From the outset I should have known that this weekend would not go quite as planned, but I suppose excitement and optimism outweighed any premonition that the whole two days were to be a lesson in Indian transportation. It started, as all these things do, innocently enough. My friend who owned the hotel in which I was residing also holds a large stake in a transportation company. He had offered for me to ride shotgun in one of his trucks to Jaipur and save the cost of a train or bus fare. Partly intrigued as well to have the Indian trucker experience, I took his offer and was all set to leave. However after some reconsidering, it was decided that it would be easier and better for all parties if I did take a bus. As I said, this was an innocent enough switch, and my friends Arjun and Negi drove me to the bus station where I hopped on the first one to Jaipur. It was by no means clean or comfortable for an overnight ride, but it was a seat and that was enough.
The problem with going overnight from Delhi to Jaipur is that it isn’t really an overnight trip. After leaving Delhi around 9 pm, we arrived in Jaipur around 3 am. Still exhausted but unable to check into my hotel, I headed into the bus station, grabbed an empty chair, tied my luggage tightly to my body with the zippers facing my chest, and then dozed for the next four hours. When it was light enough to navigate the streets and late enough that I thought I could reasonably check-in to my hotel for the night, I was off. I found the hotel and was given the room but also told that I had to check out in 24 hours or pay for an extra day. That meant check-out time would be obscenely early. Again, no problem—I was going to be up early anyway to hit one last major sight and then catch a train for Mumbai (for which I had already booked my ticket).
After a much-needed shower it was time to explore Jaipur—the pink city. Walking the old town, you really see why it has earned this moniker. Especially in the morning and evening lights, the local sandstone out of which much of the old buildings are constructed radiates a beautiful pink glow. The whole city therefore has a beautiful glow in the morning light and again as the sun sinks lower.
One of the most sublime sights is the Hawa Mahal—the former women’s palace for the princesses of the city. In all of its pink glory, its Rajasthani architecture (a mix of Mughal and traditional styles) towers over the narrow shopping street below, arched windows and ornate jalli screens maintaining an air of dignity over the frenzied activity at its feet. With the blue sky behind, the reddish glow is stunning in the morning as the sun brilliantly shines on the façade. Across the street are stairs you can climb to get a better look. It’s free to do this, and if you can’t find the way, a friendly shopowner will gladly guide you and then lead you to his store, professing that you will certainly get a good price because as the first customer of the day, you will bring him luck for the whole day if you buy (the prices were not at all good, even with my first customer discount!).
I’ll return to the Hawa Mahal later, because at this time, all I did was enjoy its beauty from afar. After escaping my friendly shopkeeper and ignoring his repeated yells of lower prices at my retreating back, I headed back through the old city to see it in its full glory now that the sun was a little higher. As I wandered, I came across a column built in honor of a glorious victory that could be climbed to gain a better view over Jaipur. Interested to gain this perspective, I climbed to the top only to be met by a beautiful panorama taking in some of the areas most stunning sights—the once proud Tiger Fort, the City Palace, Royal Observatory, and of course, the Hawa Mahal (though not the principal façade). I lingered here for a while admiring the city’s layout and looking at the sprawling new portion of Jaipur. An interesting architect I had met explained to me that Jaipur is laid out in the foothills of the surrounding hills such that it is well protected from the tough Rajasthani desert climate. The hills protect from the harsh desert winds while also helping to catch much-needed rain. The dense clustering of the city’s nine quarters helped keep streets cool and use thermal mass to store heat in winter. It is too bad that the planners of the new part with its broad, car-dominated streets, glass towers, and departure from the hillside did not understand the wisdom of their predecessors.
As I descended, I was met by the tower caretaker, a kindly man who spoke only a word or two of English. Perhaps excited because I was a foreign tourist and perhaps because I was the first customer of the day, he asked eagerly to take pictures of me with my camera. Happy to oblige and grab a few memories of my own, I let him take my photo. The experience became the quintessential Indian photo-shoot that I had seen so many Indian pairs exhibit at famous sights in my time there. It involves many pictures being taken from strange angles, and always a shot of the subject posing as though he is holding or somehow bracing the structure behind. What is fun for me about watching these events (or taking part) is that you see the hunger for technology and creativity in the society. Cameras and even more so camera phones have allowed an easy form of expression and bonding to develop in the culture. Taking and sharing photos is an important activity—almost a ritual—to share experiences with family and friends. It contains a creativity and individualism that could easily be lost in the humdrum of middle or low class Indian life.
From the tower, I was off again, this time to the City Palace, a sprawling complex for the ruler and his family in the heart of Jaipur. It is a fascinating place where you can still see the splendors of Rajasthani royalty laid out in a city as they often are in forts. As with all such palaces, the rooms were exquisite (especially the halls of public and private audience), but the highlights were two areas which have been converted into showcases of polo and fashion for one and local craftsmanship for another. Here I caught glimpses of life of the royalty through their dress and preparation for audiences, marriages, and daily life as well as through the love of polo that exists in Jaipur. The dress habits of the royal women were reminiscent of what I saw in the Middle East for wealthy and perhaps are a result of similar desert resources and cultural crossovers courtesy of the Mughal invasion.
The rest of the palace was interesting but not that unique compared to some of the other palaces I had visited. However what was really cool to me was what lay next door—the Royal Observatory. Now many of my close friends know that before I ended up doing a degree in engineering I wanted to go instead into astronomy. In fact, since I was little I have been fascinated by the stars and the universe. So it was with great interest that I entered the Royal Observatory and even splurged the few dollars extra for my own guide to explain to me the instruments that rulers used to observe the heavens and make astrological measurements. There are several of these observatories throughout India, but this is supposedly one of the best preserved (certainly the one in Delhi is not at all as beautiful or extensive). As I wandered around being explained the functions of different sundials and instruments for measuring the positions of the constellations, I was amazed by the level of sophistication of some of the measurements several hundred years ago. Even though I had just come from the Middle East where Arabic knowledge had led to the development of navigation and star charts, to see the instruments in India was far more impressive. I learned about how astrologers used the tools to determine the fortunes and fates of young children. I even glimpsed my own astrological clock (the one for Cancer, the Crab). Overall, the visit was fantastic and something I highly recommend to anyone spending time in Jaipur.
After spending time at the City Palace and Royal Observatory, I headed back to Hawa Mahal to explore the realm of the women. Entering from a side alley beyond the complex, I was quickly in the midst of a grand courtyard adorned with Hindu deities and overlooked by multiple balconies. Here the women could celebrate holidays, stroll, and spend time outdoors dressed however they wished without fear of exposure to outside men. Learning about these little cultural traditions was interesting as was seeing the innovations in the building that were developed to use every last drop of water and cooling in the hot basin of Jaipur. As with other Rajasthani palaces, basins of water were used for natural cooling, towels with perfume were occasionally hung on rings, and natural air flows were key. Yet another interesting aspect of the palace here were the dual passageways leading among various floors. Steps were for most users, but ramps were also present so that the queen could be carried in her litter down and up easily. The ramps made it easier for this to take place. As I ascended the edifice, I saw more of the private apartments of the women, all of whom lived here in relative harmony. From above you could steal glimpses onto the courtyard below just in case any gossip was being shared that you didn’t want to miss. However at the top of the building were the most magnificent views. Here you could peer out through the principal façade onto the bustling city street below and watch traders, shoppers, and passersby from a safe and screened perch. The elegant jalli screens protected the women from being seen, allowing them to wear what they liked while atop this perch.
After lingering at the top for a while and admiring the views, I left behind Hawa Mahal in search of sustenance and an adventure or two. My favorite drink in India (and I think most travelers will say this) is a lassi—a cream based Rajasthani delicacy. Many places serve them up well, but apparently in Jaipur there is one place that serves up some of the best. Wandering through the old city streets past bazaar stalls selling anything and everything, I finally emerged from the old city walls and into the newer part of Jaipur. In this world dominated by cars and overflowing with glass stores selling Western goods, I finally found my destination.
As I sipped down the cold drink, I thought a bit about what I had just walked through. I had come from the older part of the city which was networked well and shaded by the narrow streets and yet allowed for easy maneuvering to different locations and sites, and was perfect for pedestrians, carts, and rickshaws into a world dominated by cars where I could not walk except in the blazing sun past glaring buildings that intensified the heat. It was a stark contrast that shows just how much of the traditional patterns of building have been changed here. I’ll leave you to think on your own about where this is a good or a bad thing—on the one hand you have a more international city on the outside but on the other you have a poorer climate for pedestrians, but my position is that the original structure and planning is much better, especially environmentally. Cities are not supposed to be uniform—location and history should play a role in design.
After my lassi, I set out on my second adventure—climbing to the Tiger Fort. I dove back into the narrow streets of Jaipur and steered for the biggest hill in sight. Slowly my path went higher and higher until soon I was winding my way above the spider web of paths below. On the way I only passed a few people moving up and down along with me—clearly this was not the most popular tourist attraction in town to which I was heading. After a good half hour or so, I finally reached the summit. Panting and dripping sweat from the heat of the day, I staggered on to the fort’s entrance. In contrast to the forts I had visited in Jaisalmer and Jodhpur, this one was run-down and abandoned—clearly it had not been kept up for years. Windows were broken, plaster falling, and no furnishings remained in the palace. Due to a lack of historical information in English, I am not able to say why this is true, but what I can say is that it was a bit eerie and fun to wander the old place. With each new room you could guess a bit about what it was used for based on the design, the painting that remained, and the orientation. The kitchen was easy, the rest not so much. However the best thing about it was the view over Jaipur. Many of the windows commanded sweeping, exquisite views over the city from which you could see the old area and the new meshed together roughly at the city walls. As I sat, the wind whistled through the building, providing a pleasant temperature and atmosphere. This combined with the absence of India’s usual noise and smells made for a peaceful place to relax and watch the sun sink lower toward the horizon.
As the sun dropped to the point where I knew I must leave so as to make it back to the city before dark, I recalled myself from my relaxation and hiked back down the same windy trail. Though much easier than on the way up, the unrelenting heat of the day (and this was not yet summer) left me again sweating when I hit the bottom. I navigated as quickly as possible back to my hotel for a brief shower before heading out for dinner at a very interesting place. For those located in Southern California (or familiar with it), you may appreciate when I say that my dinner location was much like the “Medieval Times” of India. The restaurant and entertainment complex called Chawki Dhani was a cheesy but fun recreation of an old Indian village. Here you could ride elephants and camels, watch fire jugglers and dancers, and even attend a magic show. Yet the highlight of it all was the meal. Two options were available to you—the food of the commoners (cheap and consequently what most visitors went for) or the Royal Rajasthani Thali—the all-you-can-eat feast of kings. Unknowingly, I opted for the latter but it was well worth it. An array of local dishes from starters to dessert was laid before me and the supply of roti, rice, vegetables, and potatoes was endless. I sampled at least 9 dishes as well as buttermilk and tea (the former of which I did not really enjoy) and capped it all with sweets in the form of ice cream and sugary, glazed fried dough. It was absolutely delicious.
After dinner, it was off to enjoy the festivities. Though not wanting to splurge on the elephant or camel rides, I did sit to enjoy shows of magic, a child balancing spinning plates on his face, and puppets. I even wandered over to the tents where women and men danced and both watched and took part myself. I think it surprised all of the people there when I joined in with the dancing simply because I was one of a only a handful of non-Indians present, but I was easily accepted and eagerly welcomed into the group. It was a lot of fun, but after a few songs of constant dancing, I was exhausted. Time then to sit back, enjoy the night, and watch as others did the hard work of dancing with pots on their heads, spinning sensually, and even juggling potentially lethal objects.
Though I could easily have stayed late into the night at Chawki Dhani, knowing I had an early morning ahead and the fatigue of the previous night’s bus ride drew me back to Jaipur and my hotel by midnight. The next morning, after checking out at my obscenely early required time, I hopped a bus and was headed out to the jewel of Jaipur, the Amber Fort. After a ride of about half an hour past a beautiful lake and other old areas, I finally alighted at the foot of a gleaming masterpiece of Rajasthani architecture perched above a picturesque lake. The morning light illuminated the building just perfectly, allowing the amber sandstone to glow in the diffuse rays. Mesmerized, I stood for a while simply staring at the beautiful image before me.
However it was not long before I tore myself away and headed into the line to ride an elephant to the top of the hill. That’s right, I finally got to ride an elephant. I don’t know whether it was worth the money to ride on the animals which were probably not treated as well as they could be in a caravan that plodded up what would otherwise be a 15 minute walk, but it did afford a fun time and a story that I can tell later. On the way, we also got a glimpse of some of the local laidback langurs—pretty cool experience overall.
The only annoying part of it (and I tell this partly to warn other travelers who may take this ride) was the driver. When you take the ride, you are given a slip that you must forfeit to the elephant driver and pay the required fee. When you board, you walk right past a big sign that says not to tip the drivers. Yet if you hand over money and expect change, the elephant handlers play the same old trick as rickshaw drivers—suddenly there is no change. Call them on that one (as I did) and then they plead that it is there tip. Explain that the sign said not to tip them, and suddenly you are at the limit of their capability for understanding English. Not until I took the money back from the driver and told him he would not get paid until he got change did he miraculously then produce the required 100 Rs. I required. You may wonder why I would be so strict over 100 Rs. (about US $2.20), but for me it was not so much the money as the fact that such a blatant disregard for a policy the driver must know bothered me. There is so much corruption at all levels of government and society in the nation that I felt as though this was one more way of coercing a bonus when undeserved and I didn’t like it. Perhaps I should have been the generous American tourist and given a tip, but if it is not the policy and not the local custom (which from the nature of bartering it is clear it is not), then I felt I should not and it bothered me that he was trying to, from my point of view, take advantage of me to make a tip because I was not a local.
Another interesting aspect of the trip was that about halfway up, several photographers jumped up on the wall to take a picture of me. Urging me to remember their face and meet them at the exit, the snapped a couple of shots. Remember that—I will come back to it later.
Finally I was at the top of the hill and dismounted my elephant. A quick audio guide purchase later, and I was off exploring the interior of this fort. Rather than talk at length about every room and detail (especially since many are similar to the other palaces I visited in Jaisalmer and Jodhpur), I will instead only highlight the things that I really enjoyed. The first was the hall of public audience immediately when you enter the palace. Here, massive columns elegantly decorated with Muslim and Hindu images graced a huge hallway. The area was said to be so beautiful that the Shah in Delhi was jealous and intended to destroy it. Only through the quick-thinking of the Maharajah to hide it was it saved (don’t ask me how he hid such a large, beautiful building, but he did).
The second thing I really enjoyed was the view up the hill to the third fort of Jaipur which I did not visit. This spectacular view of the hills and the town of Amer nestled beneath the Amber fort was beautiful and certainly worth lingering atop the castle walls.
Yet what most impressed me about the Amber Fort was the delicate hall of mirrors and the beautiful carpet-like courtyard in front of it. Plants and flowers delicately formed a sculptural foreground for this marble, colored glass, and mirrored edifice that served as one of the main living spaces of the former maharajahs. The beautiful white and glass reflecting the light set off the garden beautifully and provided a wonderful place for reflection. I have also always been mesmerized and calmed by the sound of flowing water, so the fountain in the center was simply exquisite in my opinion and completed the beautiful courtyard.
Though I wanted to linger in that courtyard forever, it was time to move on as I had a train to catch to Mumbai that evening. I dragged myself away with a last glance and headed down the pedestrian route to the city. On the way, guess who showed up—that’s right, the photographer from the ride up (remember him?). He was eager to show me the three pictures he had snapped of me on the ride which he already had taken the liberty to print—clearly he knew I was in a buying mood, especially when he quoted me the “special price” of only 1500 Rs. for all three. That’s right, for only $11 per picture, or a total of $33, I could preserve the priceless memory of my elephant ride forever. Invoking the importance of the photos to my family, friends, mother, and father, he implored me to buy. With a laugh, however, I brushed him off and said I wouldn’t pay more than 50 Rs. for the three ($1). What he didn’t understand was that by printing the photos in advance, he lost all leverage over the price. He now had a commodity only worth something to me and therefore he would have to settle on my price (or something near to it). Otherwise, he would only lose money on the printing paper and the wasted time. Well, he laughed off my offer and said that was far too cheap. I simply shrugged and walked away. But he wasn’t deterred that easily—with each step of mine he kept pace and the price seemed to drop—1000, 700, 500, 400, 300. Getting closer, but still not there, so I continued walking. He finally gave up and though I did want the photos, I didn’t turn back. Before I knew it, he was back. With a few final words as I told him I had to leave for a bus, he and I finally settled on 80 for the three. Maybe not my price, but I was happy to give him a little extra. At least I felt like I won the negotiation.
That was the last victory I was to have that day in anything it turned out. The rest of the day became one of those travel stories that you hate while it’s happening and then just have to look back and laugh. After getting lost on the pathway down the hill (no signposts on a diverging path is a bit of a challenge at times), I finally reached the village of Amer. I headed back to where I was dropped off by the bus only to be told that there was no bus stopping there by a “helpful” rickshaw driver who instead would take me back to town for 150 Rs. Thanking him, I headed up to the main village and found a bus stop sign conveniently collocated with a police officer. I asked him if that bus went to Jaipur and he confirmed that it did. I had enough time to wait up to 45 minutes for the bus and figured that would be enough. I confirmed with the officer the direction the bus went back to Jaipur and then sat down to wait. After two buses headed the other direction passed by, I saw two other tourists in the same plight. The three of us confirmed again the direction of bus we needed and asked when the next one would be. “Five minutes,” was the answer. Five minutes passed…then another five…then another five, and soon I began to sweat knowing that I was losing all buffer time I had built in to getting to the train station and I knew I only had enough money for the ride back to Jaipur. It meant I needed an ATM when I got back and quickly.
Finally the other tourists and I gave up on the bus and decided together to catch a rickshaw. We asked around but few drivers were to be found, and few wanted less than 200 to take us back. We kept asking until the price finally got down to 150 and decided we just wanted to go. Well we hopped in the backseat and were off…in the wrong direction. It turns out that rickshaws are not allowed to take the main road back to Jaipur and must instead take a network of pothole-ridden backroads that limit the maximum speed (and lengthen the time of the trip) significantly. So where I had been banking on a half hour trip back to the city, we now took nearly an hour. There went the rest of my buffer. I got back to the city with about 20 minutes before I had to make my train. I raced down the street looking for an ATM only to find that the one bank near my hotel had its ATM inside, behind the main door, and it was Sunday so they were not open.
At this point, my best plan was to grab my luggage from the hotel, find a rickshaw driver, and have him stop by an ATM on the way to the station. With my bag, I went to the rickshaw park in the city and asked for a ride to the station. The sleepy collection of drivers roused from their afternoon siesta, sized me up, and demanded in excess of 100 Rs. Though in a hurry, I was not about to be hustled like that and argued down to 70 before accepting a driver (still about double what the ride was worth). We were off then and though he said he knew of a cash machine, he drove slowly, scanning each building for one. After passing about 3 and not stopping when I pointed them out, he pulled over and asked a man on the sidewalk where an ATM was. The man said there were none between our position and the train station. I told him that must be wrong and insisted the driver continue. Lo and behold, about two minutes later we came on another bank. This time, I forcefully commanded the driver to stop, ran in and got my money, and was back in a flash. The only problem was that my train was now supposedly departing. My only hope was to pray that, true to form, this train would be late like all my others had been. Finally we arrived at the station, I lugged on my heavy bag and dashed inside. To my horror, the train was gone. It had left on time—the only one in my whole time in India to be on time for anything.
Unsure what to do, I scanned the schedule on the wall. Nothing else was going to Mumbai that day and I needed to be there by the next day. I called my friend in Delhi to petition for his assistance, but the quickest way he could get me there was in two days time. That was no good, so I went back to helping myself. There was a tourist information office at the station, so I headed for that. I found the only clerk helping a group of European travelers figure out a ride to Agra. I politely waited until he finished only to have them then launch into a discussion about Thailand and then exchange Facebook information. Frustrated that the clerk was not helping me in my time of need, I sat silently and fumed. When finally they left and I was the only one left in the office needing help, I turned off my anger and very politely asked for help getting to Mumbai. He told me what I already knew—last train to Mumbai left a half hour before—and asked why I missed it. When I explained my predicament, he lectured me on why I should not have missed the train and then returned to Facebook. He told me I should get a refund on my ticket and then ask the ticket clerk what to do. Angry at being lectured and pawned off, I went with a police officer to get my refund, but when I asked the clerk what I should do, he responded (clearly annoyed) that his job was not information, the scheduling and booking office was closed since it was Sunday, and he could do nothing but issue refunds and sell tickets for trains that day. I headed back to the tourist office with this new information.
Once again I found the unhelpful clerk chatting with some friends and watching videos on Youtube and Facebook. He barely glanced up when I entered and was not prepared to help me in my plight at all. When finally he did, his advice was simple—take the train sitting on the platform to Agra and then figure it out from there. His logic was that there were more trains he knew of from Agra to Mumbai than from Jaipur to Mumbai. It didn’t matter to him when I pointed out that Agra was the wrong direction—he just shrugged, told me there were no other options, and went back to Facebook. Anytime I asked about other nearby cities, he just said no or that he didn’t know. I wanted to shove him off the computer and start searching myself, but that would have been extremely rude. Instead, I spied a train schedule book on his shelf and asked to see it. Maybe he figured it would shut me up and so he gave it to me. After first figuring out how to read the confusing tome, I began poring over schedules for all nearby cities. I finally found what I wanted—a train from Ajmer to Mumbai leaving in four hours. I whipped out my Lonely Planet guide—the bus to Ajmer would take 3 to 3 ½ hours. Perfect, I thought. I asked the clerk when the next bus to Ajmer was and how long it would take, and he said they left regularly and took about 4 hours. That meant that if I was on a bus now I might make it.
I raced out of his office without thanking him and ran to a rickshaw driver. Frustrated at the high price he offered, I bargained a bit but finally relented to pay double the actual rate. Without any hurry, he took me to the bus station where I found the first seller with tickets to Ajmer, grabbed one, and boarded. Then I sat. 20 minutes later, the bus finally departed. Now I could only hope that the time to Ajmer was on the shorter 3 ½ hour side. If I made it in that time, I would have about 5 minutes to get to the station and board my train. Luckily, it was only 1 km from the bus station to the train station.
I don’t know how, but I caught a little sleep on the bus despite my continual worry. I awoke in time to see the sun sink below the horizon, Ajmer appear in the distance as light, and my watch hand slowly tick toward the train’s departure time. Knowing I could no longer trust the tardiness of the train, I nervously watched the city grow agonizingly slowly on the horizon. When we finally arrived, I already had my backpack on and was among the first to dash out the door of the bus. I had only 4 minutes to make my train. I took the first rickshaw driver I saw without even getting a price first and left the negotiation for the ride. He wanted 100 Rs. for the 1 km ride (should be about 20) and we finally settled on 50. When I got out and handed him a 100, he claimed he didn’t have change. Rather than argue, I took the 15 Rs. he handed me, cursed him in the little bit of Hindi I knew for ripping me off, yelled a couple more obscenities in English for good measure, and then dashed to the ticket office.
So far I was in luck—the train was still on the platform. I could only hope that it would not leave early as I now had 1 minute to buy my ticket and hop aboard. The only woman in the queue saw the pained look on my face as I plodded up to her and let me go straight to the ticket counter. “Mumbai,” I panted, and the agent’s eyes went wide. He knew the train was about to leave and so hastily printed the ticket and had my change in hand. “Run,” he said, “and you might make it—it’s about to leave.” I didn’t need to be told twice, and despite the large pack on my back, I was off like a shot, dodging woman with children, men with large carpetbags, and even railway officials. I arrived on the platform as the train was closing its doors. With no time to find the correct coach, I lunged for the first ladder and door I saw, jumping on and scrambling aboard just as the train was pulling out of the station.
I may have lost my sleeper accommodation on the other train and now had to sit all night on a hard seat to Mumbai, but at least I was aboard, and at least I would be in the city the next day. At that point, nothing else mattered. The hundreds of rupees lost in poor negotiating, the fact that I was now drenched with sweat once more and would arrive in Mumbai a reeking and disheveled mess, and the fact that in the best case I would be a few hours late faded with the last light of day as I breathed a sigh of relief to be cruising southward.
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