Octopussy is Dead

September 27, 2015

Octopussy is dead.  I never thought the day would come.  Ever since the movie came out, it had become synonymous with Udaipur.  You could not walk any street without a placard boldly exclaiming “OCTOPUSSY FILMED HERE.”  Every restaurant in town had Octopussy showings.  Udaipur the first time we visited was simply “That cool place in the James Bond movie.”  It was also where I bought a ridiculously over priced shawl and Ken bought an elephant carving from a 10-year-old boy living under a bridge.  To this day I have never worn that shawl but the rudimentary elephant with its uneven bottom and pinhole eyes still has a place of pride on our mantel.  As always, India has a way with making you do things you regret later but remember fondly.  Things like booking a trip when it’s still hot as hell and monsoon season…

Udaipur is considered “the most romantic spot in all of India” and it certainly exudes charm.  Situated on the banks of Lake Pichola with the colorful Aravalli Hills in all directions, the city is made for amorous roof top dinners and sentimental sunrise swims.  Over the years, the ex royal family has seriously promoted Udaipur as a must-do destination and – for better or worse – they have succeeded.  The Octopussy reference has long since disappeared, as have the quiet streets and non-existent tourist hassle.  Today Udaipur is cosmopolitan with a healthy dose of kitsch.  The streets are far more crowded but still well worth meandering.  Along with your usual plethora of cheap harem pants, scarfs and handbags, one can also find modern art galleries and world class tailors (Judy Dench and the entire cast of the Marigold Hotel movies had all their clothes made here!) I seriously considered purchasing “Banshi Villa” at Lokesh Shoni’s studio because who doesn’t need a penis-faced Indian Banshee on their wall?  His simplistic style with subtle erotic undertones is what I would expect from Picasso if he had spent a year in Udaipur shacked up with a Rajasthan beauty.  It is a purchase I am confident I am going to regret not doing.

There are a few good coffee shops in town one of which is Café Edelweiss serving all organic locally sourced food.  By far the selling point for us was being able to sit on the covered veranda surfing the Internet while the rains poured down.  The streets became rivers and the eaves became waterfalls.  Life blissfully went on and even laughed a little because the scorching heat was now abated.  If I have learned anything this far it has been that heat brings out the worst in people and does precious little to enhance motivation.  Give me rain and the City Palace any day! 

Later that evening we attended a “cultural performance” at Dharohar.  I have to admit, I had extremely low expectations for this.  We still remember the ubiquitous puppet show and drumming duos that appeared every night at dinner during our last foray into Rajasthan.  We also remember asking how much we needed to tip for them NOT to perform.  So when our guide said this event was part of the package we really were expecting an hour of drunken marionette handlers and small boys banging drums in a deafening fury.  Much to our surprise this show was the polar opposite.  Ok – the drag queen riding a teen-age boy painted up like a tiger was bizarre but everything after that was amazing!  We had women in traditional costume dance with bowls of fire on their heads, dancing on “glass”, the highly coordinated “sitting dance” and the most amazing puppet master ever!  This particular show is a family affair – the dancers (women) ranged from 12 years to 72 years and ALL of them were killing it on the dance floor.   Extremely fun times and the music was good too – no child slavery drummers.

Next stop: Bundi.

I am not entirely sure why Bundi was on the itinerary.  Our guide sold it as “a very interesting place with temples that has hardly any tourists.”  Once we arrived it became apparent why.  Bundi itself is pretty much in the middle of nowhere, which, in a desert region, isn’t exactly the best thing for social development.  It’s a bit of a wild west where law and order is left up to the locals and is not to be trifled with.  The morning we were to tour the temples all the shops and houses were in lock down mode.  The night before someone had defiled a Ganesh statue and the local male population was on the hunt.  Gangs of angry men paraded up and down the streets screaming for vigilante justice.  Our guide just kept telling us to “stick close together and avoid getting into a discussion with them.”  Somehow I don’t thing discourse was high on their list of priorities.  It was unbelievably hot and we had no water because you know – everything is bolted shut for the impending Ganesh lynching.  Just when I thought it could not get any more unsettling we passed by a row of child dentists – as in CHILDREN who perform dentistry right there on the street.   Dentistry is a loose term – I’m talking tooth extraction using plyers and opium injections followed by wiring up some form of bad theatrical dental bridge using a box full of what I hope were “fake” teeth.

But you do need to come to Bundi.  Aside from being a break from what would be a 20 hr. train ride to Mumbai, Bundi is indeed beguiling.  With narrow lanes, Brahmin blue houses and a picturesque lake, Bundi is dominated by the whimsical ancient palace that seemingly sprouts right out of the hillside.  “The work of goblins rather than men,” the Bundi palace is an enormous fortification that is in the throes of being reclaimed by nature.  Lack of funds and people make it a fantastical fairyland of bat-filled foyers and faded royal murals.  Kipling envisaged his final draft of “Kim” while staying in the Sukh Mahal and he marveled at how many indiscriminate temples coalesced with the local shops and homes. It was as if to say “We were here first but feel free to share space with us. We won’t be disappearing any time soon!”  There are also some 60 “baoris” (step wells) within town although most no longer hold water and merely act as giant garbage receptacles.  Still, there are a few maintained for use and a trip down history lane.  After all of this you can eat on the rooftop of the Rainbow Café.  Service is slow but the view is outstanding.  Plus where else are you going to eat lunch with a loaded 22 beside you “just in case” the monkeys get a little too tempestuous?  Hmmmmm…. I think I may have solved the Ganesh crime.

Extreme Dental Tourism in Bundi

The Bundi Palace in all its reclaimation wonder.

A room with a view of Bundi

That one shop keeper who has no fear of gang violence ;-)

Bundi Starbucks

The view from the City palace at Udaipur

The unmolested Bundi Ganesh

Krishna is alive and well in Udaipur

Fun times with moustache wax at the Udaipur palace

The hall of mirrors at the Udaipur palace

Sunset on Lake Pichola

Love on the Venice of India - Udaipur

ALL ABOARD!!  Next stop Bundi!

Streets of Udaipur

The palace gardens at Bundi

Lost in reflection riding the rails.

Getting that Money Shot In Agra

September 24, 2015

This is, after all, a train journey through India so let’s get some train talk happening!

We had to say good-bye to Shimla and begin the long and winding journey back into Delhi.  Other than a laborious drive (or helicopter rental) the only other way to get back down the mountain is to take the “toy train” (UNESCO recognized!)– otherwise known as a narrow gauge train – to Kalka.  And it really is a toy steam train!  No bigger than something you find at a zoo for children’s entertainment.  Only this children’s ride lasts 6 hrs. and you sit on narrow wooden benches barely wide enough for one person.  There are no doors and the toilet is a hole in the floor.  But what a ride!  The views are spectacular!  Winding down the mountain with your feet hanging out the door.  Your toes dangle into oblivion every time you cross one of the 864 bridges spanning the mountain gorges.  Quickly you retract your feet every time you enter one of 103 roughly hewn tunnels lest you shave off a few toes (or more!).  The longest tunnel is at Barog (1.5 km).  Engineered by Colonel Barog, he dug the tunnel from both ends but was unable to align them.  In jest, his peers fined him one rupee for poor planning but he could not live with the shame of failure and committed suicide in the incomplete tunnel.   A sad end to a glorious engineering feat that remains unchanged since its inception. There is nothing to do but simply be and realize you are traveling exactly as people have for the last 150 years.  And the train shows it.  As do the stations.  Which just adds to the romanticism and the subtle reminder that safety is merely a pipe dream.  Indeed, the day after we arrived in Kalka, the same train derailed, seriously injuring a number of tourists and killing two women from England!

Ah Delhi!  We meet again!  With 24 hrs. to spare we have a chance to get two more important items off our Indian bucket list – visiting that gaudy Hanuman fun house near our hotel and meet up with my “Catfish” Facebook friend – Sandip!  The Hanuman temple was every bit as freaky as we thought.  Sandip, however, was not, so life remained in balance and a good time was had by all.  Of course, this may have had a lot to do with the Starbucks and cakes Sandip got us whereas Hanuman only offered death by motor vehicle accident followed by consumption by wild dogs and homeless people. (Crossing 8 lanes of Indian traffic and jumping a cement barricade only to be cannibalized seems a bit much to demonstrate religious devotion.  But hey – to each their own.)

The following morning it was an early – VERY EARLY – train ride to Agra.  Not early enough, however, to get there in time to view the sites (Or so our guide told us).  So we had a “free day” to explore Agra.  The Taj and the Fort would have to wait until tomorrow at sunrise (Yeah –ANOTHER early start.  Fun times.)

Agra is a shit hole.

Yes the Taj Mahal and the Agra Fort are here and yes they are every bit as stunning as you imagine.  But Agra itself is a total pit of despair and abject poverty.  There is so much irony in that this place, which is the most visited place in India, also has the highest rates of unemployment.  Not to mention the pollution and deplorable state of the river systems here.  If you want a reminder of the privilege in having access to clean drinking water and proper sanitation you need only spend a few days wandering the streets of Agra.  It’s apparent that if you come on a Western tour you are shunted away to clean upscale hotels and ferried by air conditioned behemoths to the Wonders and then back again.  I doubt anyone really “sees” what is actually going on day to day.  I doubt even more that anyone wants to.   We were not in “that” section of town.  Instead we stayed at a local establishment next door to Pizza Hut and a Lavazza coffee bar.  We paid ridiculous prices to eat there.   I must have spent $50 on coffee but that’s because it’s FEAST OR FAMINE when it comes to my beverage of choice so I tank up when I can.

See, that’s the paradox of India.  There is so much vibrancy and intensity.  It takes your breath away – literally and figuratively.  You find it so, so beautiful and then you get up close and personal and you realize that India has a dark side.  Not an evil side – but a side that mirrors back to you how what YOU have is an illusion.  Your world is not the real one – India is.  All that chaos.  All that squalor and disease. All that fighting to survive and remain human in a world where there is never enough – that’s real.  We, in the West have done a good job at deluding ourselves that the gravy train will last forever and that everyone will get enough in the end.  Come here and walk the streets of Agra.  Look at all those plastic bottles you drink from now 3 meters high in what used to be a water way.  Look at the sky glazed over in smog.  See the Taj slowly melting from acid rain and wearing down from our incessant need to violate her at the expense of everyone else that lives in her shadow.  Smell the stench from the river that people depended on for thousands of years now dying an agonizing death.  If you are going to the Taj Mahal you owe it to her to see all of her – even the ugly parts.  You need to embrace them all.  After all, you’d want the same for yourself wouldn’t you?

After Agra it was a 7-hour train ride up to Jaipur – the capital of Rajasthan and another crash course in how to handle chaos and sensory overload.  First thing is actually getting out of the train station which is so congested with people and rickshaws (tuk tuks) that it’s a miracle anyone can move at all.  We meet our rickshaw driver, Khan, who tells me the rats running over my feet are a good thing and I am very, very lucky (yeah – lucky I didn’t get rabies).  He loads us and our bags into his cart and promptly turns on the “disco lighting” and cranks up Shakira on his Bose car stereo.  Another Indian paradox – you can have the shittiest rickshaw in town but in Jaipur it’s all about tricking that shitty rickshaw up to the max.   I shutter to think how many meals this guy went without to pimp his ride.

Our hotel here was interesting.  For one, Ken and I are pretty sure we stayed here 10 years ago so it was a weird déjà vu experience.  Second, it was a “palace” at one time so you walk in and it all looks very India meets 1001 Arabian Nights.  Third thing – and this is important – you are essentially trapped here once you check in.  Sure you can go out on the street but once you leave those gates it’s full on Siddhartha wake up call.  You ARE NOT in Kansas anymore.  The streets are safe enough to walk in but don’t plan on finding any food options worth risking you health over.  This meant we all were forced to eat at the over priced and underwhelming restaurant in the “palace.”  I put “palace” in quotes because it isn’t that grand now.  It’s hot with no ventilation.  The electricity goes off all the time and shorted out everyone’s devices one night when there was a massive power surge.  The drinks were never cold.  The food was never hot.  The rooms are very, very tired and been equally well used. But we were trapped in a PALACE!  We had a pool and we had gin and we had beer.  And we had each other. 

Well sort of…

On our tour of the Amber Fort we weren’t paying attention and one of our group mates was left behind.  It’s pretty pathetic that it was so hot and we were are all in self preservation mode that no one noticed this poor girl hadn’t made it back to the taxi area with us.  Panic ensued and her friends rushed back up to the fort to look for her.  Meanwhile, another member of our group – a retired police officer – thought it would be helpful to say,  “I used to work in search and rescue.  If you haven’t found the person in the first 30 minutes it’s never good.  It’s now been 45 minutes.”   Wow.  I guess we’ve officially entered the Heart of Darkness portion of the India trip now.  As it turns out, she went to the bathroom and lost track of us.  Being a resourceful empowered woman she went “Alright then! It’s hot as Hades here and you all just F-ed off on me so I am going back to the hotel for beers!” and off she went!  And there she was when we got back – sitting on the deck with a cold Kingfisher and all her friend’s clothes in the pool.  Next time she goes to the bathroom, he knows now to wait.

Boy on a train to Jaipur

School's out in Jaipur!

Catfish at Delhi Starbucks.

Guard Dog of the Taj

The life of a florist in Jaipur

Sunset at the Mini Taj

Mini Taj Mahal

Strolling the mini Taj

Train dogs of Agra

Chilling at the Agra Fort

Squirrel security bag check at Agra Fort

Spice is nice in Jaipur!

MONEY SHOT!

Taking it all in on the toy train to Kalka

Winding our way through the mountains

Riding the non-pimped Rickshaw in Agra

Yeah - we're back ;-)

World Vision Women making a difference in Agra

The lobby at the "Palace."  Trust me - the lobby was the only thing looking this posh here.

As luck would have it...

The Hanuman House of Horrors

Shimmy up the Mountain to Shimla

September 18, 2015

One thing about being in the mountains of India is the complete lack of Internet access.  Cell phones abound but Internet is almost non-existent.  I mention this because the experience has had me rethink the concept of connectedness.  What happens when you cannot hear from home on a daily basis?  What happens when the news of the world is limited to what a local paper decides to print?  Who do you become when your tethers are no longer there and now you must drift with uncertainty and resign yourself to just trust in the moment?

Shimla seems as good a place as any to ponder this new way of being.  At 2200 meters, this engaging little hill town is strung out along a 12 km ridge of terraced walkways and colonial splendor.  No cars are allowed in the main part of town so it is an “ambler’s paradise.”  Like many mountain towns, it appears stuck in time.  Photographs of the streets and the Scandal Point promenade show little if anything has changed other than the number of people out for an evening stroll.  Shimla itself was a sleepy forest glade until a Scottish Civil servant – Charles Kennedy – built a summer home here in 1822.  After that, things were never the same again.  For starters, Kennedy’s summer home is more like a Scottish Palace – a breathtaking hybrid of Hogwarts and the Tower of London.  Surrounded by immaculate gardens, the “Viceregal Lodge” has been the focal point of Indian politics and diplomacy since 1888.  It was also clearly meant for summer pleasures of all kinds with tennis courts, secret rooms and halls that whisper who tucked away with who late in the evening after a summer dinner party when Nehru and Mountbatten were in town.

“The center of the empire!  A place of philandering and frivolity.  A home for the cad, the card, the fortune hunter and the flirt.”  Scandal Point got its name for the Sunday procession of women and officers who would walk up and down the tree lined streets stealing glances and breaking hearts.  Curzon, Kitchener and Kipling would return again and again to the Shimla and Kipling used the town as his backdrop for “Kim” and “Plain Tales from the Hills.”  By the turn of the century, Shimla had become the official summer residence of the Indian Government – a magical mountain wonderland that gave respite from the unrelenting heat.  Today, the Viceregal Lodge is the home of the Indian Institute of Advance Studies.  Anyone who has held a PhD in sociology, Fine Arts, History or Political Science for 5 yrs. or more can apply to stay at the grand Viceroy Lodge – expenses paid! – and devote the next 3  - 6months to study and writing.  The library alone is enough to sell me on the idea of an academic retreat! 

All of this pales in comparison to joys of walking the winding pedestrian streets of Shimla.  It is a maze of alleyways that you think you could get lost forever in but somehow always end up exactly where you need to be.  Places like the Indian Coffee House – an establishment that has remained exactly as it was when it opened 60 years ago.  Prices and clientele most definitely are holdovers!  Here you drink coffee with regal old men served to you by waiters wearing pristine white uniforms.  It all sounds rather pretentious but it’s not.  This is a thoroughly local establishment well used and well worn.  You sit on chairs worn thin from countless contemplations.  Above you spins a tired ceiling fan who’s glory days have long since past.  It gyrates slowly and only enough to ensure it is not replaced.  The air remains unperturbed by its presence and you become aware that in the heat of the day, it is cooler outside in the sun than it is inside.  None of this matters.  The comfort comes less from a cool breeze and more from the ambiance.  Old men laugh and chatter.  Waiters scurry about with trays of coffee in old silver pots.  As quick as you use a napkin or a sugar bowl it is whisked away to another table for someone else to use.  Nothing about this place would have it pass muster in a hygiene inspection, which is why, in my opinion, it also has the best coffee I have ever tasted.  Made the old fashioned way before we cleaned it up and dressed it in impressionable logos.

After many cups of coffee drunk with a healthy dose of nostalgia, it is time to wander into Maria Brothers Antiquarian Book Store. As India’s oldest bookseller it is a bibliophile’s dream and remains as cramped and enticing as it did when Kipling scoured the shelves for Himalayan maps and hand painted Kama Sutras.  Serious collectors need only apply – this isn’t a second hand bookstore but a literary museum.  A one-stop shop for that original travel log penned by Kitchener or maps hand drawn by Indian Gurkas discovering Tibet for the first time.

Day turns to night.  The streets become bereft of humans and give way to hundreds of fat mongrel dogs and mischievous monkeys.  The cacophony between the two tells you that a sound sleep is not in the cards at Shimla.  Occasionally you drift into a stupor and dream of Hanuman debating the origins of the universe to a canine tribunal.  It is enough to keep you sufficiently tethered to the moment and hoping that the moment never ends.  Everything is as it should be.

Internet be damned!

Can you help my baby?

Ben Kingsley watching over Scandal Point

The Indian Coffee House

Coffee Wallah at the Indian Coffee house!

Horse Love

Iwo Jima Shimla Style

Monkey Love

Fun Times at the Shimla Roller Rink

The Bookshop of Dreams

Beautiful

Viceregal Lodge and Institute of Advanced Study

Crossing Guard at Scandal Point

Scandalous Beauties!

The streets of Shimla