indianapearl

My husband, Mr. Pearl (MP) aka Boss (more about that later), and I just returned from a three week trip to northwest India – Delhi, Punjab, Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh and Madya Pradesh. We planned the trip ourselves and made all our own arrangements rather than taking a tour or using a travel agent. We were able to do so because of the excellent advice we received from several Fodorites and were pleased with the result. I hope to write a trip report that will be useful to other first-time travelers to India.

I first became interested in India about 30 years ago when I worked with an Indian woman who had adopted a daughter from an orphanage in Mumbai. Subsequently she and a group of Indian women in our community began to host a series of splendid Indian dinners each spring to raise funds for the orphanage. It was a delightful event for the entire community that everyone anticipated each year. Over the years since, I’ve read novels and histories about India, taken Indian cooking classes, investigated Indian religions, watched Indian films. The more I read and studied, the less I knew. It was time to see it first hand.

Considerations:

Because I wanted to see historic and religious sites and stay in heritage hotels, our trip was what I would call strenuous. Although we’re not candidates to win the Senior Olympics (we’re in our sixties), nevertheless we are able to climb stairs and walk a fair distance. The escalator at the Delhi airport was broken when we arrived. We didn’t have access to an elevator or an escalator until we got to Jodhpur (and that only at the Mehrangarh Fort), about ten days into the trip. The risers on the stairs we encountered in many historic sites and hotels seem to have been designed for King Kong rather than a normal human being. They are quite high, about 10-11 inches, compared with the risers on the stairs in my home which are six inches.

If you have a low tolerance for chaos and unpleasantness, think twice about a visit to India. You will see wretched poverty alongside breathtaking vistas. I can’t say that anything I saw surprised or shocked me, but the relentlessness of it was sometimes exhausting. The streets are full of people, cattle, water buffalo, goats, sheep, camels, horses, and elephants and all their associated dung. People routinely drive the wrong way on one way streets. “Why do they do that?” I asked our driver, Ram. “It’s too far to drive to the turn around,” he said. In addition there are aggressive touts and beggars at most tourist sites. At times I felt like a character in the Alfred Hitchcock film “The Birds,” people waving things in my face, plucking at my sleeves, all talking at the same time. I don’t know what school of marketing they attended, but it’s the worst way to make a sale for me.

We both love Indian food and can – and did – eat it three times a day. Most hotels and restaurants that cater to “foreigners,” as we are called, offer Continental and Chinese menus in addition to Indian food. While Indian cuisine is fabulous, they have a naïve way with coffee and alcohol. Coffee is often Nescafe which I think is hideous. I brought a container of espresso powder with me, but not enough. We’d drink espresso in our room before breakfast, than have masala tea with our breakfast. Decent wine is difficult to find. Indian wines are quite dry, even astringent. We bought imported wine twice – extraordinarily expensive and not good. Indian gin (which is the only hard liquor we drank) isn’t great and the tonic served with it is usually too sweet. Only a few hotels where we stayed had Bombay Sapphire. Beer is variable. Kingfisher in the Punjab is marketed with 5-8% alcohol and is fairly tasty. In Rajasthan it can have no more than 5% alcohol - blech. In Madhya Pradesh it’s 5-8%. Best to go on the wagon for a while.

Despite all the caveats I’ve mentioned, India is the best place I’ve ever visited. I’ve seen castles, palaces, forts, and cathedrals all over the world and have never seen such awe-inspiring buildings as I saw in India. The Indian people are extraordinarily friendly and would come up to us to talk, especially in rural areas that don’t see too many “foreigners.” They also wanted to have their photo taken with us, in part because they said we were “ . . . so big.” MP is 6’4” and I’m 5’5”. Even while driving on the roads from place to place, I’d see so many interesting things --- a corpse wrapped in a shroud on the sidewalk in Amritsar, ready for cremation, a woman in a bright yellow sari kneeling in worship at a shrine in the middle of a field, men sleeping on charpoys right next to a busy highway, a camel hauling water in enormous drums.

Flights:

Continental Business Class from Indianapolis to Newark to Delhi round trip. We used points. The seats don’t recline all the way, the food was not great, but the staff was pleasant and the flights left and arrived on time.

Intra-India flights were booked on travelocity.co.in:

Jet Airways from Delhi to Amritsar - ~$80.00

Amritsar through Delhi to Jodhpur - ~$277.00

Kingfisher from Khajuraho to Delhi - ~$106.00

Car and Drivers: Most of our trip we were driven by Ramesh Meena (Ram) who now owns his own company, India by Car and Driver – [email protected], [email protected], or +91 982 980 7074. Ram made a good trip even better. He’s a very safe driver, intelligent, pleasant, speaks English well, and has a great sense of humor. He was always punctual and conscientious. He went out of the way to help us. Can’t say enough good things about him. 3150 rs/day (inclusive) for high season.

Hotels:

Delhi B & B – $80.00 - delhibedandbreakfast.com - We had a small but comfortable room with access to a rooftop terrace. The owners make every effort to make their guests comfortable. Breakfast is served at a large round table where everyone meets and greets. The only shortcoming of this location is the constant honking all night long from a nearby thoroughfare. If you’re a light sleeper, this spot might not work out well.

Amritsar – Ranjit Svaasa - ~$80.00 - svaasa.com/ranjit/index.htm - This hotel is a 200-year-old haveli style building of red sandstone originally built for a Brit. It purports to be a spa with yoga classes and massages available. They have a solar water heater and grow organic food for their guests. Like most 200-year-old ladies, she’s in need of a bit of a facelift, but the suite we had was very comfortable. The house is off the main drag, so a bit of quiet is possible here. There are several pleasant terraces where guests can sit and enjoy lunch or a drink. The staff is all quite young. I don’t think we saw anyone over the age of 25. Meals are served in a building adjacent to the main house and are a fixed menu served buffet style.

Jodhpur – Ratan Vilas – $64 - ratanvilas.com - A maharaja’s home converted to a hotel. Very comfortable room with a bed the size of a football field. Good service. Decent food. Nice gardens.

Udaipur – Jagat Niwas - $129.00 - jagatniwaspalace.com– A lovely spot overlooking Lake Pichola and the Lake Palace. There is a rooftop terrace for dinner and drinks as well as a dining room one floor below. Room was quite comfortable and included jharokhas (overhanging balconies).

Shapura – Shapura Bagh – $190.00 - shahpurabagh.com - A maharaja’s hunting lodge, built in 1880. Enormously high ceilings, comfortable bed, very well maintained property. There is a gorgeous infinity pool and two pavilions poolside with cushy beds to lie on while basking.

Jaipur – Umaid Bhawan – $75.00 - umaidbhawan.com - A comfortable spot, but the décor was a little over the top after the soothing elegance of Shapura Bagh. Flowers everywhere, ceiling, furniture, everywhere. Rooftop terrace for meals.

Agra – The Gateway (formerly the Taj View) – $139.00 - thegatewayhotels.com - A contemporary hotel rather than a heritage spot. We did have a view of the Taj, but it was fairly muzzy because of the smog in Agra.

Gwalior – Usha Kiran Palace – $118.00 - tajhotels.com - This was a very lovely spot, but hard to find – no signs anywhere in Gwalior. We drove around for about half an hour before we finally located it. This palace is what the staff refers to as “the second palace.” Beautiful Spanish tile floors original to the house. Food was great. Hardly anyone else there. I don’t know how they stay in business.

Orchha – Orchha Resort – $ $78.00 - orchharesort.com - This is a spot favored by bus tours. The room was cramped and stuffy, but we only stayed one night.

Khajuraho – Chandela Hotel – $153.00 - tajhotels.com - The lobby looks like it’s the set for a Sean-Connery-as-James-Bond movie. No elevator to the first floor, but lots of help to haul the suitcases. This hotel also caters to the tour bus clientele.

Delhi - Lemontree (Udyog Vidar) – lemontreehotels.com - $150 - Close to the airport, room small and stuffy, but clean and okay for one night.

Stay tuned for the next installment . . .

thursdaysd

Great start... Thanks for the details.

Craig

This is interesting - we will be in India for the 2nd time in February, please continue...

live42day

Cant wait for the rest. Loved the background intro.

indianapearl

We began our trip in Delhi, arriving late on a Monday night. Delhi has a terrible air pollution problem, a combination of fog, smoke, and factory gunk that caused my allergies to rebel. I didn’t get much sleep the first couple of nights.

We stayed at the Delhi B & B with a pleasant Indian family and enjoyed the opportunity to be in an Indian home. We arranged for a car, driver and guide for Tuesday and left for our adventures at about 10:00 a.m. By noon I’d seen one cow, four men urinating in public, and one lying on the median between six lanes of traffic whom I’m sure was deader than a smelt. The noise of honking horns is non-stop, the poverty mind-boggling, the garbage and filth at times unbelievable. Children come up to the windows and rap on the glass to beg. The sidewalks seem to be constantly under construction or destruction and men are digging, digging, digging for what I’m not sure.

Our first stop was the towering Qutub Minar, a minaret built by the first Muslim conqueror of India. It was beautifully constructed from the stones of the many Hindu temples on the same site that were razed by the Muslim conquerors. The oldest mosque in India is also on the same site and also constructed of stones from former Hindu temples.

Our next destination was the Lotus Temple, built in the 1980’s by the Bah’ais. It is shaped like a lotus of white marble, quite delicate and lovely. As we approached the temple, our guide told us we should “open our shoes,” so we gave him our footwear which he placed into a decorative cloth bag provided by the temple and stored at a kiosk. We entered the temple as a service was taking place, a recitation of the Lord’s Prayer, then chanting in English from the Bah’ai holy book.

After the service we picked up our shoes and, as we were walking back to the car, the guide told us that the driver had told him that our next destination, the Nizamuddin shrine, tomb of a 12th century Sufi saint, was dirty and that visitors often have their shoes stolen. He recommended that we “open our shoes” in the car, then walk barefoot to the shrine. When we arrived at our destination, it proved to be a dirt alley strewn with trash. We wisely kept our shoes on and proceeded down the alley single file, the guide in the lead, and MP at the back. The worst negative stereotypes of India were on display – two, possibly three, double amputees, each missing one arm and one leg, their bodies plunked into shallow wooden boxes from which they beseeched for alms. Suddenly a herd of goats went clattering by on the left. As the alley narrowed with no shrine in sight, touts who were selling flowers and ornate offering cloths of some sort got increasingly agitated hoping for a sale. Our guide, a Hindu, seemed to think an offering was required, but wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. Even in my sleep deprived, Benedryl-induced stupor, I realized that he didn’t know any more about this than I did and decided to abort the mission. MP said, “Had enough, eh?” We retreated to the car. I found out later that women aren’t allowed in the tomb.

Our next and best stop was Humayun’s tomb, one of the Moghul kings who ruled India for several centuries. The design is a precursor to the Taj Mahal, set in very peaceful gardens with water canals throughout. It was an oasis of tranquility in the sea of madness outside and our first introduction to the high steps that are uniquely Indian. There are other tombs scattered around the grounds, including one for Humayun’s barber who must have given a mean haircut!

We stopped to see the Red Fort and the Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India. We were not allowed in to the mosque because a worship was in session. We could have waited, but a sign said that women are not allowed in after “Mahgrib,” so decided to abandon the mission since the guide didn’t know what “Mahgrib” meant. [I have since found out that it’s the prayer at sunset. I wouldn’t have been allowed in there either.]

Wednesday we flew to Amritsar in the Punjab in northwest India near the Pakistani border. While we were waiting for our driver, a tiny little man peered over the garden gate of the B & B and spoke to us. I thought perhaps he was a beggar, but MP went over to listen to him. He said he lived next door and that he wanted MP “. . . to give him a blessing.” MP was unsure what to do, so put his palms together and said “Namaste.” This seemed to satisfy our visitor who told MP to be sure to tell Pervez, our host, that he had gotten MP’s blessing.

I had arranged for a guide, a car, and driver in Amritsar from Svaasa, our hotel. Our guide, Aman, met us at the airport with the driver. Aman is an excellent guide – a very serious minded young woman with a master’s in Indian history, but when she laughs, it’s like the tinkling of silver bells. We dashed to the hotel, dumped our luggage, and drove about 30 km to the Wagah Border, the only land crossing between Pakistan and India. Other than a near-death experience with a water buffalo and her calf, all went well. In rural Punjab, home owners pump water up to the roof from wells and store the water there in order to have sufficient water pressure. The Punjabis have a bit of whimsy in their psyches because most of the storage tanks are shaped like giant brown birds. One was shaped like a soccer ball and one like an airplane.

The border is guarded by the internal Punjabi state police rather than by the Indian Army. Once we reached the barricades of the camp, we had to park the car and walk the rest of the way from the gates, about a quarter of a mile, and go through two security checks, one for men and one for women. My breasts were poked and prodded by two sets of Punjabi female officers. Our guide could only go so far with us, then directed us to the place we should sit, up in a set of bleachers, for us to watch the ceremony. There were thousands of Indians, perhaps a couple of hundred Pakistanis on the other side. It’s a great festive occasion for the Indians, much singing, clapping, and synchronized dancing to bhangra rock music, the theme from “Slumdog Millionaire” and the Indian national anthem. At a certain time, the border guards engage in a stylized march to the gates and eventually strike the colors of their respective flags.

The next morning we went to the Sikh’s Golden Temple. First we parked the car, then Aman led us through some city streets and down an alley strewn with garbage. After we exited the alley, we came to the spot where we were to remove our shoes and don our head scarves. Both men and women are required to wear scarves in the temple. I tied a scarf around MP’s head and told him he looked like a pirate, but he didn’t find this nearly as funny as I did. We were taken to a place to wash our hands, then waded through a white marble “stream” of water to wash our feet. We entered a corridor, walked down a flight of stairs, then entered the actual temple grounds proper. It was stunning – the blue sky, the morning sun burnishing the gold of the temple, the white marble at its base, the sound of the gurdwara chanting while tablas gently played in the background, Sikh men with their various colored turbans. As I went to sleep that night, I wondered if she took us through the alley because it was the shortest route, or was she more subtle, that she took us through the wretched alley to emphasize the glory of the temple?

The Sikhs have a feeding program at the temple, three meals a day to anyone, anytime, 365 days a year. Most of the food is prepared by volunteers and the system is very impressive. After we saw the world’s largest kitchen with the world’s largest cauldrons, we waited in line to enter the temple. We gradually snaked our way through. Many of the devotees bring some sort of food offering in disposable bowls made of peepul leaves. We saw the interior of the temple, then as we left, we were given a ball of halwa to eat (semolina, butter, and sugar).

In the afternoon we saw a small Hindu temple patterned after the Golden Temple, as well as the Jallianwallah Bagh (the scene of a dreadful massacre of Indians in 1919 by the Brits), and a museum with an exhibit of the exploits of one of the maharajas of the Punjab. The Jallianwallah Bagh was filled with several groups of Punjabi school children that day who seemed quite fascinated with foreigners. One western couple was mobbed by students who wanted autographs!

The next day we flew to Jodhpur, the blue city of Rajasthan. Our driver, Ramesh Meena, meet us at the airport and took us to Ratan Vilas where we collapsed. The next morning Ram came to pick us up. He was wearing a dazzling white linen suit and white shirt. I told him he looked like a movie star.

We visited the Mehrangarh Fort, never breached by any army. As we stood on the parking lot looking up, it seemed to reach all the way into the clouds. There is an elevator to the top, then one can walk down at one’s leisure. They also have a very nice audio guide, so no other guide is needed. As we reached the bottom, we encountered a tiny boy dressed as a maharaja who was dancing around begging for money. We also saw our first snake charmer with his basket of defanged cobras.

Near the fort is the Jaswant Thada, a more recent construction, a cenotaph to Maharaja Jaswant Singh. As we walked towards the building, another little raja began to sing like a banshee and to play some sort of stringed instrument that sounded like a strangled cat. MP felt sorry for him and gave him some money in exchange for his photograph.

The next day we went to the small town of Ossian, about 20 km outside of Jodhpur. There are three ancient Hindu temples there, a Jain temple, and an active Hindu Durga temple. When we arrived at the parking area, Ram chatted up some young men hanging around and selected a guide for us, Kulu, a slender, solemn young man with gray ash smeared on his neck and face. We followed him back into a woodsy area and I began to have second thoughts. He turned out to be quite harmless, showed us the ancient Hindu temples, one from the eighth century, one he claimed was 2500 years old. They were also Durga temples. After we saw the Hindu temples, we stumbled along through the tiny town to the Jain temple. No leather of any kind is allowed in Jain temples, nor menstruating women. There are also areas of Jain temples where no women are allowed, regardless of their menstrual status. Kulu took us finally to the active Hindu temple. We walked up a long flight of stairs with carved stone arches over the steps about every 15 feet. When we got to the top, an active puja was taking place with great clouds of incense, much drum pounding, chanting, etc. The incense was causing my allergies to rebel, so we took a detour around. Kulu found a stone basin with what he claimed was saffron and put some on each of our foreheads for luck. If it was really saffron, it must have been worth a king’s ransom given the cost of saffron.

Stay tuned for the next installment . . .

rhkkmk

i'm loving this report...keep it coming

live42day

enjoying it very much.

ileen

Beautifully written. Really enjoying traveling with you as you describe the scenery and the action so well. Waiting for the rest of the story.

impacked

Another greedy fan who wants more!

indianapearl

Thanks, folks!

Up half the night with jet lag . . . after some coffee, I'll get back to the story.

puttakka

This report is fantastic! Cannot wait to see where you go next.

DelhiBelly

Hello indiana i love your report is fantastic keep it coming i cannot wait to read more

indianapearl

While in Jodhpur we dined at the Taj Hari Mahal one night. When we reached the gate of the hotel, Ram was grilled by the guards. They looked under the hood, the trunk, and used mirrors to inspect the undercarriage. MP said, “Sit very still. Don’t make a move and don’t say a word.” I think he thought we might die in a hail of bullets, but it didn’t come to that. Once inside we had a Rajasthani dish for dinner, a succulent lamb concoction of some sort with rice and naan. The waiter asked if we’d like a drink. We said we’d like Bombay Sapphire gin and tonics. He then said that because it was election day, no liquor could be sold. (Why did he ask if we wanted a drink?). We looked blankly at him, then he said that because we were foreigners, we could have a drink, but that he would have to photocopy our passports. I had left mine in the hotel safe, but I had a copy with me. MP had the original and that sufficed.

We had lunch one day in Jodhpur at a place called Gypsy. It was all vegetarian, a thali, and was delicious, very cheap, about $6.00/person. One dish in particular was wonderful, a sort of crumbly biscuit, broken up into a bowl, than drenched in a silken yellow dal. If anyone knows what it might be, let me know.

By now it was Monday, Nov. 23rd. We drove to Udaipur from Jodhpur with a detour to see the beautiful Ranakpur Temple as a side trip. We pulled off the main highway and began to drive through the Aravelli Hills where Ranakpur is located. Suddenly we saw a troop of black faced rhesus macaques romping on some boulders alongside the road. Ram stopped the car and they raced to greet us, jumping up on the hood, the roof, and the trunk. There was a package of crackers in the car, so Ram rolled down the window a sliver and began to feed them. One large male gobbled up most of the crackers and when I tried to feed a female on the passenger side, he shoved her out of the way and ate that cracker too!

Ranakpur is a must-see if you’re ever in the vicinity. There are over 1,000 columns carved of marble supporting the roof and each one is different. It was very cool and peaceful inside, despite the presence of a couple of busloads of French tourists. It’s still an active temple, so monks were scurrying in and out going about their work. A few scammers, but not too bad, more saffron on our foreheads, and we were on our way.

Ram suggested that we see the Kumbhalgarh Fort which is also in the Aravelli Hills. We reached it after about half an hour and were again stunned by the immenseness of it. The guidebooks give it short shrift which is unfortunate. It has the second largest defensive wall in the world after the Great Wall in China. The fort itself is at the top and a temple complex at the bottom that I would have liked to see in more depth, but there was no time as we had to get to Udaipur before dark.

We reached Udaipur about 6:00 p.m. and settled in at Jagat Niwas for the evening, a suite which looked out over Lake Pichola. We headed to the rooftop terrace for drinks and dinner. We could see the Jag Mandir at the south end of the lake, glowing with blue light, and tiny orange lights rising up into the night sky. The waiter told us it was a wedding and that candles were somehow attached to helium balloons and released. This is wedding season in India and weddings took place all the time we were there. The wedding date is chosen by its astrological auspiciousness, so might occur on any day of the week. That night the wedding reached a whole new dimension at about 2:30 in the morning with booming electronic music coming from the City Palace next door. This lasted for over an hour. We learned the next morning that it was a royal wedding. The maharana always gets his way . . .

We toured the City Palace the next day, more enormous steps, carved stone, funny little doors and windows. We drove to the Monsoon Palace one evening. It overlooks the lake from the west. It was built without verifying that there was sufficient water to support it and was eventually abandoned, although rumor has it that a hotel group is refurbishing it. The designer’s mistake may eventually be rectified.

Ram made dinner reservations for us at a delightful outdoor restaurant directly across from Jagat Niwas called Restaurant Ambrai. The palaces and building all around the lake glowed with light. It was really quite romantic. The food was good, but I can’t remember what we ate. I do remember that we got a bottle of Spanish wine that we buy here for $9.00. It was $40.00 at Ambrai and a little past its prime. You pay for lessons, my friends, you pay for lessons.

We left for Shapura Bagh on Thursday, Nov. 26th, with a detour to Chittorgarh Fort. Three times the fort was breached by the Moghuls and three times the Rajputs committed jauhar, a voluntary suicide by fire for the women and children, by sword for the men, to prevent the pollution of royal blood. We picked up a guide at the fort who took us to several places to indicate that “. . . 13,000 royal women, girls, fire jump.” After the third jauhar, the maharaja, who obviously did not commit jauhar, moved the clan to Udaipur and built a new city.

We arrived at Shapura Bagh that afternoon and took a long nap. It’s a very relaxing place, run by Maya and Sat. Drinks are around the pool at 6:30. We went out to sit where it appeared the other guests would be, but were shunted off to some chairs by ourselves. The other three guests came out later and were seated separately. Were we quarantined for some reason?

We went to the dining room about 7:30 and were again positioned at a separate table. A Swiss woman sat alone at the next table. When the soup was served, MP turned to her and asked if she’d like to sit with us. She was happy to be asked, picked up her flatware and soup plate, and joined us. When the waiter came out with the next course, he was a bit flustered. Our fellow diner was taking a trip around the world and every hotel the travel agent had booked for her put her by herself to dine. The meal was tasty, but a little odd. A Shake-and-Bake chicken dish was presented, along with some mildly flavored Indian potato dish, and a bell pepper cooked with a sweet stuffing. Most of the guests are British or Australian who perhaps prefer milder seasonings.

At breakfast the next morning, we chatted with Sat who is even taller than MP, unusual for an Indian. He told us that his ancestors fought and died at Chittorgarh. His ancestor was given the Shapura Bagh property by Shah Jahan himself and he showed us the parchment, written in Persian, indicating the gift. Shah Jahan’s handprint, quite large, verified the deal.

We arrived in Jaipur, Nov. 27th, our 44th wedding anniversary. Ram had cooked up a surprise for us to celebrate. After we settled into Umaid Bhawan, he took us to Indiana, a restaurant owned by a man who graduated from Purdue University back in the forties. Of course, as Indiana University grads, Purdue is our great rival, but it was fun anyway. A Rajasthani folk music and dance group performed and Ram had gotten us flowers, gifts, champagne, and cake. Much dancing around the fire with the dancers, a statue of Shiva positioned between the U.S. flag and the Indiana flag . . . odd, but comforting in a place so far from home.

On the way back to the hotel we saw a couple of wedding parades. The groom always rides a white horse and one parade had several young men on white horses, some camels, and an elephant. There was a big brass band, huge lights powered by portable generators, all the guests dancing in the street alongside the groom --- quite a party!

On Saturday we took the canonical elephant ride to the top of the Amber Fort. When we were halfway up the ramp, the mahout turned to me and asked where we were from. When I told him we were from America, his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. ”Oh,” he said, “Americans give big tips -- $20, $40, $50 – not like the Turkish or French.” Our guide had recommended we give him 100 rupees, about $2.

Neither MP nor I are interested in shopping, but shortly before we left for India, some friends told us we really should get some Indian textiles. I decided that we would get salwar kameez in Jaipur and that would be it for shopping. Ram and our guide, Krishna, took us to a place to select our garments. The salesman was very high pressure, worse than a Mary Kay cosmetics party, but the garments are beautiful. I got two silk ones for myself and one silk set for my daughter-in-law. MP got a kurta pyjama of soft white cotton. They threw in for free two little Rajasthani girls' dresses (we are to become grandparents of a granddaughter in April). They measured both MP and me, then asked what my daughter-in-law's measurements were. I told them she wore a size 16. Much scurrying around up and down stairs and chattering in Hindi. Finally the salesman triumphantly presented us with a very anxious looking youth. "He is 15, but he's almost 16." We had to explain that she wasn't 16 years old, but that she wore a size 16.

indianapearl

Time for more coffee . . .

DelhiBelly

hello pearl this is great report

indianapearl

A unique structure to see in Jaipur is the observatory built by Maharaja Jai Singh. As we approached it, it looked like a contemporary sculpture galley, like the Hirschhorn at the Smithsonian in D.C. Built about 300 years ago, it was designed, not for the study of astronomy, but to determine precisely the exact moment of birth so that astrologers would cast an accurate horoscope. It is really quite remarkable and our guide, Krishna, did a good job of explaining a rather technical subject.

On Monday, Nov. 30th, we left Jaipur for Agra. We wanted to stop at Fatehpur Sikri along the way. Although Fatehpur Sikri is a beautiful city, it was completely overrun with touts and beggars. Even the guide we used was a scammer. We saw the royal residences first, then were taken to the mosque. There is a marble tomb of some sort inside the grounds of the mosque and we were told we could “ . . . make a wish” inside. Yeah, right. We could make a wish if we purchased an offering cloth for an outrageous sum which we were told was to go “. . . to support little children.” MP finally negotiated a modest donation and we were herded through. Someone inside the tomb wanted more money, and when we left the grounds, we had to pay someone else to return our shoes. That was the last time we used a guide.

We left for Agra and when we were on the outskirts of the town, the three of us chatting amiably, all hell broke loose. A motorcyclist rode up beside us on the left, then stopped in front of the car, dismounted, and began to shout at Ram in Hindi. Of course, MP and I had no idea what angered him, but he was definitely angry. He pounded on the window and continued to shout and a crowd of onlookers, all adolescent males, gathered around the car to see what was to be seen. Finally help arrived in the form of a policeman who told both drivers to move their vehicles off the road. Ram backed the car to a parking area, the crowd moved along with us, and the shouting continued. Finally Ram got back in the car and drove off. He said the motorcyclist claimed he’d cut him off. The policeman said that since he hadn’t seen the incident, he couldn’t file a complaint and that ended the matter. It did leave us feeling a bit uneasy.

When we left Shapura Bagh, Sat told us that Agra was a terrible city and he was right, but if you want to see the Taj, you have to go to Agra. It was the worst city that we visited in India. We stayed at the Gateway, which was a contemporary hotel, comfortable, not spectacular in any way. We were tired by the time we arrived, so ordered room service for dinner, Pizza Indiana, which was Chicken Tikka, sautéed onions, and cheese, none of which has anything to do with Indiana.

We went to the Taj at about 6:00 a.m. the next morning. Ram took us to the ticket office and could drive us no farther because only electric and non motorized vehicles are permitted past a certain point. We got to the gate and waited until it opened at sunrise. While we were waiting, two dogs got into a fight over a dead bat. The crowd shrieked and scattered, but then settled down to wait. At 6:50, the official sunrise, we were allowed in. After running the worst gauntlet of touts and beggars in India, we finally got to a place where we could enjoy the beauty of the Taj. It is as beautiful as it is described. We wandered around, in and out, for quite some time, then went back to meet Ram and go to our hotel for breakfast. It’s recommended to see the Taj at sundown, but the thought of going through that hassle again was too much. We will keep our memories of the morning view.

After lunch, Ram had acquired a friend, Bhunish, who became our traveling companion for the rest of the trip. MP and I were happy to have some additional muscle. He was a pleasant young man and we enjoyed his company. Somewhere along the way, MP morphed from “Sir” to “Boss.” Although we tried to encourage them to call us by our first names, they were both uncomfortable with that, and so called us Boss and Mam.

We saw the Baby Taj that afternoon. As we were walking around the grounds, Boss said, “There are two dogs eating a snake over there.” I told him that there was nothing we could about that and to forget it. R. and B. took us to the other side of the Yamuna and we were able to see the back side of the Taj Mahal, the Islamic Taj on the left, two Hindu cremations on the right, the eternal dilemma of India.

The next day we drove to Gwalior in the state of Madhya Pradesh. MP is almost entirely Hindu and is in the Cow Belt. There is a grand old fort in Gwalior, probably the last built entirely on Hindu guidelines, before the Moghuls came on the scene with their beautiful Islamic architectural style. Lots of young Indians roam around and even have romantic trysts there that their parents would object to strenuously if they knew they were occurring. We could have spent the whole day there, but had only a couple of hours. R. and B. came with us and we went down into the lower passages until it grew too dark to see anything. We should have brought our flashlights. The exterior of the fort is unique in that it is decorated with whimsical ceramic tiles featuring yellow ducks that waddle around the rim of the exterior walls. So few foreigners come to Gwalior that we are a novelty and the young Indians ask to have their photo taken with us – once again, “you are so big,” they say. Andre the Giant and his wife go to India . . .

Near the fort, there are two Hindu temples, the Sas-Bahut, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law. Since I am quite fond of my DIL, I was quite touched. We picked up a young guide there, unsolicited, named Abasheed. He was about eight years old and began to spout all sorts of facts and figures about the temples. He said he spoke several different languages, that his goal in life was to be a guide. I said, “Oh, do you study history in school?” He said he’d never been to school which I found quite distressing because he’s obviously very smart and enterprising. Boss offered him some rupees, but he said he only wanted American money which we didn’t have with us.

We spent only one night in Gwalior, so headed out for our next destination. Orccha is a small town located on the Betwa River, a reasonably clean course of water that flows over sandstone boulders in its bed. Orccha is famous for its cenotaphs, monuments erected to honor the former kings after their deaths. There’s also a big palace called the Raja Mahal. Unfortunately, Boss acquired a case of Delhi Belly and spent the afternoon and evening staying close to home, so to speak. I saw the palace by myself and had to leave him behind that evening so that I could have a specially prepared mutton dinner made by Ram. R. and B. were quite sad that Boss was left behind, but they went to great lengths to give me a good meal, including smuggling in a contraband bottle of beer. Orccha has a Rama temple and such towns don’t sell meat or alcohol. Ram drove ten miles to another town to buy the mutton. I don’t know where he got the beer.

Our last sightseeing destination was the legendary Khajuraho. It’s famous for its very ancient Hindu temples featuring breathtaking carvings depicting all aspects of life, including a fair number of erotic motifs. The carvings are so lifelike, so expressive, they certainly are the best we’ve seen in India. What is interesting to consider is that the Moghul miniatures, while quite beautiful, are so two-dimensional. These carvings from a much earlier time almost come alive.

We spent two nights in Khajuraho, then flew to Delhi for our departures on Dec. 7th. Ram and Bhunish hit the road on the 5th in order to meet us on the evening of the 6th. We arrived in Delhi late in the afternoon, registered at the Lemontree, then Ram took us to meet a friend of his who teaches at Delhi University. Without ever having met us, his friend invited us to dinner. Before our meal, he took us on a walking and driving tour of the campus. The university has almost 100,000 students, a phenomenal number. It was a pleasant, if early evening, as Boss had an early flight. My flight for home didn’t leave until 11:30 p.m., so I stooged around in the hotel until about 3:00 p.m. Ram picked me up and decided that I needed to see one more sight, the Museum of Toilets. It was free and funny and only took about half an hour. Who knew there was so much to learn about toilets??

I’m finished with this trip report, QED, and all that. Hope it’s helpful to someone.

indianapearl

Thanks, everyone, for your praise. Still jet-lagged, still tired, but I have emptied my mind.

live42day

Wonderful

indianapearl

live42day: I hope you enjoy your trip as much as we enjoyed ours!

rhkkmk

i really enjoyed reading this....i want to return to india soon to expand my adventures....glad your driver was just as personable as was ours....it makes all the difference...