turbans and the swish of colorful dresses. Saris and other textiles burst out of small over-filled shops. Old havelis of intricately carved sandstone hugged the narrow streets. It was truly a feast for the eyes.

Textiles for sale in Jaisalmer

Rajasthan is an oven this time of year, with temperatures regularly exceeding 105º F. It is in the cooler evenings that the town truly comes alive, with kids playing, women chatting, men playing cards and chess. One such evening we stumbled upon a restaurant and ended up being seated in a delightfully breezy cushion-filled balcony perched on the town wall. It was the perfect setting for absorbing the romantic ambiance of Jaisalmer on a summer night, but more importantly, it was there that we met Ba.

Ba is a beautiful spirit. He is warm, open, generous, and always smiling. He was our host at the restaurant and we quickly got to chatting about his family, the desert people, and Jaisalmer and how it is changing. Before long, he invited us to have lunch the following day at his house with his family. His wife prepared a delicious Rajasthani meal and helped me try on one of her dresses while the three kids looked on giggling. I suppose a white person in Rajasthani clothes is pretty funny.

Me with Ba's daughter

When we learned that Ba also does camel safaris, we jumped at the chance and signed up for an overnight trip. It was truly unforgettable: the amazing desert animals, undulating sand dunes, cooking by campfire, sleeping under the stars. And going for a starlight beer run across the desert on a galloping camel has to be one of the most hilarious and thrilling things I have done on this trip. After sharing drinks together, we all spent hours talking. They told us a lot about their culture (more on that in a future post) and then sang traditional Rajasthani songs as our eyes grew heavy. The next morning, we rode our camels for a couple more hours before taking a local truck back to town, picking up villagers and milk along the way.

Say "cheese"!

That afternoon, after Ba treated us to the most delicious lassis ever and cooked us up a special meal, it was time to say goodbye. Ba is definitely one of the very special people that make this trip so unforgettable.

More photos from Jaisalmer and the camel safari here.