Party

Saturday continued....

Party Extravaganza

The wow factor hit us full in the face. The party was "just because." Bonnie's niece threw this extravaganza at her home and two hundred or more of us enjoyed the magnificent celebration centered around her favorite singer Sonan Kalra and the Sufi Gospel Project. The music, a convergence of drums, sitar, flute, guitar, piano-like keyboard, their voices, and the light show that flitted over the players and the palm trees, created some magic-the sound spun a web and we were rapt. 

We sank into seats on the long sofas that were three-deep in front of the stage. Other guests layered out behind us to the outskirts of the manicured lawn and flower gardens. I have never seen dahlias so huge.

Sonan happens to be a Sikh like Tony. No turban but females also are not supposed to cut their hair. Her religious belief suffuses her music. The truth is all. Love is all. All is one. All religions valid. Everyone get along, okay? 

Waiters circulated with trays of appetizing tidbits from chunks of tandoori chicken to crunchy prawns and savory eggplant and vegetable concoctions with dipping sauces.  Bars were set up at either end of the expansive lawn which was sprinkled with table-clothed tables sprouting bouquets of flowers. 

The buffet dinner served at 11pm overwhelmed me with choices. I managed. Tony handed me a popsicle-looking thing that tasted like banana and was filled with nuts. I did not dribble on my dress.

After Sonan's two encores, the music continued with local voices and talent. 

We got home at 2 am. India time runs differently than American time when I seldom last until midnight on New Year's Eve.

Back to Delhi

Sat March 29 The Uppals, Krista, Bonnie, Tony and Arjun

 

Another day of firsts - smooth super highway from Agra to Delhi, straight shot on a road where cars stayed in their lanes except to pass (without using their horn, mostly), no cows or monkeys or pigs or dogs wandering, or vehicles that moved under 65 miles an hour. Hitting the traffic on the outskirts of Delhi changed our pace. These outskirts are expanding dramatically - we must have passed hundreds of thousands of high rises under construction, "integrated cities" where the growing population of middle class citizens can live without having to venture into the heart of Delhi. Our middle class is shrinking. Of course, the poor and poorer, and the rich and super wealthy are global facts of life.

Speaking of privilege, I asked Bonnie if she could make a hair appointment for me - a month of hard water and sun and heat, and a big party to attend our first night back in Delhi, warranted a splurge. We both went to the salon at the Oberoi. 

The hair appointment morphed into a spa experience with a head and back massage. After a talk about my hair and a shampoo, another  gentleman in a white shirt with a Nehru collar and gold name tag took me to a calm room apart from the busy blow drying and cutting and coloring and chattering of women getting their toes buffed and nails polished and eyebrows threaded. He hydrated and conditioned and massaged my head. While all that good stuff seeped into my roots he massaged my back and this sent me into a room of my own.

When he finished, he snapped his fingers beside my ears and I opened my eyes and returned.  Three different operators meant three different tips which was almost beyond my mathematical skills. Especially in my state of bliss.

Bonnie picked out orchids from the florist on our way out of the hotel and we were off to home to relax before preparing for the  8:30 party.  

Bonnie said Indian fancy wear was in order and she dressed me. 

The Taj Mahal

March 29 Saturday

Our last day of scheduled anything, barring the flight home. 

Groaning at the 5:30 am alarm, we made it out the door sans breakfast. Yash drove us and Gopal the  guide to the Taj in five minutes. It took another 45 minutes to navigate the line to buy tickets where an altercation broke out-some shouting and pushing which just added to all the excitement. (There is a line for locals and one for foreigners who pay more.) 

Then the15-minute walk to the entrance - we had the option of a two-wheeled camel-pulled cart. Then separate lines for men and women where we gracefully submit to a pat down by security.  

It was a fun crush. Gopal dragged Dennis down the men's line squeezing around others because some ticket holders had jumped the queue. Like driving in India, you cannot be passive or patient, because you will not get anywhere.

What can I say about the Taj Mahal - it's spectacular. Gopal guided in a steady stream of English of which we only understood half - enough to be able to fill in the blanks. He also gave us disposable white shoe covers - the Indians go barefoot. We weren't given an option. 

I do not remember wearing shoe nets when I visited with my family in the 60's. I'm not sure we even took off our shoes. I do remember a lot of standing around while my father waited for his tripod and camera affair to take the longest photo in the world to capture the sunset over the Taj. 

I remember I sat on the side of the reflecting pool and dangled my feet. And creeping around the white marbled dome imagining a man who would spend a fortune and 22 years building me a tomb. What had I done to deserve that? And what kind of measure of love was this epic edifice. Obviously, it was about him.

Arriving in Agra

March 28

30-minutes along the road to Agra from Bharatpur is the must-see Fateh Shikri, at least it is a must-see by Yash, and we agreed and are glad. Built by the Mughal Emperor Akbar in the 1600's, this fortified ancient city was completed in 3 years but only occupied for 12 due to water shortage. At that time, this complex was larger than London.

The Emperor had 3 wives: one Muslim wife to bear a son and heir and large house, a Hindu wife whose house was tiny but her compensation was to be nearest to the big guy's house, and a Christian wife, whose domicile was medium-sized - all religions intertwined and balanced.  Of course, he had a really big harem. 

Mansingh Hotel in Agra- part of a chain and the  most Western-like one that we have stayed in - has issues, as they say. We opened the window and when a pigeon tried to enter, I shooed him away and the window hinge broke and we had to put the window back in place, gently. The refrigerator is cool to tepid in temp, and we only discovered this after taking a short excursion in a tuk-tuk  to a shop to buy a bottle of wine. The prices here are absurd for wine and, like my craving for a pizza or a burger, I want a glass of wine instead of  beer. 

We are sort of pissed at the hotel because we paid for wifi in the room and it doesn't work. The manager said she would send someone up, for what we wondered, and no one came. She also said she would suggest some restaurants which served continental cuisine, and later told us, when we asked, that she didn't know of any - that we should eat here. 

When we left for our walk around the neighborhood, the new person at the desk told us there was no wifi in the rooms. Hmmm. But we are certainly welcome to pay for wifi and sit in the lobby which is freezing cold. I can't make any generalization about the hospitality business in Agra, only about this hotel which seems more suited for bus tours. This has been a first.

View from our room at the Mansingh at sunset in Agra

Dennis bought a 6-dollar leather wallet in the shopping arcade off the hotel lobby, and he actually quibbled about the price. It's a very nice wallet, flat and not too many slots and pockets, just what he has been looking for. I need to get him home soon.

Breakfast thoughts

March 28 Friday

The chicken and veg spring rolls at dinner last night were the best we'd ever had - freshly made (I had already finished my sweet corn vegetable soup and Dennis his staple of the trip, fried rice) when  they arrived, the waiter saying he had given us us two instead of one. One could feed a family of two. Steaming hot, just fried they were full of thinly sliced peppers and onion and cabbage and chicken and the green leaves of cilantro that are in every dish, and some other unidentifiable things and perfectly spiced to taste exactly how the idea of a spring roll tastes before it lands on a plate under my nose.

For lunch, we were craving western food - I will say this out loud, the same food gets boring, and right now I am done with buffet- style or any style Indian food. If there were a McDonalds near by, I would jog to it. And I don't jog. I have not been in a McDonalds in 30 years to eat, only to use their convenient toilets, but right now I could sure choke down a fish sandwich and some fries.

We asked where the best hotel in Bharatpur was and if they served lunch. Yash dropped us off and we wandered the grounds of this palace turned hotel and found a monster dining room and sat at a four top. The long tables set up for 30 should have lit a warning in my head. The waiter came over and we ordered a beer to share and he pointed to the far end of the room. Buffet. Indian food. chicken curry, saag paneer, rice, curd, mixed veg, dal - okay, it was good, it's always good in varying ways and nuance, but begins to taste the same. The rice pudding for dessert was good too, as always.

We fought our way around the tables packed with tourists who had arrived by bus - four buses.

However, when I get back to the states, I still won't have to go to a McDonalds - except to use the toilet.

Birder's paradise

March 27 Keoladeo National park

The rickshaw ride, and walk, through the bird sanctuary was as good as I hoped- not even one little tradeoff. The ride was slow and smooth, the walking more an amble.  Cloud cover kept the temperature down, although it was only 7 in the morning. Babu our rickshaw driver, has an eagle eye for spotting birds, plus we got lucky with Soran, a naturalist and guide, lugging his telescope. 

Soran rode his bike alongside us, sharing his knowledge. Will I remember all the names of all the birds we saw? I promise I won't list them - Dennis wrote down 40-plus names.

I know I saw a spoonbill, and a duck who hailed from Siberia, and a black-necked stork. Hawks and owls. okay, I'll stop. Green bee-eaters and parakeets. Jungle babblers. Like me, so says my husband. 

We went through dry land then wetlands. This former waterfowl hunting ground of the Maharajas was a destination of visiting dignitaries. One party with Lord Linlithgow, the then Viceroy in 1938, shot 4273 birds with 39 rifles. Historical record. The park became protected in 1971 and a World Heritage Site in 1985.

We saw antelope.  A purple heron, grey one too. Greater spotted eagle and a glossy ibis. Greater cuckoo and a long tailed shrike, a yellow-footed pigeon and a white-eared bulbul.

Bar-headed goose visiting from Mongolia. He'll be leaving soon, like us.

Bharatpur

March 26 Wednesday

Checking out of Khem Villas, we are intact. Bird bids goodbye at breakfast - but only to snap a few pomegranate seeds off my plate.

Road pretty good, only falls apart in the towns where fruit and vegetable sellers and tractor repair takes place almost in the road, in front of more permanent shops.

Drive to Bharatpur blessed with a visit to Abaneri a stepwell - meaning you step down into the well which is over 60 feet deep, or you could when it operated as a water source and spa 

until 1959 - it was built in the 9th century AD. A living design.    

Toilet was welcome too, a squat but okay. I'm getting pretty good at balancing although the real trick is holding pants up to keep cuffs dry while pulling pants down to get the business done - sort of conflicting objectives.

Big brick business closer to Bharatpur. All that smoke pouring into the air unimpeded - we probably know how to hide our pollution better, or only notice if it's in the backyard.

Small business by musician father and dancing daughter at entrance to a roadside restaurant obviously built for touristing travelers, like us. Excellent toilet.

Birder's Inn not-promising environs turned around once we entered its innards.

onward

March 26 a new day

no, I did not start my day with a beer - this is last night after dennis had settled in the tent. Kindle protecting beer from more protein. 

I hate the Belkin keyboard with my mini IPad - this is an infomercial rant - for serious bloggers, or writers on the go, do not depend on this contraption for allowing your best words to flow forth. Once I found the blessed apostrophe, it's still not easy to access, it's back to hunt and peck and now I have a personal understanding that tools are important. I am one with my mac airbook, I adore it. It brings out the best in me.

This ***** thing first of all does not keep the computer upright, it keeps slipping and now the corner edge that holds the iPad in place broke, second time, first time was the the second time I used it and got a replacement. getting older and going to college does not guarantee smarter.

as Obama would say, let me be clear - there's no problem with the IPad, it does what it`s supposed to. I saw a woman using her mini IPad with a much neater and sturdy keyboard all in one and she bought it at Best Buy. Why did I think the apple store in Brattleboro would sell me the best configuration? 

yes, the regular-sized Ipad has a good keyboard attachement set up, but I wanted something smaller and lighter. Note to self - do not skimp on tools of the trade. Lug the extra weight, and the pay off could be better output, worth its weight in satisfaction.

Ranthambore ups and downs

March 24 and 25

View from our comfortable tent's front stoop at Khem Villas.

We only back-tracked once on the 7-hour drive from Udaipur to town of Sawai Madhopur in Ranthambore. Yash was smart enough to stop and ask directions, not a normal guy practice, in my experience, until it is way too late. Khem Villas' gate evokes a cheer from all three of us. Yash went off to stay at a guest house, and we were invited to have lunch even though it was 4pm. All vegetarian and mostly organic and grown on premises - I felt that the next 3 days would serve as a much-needed detox for my inner world. 

My outer world needed cleansing by the end of the next day, however. Two safari jeep rides: first one started with a wake-up tea call at 5:30 and pick-up by guide Sutta in a sturdy  jeep. Little did we realize how strong that jeep needed to be. Little did we realize how strong we needed to be.

How can I even describe this safari? extreme, bone-jarring, grit-in-teeth - none of this mentioned  in its marketing which sounds idyllic. I didn't need idyllic, just pleasurable. I quote: the tigers can be easily spotted during the day. Now, I never counted on seeing a tiger - this was not a quest, I merely wanted an all-round wildlife habitat viewing experience.

The national park covers almost 400 square kilometers and is divided into 10 sectors. The Indian government, probably a division like Park Services, controls the number of vehicles allowed into each sector. Good - they are trying to save the Bengal tiger. 

The entrance to sector 1 is adjacent to Khem Villas, the next 9 incrementally farther away, meaning that sector 8 is a 45 minute drive through the big town and horn-blowing traffic consisting of the ubiquitous motorbikes, packed mini buses, trucks, camel-drawn carts loaded with everything from bales of straw to gravel and goats, along with cows and dogs and pigs (that look very much like their ugly wild boar cousins) wandering haphazardly while pedestrians try to cross the road. it's one big crap shoot.

So - here's the deal. Whether you have a private jeep or a shared one with six people squished into 2 bench seats or a big jeepsy which holds anywhere from 12 to 18 hot bodies, your destination is chosen by lottery. Well, I doubt that Bill and Chelsea Clinton''s safari was left to chance, or any other VIP's.

Our draw the first morning was sector 8 - I loved our drive through the sleepy morning town and smaller villages. Women in orange and red saris, embroidery shining in the sun, walked in groups - Sutta explained it was a women's holy day, a special day for women. I said, good, because every day is special for men - they laughed, surprised, and I was happy I made a good joke. even a point, maybe.

We picked up a park ranger (in training) at the check-in gate so there were 5 of us. Sambar and spotted deer, antelope with black and white striped feet, ostriches, a couple of langur monkeys, and land birds like pheasant, and flying birds which I will try to list later, (best being the plum-headed parakeet. A mongoose, squirrels which are striped like our chipmunks, and two jackals on the way home in a field.

The landscape looked like Out Of Africa, dry but flashes of color with the spring greening of the acacia trees and bougainvillea. Lots of dry water holes and stream beds. A good time to see aniimals without full foliage. The park fills concrete rounds with water for the wildlife. Monsoon rains start in June and the park closes for 3 months.

Suffice it to say, our three hour safari was a big long bounce up hill and then down but it was not terrible - we viewed some animals and smelled some different scents- the vista stunning from the top of the mountain we roamed.

Back at our encampment by 10:30. The staff had sent us off on our journey with bottles of water and a sandwich so we weren't famished but ready to eat the breakfast that waited for us. Yoghurt, papaya, baguette and toast, lection of cheese, omelets made to order, masala tea or coffee. Happy. 

Sutta said he would pick us up at 2:30 for our afternoon safari. We told him that if number 8 comes up again for our lottery pick, we weren't going. He was slightly shocked.

A plunge in the the cold plunge pool restored my equanimity and my body temperature to almost optimum. 

At 2:30, sun blazing, Sutta delivered his news; sector number 10. We looked at each other. 

We should have said "no." 

The hour drive to sector 10's gate did take us through some new villages and bountiful-looking files of wheat. Kids waved and yelled "tata" the word for goodbye. What did they know that we didn't?

In the park, the road which had been rough turned to pure jags of rock and loose small boulders which we mostly missed. Sutta would yell to hang on every once in a while. I understood we needed to get somewhere and this was part of the deal; I didn't think it was the whole deal with only minuscule moments of respite. I cajoled my self into thinking about the great abdominal workout I was getting, clenching my core, trying to stay upright in my seat. The next day my hands were sore from gripping, and my leg muscles tired. I never walked anywhere.

No tiger, no pleasure at all. Dennis insisted we stop after 3 hours, and asked if there was another way home - the thought of having to go back the same way was too much. Sutta said yes, we could go out another way and find a tar road but it would be farther. Fine. 

Relieved, we agreed to sit in one spot for oh about 30 to 45 minutes to see if a tiger might happen to walk by. He didn't.

We set off with the sun setting in the distance. We smiled for photo Sutta wanted to take.

Sutta told us when we commented on the driving and traffic that in India you need three things for surviving the traffic; a good back, a good horn, and good luck. Our good luck finally kicked in on the drive home which we did in the dark. Not all vehicles have lights on. Probably the most dangerous thing I have ever done - well, almost. I was young once.

I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about the dead baby monkey we saw in the road - his mother sat on the side of the tarmac, watching, mourning perhaps, waiting, not ready to move on. 

Temples and palaces and tailor-made

Friday March 21 

Uma, guide extraordinaire, arrived with Yashpal, hereafter known as Yash, at 8 am early to beat the heat of the day (we didn't). Uma said he was named for the Uma  in the Kill Bill film.

Jagdish Temple and lesson from Uma on Hindu religion and the holy trinity: G - Vishnu the generator (Father); O - Ganesh the operator (Jesus); D - Shiva the destroyer (Ghost). Uma is bright and makes it up as he goes; he lives his religion daily, a praxis.

mice scurry for bits of prayer offerings made at temples

City Palace Museum: huge and the royal family lives in one BIG end with the rest a museum and extremely pricey hotel. Maybe we should consider the same for the White House and help out our national debt. City palace below top of photo, can't see the part where the royals reside.

Lunch at Aroma - our standby of veg fried rice; good toilet which is a yardstick for satisfaction;

break for 2 hours til 5

The gallery shop displays art work from families whose paintings, silver and wood work, and marble carvings live on in the city palace. This huge palace was a work in progress for several generations, and the original maharani provided housing for his artists in perpetuity. 

I bought a small painting. Natural dyes only, the artists use miniature brushes consisting of one hair from a squirrel's tail, and the slightly bigger ones are made from camel eyelashes. Seriously.

Speeding up 'cause I want to to get to the present, here in Ranthambore National Park.

Later, I can talk about the dinner at Ambrai above the ghat steps on the lake, 2 sitar musicians providing even more ambience; and the next day Saturday and our 11 am boat ride on the lake to the royal summer palace and back to the textile shop which we had visited the day before where Dennis yielded (to me) and allowed the tailor/owner to custom make a vest so he can be presentable at a party back in Delhi with Bonnie and Tony's friends. (sorry very long sentence) 

It followed that he did not have a proper shirt to wear under this silk/cashmere beauty so the tailor pulled out his tape measure and delivered a proper shirt to our haveli three hours later. Dennis drew a line in the sand when I mentioned pants.

Goodbye Kathmandu

Leaving Kathmandu airport, we are patted down twice, and luggage opened. Separate line for women where we step into a curtained cubicle and get felt up and down by a polite female official. This process repeats itself arriving in Delhi, again when transferring to the domestic part of the airport and before departure for Udaipur. Not sure if this is normal, or security has been ramped up because of the missing Malaysian airliner.

First time that I haven't cried leaving Kathmandu. I check to see how I am feeling, and can't tell. Too many years gone by, no best friends and a way of life left behind this time.

Greeted at Udaipur airport with the welcome sign "Jill and Dennis" held by Yashpal our driver.

Cool-looking lakes shimmer in the heat of the late afternoon on our drive to Karohi Haveli, a heritage hotel which was a palace in its former life. With pool.

Our room confers a feeling of royalty as does the priceless view in this city of lakes, the Venice of India. (I would consider swimming in this lake but not in the canals of Venice.) Havelis run anywhere from 20-100 dollars a night, considered mid-range. One could always spend more but why?

 

We sit in a corner table in the open-air rooftop restaurant and eat chicken tandoori and naan and raita and drink Indian Sula red wine by candlelight. Content. Stars and city lights surround us. 

No mosquitos in the warm breeze, nor later in our third-floor room where we leave the windows wide open.

Golf Champ

Thursday March 20

Flight from Chitwan to Kathmandu barely 30 minutes. We stopped at the Royal Nepal Golf Club to snap a photo. Eric and I used to trail my mother, even play half-heartedly. I remember her hitting one of the cows that roamed the course and its owner berating my mom. hit with a golf ball, I mean. And look what we found - Ruth Johnson 1967 champ, forever immortalized:

Summit Hotel, an expat, UN, diplomat, NGO conference haven: pool and views and gardens with tables and cushioned chairs and a great view of Kathmandu, good air, wifi pretty strong, and a salad which I had not realized I was missing-organic greens with goat cheese and a date vinaigrette dressing and candied cashews, not just any salad. Burger and fries. Feels like a treat.  

Too pricey for more than one night -140 dollars, a splurge when we have been paying 30 to 40 dollars.f 

I almost envied the single guests I saw at breakfast with their computers, likely there on business, or on route to another foreign place.