I shouldn't have pigged out on the hotel restaurant food in Jaipur. When dinner was hot it had a weird interesting taste, which became a gross taste as it cooled. It was a bad idea to conclude that I should eat it quickly.
On the way to Agra, I got nauseous. It didn't help that I ordered a greasy paratha for breakfast on the road. Hari was doing his best to find us good eateries: he took it upon himself to test the chai whenever we stopped somewhere dubious, and would send us away if it wasn't up to snuff. We were having fun with Hari at this point. He taught us some simple Hindi expressions; my companions would continually say things like, "Good job Hari! Bahut bahut accha!", or "Challo!", and he was visibly amused.
Cruisin'
Agra is the state in Uttar Pradesh which houses the famous Taj Mahal. As many had warned us, it's not a nice city to be in otherwise, being both dirty and expensive. The restaurants weren't so good: the "neapolitan spaghetti" I ordered was pricey but tasted like Chinese noodles. Hari drove us to a spot across the street from the entrance to the Taj, and parked, telling us that he would wait. I hope he had something entertaining to do in the meanwhile.
There are lots of rules about what you can bring with you to the Taj, we came to understand. We had to take a long walk to a locker area where we could stash our belongings. Along that walk there are lots of aggressive rickshaw drivers, tour guides, and young kids hawking souvenirs rather than going to school. Courtney sublimated our annoyance at being harassed by the locals into causing more mischief.
Antic #3: She drives the rickshaw-wallah's rickshaw.
Okay, so she asked if she could drive him in a rickshaw. He awkwardly agreed, and so got to take some fun photos.
The Great Escape
It was a fun lark. Unfortunately afterwards, the guy insisted on more and more money, even though nothing had been agreed upon beforehand. Boo!
On our way from the lockers, this guy Sebastian approached us. Sebastian was a handsome young Argentinian tourist who was delighted to find other westerners. He told us how much he was hating his visit to India, because of how everyone was trying to get money from him. I guess touring by yourself is no fun. He and Courtney started chatting it up which means...you guessed it...we were doing Spatilloman theatre again. Incidentally, I'm sure that Hari eventually figured out that we weren't really a family, even though Mehar told him otherwise...
As you would imagine, there are very long lines to see the Taj. Actually, aside from gender divisions, there were two lines for everything: a long line and a short line. The short lines were only possible if you purchased the "High Value Ticket", which is ७५० rupees and 10 minutes, as opposed to the normal one which is 10 rupees and a couple hours. Actually we didn't have a choice because foreigners can only buy the High Value Tickets. (Although I suspect I could get the cheaper one with my TIFR ID card.) Whatever the morality, we basically whisked past everyone.
Okay so here are the Spatillomans at the Taj Mahal:
It's a small world after all.
It's pretty cool; something to do once in your life, wonder of the world and all. Foreigners who don't like to take their shoes off get little booties gratis with their HV Tickets.
Stylin'
There's another line to enter the Taj itself, that HV Ticket holders whisk through. Probably there's not much more I can say here without doing internet research that you can do yourself. It's a really big tomb.
Afterwards I took some nausea pills and crashed at the hotel while my cohort milled around Agra.
So really, there were no strings attached with our free stay at Sonu's. She really just likes the vibe of helping international travelers. When we got chatty about our travels, they suggested using nextdoor's "Wahoe India Travel", run by Mehar, a young friend of Sonu's. They had similarly offered to sell us A/C rides around Delhi to see the monuments, which we declined. But we really wanted to see Jaipur, the Taj Mahal, and Rishikesh without much hassle, so availed ourselves of their travel services. We paid in advance for four days of travel, which was in total ४x५०००= २०००० rupees. This covered everything, including hotel, travel, and "hidden expenses".
A few minutes after I made my "Wahoe Cottage" video, we carried our stuff a few blocks to meet our stolid driver. I asked Mehar whether he knew English. Not too much, but Mehar didn't seem worried about it. The five of us took off. The language barrier was perplexing at first. Early on, we had asked him to stop at a certain store to get a box of water; he wagged his head in response, but I don't think he understood. Driving out of Delhi involved going around some cloverleaves; we passed by a huge statue of Hanuman three times.
This pic is off the internet.
We visited a rest stop for breakfast on the highway, the first of many "Cafe Coffee Day"s. While waiting around I asked the driver, "Apka nam kya hai?", which means "What is your name?". His name was Hari. This broke the ice, and the girls jumped in and introduced themselves as well. It was the beginning of an awesome trip
Getting there was half the fun. People rode all manner of vehicles and animals. Autorickshaws drove past us, precariously overflowing with passengers, some small children. It looked like Hari was constantly playing chicken with oncoming traffic, which doesn't always stay on its side of the street. My companions were constantly chugging from water bottles many times the size of their bladders, resigned to the fact that we'd need to make lots of rest stops to accommodate this.
We then arrived in Jaipur, the capital of the desert state of Rajasthan. Two of its inhabitants confronted us as Hari snailed us through the busy streets.
First, a cop pulled us over because Stacy wasn't wearing her seatbelt, fining us Rs. 100. By the way, seatbelt regulations are weird here: in the back of a car, the seats always just have half a seatbelt. Which I guess is for show?...
Our second greeter was a painted elephant's trunk, that came into my window when I wasn't looking. A calmer Steven would have petted it I guess, but instead I rolled my window up in a panic.
It's still after me.
Hari didn't know exactly where our destination, the "Moonlight Hotel" was, so he started to ask for directions. He would do this many times over the course of our travels. It was very straightforward; he would pull the car up to a group of locals and bark out the name of our destination. Someone would come up to the car and give him directions, and then he would drive off. No "thank you"s required.
The hotel itself was very nice, with a great view and western-style lodgings. Hari stayed elsewhere; we arranged to meet in the morning. The next day we saw the Amber Fort, another tourist hotspot, and I took this video:
Courtney wasn't up for paying the "Foreigner Price", so she sat for awhile. This led to dozens of Indian tourists taking pictures with her. We've gotten into the habit of getting shots for ourselves. Here is one of many examples.
Shall we call this an antic?
Jennifer and Stacy really wanted to ride a camel, so Hari stopped to hook us up.
That's Hari in the striped shirt.
Here's a little documentary of the ride. Would you trust a small boy to lead you on a camel through Indian traffic?
Elsewhere we encountered a snake-handler, and tested our courage. Would you sit next to this scary-looking snake?
We also visited Jantar Mantar, which had astrological monuments, including one for each sign. The Spatilloman Leos posed in front of theirs:
For the next couple days we set out to explore New Delhi. We grabbed breakfast in the marketplace, eschewing the deep fried potato sandwich in favor of a freshly baked parantha meal. The uniformed schoolchildren who flooded the streets waved and smiled at my companions.
Comin' through!
We took the Metro to visit as many famous monuments as we could handle in three days, which turned out to be two: Hamayun's Tomb and the Red Fort. We also milled around the marketplaces and Rajiv Chowk.
No yawning: monuments are important!
The Metro takes some effort. I tended to get separated from the ladies, which was a nuisance. Each time we used the Metro I had to get in the security lines, walk through the metal detectors, and enduring the men with the hands. We couldn't all use the "Ladies Only" cars for the obvious reason, so we had to squeeze onto the much more crowded mixed ones. I learned that if you're on a crowded train, then when it stops, you're supposed to push as hard as you can against people trying to board! Then when the doors close, people relax and more room is found. So the big guys hang out near the entrance for this job and disinterested guys like me are herded further in. When the train shakes you hang onto people near you. You get used to that kind of thing, and keep your hand on your wallet. Evidently, it is illegal to take photos on the Metro. So we were bad when we took this:
Jennifer had visited the Beard-Wallah.
The monuments were alright. I'm no architect, but I can appreciate walking around a well-preserved ancient site and trying to visualize old times. We found a large group of visitors sitting in a row of benches at the Red Fort, with a large lawn before them. My companions thought it was a good opportunity for an impromptu acroyoga/juggling show. Here is a video of our performance:
Notice that most of the audience just stares stoically... We wondered why: is it because according to Victorian England, women are not meant to show off their yoga flexibilities in public? Who knows? Another notable incident at Red Fort: with no warning, a couple handed Jennifer their baby and took pictures.
Neither of them is comfortable with this arrangement.
It turns out that in India, parents trust and half-expect you to play with their children. There is no fear of weirdos like in the States. My friend Viji says that once when he was in an American restaurant he went to play with a child, like he would in India, and folks were horrified. Anyway Jennifer was shocked.
Do you wish people were friendlier with children in the West?
Rajiv Chowk was a nice little outdoor mall area in a huge circle, nicely organized with lots of western-friendly stores. We were looking for Hindi alphabet books for toddlers, internet cafes for blogging, and food. Yeah, we went to a McDonalds. I'm sorry. But we wanted to tell you about it. So the McDonalds in India don't have beef or pork. They do have chicken, potato, and cheese sandwiches. I got a McSpicy Paneer and a McAloo Tikka, which were both pretty good. Above on the TV screens run horoscopes. There is a big glass box with ketchup and mustard packets in it, labeled, "Please drop the unused condiments in the box."
We go way back.
Back in Baljeet Nagar I witnessed Courtney's... Antic #2: Carrying a large box of water bottles on her head like a local.
When in Delhi...
This was pretty cute and got her (more) attention, but her neck kind of hurt afterwards. One really impressive thing about India is how much stuff people can carry, either on their heads, or pulled by a wagon through the busy streets.
After just a couple days we were exhausted. Partly because of the effort it took to move through Delhi, and partly because the pollution there is awful. If you blow your nose, it comes out black. I'm told that this is much better than twenty years ago, when you wiped sweat off your brow and it came off black. Wahoe Cottage certainly isn't insulated or climate-controlled, and I feel bad for Jolly.
The next day we left Sonu and her family. They were good to us.
One of the great things about traveling in a group is that you don't have to organize everything. Hanging with TAO was particularly sweet because Stacy had everything figured out, Jennifer kept us on track, and Courtney maintained an amazing sense of direction. So when we traveled to Delhi, I simply daydreamed and carried stuff where I was told, and trusted in my friends.
Now I was just getting to know Courtney. When I heard she was coming I befriended her on a social networking site to do some "sleuthing". My biggest clue, although I did not know it at the time, was the following status update: "Looking for a ride back to Norman from Dallas on Wednesday. Any volunteers? Gas $, snack food and antics guaranteed." Hmmm...what does "antics guaranteed" mean? Stay tuned.
A week ago we were discussing online where to stay in Delhi. I had contacted Manish, a math professor friend who lived in Delhi, to see if he had any suggestions. He wasn't in town, but suggested the possibility of staying at a university guest house somehow. Before that was settled, Courtney had made arrangements through a website called Couchsurfing.org, with which she had had pleasant experiences in the U.S. The site is set up so that people can crash for free at other people's houses. There are ratings and testimonials to make it fairly safe. Here is the Couchsurfing profile for our host, Sonu, at Wahoe Cottage.
We arrived in Delhi, then took a metro and two rickshaws to Baljeet Nagar, near the Shadipur metro stop, following directions from Courtney's correspondence with Sonu. The rickshaws took us uphill to a lively packed neighborhood with three dimensions of people. About 200,000 live there.
Stacy brought me an Ashtanga Oklahoma sweatshirt!
Of course, we got a little confused and started asking around for directions, and soon a young man from Wahoe Cottage appeared to be our host. We let Courtney talk to him to find out what's up. This was a relief, but then suddenly...
Antic #1: She tells them we're a family. Specifically, that Jennifer, Courtney, and I are siblings, and that Stacy is our mother.
So I'm not entirely clear on why this ruse was necessary. I'd seen enough sitcoms in my youth to fear comeuppance, or at least general wackiness, for this transgression. What would you have done? While still processing my new character for the upcoming theatre, we arrived at our lodging for the next three days.
We did not see the entire house, but were led through a small dark hallway into something like a one-room schoolhouse filled with small children. Class was in session. We carried our luggage past the children up a ladder to a loft overlooking the room. As we went up, the children uniformly greeted us with "Namaste!" and smiles. There were blankets, but no mattress. Pictures of rishis adorned the orange walls. There we sat above the ruckus, trying to digest what was going on. We would later learn that Sonu allowed "street children" into her home, and tried to teach them enough to fit into a regular school. There were other foreigners there to help: a German woman taught language, and a Japanese fellow gave some math lessons. We were not the only couch surfers, either: each night one or two groups of European travelers also shared the room. Here is a little video I took on our last day:
Before meeting anyone official, we met Sonu's son Jolly (pronounced like Angelina Jolie). Jolly was 7 years old and a lot of fun. He came up the ladder to hang out with us, to the delight of my paternal instincts. Perhaps I haven't met many children in this country, but Jolly has to be the silliest Indian I've met. He was rarely serious: he would pretend to sleepwalk, have amnesia, hypnotize me. He was keen on playing Stacy's guitar, and tried to juggle a little. But the main thing Jolly and I did on that loft was play "International Business". This board game is an international homage to Monopoly, except with purchasing countries rather than streets in Atlantic City. The rules weren't quite the same, so I had to rely on Jolly's interpretations, which always seemed to favor his situation... We never had enough time for a proper game, but had a good time nonetheless.
Everybody wants to rule the world.
We walked around the bustling neighborhood a bit, and got some groceries.
The fellow on the right originally led us to Wahoe.
Part of the deal is that visitors buy some vegetables, and Sonu prepares from them a home-cooked meal. Of course it was really good.
A+ for enthusiasm!
By then it was after curfew so we were confined to our loft. I called it the bird cage, because Stacy brought out her guitar and we sang some songs. We decided to pretend our last name was "Spatilloman", a portmanteau of all our surnames.
As evening came we met more of our hosts. Sonu's bother-in-law Dev inquired about our travel plans. In fact Wahoe Cottage was right next door to Wahoe Travel, a travel agency we might be interested in. Good marketing. Dev also invited us to meditation in the morning.
As we prepared to turn in, it dawned on us that there was only one bathroom in Wahoe Cottage, so it was tight. Bathing was in the form of a bucket bath, with the water heated electrically. Stacy would later shock herself from it. A sign in the dim damp bathroom read, "If you sprinkle when you tinkle, don't be mean, wipe it clean." There were like five buckets in there. I avoided it, and learned to do things like brush my teeth on the loft using an empty water bottle and a half-empty water bottle.
In the morning we hung out with Dev, remembering that he wanted to meditate with us. I was up first, so the two of us chatted a bit. He was a devout Sikh, a "mountain person" from Shimla. Specifially, he practiced Wahoe. He asked if I thought mathematics could describe a bird's flight. The other Spatillomans came in and he asked about our faith. He did some chanting and head-rubbing, and did some personality-reading via numerology and palm-reading. He thought Stacy's reactions were "stern and skeptical". All I was thinking was that, if he truly had mystic insights into our psyches, wouldn't he know that we weren't related? Anyway the meditation session was gratis, although he also advertised massage which wasn't. We also discussed Wahoe Travel business afterwards. He was a nice guy.
