Friday, January 30th, Jaipur

The wife and I presented a united front this AM--the Hovering One stood no chance against the combined might of double PI power. He responded to our grunted half-greetings by making himself available to other breakfasting individuals in the area, much to their annoyance. When he saw we were making ready to go, he made one last desperate attempt at tip-obtaining, only to witness me granting another waiter the gratuity. I gave him a cheery smile for his efforts, though.

Today was the last day in Jaipur, so after packing up our taxi, we asked the driver to take us to Sanganer, a quaint little town between Jaipur and the airport. It's known for truly ancient Jain temples and a method of printing fabric via machined block impressions. The Jain religion consists of at least two main sects, and, among many other aspects, is notably for it's extremely peace-loving nature and respect for all form's of life. In this temple, the original construction of which dates back to at least the 11th century AD, visitors are only allowed on the entrance level, and rooftop level, and in the basement. According to a guide we spoke with, only when the current guru experiences a revelation while dreaming can the sealed barricade be broken and the lower levels be revealed. He also said that the total number of these lower levels (including the basement) is seven. Unfortunately, photography is not permitted inside the temple--but the images I saw inside are irrevocably burned inside my brain, regardless.

The taxi driver and his boss were no doubt expecting some commissions, as the novice pilot of our vehicle attempted to lead us to several "great businesses with good prices," but we suggested other places, much to his chagrin. Near the temple, we found a shop whose owner and two sons showed us how fabric is printed in the traditional Sanganer fashion. We purchased a little, haggled a little less, and talked even less on our drive on to the airport, saddened that it was time to depart such a beautiful region.

Someday I will return--my camel safari awaits! Speaking of camels, here are a few pictures I snapped while riding to the airport--just to remind everyone that India is not simply a place that is slightly warmer where people speak myriad different languages. It's a place where several different regions coexist simultaneously--regions of language, time, and geography.

Thursday, January 29th, Jaipur

Hovering Waiter was at in again; however, his mark was lessened today as we engaged in PI (pointedly ignoring) him. We shall have to discover an effective strategy to lessen the sting his presence causes tomorrow. Unity is key when enemies lurk everywhere.

:-)

Our taxi driver from yesterday came for us again today, along with the "student taxi driver" who transported us last evening. The student driver was accompanied by his boss for, I'm guessing, several reasons:

1. The boss wants to ensure proper customer placement at businesses of his choosing.
2. He doesn't trust the direction-sense of his student.
3. He doesn't trust his student regarding what occurs to the cash.
4. Perhaps he just loves jawing with Americans.

We were taken today the famous City Palace, located in old Jaipur. This part of the viewable architecture is extremely tourist-friendly: admission is cheap, guides are available, audio guides are also provided free-of-charge, and people asking for tips--for actions not usually associated with rewards ("dial your phone for you, sir?")--are few. Despite the name, this tour only covers the extensive courtyard and ancillary buildings of the compound. To view the actual palace, you need pay an impressive admission fee. The audio guide had 32 tracks, corresponding to locations which were usually easily discovered. Unfortunately for those not employed as seamstresses with concentrations in anthropology, many of the tracks discussed jewelry, dress, and so on.

There was an armory, however, which was fairly interesting. An audience hall later on in the tour, containing portraits of maharajahs far in the past, was simply stunning--gilded tracings covered nearly every square centimeter of this beautiful hall. Sadly, pictures were not allowed inside. Two giant silver jars, the largest such in the world, constructed of 14,000 silver coins each, were visible in one of the hall inside another courtyard. After seeing this, I sat with my wife, stunned, as no less than 150 monkeys of various ages scrambles across the palace rooftops, only to disappear through an opening in one of the battlements. Wildlife in like that in Jaipur: visible, prevalent, and totally unconcerned about humanity. Finally, I stepped through a corridor into a gorgeous courtyard which contained four doors, each door decorated to represent one of the seasons. From here, there was a great view of the palace--the picture speaks for itself.

The remainder of the day was spent shopping, and my masculine genes do not permit me to speak of such things.

Wednesday, January 28th, Jaipur

We awoke somewhat stiff this morning from a couple of fantastically stiff beds--twin beds which had been placed together to make one "queen bed." Breakfast was included, so we ventured to the dining area for a complimentary meal including roti's, sausages, coffee, tea, and an annoying hovering waiter. This guy asked other waiters to collect our coffee and omelets while he chattered on endlessly about psychobabble. Basically, he was dishonorably attempting to steal tips by engaging customers in conversation--he'll be tarred and feathered soon enough by his compatriots, I'm sure.

Anyways, today we traveled via hired taxi to Umber/Amber/Amer Fort and Palace, its name depending on who you chat with. The town of Umber predates Jaipur by at least several hundred years, and lies outside of the latter, about seven kilometers away. Umber Fort is a massive fort which overlooks the town. A wall, probably forty or so feet high, courses over and along the nearby hills and valleys, and completely encloses Umber town, Umber fort, a man-made lake nearby, and most of (even higher) Jaigarh Fort. Needless to say, from the highway approach to this area, the view is spectacular--but the sight from the top of Jaigarh Fort, some 400 meters above sea level, is slightly less than providential. The yellowish fort is Umber, and the reddish one is Jaigarh. Our taxi dropped us off at a winding road which took us through Umber town, and all the way to the inner gates of Umber Fort.

After this, we found a guide who showed us around the fort. It seems that the fort and palace was build over a span of around 130 years, starting with maharaja Mon Singh, and continuing through his descendents. An amusing tidbit is that Mon Singh had a courtyard built for his twelve wives, and twelve equivalent apartments on the lower floor come off of it. Mon Singh engineers built a "secret passageway" from the maharaja's apartments (one floor up) to each of his wives' apartments, the upshot being that none of his other wives would know which apartment he was "visiting" on any particular evening. The themes of polygamy and secret passages were frequently revisited for royalty in medieval Rajistan, amusingly enough. I guess even rajas fear the icy stare of an unhappy spouse(s). Did I forget to mention that the concubines also had there own areas of habitation? Kind of makes sense that eight percent of all Asian men have Genghis Khan an a direct ancestor (not to mention that many Europeans also share this trait).

Next was Jaigarh Fort, which we reached by exiting Umber and winding our way round and round a hill. The view was stupendous and the ride was terrifying. The majesty of the surrounding countryside is pretty much indescrible. The sheer power that this fort's zone of control must have projected when the garrison was a full strength must have been horrifying for an attacker. You can see...everything from the battlements: Umber town, Umber Fort, Jaipur, and who knows how many miles further. I love "visual overlapping levels of history," which I'm sure has some sort of scholarly title--in other words, I love, with one viewing angle, being able to see simultaneously architecture from different decades, centuries, and even millenia. Rome is a great city for this--really broadens your mind regarding how many actual EVENTS have occurred on this tiny planet. Anyways, from Umber fort I spied the remains of another crumbling fort inside Umber itself, instead of lording over it. The guide said that Umber Fort was begun in the late 16th century, and the crumbling fort in Umber was at least 2oo-300 years older than Umber Fort.

The taxi was rented for all day, for a cost of aroundRs. 1200 for the duration (around $24). Beware though if you desire shopping or meals--most taxi drivers have special locations that they prefer to drop off tourists. Usually the stores/restaurants grant the drivers a commission for every tourist they send, so unless you really want to go to THAT specific place of business, demand that the taxi take you elsewhere. Further, everyone works for a commission in Jaipur--the sneaky little coincierge who so innocently asked us everyday where we had been was really using that info to calculate the commission he would receive from the taxi driver! Everyone pays, and everyone gets paid (except tourists).

In the evening we dined in the sumptuous Rambagh palace, now owned by the Taj francise of hotels. Unbelievably opulent in every detail, the dinner still cost us under $80. My wife was amazed when the waiter offered her a stool...for her purse?! If ever in Jaipur, visit this palace. Just don't stay there--rooms start at $300 per night.

Tuesday, January 27th, Hyderabad/Jaipur

It is called a "babymoon" when an expectant couple goes on a vacation together somewhere, according to my wife. Our "babymoon within a babymoon" started today, as we flew from Hyderabad to Jaipur. My in-laws had been extremely generous, and had purchased, for the two of us, flights to Jaipur as well as a three-day stay in a converted palace. The palace was a moderate-sized affair, with outer gate, inner gate, and circular driveway. It is beautiful both inside and out, and the grounds of the estate are nothing to sneeze at. Turbaned wait staff rush about, fetching tea, laundry, and orders, peacocks wander the estate, and guests sigh with contentment and laze about the pool.

After a brief tea-n-biscuits hiatus at the pool, we ventured via...auto-rickshaw into the surrounding city. I was thrilled. We entered the Old City, in which every building is painted a light-red/soft-pinkish color, via of its seven gates. If Hyderabad's streets were chaos, then Jaipur's are raging pandemonium. "Tuk-tuks" (auto-rickshaws) swarm the streets, pedestrians landen with the day's wares dare death at every corner, and cows wander aimlessly. Monkeys gather in courtyards and vendors beckon endlessly in this area, commissioned for construction in the early 18th century by maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II, making it one of Asia's first planned cities. The markets are exercises in frustration, for one cannot walk the sidewalk without being harassed by extremely aggressive bazaar employees. And of bazaars there are many, a different shop every ten feet, with its requisite full complement of howling owners. Being an obvious foreigner, as you might have guessed, didn't tone down the aggression much. Before I abandoned my interest in bargaining for some useless trinket and traveled to a government-controller "set-rate" store, a took a couple shots of the Hawa Mahal. This building was constructed for the various palace ladies so that they could view street parades without being seen, a common theme dictating various aspects of architecture throughout medieval India.

We then retired (via "tuk-tuk"!) back to the hotel, but not before an evening meal at our palace, complete with a live performance of traditional Rajastani dances. The young boy made up in enthusiasm what he lacked in technique, and one of the dancing girls managed seven pots balanced on her head while standing on swords! Don't try this at home.

Monday, January 26th, Hyderabad

Having been under British dominion for some 180-odd years, depending on the historian, India has adopted many nuances of speech, education, and thought familiar to one acquainted with the U.K. Apartments are "flats," trucks are "lorries," guys are "chaps," and so on. Vehicles, if they can be said to be driving at all, considering the random conditions on the road, stay on the left side with the driver's wheel on the right. Many Indians, especially those privy to higher education, display distinct traces of a clearly English accent if one listens. You must listen carefully because many Indians simultaneously also have their regional accent mixed with the English accent.

One word I kept hearing over and over from Indian colleagues of mine, most often female friends who were born on the subcontinent, was "auspicious." This word, for those unfamilliar, means fortunate, lucky, or of a good omen. After a while, it seemed that nearly everything was judged in terms of being either auspicious or inauspicious. This may, although I am neither theologian nor sociologist nor cultural anthrologist, be a modern-day manifestation of cultural syncretism--a linkage into one of aspects of two or more cultures. In this case, the English word added to the Indian penchant for spirituality results in pervasive usage.

I mention all of this because today corresponds with a solar eclipse in this section of the world. A regional belief is that eclipses can be extremely inauspicious signs, especially for pregnant women. They are encouraged to remain safely inside a darkened room, shades drawn, and rest quietly for the duration.

The remainder of the day was excitingly spent packing for our trip tomorrow to Jaipur, a city in northern India. I'm including another couple auto-rickshaw pictures for entertainment purposes only--I'll keep trying to catch the fabled 12-persons-in-rickshaw shot, it's my Moby Dick.

Sunday, January 25th, Hyderabad

By now, some of you in the reading audience might have seen the sleeper hit from last year, "Slumdog Millionaire." This movie is not your typical "Hindi" film, with vacuous characters who have nothing to do but dance, sing, and die unexpectedly to remove an inconvenient love triangle. "Slumdog" is highly original; however, the reason I refer to it is because of some rather nasty elements it purports to represent regarding the impoverished in Mumbai (Bombay). Specifically, the movie shows how some orphaned children are "adopted" by less-than-altruistic types seeking profit. Such children are encouraged to steal, beg, sing, play music, and run errands. Babies are carried by other children and are encouraged to cry via thistle pressed into the skin underneath the blanket. The movie demonstrates how children with excellent singing voices are intentionally blinded, assumedly to increase the "pity" potential as well making it difficult for the waifs to escape.

Well, I haven't seen any blinded singing children, but I have seen an alarming number of beggars who are amputees. These poor souls, along with their less deformed kin, await passersby at many of the more busy intersections, tapping shoulders, side-mirrors, and windows repeatedly if one is not cajoled into letting loose a few coins immediately. After discussing this finding with many Hyderabadis, some have admitted that intentional amputation is probably exactly what is happening. Begging children, complete with crying babies, are also in abundance. Tourists beware--these children will save their most pitiful wails for you.

A friend of my wife from childhood dropped in, along with her nephew, as she had recently flown in from Dubai. She accompanied us and my wife's parents to a nearby marvel of architecture: Golconda fort. Built in the 12th century A.D., this citadel housed kings of various ethnicities and creeds until the Mughal emperor Aurangazeb ended its reign of prosperity in the late 17th century. Golconda Fort once controlled great diamond mines, for many years the only such mine on the planet. Upon reaching one of the main courtyards, we were treated to a spectacle of light and sound, nearly an hour in length, which gave a beginner's history of the fort to those present. The majesty of the place at its height was dimly imagined with the aid of the presentation.

Finally, one bit I neglected to mention in the narrative, if you'll pardon the fragmented chronicity, is kites. Actually, hundreds of kites, kite-flyers, kite-wars, and kite-deaths are what I'd like to describe for you. Along the way to the fort, the driver diverted us to a road which ran alongside one of Hyderabad's larger lakes, and above a great public park. Above us, the air swarmed with kites from literally hundreds of people. This is no ordinary hobby which the Indian people have curiously turned into an obession--this is kite-flying with lethal connatations, at least for the kites. These kites are specially-made with combat--yes, combat--in mind, bearing razor-sharp forward edges. The aim of the game is being first to sever your opponent's kite-strings, loosing his weapon permanently into the wild blue yonder. The evidence for many severed strings litters the landscape, as one may find a felled kite in perhaps two out of every ten trees in the city.

Saturday, January 24th, Hyderabad

Cruised through this day with hardly a memory, my thought-stream being frequently interrupted by excellent coffee, meals, and naps. However, I did manage to squeeze in a quick tour around Hussain Sagar, a large man-made lake constructed in the 16th century. The lake serves as entertainment, art, and convienence to the citizenry. It connects Hyderabad with its twin city Secunderabad, and features several parks along its shoreline, including one which bears more than a passing resemblance to a state fair. In addition, the shoreline attracts many couples, as I saw not one bench unoccupied. The middle of the lake contains a gigantic statue of Buddha on a tiny island--ferries come and go around the structure as they travel throughout the rest of the lake.

The remainder of the evening involved primarily Kingfisher, one of India's most popular beers, and tall tales from yesteryear.

Friday, January 23rd, Hyderabad

Days pass differently here in India, especially for one on vacation. The idle life's beckoning finger proves too powerful a force to resist in this place. One can be exhausted following a hearty breakfast even though nary a finger was lifted for meal preparation. Naps are frequent, although perhaps this is a consequence of the daily awakenings forced upon the average citizen by the beautiful, but extremely loud, singing at 0530 each morning by the local imam, calling his flock to prayer. Still, one feels compelled to resemble a human more than a moderately lethargic sloth as a matter of pride, prompting an excruciatingly wearisome journey to the local salon via hired driver. There, I handed over the princely sum of Rs. 450 (~$9) for a pedicure with foot massage which lasted the paltry period of just under one hour.

How I must now be despised.

Let me provide an emoticon to cushion the blow.

:-)

Following the above tediously draining affair, my mother-in-law and wife returned to collect me and we traveled to a construction site. We entered a beautiful "planned community," where many houses showed sign of recent renovation. The driver stopped in front of wonder-of-design in progress: my sister-in-law's recently-purchased home. The entrance lawn is being built with style in mind--a gracefully cut section in the ground for a meandering pond conjures future memories of further times of idle, tea-cup in hand. The total area of the house in perhaps 2,200 square feet, and includes several suites (not bedrooms), a large kitchen, and a tiny side-apartment for the servants' quarters. Many homes in India have at least a small section for servant's living areas, either attached to or within the house itself, or as separate entities on the grounds. There are several verandas, one off each suite, as well as roof access, which provides an excellent view of greater Hyderabad.

Later Friday evening, we all ventured to Hotel Kakatiya for dinner. We had some of the most excellent lamb I've ever tasted in one of the ground-floor restaurants, and the cooking staff treated us to some naan-making (a giant flatbread, some 20 inches in diameter) festivities via the see-through window into the kitchen.

Thursday, January 22nd, Hyderabad

Thursday was a bit more eventful, or perhaps my somewhat-rested mind was able to track the passage of time again. In the event, the house servants treated us to an excellent breakfast of chicory-enhanced coffee, fried eggs, toast, and parathas (a type of flatbread, very popular in India, which one can eat separately or use, like a utensil, to eat "curry"). Myself, my mother-in-law, and my wife then traveled with one of the family drivers to a natural-dye fabric shop, owned and run by my wife's older sister. As an aside, the act of driving is viewed very differently in India than in America. In the states, there is almost a feeling of pride to be driving one's self--and only the very rich/very boring have hired drivers. In India, if one has the means to hire a driver, then that is what is done.

What is also done, it seems, is very little if the boss is not around. My wife's sister's shop has several employees who all have trouble with promptness. The average work-day begins around 1100 and lasts until the workers feel overcome by hunger, generally around 1130. Work resumes near one-o'clock, only to cease again somewhere around 1530. While there, we obtained several items of clothing and consulted the employees for the alteration of other pieces, causing one worker to nearly faint from exhaustion. I have included a photo of the surrounding area.

Some of my American acquaintances hailing from larger metropolitan areas may feel as if they have reached the pinnacle of offensive driving capability. Abandon whatever you think you know, and read these words carefully. There are no rules on the streets on Hyderabad. Drivers of the various conveyances treat road lanes as a nifty way of centering one's vehicle, pedestrians treat the lanes as a handy way of walking a straight lane, and various fauna meander between the indicated separations, as well. In essence, it is chaos. Auto-rickshaws--basically scooters with a shell-like enclosure placed over it, with benches for anywhere from two to eight passengers--rocket by between the much larger ultra-compacts which make up the majority of four-wheeled conveyances in Hyderabad. Regular scooters travel in packs, sometimes carrying up to four (!) people, fitting in spaces between vehicles where an undersized cat would hestitate to go. Compact car drivers are rather relaxed about whether to drive American (right-sided) or British (left-sided) style for any given minute, and frequently will stop abruptly to reverse their orientation by 180 degrees. There is simply no way to describe this mess adequately to one not familiar with it already. Here's a picture to give some idea, and I hear that Mumbai (Bombay) is even nuttier.

We stopped for gas, and the experience was a throw-back to what I've heard about 1950's era convienence stores. Multitudes of uniform-wearing workers lounged near every pump: one to take your money and one to pump your gas. There were probably twenty or more total workers present at one station--compare this with the two or three at your local Mobil station in the US.
Charminar (char-"four", minar-"minarets") is the palace near the heart of old Hyderabad, constructed hundreds of years ago by the king in thanks for sparing him and his city from the worst of a rampaging plague. This section is also home to a thriving bazaar where one can purchase near anything, especially bangles and cords of cloth. A word to the wise, keep your wallet in your front pocket, keep your eyes on the merchandise, and walk purposely. Otherwise, every shopkeeper will motion you over, and every beggar will see you as a juicy target. Beautiful examples of ancient construction abound throughout, making this section a must-see.

Takeoff from Chicago on Monday through Wednesday.

Jet lag is not merely a phenomenon--it is a malevolent entity. The missus and I discovered this truism (again) on our 22-hour two-step voyage from Chicago to Hyderabad, India via London. Thankfully, both flights were far under capacity, and I escaped from the eighteen hours of claustrophobic hell with only slightly grimy hair, less than fresh breath, and a sleep-deprived sense alteration which probably beats anything chemically obtained.

We landed in Hyderabad new airport--a gleeming steel-and-glass edifice some sixty kilometers outside of the city. My father in law arrived with his driver, loaded our baggage, and we were off. The sleep deprivation turned a simple drive home in the early morning into an adventure of epic measure. There is a new highway still under construction, but--in true Indian fashion--partially built means fully driveable to the average subcontinental motorist. We dodged auto-rickshaws, tiny mopeds, lorries, and the occassional wild dog on our way home. The mist made everything a bit surreal; thus, cranes churning the earth were perceived as excavators hunting for the next archaelogical find, and construction workers were seen as goons seeking to impede the progress of a certainly nearby Indiana Jones.

The rest of Wednesday is blurred by multiple naps, the strange feeling of being waited on by several family servants, and a bookstore run with mom-in-law and wife which resulted in my becoming more aware than ever of my rather pale skin tone. I took a short tour of the grounds of my in-laws' domicile and was amazed by the number of potted plants. There is a patio which wraps completely around my in-laws' house, and the section adjacent to the neighbor's border wall was particularly impressive. I've taken several photos, but a fear that they hardly do the place justice.