The Stare Express

I laid in bed, in Jaisalmer, after one of the wildest sandstorms I have ever been a part of (only the second one I've ever been apart of (this week)), staring at my ceiling fan. Despite the fact that it seemed to be working just fine, and that my window was open, it seemed to be making my room warmer. I eventually gave up wondering, and just gave in to the fact that the heat was winning, and I should probably just begin my day...


You can't get away from the heat... Unless you seek the shelter of a sandstorm.

The fan and the hot room serve as a perfect analogy for India. Constantly, things appear to be working, only to end up providing a less than perfect result. And vice versa. Nothing here is consistent with what I know, and ultimately I find myself perplexed over such simple things as the various stares and smiles I encounter during an average day. I don't really get it, I don't really understand it, and it's those two facts that help me maintain a certain level of patience with the absolute chaos and disorder--combined of course with the multiple, incredibly good, people that you have the opportunity to meet.

I took the audio tour of the Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur. It was simple, educational, thought provoking, and fun. I didn't care that my 20 minute walk had left me drenched in sweat, or that I had been followed by two different Rickshaw drivers who were trying to lure me into their rides for a swifter movement uphill. I got there early, and just enjoyed it: the views of the city and camel racing track, the absolutely stunning intricacy and craftsmanship of the buildings, and so much more. Shortly thereafter, I found myself lost in the twisting and turning alleyways of the Blue City , but was eventually set on the right path by a kind tailor who seemed pretty set on trying to sell me some Ali Baba pants. I told him I didn't have time, as I actually did have to meet up with a friend of the hostel owner to be 'shown around.'


A picture of a guard in the Mehrangarh Fort. I think that his name was Tariq. Either way, he was a pretty jovial fellow...

I was pretty sure of what this would entail. I told the guy that I wanted to find some block print cloth, because I could sew, and was interested in taking some home. I told him that I wanted nice quality stuff, but that I was a student, didn't have a lot of money, etc. Despite this, I knew that my words had fallen on deaf ears, and that I would be led around like the Westerner that I appeared to be. Of course, I was right, and off we headed into the humid afternoon. First stop: A suit shop. Where he got the idea that I wanted to buy a suit, I don't know. I tried, with increasing persistence, to explain that I only wanted block print fabric, or at least some electric blue linen. He agreed, but told me that we needed to stop at his friends convenience store, where we would enjoy some chai and a casual conversation. He slowly, but surely, introduced his companions to me, one by one, so that I could make sure to remember everybody's name. It didn't really even matter, as after the moment introductions were done, they all started to chatter rapidly in Hindi, ultimately leaving me out of the conversation--one of the more rude things that people can do. I kind of just laughed it off, and enjoyed the fact that I was inside an air conditioned building for the first time since I had arrived in India. The chai arrived, and I declined, as I was kind of sketched out and put off by my hosts complete lack of consideration. He eventually paused every now and then to talk with me about random things like American girls and drugs, sketching me out even more. Eventually, his cousin started passing around little black beads for each of the men to put in their tea. After scouring my brain for what it could be, it dawned on me: Opium. At that point, I tried to do what I could to overtly express the fact that I wanted to get the hell out of there, and eventually just walked out and hopped in a Rickshaw. When I got back to the hostel, I packed up my stuff and got ready to get out of Dodge and head west to Jaisalmer.

I didn't end up leaving until the early morning of the next day, because the train was full the night before. Either way, I was kind of glad to relieve myself of the awkward experience that was Jodhpur and get on with the trip. I boarded the train, after being unable to figure out which car was S4 (posted absolutely nowhere), sat down and sighed. I offered some crackers to the members of the Indian Armed Forces sitting next to me--they appreciatively accepted--and I had made some new friends. Unfortunately, they weren't in my compartment, which was shared with two starers, who either were so incredibly fascinated by my wild hair and height that they could do nothing but keep a straight face, or else they wanted me off of their train. For the next seven hours in the dust and heat, I sat there, while they stared at me. I offered a biscuit, they stared (after accepting of course). Nothing could crack the intentness of their new (or old) habit.

After finally arriving in Jaisalmer, I was greeted by Saruk, the manager of the Artist Hotel--a cooperative developed some odd years ago through the teamwork of an artist colony and an Austrian expat--and was led away on a motorcycle, down the beaten path, to a little peace and quiet. I was the only person staying at the hotel, which allowed me an opportunity to be alone, something I've finally started to truly enjoy.

The town of Jaisalmer is on the edge of the Thar Desert, and close to the border of Pakistan. It's widely known as the Golden City, because of the way it's buildings and Fort blend into the sand from a distance. It's also got a reputation for some badass camel treks into the proximate desert, and it's Bhang Lassis (think marijuana shake). It's quiet this time of the year, there's no pollution, and life just seems to roll by at an easy pace. It was just what I needed after navigating my way through three cities easily described as human ant-colonies.


The main entrance to the fort of the Golden City of Jaisalmer


The Fort in Jaisalmer is supposedly the only 'living' fort in the entire world...

In Jaisalmer, I didn't do a camel trek, nor did I drink the mythical Bhang Lassi. I rested, strolled, and picked the brains of any person willing to chat--particularly the Austrian expat that helped start the Artist Hotel. I was keyed in on multiple issues surrounding the artist community, given a brief lesson in the caste system, and discussed the intricacies of Indian spices--something I know absolutely nothing about. It was an easygoing and relaxing experience, that is, until a storm came through.

I woke up about five times in the middle of the night, as a result of dust, rain, hail, wind, broken glass, shear heat, anything--you name it. Somehow, I managed to slumber through the most of it. When I awoke the next morning, all of the straw roofs of each and every house that surrounded the building was blown off. Bricks and morter, reduced to piles on the still soft ground. Yet, despite this, everything seemed to be fine. People were smiling, playing music, and picking up the pieces. I was kind of in shock. If that happened in the US, everybody would stand around and talk about what to do, before not doing anything... Though it made sense to me, it seemed... illogical? I don't know how to explain it. Most things here have defied what I know about the 'proper' or rational way of doing things... Anyway, in less than a day, things were cleaned up, roofs were reattached, and life kept on going. The same girl was still sitting outside waiting for me to walk by so she could ask me for rupees and the sun was just as hot.

I left later that afternoon, on a 14 hour train ride for Jaipur--where I am right now. After my experience on the short jaunt from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer, I was dreading every second of it. I sat down in my seat, and was immediately greeted by a 13 year old boy named Deepa, and a family of four whose little baby couldn't stop staring at me. For once, I didn't mind the staring, and I felt a little less serious. The final ounces of tension fled my body after I was offered a piece of sweetcake, and I thanked the mother in Hindi. The entire train car erupted in laughter and glee that I was trying to learn the language. I answered the general questions, and the family offered me some of their dinner. Then, for the next four hours--until darkness fell--I received a lesson in Hindi from the 13 year old that I won't forget any time soon (though most of the Hindi words were lost on me).

Tomorrow, it's off to Kolkata... Should be a good time.

Somehow...

I forgot to mention in my last post that I was hit by a Rickshaw yesterday. Here, in Jodhpur, most of the Rickshaw's run on motors with a slightly higher power than a lawnmower--so it didn't knock me on my ass or anything. In fact, I would say I won the battle... Anyway, the point is that I'm a little bit less afraid to walk amidst the crazy Rickshaw drivers and their golf-cart-esque contraptions. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not...

Can You Feel the Heat?

Upon arriving in Agra I was consumed by an illness of the 24 hour variety--probably a small case of the famed 'Delhi Belly,' though I wouldn't be surprised if it was my conscience. When I walked down the stairs with my hefty rucksack to check out of my guesthouse in Delhi, all of the hotel attendants were asleep on the hard marble floor in front of the reservation desk. It struck a chord with me in the early morning that would make my train ride--and stomach--a little more than uneasy. The walk to the train station wasn't any prettier either. Once there, I bought a book, Shantaram, about an Australian convict who escaped to Mumbai and created a life there and plopped onto the seat of my train... thinking, maybe too much, about what I had just seen.

After a rough two hours of train riding, I arrived in Agra only to not be met by someone from my guesthouse as I had been told I would. It's a precarious situation in Agra, as it's known for its touts, and also that the touts are known for hating this particular guesthouse. I eventually got things figured out after finding someone kind enough to let me use their phone, and made my way with Mr. Ali Mohommad. An interesting fellow he was, offering to take me around the city for a very good price and asking me questions about where I was from in his almost perfect and incredibly polite English. I told him I'd think about his offer after I was done projectile vomiting, and he agreed quite quickly.

Since things worked out quite well with the other Rickshaw driver in Delhi, I decided that it wouldn't be a bad idea to get hauled around the city by somebody who knows the ropes, especially since Taxi drivers of any and all sorts hold the keys to unlocking the better parts of a city, or at least to entertaining you for a while. I slept off the illness, drank about 15 liters of water, and watched Sleepless in Seattle on HBO.

I woke up to go to the Taj Mahal at about 5:30 in the morning, as everybody says sunrise is the best time to see it, as the combination of the early morning sun and the pollution around the city provide a dazzling glow to the dome and minarets of the mosque. I was then informed that Mr. Mohommad would not be my driver and I would instead be taken around by Sabir, who didn't really seem to want to talk with me... Anyway, I made it through the line, after two passes through security since they wouldn't let me take my book inside because it was 'too big'--nothing makes sense here. From the outside you can see the top of the dome, and the sky was as orange as it possibly could be, which made me quicken my steps in order to pass the gate and finally see the wonder that is the Taj. Seeing it for the first time is like magic. It absolutely lives up to every single bit of hype that has ever been heaped upon it. It's subtle, yet intricate; finely detailed, and yet simple. It's magnificent. I wandered around for two hours, dodging tourists--foreigners and Indian nationals alike--and finding my own peace and solitude under the hot and humid morning sun.


After 7 months of travel, I have still not mastered the self-taken self portrait... Frustrating

I went back to check out, choke down as much breakfast as I could, and shower before I headed back out to the town again to explore the fort in Agra. By the time I made it there, I was a bit too pacified by the heat, and therefore unable to fully appreciate the splendor of all the courtyards and magnificent architecture that provided me with so many places to sit down away from the heat.


The sprawling walls of the Fort in Agra...

A couple of hours later, I crossed the Yamuna river to see the Taj from the other side. You can walk down to this sand bank where cows, goats, and kids selling postcards like to play. Every once in a while you can find a pretty intense cricket game going on in the park nearby as well. The views were spectacular in the evening, though I left pretty quickly after I was stared at for about thirty minutes straight by these four teenage kids... It was, the first, and hopefully last time, that I ever received more attention than a wonder of the world. At least from people that I don't know... Feeling a little creeped out, as they wouldn't even try to converse with me, I sauntered back to the Rickshaw, grabbed my bags at the hotel, and swiftly headed towards my soon-to-depart train for Jodhpur.

In the train station, I believe I was the only non-Indian there. I once again received my fair share of attention as I sat down in what seemed to be the only open area in the place. It seems, so far, that young men seem to be the most curious--for better or for worse--when it comes to strangers in their country. More than a few times I was surrounded by guys asking me the same questions: "What is your good name sir? From what country have you arrived? How long will you be staying in India? How long [tall] are you (one of the creepier questions you get asked, at least initially... Indian men, tend to ask a lot of sexual questions, particularly with women travelers, or so I've heard)? Do you have a dollar? May I see it? Can you stand up? Although I'm typically good natured about such questioning, some things just don't seem right when people ask them. Plus, you're asked them so often that you just kind of develop this indifference to it all, and either learn to answer back and be inquisitive towards them, deal with the stairs, or simply end the conversation. Keep in mind that I've only been here 5 days now...

After about three different groups of Indian guys surrounded me and then left, I was left alone to my thoughts and the wait for a train delayed by two hours. Eventually, a group of Indian women traveling alone came by, sat down and took their turns trying to get some of the little girls to run up and touch me--another thing that happens quite a bit, despite the fact that my skin is actually quite dark for a Whitey. Through some gestures and a little Hindi I have learned, I tried my best to make conversation... After about ten minutes, I decided to pack it up and head over to the spot where my train car would be. Before I left, the matriarch of the family tried to offer her six year old daughters hand to me... I respectfully declined, fabricating a story of engagement back home. Then the train finally arrived.

I don't remember much of the ride to Jodhpur, except that there were a lot of fans, I got stared at for about two hours straight by the people sitting across from me, and it was really hard to sleep. After 13 hours, I finally made it to my destination--commonly known as the Blue City for it's indigo colored, cubic houses. It's not as hot here, which has been quite the blessing. I haven't done much, except for get really lost in the small alley ways around the base of the hilltop fort. I have seriously never seen so many different people, vehicles, sewage, and animals fit through such small spaces...


The blue-washed buildings of Jodhpur provide a striking contrast to its hilltop fort

Anyway, tomorrow, it's off to explore the fort via what is supposed to be a spectacular audio guided tour, and then perhaps to find where I can get myself a pair of Jodhpur Riding Breeches... haha... Google them--you have to. Actually, I'll probably explore some different tailors with the hopes of having some pyjamas made that will actually fit my 'long' body... I also hear that Jodhpur is a good place to find spices.

Finally, I leave you with this: As intimidating of a meal as I have ever seen, especially for something considered vegetarian.


The Masala Dosa... it's tasty, but this vegetarian thing is a lot harder than I thought...