I have been home for a week and am just now beginning to once again feel like my usual bubbly self. (What's that? You would use any adjective other than bubbly to describe me? How dare you?) Over the last seven days, I have been working hard on the following three objectives:
1. Regaining the thirty pounds that I left in Asia, primarily through an aggressive reintroduction of cheeseburgers, chocolate chip cookies, and Bagel Bites into my dietary regimen. I would prefer not to put on all of the weight, but I also don't want to be forced to buy new pants; I'm unemployed, remember? (Note to self: lose less weight on next trip to Asia.)
2. Plowing (with reckless abandon) through the fifth season of Lost, which I missed in its entirety while I was away. (The finale challenged Kala Pattar for the title of "Experience Posing Greatest Threat to My Head Staying in One Piece." For the record, KP is still number one.)
3. Procrastinating in finishing up my trip reports. (Funny how I can't write about Indian drug dealers, er, I mean rickshaw drivers, while watching ridiculous time travel sequences on the aforementioned television show. I should have watched The Hills instead; I would have finished the blog in record time.)
But enough with the mind-numbing tidbits on my life back in America. (I apologize for the brief interlude of boredom.) Back to India we go (via my couch) for an inside look into my life in Udaipur. A hot (duh), bustling metropolis nicknamed "The City of Lakes" (see first two pictures at the top of this post), Udaipur was founded in 1559 by Maharana Udal Singh (but you already knew that). Considered one of the most romantic locales in all of India, naturally an attractive quality in my eyes (har, har, har), the city also served as the backdrop for many scenes in Octopussy, the 1983 installment in the James Bond series. (A byproduct of this brush with Hollywood is the proliferation of rooftop restaurants that show the Roger Moore film every night. So if you're ever stranded in Udaipur and want to get dinner and a movie for the price of one; there is always Octopussy.) Anyway, below are a few shots from around the city for your viewing pleasure.
During my three weeks in Udaipur, I laid my head inside two very different residences. One was a Communist-era, barracks-style apartment complex; the other was a clean, professionally constructed house that (indirectly) aided in preparing me for a return to my pampered American lifestyle. The former had cockroaches, fans with limited ability to, you know, move air, and running water for only one hour in the evening (when you filled your allotted buckets so you would be able to flush the toilet and "wash" yourself). The latter had marble bathrooms with 24-hour running water, ubiquitous high-speed ceiling fans, and a rooftop terrace. Here's a game kids: see if you can figure out which is which in the pictures below!
Although the new house offered far more "luxurious" (read: basic) amenities, both places offered similar views of the surrounding neighborhood. Highlighted by the requisite menagerie of livestock (cows, goats, donkeys), our front yard was essentially a parched, dusty garbage pit (not going to sugarcoat this one), but we did manage to find a clearing to get in an occasional game of cricket (see third picture down). For those concerned, I definitely do not have a future in that silly, silly game.
In order to get around town, we would squeeze ourselves into an auto rickshaw (pictured above). As you've witnessed over the last few months, the Ramblings has evolved into a sleek, high-tech site, and today that cutting edge technology is presented in the form of the high-definition video below. (Ha. Actually, it's just another grainy clip that I shot with my trusty little Canon. However, it does offer a glimpse of the narrow lanes and animal roadblocks that we encountered while traveling through the streets of Udaipur via auto rickshaw.)
This ride was devoid of "interesting" conversation with the driver, which was usually not the case when we piled into these rickety vehicles. More often than not, we were offered a veritable tasting menu of illegal narcotics from our friendly rented chauffeurs. ("What you need...mareeejuana, cocaine, opium, heroin, ecstasy, hashish, ibuprofen?" Okay, I made that last one up.)
This was all well and good; being hassled to purchase drugs was pretty much par for the course after being in Asia for four months. However, I had a far more unsettling experience during a ride home from a group dinner one evening (unfortunately, I did not have my camera with me at the time). As we rumbled down the unpaved road, our driver started telling us that he felt "good." Check that, he felt "very good." Oh really, I wonder why. Did you happen to have some good luck recently? A job promotion? A new addition to the family? A winning lottery ticket?
Not surprisingly, our overly friendly escort was on cloud nine for none of the reasons bandied about inside my head. Rather, it was his lassi. For those unfamiliar with the beverage, a lassi is a popular and traditional South Asian drink made by blending yogurt with water, salt, pepper, ice, and spices until frothy. This is the conventional recipe; needless to say, our driver was an unconventional man when it came to his lassi preferences. He informed us that he always opted for one containing bhang, a liquid derivative of cannabis. In fact, he made sure to have at least one every day, usually before he ventured out into the night to ferry around unsuspecting Westerners in his rickshaw. Fantastic.
As we sped down the highway towards our apartment, our new friend behind the wheel (well, oversized joystick is probably a more accurate description) began serenading us with Hindi love songs. Naturally, his singing lacked any coherent rhythm or pitch, but he did belt out the verses with admirable vigor. Oh, and he repeatedly looked deep into our eyes, undoubtedly in an effort to convey the emotional depth of the lyrics he was wailing. (Actually, I think he was just really stoned.)
"How," you might ask, "did he manage to look at you while singing and keep his eyes on the road so that you didn't impale a cow on your way home?" The answer is simple: he stopped looking at the road. Seriously. Apparently keeping one's eyes on the road while operating a motor vehicle is optional in India. Although I was persistent in offering "friendly" (read: panicked) reminders for him to turn around to ensure that our chariot avoided a high-speed encounter with the watermelon stand, he paid little attention to me. Thankfully, all members of our shuttle group emerged from the taxi in one piece as our high as a kite driver somehow managed to steer the rickshaw back to the apartment without crashing into anything. (We did not get a discount for enduring a lengthy, perilous drive through the dark streets of Udaipur with a giddily stoned driver at the helm. What a country.)
Moving on. The following pictures have no stories behind them, but I threw them on here in order to document my sightseeing trips around Udaipur. Since I am pressed for time (not really; I'm just lazy and have no interesting anecdotes from the visits), I will simply identify the places of interest in the photos below.
Kumbhalgarh Fort, a Mewar fortress in the Rajsamand district.
The Monsoon Palace, located on a hilltop overlooking Udaipur.
The last Udaipur experience that I will share with you is near and dear to my heart. As you all know, I love a good dance show, mainly because they can result in a good story (see "The Camel and the Cross-Dresser). One evening, we attended a song and dance shindig at a place called Dharohar at Bagore Haveli Ganguar Ghat (I'm pretty sure all that is Hindi for "cultural center"). As we took our seats on the floor, I was hoping to see something new. Of course, I was not disappointed. The show featured a live band, highlighted by a two-dance infusion of a massive horn/trumpet instrument played by a gentleman who looked like he might pass out. The production also featured a woman in an elaborate peacock costume and two other women toting around fireballs on top of their heads (separate acts so as not to risk lighting the peacock's feathers on fire). The whole thing was absurd; things were looking good. (See the red-faced horn player, the peacock lady, and one of the fire hazards below.)
As excited (mildly interested?) as you are after scanning those photos, I have saved the best for last. The final few dances "inspired" me to flip the switch on my camera to "video" so that I might capture the full essence of the show's finale. First up: a puppeteer unlike any I'd seen in my childhood days. I don't think Punch and Judy or Sesame Street ever featured bosom shaking or decapitation. Take a gander at the video clips below to see for yourself.
The adult puppet show was a tough act to follow, but the final performer was certainly not intimidated. Well, maybe she was, but that didn't stop her from piling six pots on top of her head and doing a jig on a pile of broken glass.
So there you have it: the Udaipur virtual experience. Water shortages, stoned cab drivers, semi-lewd puppet shows, women with unparalleled ability to stack common household objects on top of their heads; what more could you ask for! (If anybody from the Udaipur tourism office is reading this, feel free to use the preceding sentence for a promotional brochure.)
NB: I know that I committed to finishing the blog this weekend; obviously, that didn't happen (for the reasons outlined at the beginning of this post, among others). Anyway, one more entry is in the pipeline (tigers and the Taj Mahal; try to control your excitement) and will be completed next week. The reason for the extended delay is that I am taking a trip this weekend; yet another first-time journey to a searingly hot foreign land where people talk funny. Yep, I'm going to...(wait for it, wait for it)...
Texas. (Ohhh; thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week. Tip your waiter and try the veal.) Apparently I didn't get enough exposure to strange diseases during my time in Asia, so I'm flying down to El Paso (conveniently located near the U.S.-Mexico border) to see what this swine flu hoopla is all about. Oh, I'm also attending my buddy Jeb's wedding. Wish me luck.
To tide you over until next week, I offer the picture below. Located near our places of residence in Udaipur, I found this advertisement amusing because it offers a class in "personality development." Obviously this is geared towards people learning English so that they understand the meaning of words and phrases commonly used in conversational situations, but I laughed when I saw it. I mean, somebody will teach you how to develop a personality? What if you get a bad teacher? More importantly, can I be a teacher?
I might be overestimating the comic value of this photo (hardly a rare occurrence). Oh well, enjoy a laugh or shake your head at my misguided attempt at humor.
During my three weeks in Udaipur, I laid my head inside two very different residences. One was a Communist-era, barracks-style apartment complex; the other was a clean, professionally constructed house that (indirectly) aided in preparing me for a return to my pampered American lifestyle. The former had cockroaches, fans with limited ability to, you know, move air, and running water for only one hour in the evening (when you filled your allotted buckets so you would be able to flush the toilet and "wash" yourself). The latter had marble bathrooms with 24-hour running water, ubiquitous high-speed ceiling fans, and a rooftop terrace. Here's a game kids: see if you can figure out which is which in the pictures below!
Although the new house offered far more "luxurious" (read: basic) amenities, both places offered similar views of the surrounding neighborhood. Highlighted by the requisite menagerie of livestock (cows, goats, donkeys), our front yard was essentially a parched, dusty garbage pit (not going to sugarcoat this one), but we did manage to find a clearing to get in an occasional game of cricket (see third picture down). For those concerned, I definitely do not have a future in that silly, silly game.
In order to get around town, we would squeeze ourselves into an auto rickshaw (pictured above). As you've witnessed over the last few months, the Ramblings has evolved into a sleek, high-tech site, and today that cutting edge technology is presented in the form of the high-definition video below. (Ha. Actually, it's just another grainy clip that I shot with my trusty little Canon. However, it does offer a glimpse of the narrow lanes and animal roadblocks that we encountered while traveling through the streets of Udaipur via auto rickshaw.)
This ride was devoid of "interesting" conversation with the driver, which was usually not the case when we piled into these rickety vehicles. More often than not, we were offered a veritable tasting menu of illegal narcotics from our friendly rented chauffeurs. ("What you need...mareeejuana, cocaine, opium, heroin, ecstasy, hashish, ibuprofen?" Okay, I made that last one up.)
This was all well and good; being hassled to purchase drugs was pretty much par for the course after being in Asia for four months. However, I had a far more unsettling experience during a ride home from a group dinner one evening (unfortunately, I did not have my camera with me at the time). As we rumbled down the unpaved road, our driver started telling us that he felt "good." Check that, he felt "very good." Oh really, I wonder why. Did you happen to have some good luck recently? A job promotion? A new addition to the family? A winning lottery ticket?
Not surprisingly, our overly friendly escort was on cloud nine for none of the reasons bandied about inside my head. Rather, it was his lassi. For those unfamiliar with the beverage, a lassi is a popular and traditional South Asian drink made by blending yogurt with water, salt, pepper, ice, and spices until frothy. This is the conventional recipe; needless to say, our driver was an unconventional man when it came to his lassi preferences. He informed us that he always opted for one containing bhang, a liquid derivative of cannabis. In fact, he made sure to have at least one every day, usually before he ventured out into the night to ferry around unsuspecting Westerners in his rickshaw. Fantastic.
As we sped down the highway towards our apartment, our new friend behind the wheel (well, oversized joystick is probably a more accurate description) began serenading us with Hindi love songs. Naturally, his singing lacked any coherent rhythm or pitch, but he did belt out the verses with admirable vigor. Oh, and he repeatedly looked deep into our eyes, undoubtedly in an effort to convey the emotional depth of the lyrics he was wailing. (Actually, I think he was just really stoned.)
"How," you might ask, "did he manage to look at you while singing and keep his eyes on the road so that you didn't impale a cow on your way home?" The answer is simple: he stopped looking at the road. Seriously. Apparently keeping one's eyes on the road while operating a motor vehicle is optional in India. Although I was persistent in offering "friendly" (read: panicked) reminders for him to turn around to ensure that our chariot avoided a high-speed encounter with the watermelon stand, he paid little attention to me. Thankfully, all members of our shuttle group emerged from the taxi in one piece as our high as a kite driver somehow managed to steer the rickshaw back to the apartment without crashing into anything. (We did not get a discount for enduring a lengthy, perilous drive through the dark streets of Udaipur with a giddily stoned driver at the helm. What a country.)
Moving on. The following pictures have no stories behind them, but I threw them on here in order to document my sightseeing trips around Udaipur. Since I am pressed for time (not really; I'm just lazy and have no interesting anecdotes from the visits), I will simply identify the places of interest in the photos below.
The famed Jain temple in Ranakpur.
Kumbhalgarh Fort, a Mewar fortress in the Rajsamand district.
The Monsoon Palace, located on a hilltop overlooking Udaipur.
The last Udaipur experience that I will share with you is near and dear to my heart. As you all know, I love a good dance show, mainly because they can result in a good story (see "The Camel and the Cross-Dresser). One evening, we attended a song and dance shindig at a place called Dharohar at Bagore Haveli Ganguar Ghat (I'm pretty sure all that is Hindi for "cultural center"). As we took our seats on the floor, I was hoping to see something new. Of course, I was not disappointed. The show featured a live band, highlighted by a two-dance infusion of a massive horn/trumpet instrument played by a gentleman who looked like he might pass out. The production also featured a woman in an elaborate peacock costume and two other women toting around fireballs on top of their heads (separate acts so as not to risk lighting the peacock's feathers on fire). The whole thing was absurd; things were looking good. (See the red-faced horn player, the peacock lady, and one of the fire hazards below.)
As excited (mildly interested?) as you are after scanning those photos, I have saved the best for last. The final few dances "inspired" me to flip the switch on my camera to "video" so that I might capture the full essence of the show's finale. First up: a puppeteer unlike any I'd seen in my childhood days. I don't think Punch and Judy or Sesame Street ever featured bosom shaking or decapitation. Take a gander at the video clips below to see for yourself.
The adult puppet show was a tough act to follow, but the final performer was certainly not intimidated. Well, maybe she was, but that didn't stop her from piling six pots on top of her head and doing a jig on a pile of broken glass.
So there you have it: the Udaipur virtual experience. Water shortages, stoned cab drivers, semi-lewd puppet shows, women with unparalleled ability to stack common household objects on top of their heads; what more could you ask for! (If anybody from the Udaipur tourism office is reading this, feel free to use the preceding sentence for a promotional brochure.)
NB: I know that I committed to finishing the blog this weekend; obviously, that didn't happen (for the reasons outlined at the beginning of this post, among others). Anyway, one more entry is in the pipeline (tigers and the Taj Mahal; try to control your excitement) and will be completed next week. The reason for the extended delay is that I am taking a trip this weekend; yet another first-time journey to a searingly hot foreign land where people talk funny. Yep, I'm going to...(wait for it, wait for it)...
Texas. (Ohhh; thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week. Tip your waiter and try the veal.) Apparently I didn't get enough exposure to strange diseases during my time in Asia, so I'm flying down to El Paso (conveniently located near the U.S.-Mexico border) to see what this swine flu hoopla is all about. Oh, I'm also attending my buddy Jeb's wedding. Wish me luck.
To tide you over until next week, I offer the picture below. Located near our places of residence in Udaipur, I found this advertisement amusing because it offers a class in "personality development." Obviously this is geared towards people learning English so that they understand the meaning of words and phrases commonly used in conversational situations, but I laughed when I saw it. I mean, somebody will teach you how to develop a personality? What if you get a bad teacher? More importantly, can I be a teacher?
I might be overestimating the comic value of this photo (hardly a rare occurrence). Oh well, enjoy a laugh or shake your head at my misguided attempt at humor.
1 comment:
Nice.
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