Employing our excellent travel karma we woke to dreary weather—the day we would spend 5-6 hours driving from Delhi to Jaipur.  We checked out of the hotel and were on the road at 8am in a cold rain.

For several hours the drive was interesting but hardly picturesque, passing enormous high rises, Dell, Google, construction underway, construction partially finished and seemingly stopped, unfinished roads, hodge-podge intersections, too many cars and buses all driving with the same abandon as in Delhi. A disorganized boomtown—with million dollar apartments mixed with plenty of rubble and confusion. It is hard to imagine paying this kind of money for what must be a huge hassle just to navigate out of a parking lot and onto some kind of thoroughfare. The highway, Indian equivalent to an interstate, was utterly full of vehicles, mostly trucks of various sizes and most painted with flowers, Hindi, gods, and always with instructions to ‘honk horn’ painted above the rear bumper.

Gradually the construction gave way to countryside and we began to see livestock—cows, many herds of goats, water buffalo, a few pigs, a few chickens, a camel or two, the ubiquitous dogs, lots of monkeys along one stretch, sitting on top of stone fences eating, and vast fields of mustard. Every few miles a semblance of a village—rows of decrepit but bustling commercial enterprises of every type. Eating establishments with plastic chairs arranged out front, flower stalls, vegetable carts.

Traffic moved very fast, with amply horn honking and darting in and out by cars among the trucks which weave back and forth with no obvious recognition that there are lane markings. We saw one sign which said “lane driving is safe driving” but we wondered how they could possibly know this is true—lanes were no more observed on the highway than they had been in Delhi. The highway is divided, but periodically we encountered cars and trucks coming down the wrong way, apparently because it was obviously more convenient than driving on the correct side and turning into a side road. One short stretch, maybe ¼ mile, was a series of car and truck repair shops with various specialties, and so of course there were trucks parked along both sides, facing in all directions, for repairs, leaving one crooked “lane” for traffic to pass through.

At last we came to a fork in the road—to the right, Amber, straight ahead, Jaipur, the Pink City. We bore to the right and immediately were in a jumble of commercial activity, cows in the streets, an elephant, picturesque buildings, food stands, and temples, and, to the right, a huge long mountain with stone walls snaking up and an enormous fortification complex at the top.

The road became narrow and winding, lined with bougainvillea. Rather suddenly the view in all directions was both bustling with families and commercial establishments and extraordinarily picturesque. A large lake with an abandoned palace in the center. Strips of parks with both people and monkeys. And then we were in Jaipur proper, a large, open city with a specific architectural style, salmon buildings with white ornamental trim which stretch for many blocks, giving the city a particular personality very different from Delhi.

Our first stop was at a textile and rug complex, and as we got out we noticed many kites in the air. In the villages near Jaipur we had seen scatterings of people on their rooftops flying kites, and it was the day of the Kite Festival so we had expected to see whatever turned out to be a kite festival—we really had no idea what that meant. Trees around the parking area had kites stuck in the branches. A few hours before the rain had stopped and it was almost sunny and pleasantly warm. After a block printing and rug making demonstration we went inside to do some business. How clever the sales technique of offering Kingfisher beer, paneer tikka and chick pea pakoras to all of us as we sat down to the rug presentation—rug after rug brought out for our inspection as the men drank beer and we looked and looked…and bought. A large rug for the dining room, a runner for the kitchen, and our fellow travelers succumbed as well. Finally a few textile purchases.

Menfolk were getting tired.  

And then as we concluded the buying part of the day we were invited up to the roof. And NOTHING had prepared us for the site. On every roof in every direction, families were flying kites—the sky was full! And noisy–music, shouting, laughing; hooting when a kite went down—a citywide kite party. Monkeys in the trees, fallen kites in the trees, women in colorful saris, children dancing and hollering, picture taking, kite flying attempts (by us), actual kite flying (by our hosts)—it was glorious, exciting, colorful, thrilling, and after maybe 30-45 minutes we finally went back down to the van and off to our hotel.

Tomorrow we ride elephants.  Really?

To journey up the hill to the largest mosque in India, of course you take a bicycle-powered rickshaw. And then try to keep breathing.  Right into the impossible traffic you go, surrounded by honking horns, busses, three-wheeled cabs, everything and everyone going as fast as they can, while sidewalk merchants sell dental services (“Over there–they make teeth” our driver explains as we pass one, two, maybe ten different men sitting on blankets next to propped up handdrawn pictures of dentures), clothing, vegetables, handbags, tea, like every street market but louder.

The Mosque itself is an enormous plaza with minarets and domes, the interior a surprisingly small colonnade, rather lovely in proportions but fairly plain.

Down we came in our bicycle rickshaws to be dropped at the Red Fort.The Red Fort looks like a huge fortification, but inside it is a broadly dispersed set of buildings and expanses of lawn. Architecturally various with both marble and sandstone buildings, long open terraces, and, sadly now, remnants of an elaborate water system which had flowed from building to building to provide bathing facilities and fountains. Almost as interesting as the complex of buildings were the Indian tourists, beautifully clothed women in extraordinarily bright saris, men in colored turbans open in the center like cloth crowns and white draped pantaloons. We strolled from building to building as our wonderful guide Anil explained the history of each.

I finally was able to capture a photo of another great flock of kites swirling above.

Tucked here and there on several of the buildings were delicate inlays of flowers and floral arrangements.

On our way to lunch we made a short stop at Mahatma Ghandi’s memorial, the site of his cremation. A path leads around the simple stone platform, decorated with rosettes of fresh marigolds, and the eternal flame. The park in which it sits is also the site of the cremations and memorials of many key figures since independence, prime ministers and others, and the park itself is many acres, peaceful and quiet.

Another delicious lunch, where we again had paneer tikka, a food that is becoming the symbol of our love affair with Indian cuisine.  Pindi. Go there if you are in Delhi.

Last stop of the day was to the Akshardham Hindu temple, built miraculously in 5 years (“it was supposed to take 40”) and to my inexperienced eyes the very essence of over the top Hindu kitsch. We have no photographs as visitors are not allowed to take anything into the complex (no phones, no cameras) and we each were carefully and thoroughly searched on entry. From our itinerary: “Built without steel, it consists of 234 ornately carved pillars (ornately is an understatement), 9 ornate domes, 20 quadrangle shikhars…and 20,000 statues of India’s greatest sadhus, devotees, acharyas, and divine personalities.” Not to mention a frieze around the entire base of the main building comprising every kind of elephant, elephant family, elephant story, elephants being worshipped by rabbits, elephants fighting crocodiles, elephant parables, each elephant carving weighing many times that of an actual elephant. And a food court, gift shop, lotus garden…it is Hindu Disneyland.

After a grueling drive back to our hotel we fell into bed.

Ravenous (at least I was) we went to Lazeez Affaire for a late lunch, our first meal as a group. Happily, everyone was ready for an Indian feast and so we ordered chicken tikka, pieces of the tenderest grilled chicken, and paneer tikka, slabs of grilled paneer stuffed with green cilantro paste, butter chicken, various kinds of naan, rice, paneer in a tomato sauce, paneer with spinach, all wonderful.  Our guide suggested we visit a small step well and a temple to conclude the day.

A step well is a in fact a water well, but instead of a shaft with a mechanism to raise the water, like a pail on a rope, there are stone steps leading down to the surface of the water.  Sounds unremarkable if a little odd.

This is the Ugrasen ki Baoli (baoli is Hindi for step well).  After driving down a narrow city alley-ish street which was bordered on both sides with linens drying on racks made of criss-crossed bamboo, and walking through an unremarkable, small stone doorway, we were standing above an very deep chamber dug into the ground like an inside out, upside down building, ever narrower as it gets deeper.  Groups of teenagers sat on the steps above as if this were a perfectly obvious place to hang out and gossip. It was beautiful and somewhat shocking to see this mysteriously engineered step well juxtaposed with the skyscrapers of modern Delhi just beyond the ancient walls that line the well itself.

Our final adventure of the day was the most moving, as we visited the very large, bustling Gurdwara Sikh temple.  First stop, the tourist room where we removed shoes and socks and head scarves were provided to those in our group who didn’t have them.  Outside to wash hands and walk through a shallow trough of water, and then up the marble steps and across the plaza to the temple, where three men chanted to a tabla and two harmoniums and worshippers strolled, or bowed, or sat cross legged on the floor where large monitors displayed in Hindi and English the words of the chants.  A man inside the altar area had a large video camera, feeding a continuous live broadcast.  (http://www.dsgmc.in/ )  The chanting, the overwhelming spirituality in the temple, the smells and opulence of the setting were attractive and hypnotic.  It was very difficult to leave.

We toured the dining area, where every day, morning to evening, everyone who sits down in the dining room (cross-legged, in small family groups or large lines) is fed, and then into the kitchen where immense caldrons of a potato curry stew were bubbling and a shifting group of children, men, and women sat in front of long trays of flour, rolling out balls of dough into thin disks which they stacked on wooden platters.  Periodically a young man swooped away the ready chapatis and replaced them with an empty platter–and groups of mostly men were tossing the disks on a huge flat griddle.  As soon as they were sufficiently charred a man with a long pole flipped them onto a more open charcoal grill where they immediately puffed up, and then were slid into baskets to be served in the adjacent dining area.Of course I (wearing the blue scarf) had to join the rolling group for a few minutes.

Two scenes:
Striding through the almost empty, enormous baggage claim area at 7:30pm Sunday local time, a woman in full chador, only her eyes revealed, talking on her cell phone and followed by 3 small children and two of the largest baggage trolleys I have ever seen–bags were stacked five layers high.
Medallions on the passport control desks celebrating the “20th Annual Dubai Shopping Festival.”

When I am traveling for business I find vacationers around me a bit annoying, a bit in the way, a bit clueless. They aren’t working, contributing, serious–not like me.
When I am traveling on vacation, listening to business conversations around me I think “gee, they sound so self-important, absorbed in their oh-so spectacularly irrelevant deals, busy impressing themselves and each other about things that don’t really matter.”
I am such a hypocrite.

As so often the case, right before leaving on a much-anticipated vacation I find myself wondering if I really need to get away, especially NOW.  Now, here at home, which feels so safe and beloved.  Why am I trading it for there, away, which feels so unknown?  Why am I leaving my bed, my desk, my doggies, my new kitchen?

BECAUSE!  Yup.  I’m outta here.