Rajasthan

First of all, thanks everyone for your comments. I seem to have to manually approve all of them, so sorry it takes a while for them to show up.

We’re in the final stretch of our pre-wedding travel, and we’re still having a good time. Now it’s mid-morning in the deserts of Rajasthan. Yesterday, when we got into Jodhpur, there was a raging duststorm and we choked most of the rickshaw ride to the hotel from the rail station. This morning the skies have cleared, and it’s not yet hot. Though this little “cyber cafe” (more of a warren really) is bound to get toasty soon.

Rajasthan is nice. Hot, but nice. It’s a hot, flat desert with friendly people and not much to do (according to the locals). Sounds a bit like Wyoming in the summer, but without the cool mountains.

We started our desert adventure on the 9th after a flight to Jodhpur from Delhi that was delayed for four hours. Another Indian Airlines traveler said, “That’s it! From now on I’m flying Jet Airways.” Our flying bus was full of pushing people, but 40 minutes later we were pushing our way off the plane. That night we stayed in a castle, literally.

The next morning we wished we had known the train was going to be three hours delayed. We might have slept in a bit and explored the castle. As it happens, we waited around the rail station, getting five different sets of directions as to where to wait for our train. Young people wanted to shine Lisa’s shoes, and one beggar whose schtick involved dragging a cardboard box around was pretty insistent that we give him 10 rupees.

[There was a brief intermission just now as the cafe proprietor took over our computer to print some documents for someone else. How amusing!]

After leaving Jodhpur, the further west we went, the sandier the landscape became. When the wind came up, visibility was down to less than a few hundred feet. Just before a small town mid way on the trip, a man sat down across from us. Sunil, we later discovered, was a soldier from Pokaran, the small town. He made small talk with me. (No one ever makes small talk with Lisa, as she is a woman.) After he asked me if I like soldiers — “Yes, why not?” — and he said that I should join him at Pokaran as a friend, I was a little nervous that the two guys who sat down later with him were going to help him press me into some paramilitary group on the border with Pakistan, only 40 or so miles away. But no, it was just idle, international banter. I figure Lisa would protect me if needed, and I’m sure the French/Belgian hiker 20-somethings across from us could help, too. Actually I was never really nervous, it was just an odd turn of events. Plus, I’m pretty sure that would void my U.S. citizenship.

In Jaisalmer, our destination, we stayed in a mostly empty resort on the edge of town. Because of the summer heat (only about 112 when we arrived) we were the only guests there. Everyone knew everything about us. It felt like a cross between the “Bates Motel” and the world’s largest bed and breakfast.

On the 11th we went into Jaisalmer town to visit the fort. Visiting Rajasthan in the hot season may not be the most sensible thing to do, but it’s pretty laid back now. Sure, some small children did implore us to buy trinkets — as did a couple of brightly dressed Rajasthani women at the entrance to the fort, but we were largely unhassled. Perhaps having a guide helped. His English was pretty good, and his knowledge of the town, it’s people and cows was pretty admirable. So we walked leisurely around the 15th century fort rising unexpectedly out of the desert on a big sandstone mound. The “dry” construction of expertly cut sandstone blocks and finely interlocking stone screens was quite interesting and extremely impressive. The fort was able to survive a four month siege by the Mughals and is the only fort in Asia that is still inhabitted (by completely Brahmin-caste families). The Maharaja doesn’t live there anymore, though. He and his family’s money live out in the new part of town.

The “new” part, with its 18th and 19th century “havelis” — named after the openings for the windows — which are covered by fine screens so the women could see the events of the day without being seen by the men — is still very nice for an Indian city. It mixes a living city with commerce and tourism. With the exception of the open sewers, it felt a bit like Boston’s North End and resembled pictures I’ve seen of Venice and Sienna.

We went inside of the haveli, which is still owned by the sixth-great-grandson of the former prime minister, who is selling off the family heirlooms to pay for the tax bills and upkeep — this, incidentally, is why the palaces in Jodhpur and Udaipur became hotels. One of the havelis became a cooperative shop for textile manufacturers from the frontier region. Nonlocal access to these places is greatly limited because of border hostilities, so all of the goods come to the town, where they’re sold by imported villagers, too. We ended up buying a lovely wall hanging made by Rajastani women (who are among India’s least well-off, I have read) from the gold and silver brocade at the edge of their saris and blouses. They’re intricate, unique, and extremely beautiful.

After meeting back up with our driver, we headed to the hills outside of town and Bada Bagh cenotaphs. The memorials to the Maharajas were interesting, but the trip was enriched by a local student home from university in Delhi. He’s studying commerce, loves America, was full of helpful knowledge about the cenotaphs, and (I gather) is ready to leave the small, small village neighboring the memorials. He talked about how the rulers’ wives used to throw themselves on the funeral pyre in acts of devotion (and obligation) when their husband died — sometimes as many as ten women did this at a time. In the fort, we saw the location where the satis self-immolated.

You get the sense that women’s lives in Rajasthan aren’t highly valued, but in Jaisalmer poeple started talking to Lisa more, including her in conversation. This is atypical. Usually it’s “Please, sir,” “This way, sir,” “Thank you, sir.” If Lisa’s noticed at all, it’s in the context of me. I’ve had whole conversations with Lisa beside me where the men haven’t bothered talking in her direction or just ignore the fact that she is there. I feel rotten about it, but working her into the conversation goes nowhere. However, sensible shopkeepers do include her as she has a huge role in deciding what we buy. There is also some concern that we’re childless . . .

Our co-op salesman paid her sufficient respect. He, we learned, has a wife and children, is thirty-two, never attended school, and has been in his job for eighteen years. Lisa would rather be included in conversation, but she’s also fine not getting loads of attention. Several men stare at her, often quite boldly. She tries not to let it bother her, but I think it makes her nervous.

But that’s typical of our trip. In so many ways it’s a wonderful adventure full of interesting places and friendly people who want to talk with us and get to know us, just as we want to know more about where we are and who lives here. And yet there are so many things it’s quite difficult to adjust to. Shimla and Jaisalmer were reinvigorating, but the larger towns (and especially the travel between them) bring me back down. We’re getting better at mixing in the local scene, heading out into town more and chatting with the locals. But we’ve had our first run-ins with illness — Lisa is feeling the effects of the dust and dryness, and I’m thanking the inventors of Immodium. So we’re still having fun, but it’s tempered by where we are.

Next we’re off to our last stop in Rajasthan: Udaipur, a town everyone says is the most romantic in India. Lisa says, “Of course, they said that about the Taj Mahal, too.” Indeed. Nothing more romantic than death.

A few days from now we’ll be in Madras for the raison d’être of our trip. Our first Hindu wedding. How exciting!

Thanks for the comments. See you all soon.