06/16/14 - 6/20/14: Udaipur to Pushkar, Rajasthan, India
Udaipur is known as the “City of Lakes,” which is why I noticed a touch of dampness to the air when we arrived. The numerous man-made lakes surrounding the city create a more mediterranean feel, which may be why Udaipur is also known as the most romantic city in India. Well, it’s either that or the gorgeous City Palace that graces the city’s skyline. Either way, I definitely enjoyed a new refreshing feeling as Aura led us toward the palace lights.
City Palace rests atop Udaipur less with the ferocity of a fortress and more with the delicacy of a tiara. I saw few signs of her age in the waning light of day, only the luminescence of a waxen chateau welcoming me with the elegance of a lady. We were beckoned toward her, past a Hindu temple and artsy tourist shops, until we reached a marble arch that opened onto Lake Pichola. Upon the water sat Lake Palace floating like a cloud. Anchored on a small island, this alluring structure once belonged to the royal family before it became a hotel. Visitors to the hotel come and go by boat and are provided excellent views of City Palace across the way. I would’ve loved to stay there but somehow I don’t think our “shoestring” tour included such sublime accommodations.
The sun fell behind the horizon, its diminishing rays waving goodbye as Aura led us into Bagore-ki-Haveli Museum for a Rajasthani cultural show. The performance took place in the outdoor courtyard of an old stone mansion. Female dancers emerged wearing expressive garments in bright, bold colors that flowed around their bodies. Some spun like whirling dervishes while others played tiny cymbals across their limbs. A series of dances unfolded, from veiled ladies twirling to dancing puppet routines. The highlight of the night was a 66 year old woman who performed impressive acts while balancing pots on her head. With each new feat, a pot was added. The stack grew and grew until it eventually doubled her height! It was unbelievable!
The show was so entertaining and full of life that we were still abuzz when we returned to our hotel. Katie was tucked in bed when I entered our room. She was suffering from a bit of “Delhi belly” and had, regrettably, missed the entire evening. Myself along with the other “old ladies” turned in for the night while the rest of our group stayed up partying by the pool. Around 1:45am I woke up to people chanting, “Aura, Aura, Aura!” I have no idea what the ruckus was about and I honestly didn’t care. I was happy to be in my air conditioned room wrapped in a soft blanket. The next morning I discovered people were ravaged by mosquitoes during the pool party. It seems my elderly ways were paying off!
The next day we had free time before our Indian cooking class in the evening. Joni, Anne and I ventured out to City Palace to enjoy its gardens. Katie stayed put at the hotel since she was quite anxious about suddenly needing bathroom facilities. This broke my heart as we wandered the palace grounds, taking pleasure in a city that was fast becoming my favorite place in India. She was missing the cleanest, most tourist-friendly location we’d been to. And to make matters worse, I’d forgotten to take the camera with me! I had to rely on Joni and Anne to keep our memories alive. (This is why there’s hardly any video footage from Udaipur. Nice job, Alice!)
While striding through the manicured courtyard, we were asked to take pictures with local tourists. One family wanted Anne to squat down with their daughters for a photo while another held out their baby for me to hold. It’s surreal being treated like a celebrity. We’re nothing special. We’re just us. Certainly not picture worthy. But, apparently, our blonde hair and blue eyes have catapulted us into fame.
Next, we visited an art studio that Aura had introduced us to the day before. This is where some of India’s famous miniature paintings are created. By miniature, I don’t mean the pieces of art themselves are necessarily small, I mean the artwork is painted on a diminutive scale. Figures like humans, animals, or buildings are rendered in tiny proportions but with grand detail.
The lead artist explained that his studio housed a collaboration of painters broken up into three tiers: novice, apprentice, and master. I could immediately tell the difference between the artists’ work. The novice had the elements of an image without the shading or specific design, whereas a master would add precision and depth, transforming the picture into a magical little world. They used several canvas types including paper, silk, wood, marble, and even camel bone, and their paint brushes were minuscule - camel eyelashes and hairs from the end of a chipmunk’s tail.
Once I saw the artistry I had to buy something. I decided on a small piece that represented three cities on our Indian tour: a camel in Jaisalmer, an elephant in Jaipur, and a horse in Udaipur. It sits on our dresser reminding us of our trip every day.
Our cooking class happened to be on the rooftop of the art gallery, so we went upstairs to a covered area where we learned how to make some of India’s classic dishes. Unlike previous cooking classes on our trip, where everyone cooked simultaneously, this class had only one kitchenette for the instructor. We sat in a semi-circle around it while the teacher stood behind the counter preparing the various dishes. A tilted mirror was fixed above him so we could observe his stovetop in action.
He asked for a volunteer to make the first item, masala chai tea. I enthusiastically raised my hand figuring everyone else would want to fix something more exciting than tea. And, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, I’m obsessed with masala chai. This was my opportunity to make it from scratch. You’d think I’d remember how to create such a simple dish, but I remember nothing except that it tasted delicious.
The rest of the dishes included samosas, cumin rice, dahl (lentils), eggplant and potatoes, and roti. I have to say, it was hard to learn in that environment. When you aren’t handling the ingredients yourself, measuring the amounts, mixing them together, it’s difficult for the information to sink in. Hands-on experience would’ve been more impactful. Plus, the chef had done a fair amount of preparation before our arrival, so there was even less to do when we were in the hot seat. The good news is we were provided the recipes in the end, which will be invaluable if I attempt to cook any of these dishes again. I should pull them out one of these days and give it a go.
The class took quite a while, but none of us minded because the temperature was excellent. The sun was slowly dipping and a constant breeze blew across the roof. We took a break to enjoy Udaipur from our comfortable perch. I was thrilled to be present in that moment, witnessing boys flying a kite next door, blocks of houses rising and falling all around us, and the whimsical beauty of City Palace lounging on the hill, sparkling in her royal light.
After our lesson we sat down for a group meal to enjoy our efforts. Conversation turned to accents and became very entertaining. I attempted a British accent, which elicited much mocking and laughter. One of the English girls attempted an American accent, which was equally awful (she sounded like a drunk cowboy). All the while I wished Katie could’ve been there. She would’ve enjoyed the lesson, the food, the socializing, and she could’ve given the Brits a taste of her Scottish brogue (which is quite good since she used to live in Scotland).
The next morning we boarded a train to Pushkar. The train ride was another fun one, and I’m thrilled to report that Katie was on the mend and able to enjoy the experience as well! The four of us started charading and having a blast. Aura and some others from our group joined in the fun. They were soon exposed to the joy of Anne’s charades. Her gesticulations (and sometimes severely inaccurate gestures) had us all in stitches. Aura was laughing so hard he was doubling over. Anne charading “Inglourious Basterds” was the highlight of the trip. And as it happens, we captured it on video!
Pushkar is a highly religious city plopped in the middle of an arid mountainous landscape. According to Hindu scripture, the creator-god Brahma once used a lotus-flower to defeat the demon Vajranabha, and in that battle three petals fell from the flower creating the three lakes of Pushkar. Beside the central lake lies one of the few existing Brahma temples, making Pushkar a frequent pilgrimage destination for Hindus. Due to these religious origins, Pushkar is a city with more rules than anything we’d encountered. It’s a dry city, meaning no alcohol or drugs are allowed within its boundaries. Women must dress appropriately, covering their knees and shoulders at all times. And finally, the entire city is strictly vegetarian.
It was a significant stroll from our hotel into the heart of Pushkar, which is a relatively small city of only 22,000 people. Aura guided us through a bazaar selling standard tourist fare with lots of wandering cows filling the alleyways. We were the only tourists I can recall seeing in a town that felt isolated and lacking in vitality. The Brahma temple, the central draw of Pushkar, was painted in bright blues and oranges and was relatively small in scale. It felt more like an altar than a full-scale temple and didn’t leave much of an impression.
The highlight of the town was Pushkar Lake, which resides at the city’s center. We ate dinner beside it, our group sitting at a long table resting on stone steps that led to the water. Soft light bounced off the lake’s surface as we dined, creating a pleasant ambience. All four of us “old ladies” desired some comfort food, so we chose pancakes with banana and Nutella. But first Anne had to make sure it was real Nutella. She’d been fooled before, you see. Previous menus had stated Nutella but, to her horror, she was served basic chocolate sauce. For Anne, it was Nutella or nothing. Shockingly, in middle-of-nowhere Pushkar, they had the real deal. Anne’s pancake order was promptly confirmed and we all felt a little closer to home that evening.
Aura offered everyone the optional experience of climbing a small mountain to see the sunrise the next morning. Normally this would be right up our alley, but Katie and I decided against it. We were tempted, but the heat and pre-dawn wake up time didn’t appeal to us. You know what did appeal to us, though? Soaking in the swimming pool all morning. So that’s exactly what we did with our geriatric friends, Joni and Anne.
After lounging by the pool, we decided to venture down the road for some pizza. Several young Indian men idled outside our hotel and one zeroed in on us immediately. Aura had previously warned us about such an occasion. He’d told us we may be approached and given a flower by a gentleman who will then ask if we’ve performed certain Hindu rituals. This is a scam to get money, and we should tell him that we’ve already done our prayers for the day. And if he asks where, we should answer, “By the lake.”
As though the young man was following a script, he came up to us and tried to give me a flower. I declined but he persisted, grabbing my hand and attempting to place the flower in my palm. I pulled away.
We followed Aura’s instructions, stating: “We’ve already done our prayers for the day.”
Right on cue he asked, “Where?”
“By the lake,” we replied, and kept walking.
He followed us but we just kept moving and repeating ourselves until he got angry and growled, “You should be respectful!” before stalking away.
The interaction was a bit unnerving, but it was light outside and we weren’t going far from the hotel, so we shook it off. We found out later the same scheme happened to a few other people in our group while they were shopping in the market. They also followed Aura’s advice and got out of it unscathed. My, oh my, what would we do without Aura.
The road to the restaurant was not a pretty one. It was unpaved and surrounded by a profuse amount of garbage. There appeared to be a roadside landfill right there - a veritable smorgasbord for any animal wanting a meal. It attracted monkeys and families of wild pigs. These pigs (or perhaps they were warthogs?) were rutting around in the waste, happy to enjoy the castoffs of fellow Pushkar citizens. They moved in packs and were somewhat intimidating when they trounced down the street towards us. We gave them a nice, wide berth.
The open-air restaurant of “Little Italy” had its doors wide open when we arrived, so we walked right in. A circle of seated men turned and looked at us but said nothing. No one else was around. Uncertain of who worked there, I called out, “Hello?” No one responded. We stood there shuffling our feet, waiting, unsure of what to do next. Seconds ticked by until one of the men finally turned around and said “Can I help you?” I told him we wanted to eat at the restaurant and he replied, “We’re closed.”
We found it odd that the door had been propped open and there was no immediate response when we walked in. I mean, why else would we enter a restaurant if not to eat? So we threw in the towel and went back to our hotel, accepting that fate didn’t want us to eat pizza. We found out later that the restaurant did open, only later in the evening. Why didn’t he tell us that? Well, it was his loss.
In the end, our visit to Udaipur and then Pushkar was a study in contrasts. One was the most pleasant stop on our tour through northern India, while the other was the least pleasant. But witnessing a country in its various states - from modern to ancient, bustling to remote, well-kempt to disheveled - provides you a fuller picture.
And on that note, I’d like to end this entry reflecting on an experience between Udiapur and Pushkar that made a lasting impression on me...
After our entertaining train ride, we arrived at the train station to switch to our bus to Pushkar. Aura told us to stay alert. This wasn’t a nice place, he said. He wasn’t kidding. We saw more homeless people than ever before sleeping on the walkways and train platforms. Some were severely crippled, with missing limbs. The air smelled of human waste. There were many people begging and I ached to give them rupees despite being told not to.
Amidst it all, the station was still active and bustling. People moved through at a brisk pace while others waited for their trains. Some families even enjoyed impromptu picnics right there on the platform. It defied logic, yet I can’t say it surprised me. Who among us hasn’t passed by people in need, continuing on with our own lives? India is much like anywhere else in the world, only amplified to extremes. This depot was simply more smelly, more depressing, and more demoralizing when it came to the human condition. Seeing people laying on cement, filthy as an abandoned dog, missing limbs and starving - it leaves an impression not easily forgotten.
And I don’t ever want to forget. Traveling the world has made me deeply aware of my privilege while increasing my sympathies for those who lack it. Each life is predicated on luck. I happened to have been born in America, into a white middle-class family, given a healthy body with a functioning brain and an education that has sustained me. This is my privilege and I keep myself in check whenever I bemoan my lot in life. Because, with a turn of the dice, my path could’ve been very, very different.
This lesson has stayed with me beyond our time abroad. It’s influenced my world view and informed decisions about my life and how I treat others. It’s a gift I didn’t expect when we started this journey, but it’s something I hold dear and will be forever grateful for.
