Andrew’s - The Pink City

Yet another edition of the “He said” views on India from Andrew.  I hope to have time tomorrow once we arrive in Jodhpur to do the “She said” version. 

Departing Bundi proved to be a Brittany experience, as
in “Ooops, I did it again”.  Having just recently
sworn off any further road journeys, we were soon
sitting in a vintage looking machine heading towards
Jaipur, also known as The Pink City, a mere 230 km
away. 

On the bright side, the road was actually in pretty
good shape, even if it was one lane in each direction,
undivided.  On the bad side, our driver was likely an
ex-trucker with a penchant for tempting fate and
putting his (and in turn, our) life in the hands of
Shiva.  Like the proverbial bat out of hell, he pushed
the limits with impunity.  Whether that meant passing
around blind corners, jamming into improbably small
spaces, or otherwise taking the most aggressive line
possible, he shaved entire minutes off the trip, and
years off our tickers.  The experience was a bit of a
catch-22, you weren’t sure whether to tell him to slow
down (since that would prolong the agony), or just
shut up and hold on (and hope he gets there that much
sooner).  All told, we managed to get here alive and
well… though I have to admit that there was no tip
for the reckless endangerment of our lives (much to
his surprise, and disappointment I am sure).

I am not sure what’s happening with Pakistan these
days, but we passed a long column of army trucks along
the highway, quite of few of which were pulling
artillery along.  Given that one of our upcoming
destinations takes us fairly close to Pakistan, is
there something we should be thinking about?
Nooooooo… I am sure it’s all good.

So, Jaipur, the Pink City.

I have to say that we actually enjoyed it.  It’s big
(5 million plus apparently), it’s loud and busy… but
for whatever reason, it has that something that we
didn’t get in Delhi.  Maybe the culture shock is
wearing off, but even the suicidal street crossings
have lost some of their fear factor.  You look for an
opportunity, pray to the deity of your choice, and
start walking.  Assuming all parties involved would
prefer to avoid the displeasure of colliding with a
soft, foreign, object, you can reasonably assume all
will be well when you reach the other side.  Hey, if
it works for the locals…

We took in the Amber Fort, an impressive
fort-turned-palace, which overlooks the city.  The
walls are made from a reddish sandstone which makes
for a great time shooting pictures, particularly in
the fading light of sunset.  We spent a few hours
there, which were surprisingly crowd-free - I would
encourage anyone visiting, to tackle this site in the
afternoon, rather than the morning when apparently the
hordes of barbarians (I mean tourists) invade.  I also
recommend the audio tour, which though lengthy, is
actually surprisingly good, something I can’t say
about the signage on-site.  Too much history to
recount here though.

The second day (today) was spent securing our train
tickets onward… something we’ve been trying to do
over the past week.  One should quickly realize that
the reservation office is not inside the train
station.  In fact, it’s not even attached to the train
station.  No, it’s facing the nearby traffic circle…
which makes perfect sense, here, in Incredible India.

Next up, a walking tour of the old city.  The pink
facade is a remnant of the late 1800’s, when the
Maharaja of the day had the city painted for Prince
Edward the VII’s visit.  Now, the poor working slobs
of today have to re-paint it on a yearly basis.  You
might be hard pressed to tell though, as it looks more
like a dusty coating of pink dirt.  This is not to say
that it doesn’t give it character, just that unless
you know otherwise, it’s not exactly how you might
picture it.  I honestly hope this isn’t coming across
as a negative, which it isn’t, but just as an
independent observation.

The tour included a quick bite at a nice local
establishment, where we enjoyed a veggie samosa and
chai while being entertained by the large rat diving
into a nearby hole in the wall.  Sadly, Sparky the rat
was not in the mood to get photographed, but you’ll
have to take our word for it, he was a fairly healthy
specimen.  Whats more curious, is that neither of us
were particularly phased by our new found companion,
and tore into our tasty treats with gleeful delight.
Should this bother us?  See above about having settled
into the swing of things.

One of the really interesting parts, street crossings
aside, is the Jantar Mantar - an impressive array of
larger-than-life astronomical instruments from the
1700’s.  Literally, it’s like stairways leading up to
nowhere, but they can tell you the date / time /
declination of celestial bodies / positioning of
constellations in both the northern AND southern
hemispheres, and then some.  Quite interesting, though
I think we both thought that they almost looked like
some weird garden sculptures from one of our psychotic
anti-malarial medication induced episodes.

Needing to get away from the endless noise, offers,
questions and strange old men trying to paw you for
rupees, we found ourselves a little oasis of paradise
on a rooftop restaurant far above the hustle and
bustle of the streets.  Wood-fired oven pizzas were
the order of the day, along with lukewarm beer served
in a tea pot with coffee mugs.  I suspect that getting
a liquor license if the problem at hand.  Still, it’s
rather unforgettable, pouring warmish beer out of a
delicate teapot, replete with floral print on its
side.

With bellies full, and minds numbed, it was time to
head back to the hotel.  In need of medicinal
provisions, we decided a bottle of whiskey was in
order for the impending train rides.  With the keen
senses of a bloodhound on hunt, Kara finds us a liquor
store in mere minutes.  We pony up a chunk of
north-american priced change for what is supposedly
the best Indian whiskey there is.  Oddly enough, it’s
actually Scotch Whiskey, bottled in India… but I
have a 10 Rupee note for the first person that lets me
know if it can be had back in Edmonton.  The stuff is
called “Black Dog”, aged 8 years, says it’s Scoth
Whiskey, and is damnably fine.  Let me know, and the
worn rupee note is yours.

In fine Indian tradition, I have become a small-bill
gnome, and have managed to squirrel away quite a wad
of small-denomination bills.  My pocket is no longer
quite so inconspicuous, but I can relish the fact that
one of these days, I will be able to surprise the hell
out of some poor little dude and pay an entire
transaction in 10 and 20 notes.  Sick humor, I know,
but given the difficulty in getting change for
anything, it’s quite appropriate, I assure you.

We now have mere hours before our train departs Jaipur
(the Pink city) for Jodhpur (the Blue city).  I cannot
express the anticipation and joy we are feeling
towards getting a whopping three hours of sleep before
needing to get to the train station for the 02:35
departure in 2-tier AC accommodations.  Suffice it to
say, if the train is delayed by seven hours again,
homicide is imminent.... in which case, I might not be
seeing some of you for a long, long time!

Rumrum all, to be continued in… The Blue City.

Posted on January 30, 2009 at 9:12 AM

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