Month: January 2006

The first day in Ahmedabad starts normally. I get up first and take a shower. Soon after I finish, the power goes out. I assume this is just a local brown out – it’s not our first outage of the trip. Leena gets up to see what’s going on and finds the bedroom door stuck. I give it a pull. It’s won’t budge. We play with the handle to make sure it’s turned all the way. Seems OK. I’m now pulling almost as hard as I can – I’m afraid that if I put any more into it, the handle might break.

About 20 minutes later, we hear voices in the hall and let them know that the door is stuck. I figure that it will open with a push. No luck. Jayesh and Niraj are working on the door now. Finally Jayesh goes for help. They break the door down – the door literally splinters away at the handle. Our one hour of captivity is over. As for the power outage, Niraj and Ami left the geyser (water heater) in their bathroom on too long by accident and it overheated.

Niraj and I head out for a shave. We’re driven to a nearby barber shop. It’s almost full. I grab the only open seat (there are 8-10 in the shop). The barber asks if I want a face massage. Why not? As it turns out, this is a facial as part of the shave.

They start with a cream and work it in everywhere on my face. He keeps reloading. After 10 minutes or so, he moves onto what must be a cleanser – it has just enough texture to exfoliate. Then it’s on to the shave. He uses at least 10 times as much shaving cream as I usually do.

The shave is done with a straight razor. After a once over, it’s another round of ample shaving cream and a second pass with a fresh razor.

To finish off the experience, my face is covered with “mud”. A fan is set up in front of me, and the mask hardens. After another 10 minutes, the mask is sponged off. A few rinses, and I’m done. It takes the better part of an hour.

As you’d expect, it’s a ridiculously close shave. By the following morning, it’s just starting to feel like some stubble coming in – about how it feels in the early afternoon after a normal morning shave.

We head to Deepak’s – a cousin – for lunch. Then we’re off to a five-step well. Built in the 16th century, the well drops five stories to reach water.

We then do some shopping. We start at a tailor’s shop where Niraj and I order shirts. I order four after looking through the fabrics – two long-sleeve and two short-sleeve. They take measurements of course. The shirts will be delivered to Jayesh’s in two days.

We shop for the rest of the day, mainly for clothes. I buy a shirt. Leena buys several shirts and a skirt.

For dinner, we head to Vishali where much of the family in Ahmedabad join us. The concept of Vishali is that it’s a traditional Indian village. There’s a campfire burning as we come in (this is entirely outdoors) and we sit for a short while. There’s a little shopping area with traditional items. There’s a portrait artist available for 100r. We convince Leena to sit for the portrait. Though advertised as 10 minutes it takes 45. It’s a good portrait – not great. Leena looks young in the drawing.

We sit to eat – on the floor. The tables are raised enough to slide your legs under while sitting with your legs crossed.

 

Today we shopped in Delhi, then took a flight to Ahmedabad.

Our first stop shopping was at a cottage industries shop. It’s enormous. Leena and I head downstairs to look at rugs. They’re beautiful. We look at dozens and narrow it down. We have tea while we shop. We zero in on some 6’x9′ rugs. The price starts at $1650. We decide early on that we won’t buy today since we’ll be back in Delhi for a day and a half at the end of the trip. This gives us a starting point for selection and price. We’ll be shopping in Ahmedabad and Mumbai as well.

All I can say is that patience is valuable. By the time we leave 90 minutes later, the price is $800. We promise to return. They promise that we won’t get that price again. We’ll see.

We head to Connaught Circle for more shopping. We need a bathroom, so we head into a Pizza Hut (regarded as an upscale eatery here!). We can’t resist; we have some pizza for lunch. Then we head into a pedestrian mall that’s packed with people between two rows of stalls. It’s like Saturday Market in Portland. Leena and Ami buy skirts, bartering to half price. Niraj and I get beach shirts, also around half price.

I’m a target for touts. They’re taught me how to say “No, I don’t want any” in Hindi. The Hindi works better. Why? Well for one thing, it makes it seem like I’ve been around the block here, so I’m not as easy a target as I appear.

“Nahi, chahiye.”

We head back to the guest house, have a snack (we’re always eating here), and pack. We tip the help and head for the domestic airport. It’s about the same as a US flight, but there are a few differences.

You have to have a ticket to enter. They they X-ray all of your bags – including those you will check. Then you check in at a counter to check bags and get boarding passes. Next is security – metal detector and a pat down.

There are only five gates; the doors are about 10 meters apart. Our flight is called, our boarding passes are checked, and we step outside. We’re directed to a bus to our flight. Once it’s full we drive out to our plane – it’s perhaps 1/2 km. The sun is setting; I wish I’d snapped a picture.

Boarding passes are checked again at the base of the stairs and we pile on. They have never checked for ID! Three or four busloads eventually board. It’s 90 minutes to Ahmedabad.

We collect bags and meet Jayesh and Kopesh, cousins or Niraj and Leena, at the curb. Niraj forgets his jacket on the plane. It’s retrieved – his plane tickets were in it! – and we drive 30 minutes to Jayesh’s. We meet more family, have another meal (our fifth of the day), and turn in around 11.

Agra is about 200 km from Delhi, which translates to at least a 3-hour drive. We plan to depart at 7a to beat traffic, but our wake-up call never comes. Seems that the guest-house staff has overslept. We offered some gin the night before (Bombay Sapphire, naturally), and I think they drank a bit much.

We’re on the road by 8a. I wish I’d caught a picture of the sunrise. With all the smog, the sun is a deep red as it comes up. Smog filters out all the other colors.

We stop about half way to Agra for some coffee or cha (Indian tea) and a bathroom break. I let a “volunteer” bathroom attendant assist me without realizing that I don’t have any small change. The smallest bill I have is 50r (a bit more than a dollar). When I’m asked for the tip, I say and motion “one minute” so I can get something small from the others. The attendant, who speaks little English, says “change.” So I pull out the 50r. He produces 3 10r bills from various pockets. I motion for one more. He cannot find any and offers back the 50r with a bowed head. It’s almost certainly a ploy, and it works. I leave him with a 20r tip.

When I tell the others, I leave out the part about him not making change for the last 10r. They scold me for using the attendant in the first place, and for giving him 10r. They say 1 or 2r would be appropriate. I can’t believe we’re arguing over a few dimes.

A coworker had told me that Agra was the most depressing thing he’d seen in India. The poverty of the town juxtaposed with the Taj Majal is depressing. As we come into town, our driver stops for a few minutes and the car is approached by a few people. They tap on the windows and ask for money. But if we give anything to one of them, the car will be accosted by many more.

We watch a boy of perhaps 10 comes out of a doorway with a rat by the tail. He walks by the car to the edge of the road, spins it around like a slingshot, and tosses it into a small creek on the far side of the road. He’s very happy with himself.

The driver arranges for a guide, though there’s some debate on whether we wanted this. I guess the consensus is that while it’s OK, some are miffed because it’s foisted upon us.

You should know that the rates here for many things – such as entry fees for monuments – are much higher for Foreign Nationals (FNs) than Indians. At the Taj Mahal, it’s 20r versus 750r. At other places, Ami’s been buying tickets for 3 Indians and 1 FN (me of course). It’s been working since she speaks Hindi. Although at one entry, Niraj starts talking to her in English before we’re out of earshot of the guards. If looks could kill.

We debate (well, we being mostly Ami and Niraj) what happens next at length several times later in the day. The guide offers to buy the tickets and asks for 3000r. Ami says that she will buy them – three at the Indian rate. She checks with the guide on whether they’ll ask for proof (beyond visual) that they are Indian. He says that they will, and that we’re running a big risk.

Ami knows she can pass for Indian, so we settle on buying one Indian and three FN tickets. The guide then actually buys three Indian and one FN ticket. Ami picks up on this. We get through with no problem. The guide has pocketed the difference (2270r paid versus 810r in ticket fees). We demand our money back. The guide gives back some – 500r I think.

I suppose this is why we regret the guide in the first place. We could have gotten in for the 810r. But once he was with us, had we tried, he surely would have tipped off the guards. Great scam. What could we do?

We’re in, and it’s amazing. There’s a reason it’s one of the New 7 Wonders of the World. A real jaw-dropper, and pictures can’t completely do it justice. You’ll have to see for yourself!

At least we learn more from the guide than we otherwise would have. The Taj is perfectly symmetrical from all four sides. The only assymetric aspect is the placing of Shah Jahan next to the wife he built it for. She is centered; he lies just west of her. His plan had been to build a “black Taj” on the opposite side of the river. However, he ended up being imprisoned by his own son for eight years and the second Taj was never built. You can see evidence of its beginnings.

To the west of the Taj is a mosque (the door faces east). To the east is a mirror-image building – symmetrical – however since the door faces west it cannot be a mosque.

The four minarets at the edge of the raised platform lean away from the Taj. If they ever fall, the intent is for them not to damage the Taj.

We also tour Agra Fort while in Agra. It’s a huge fortress with red sandstone walls. They’re 22m high and seem almost as thick. They encircle a huge area – the walls total 2.5 km in circumference. The highlight is a view of the Taj down the river from atop the walls.

The drive back to Agra is long – it takes about 4 1/2 hours. We have a wonderful meal of dosa (think “Indian burrito”) and head for bed.

I woke up early after a so-so night of sleep. It’s loud here – definitely city living. A pack of dogs was barking outside for half an hour in the middle of the night. I brought earplugs – mostly to sleep on the plane – but I’ll get them out for tomorrow.

Coffee is Nescafé. A necessary evil I suppose. Breakfast is a fruit plate – papaya and apple – and toast. And fresh squeezed juice – not quite orange juice. Must be a cousin.

Our first stop is a mosque. I’ll have to grab the literature we have from the guide book. I don’t remember details.

The next stop is the Bahai Temple. Its design is based on the lotus flower. There are only seven Bahai temples in the world – one per continent. There’s also one in Wilmette, IL, about a mile north of Northwestern. I regret never having gone inside.

It wasn’t open to the general public, but Niraj knew from a preview trip of a museum-like area about the faith. We get passes. It’s amazing to learn about the origins of the faith and the basic principles it follows. Some of the quotes really resonate with me. We buy a booklet for 10r (less than a quarter).

Our last morning stop is India Gate. You can’t get closer than a few hundred yards, so we snap a few pictures and return to the guest house for lunch.

Lunch is great – and filling. They bring out food until you beg them to stop.

We head to an immense temple in the afternoon. It’s just opened in the previous months. Niraj says it was $100m to build. There’s strict security – including metal detectors. Ami has a purse and is not allowed in the line, so she and Niraj walk back to the car since we don’t trust the bag check. They split men and women through security. Niraj and I both have cameras which aren’t allowed (we’re learning!) so it’s another 10-minute round trip to the car.

Finally we’re in. We find Ami and Leena and take turns watching our shoes (you must take them off in temples) while we walk through the temple. It’s remarkable, no doubt, though I won’t even really try to describe it. It’s unmistakably new, and it feels a little tacky with donation boxes two to a room. To exit we have to pass through a food court and a massive gift shop. At least there is no entry fee.

In contrast, everything was free at the Bahai temple, and they only allow believers to donate money.

We head back to the guest house, and I catch a nap before dinner. We head to a restaurant Calle Rodeo in Connaught Place. We came all the way to India for… Mexican! The ambiance is surreal: Indians in cowboy attire and a DJ playing nothing but 80s ballads (from the US).

Lady in Red
Red Red Wine
Hello
Everything I Do
Wonderful Tonight
I Just Called To Say I Love You
Must’ve Been Love
Another Day in Paradise

You get the idea.

We left Thursday night from Portland and drove to Steve’s in Seattle. He’ll be watching Milo while we’re off. Our flight out is just shy of noon tomorrow. First we fly to Chicago O’Hare, and then it’s off to Delhi nonstop. The drive was uneventful. We made a final grocery store run – a couple of apples, croissants, some granola bars, and beer. We have some beers with Steve and turn in a bit before 2a.

We’re up at 8, shower, and head to All City Coffee for a cup. Then it’s off to SeaTac. Steve drops us exactly two hours before our flight. Check-in is smooth and the flight is on time.

We lay over in Chicago for two hours. We grab an overpriced burrito for our last stateside meal, and meet Niraj and Ami at the gate. Niraj is Leena’s brother, and like Leena, though of India decent, was born and raised in Chicago. Ami, however, was born in India and lived there until she was 10 or 12. She speaks Hindi, which we’re guessing will be quite useful. They’re with us for the first two weeks. Hopefully we’ll have the hang of India well enough for the last week. We’ll see.

The flight from Chicago is full. We have four of five seats across the center of the plane. We settle in and I order the chicken for dinner. Leena gets the vegetarian, which is Indian food. Hers is better.

I watch a Bollywood film – my first – complete with subtitles (naturally). It’s a love triangle with two college guys pining for the same classmate. One is the dorky brooding underdog who can’t tell the girl that he loves her. She falls for the cool, cocky guy. There’s a big twist an the end. I won’t spoil it.

I nap for a couple of hours and watch Bollywood flick #2. This is a more polished production following the story of two neighboring families. The father of one has lent money to the other with the house as collateral. He’s after the house. And there’s the secret affair between his sone and the neighbor’s daughter, Lolita. Of course.

A couple of more hours of napping and “breakfast” arrives (though it’s 7p in Delhi). I get the vegetarian. Better.

There’s a scurry of activity as we descend. You manage to spread out a bit in 14 hours on a flight. We fill out customs forms, set up the money belts, stow cash (none with me), and repack our backpacks. Since I’m the obvious foreigner, hence target, I’m not allowed to carry cash. Niraj tells a story of arriving in Mumbai on his last trip and being asked for ~$10 by an armed guard before being allowed to leave customs. He talked his way out of it.

We arrive just before 10 in the evening. Getting off the plane, there is a certain smell. I’d been told and had read about it, and here it is. It’s actually subtle. Maybe it’s worst elsewhere. Maybe it’s worse at night. You can tell that there’s dust and smog in the air, even though we haven’t been outside yet.

Claiming bags and customs is a breeze. We arrived just before another flight, and the line stretches behind us. It would have gone up an escalator, but that’s impossible. People figure it out. It’s an amusing diversion to watch while we wait to have our passports stamped.

The ceiling is a head-scraper for me in parts of the airport.

Niraj takes the lead out of customer and finds our driver. On the short walk to the car, he dismisses several men offering to help with our bags. He’s polite yet firm.

We’re outside now, and there’s some smog even though it’s night. It’s almost 11, Though I don’t know for sure just yet, this seems to be “India Lite”. Yes, it’s crowded and cars are trying to go every direction at once, and cars are honking, but it’s far from overwhelming. I’m guess it will be at some points.

It’s about a half hour drive to the guest house. Leena’s father is friends with the head of a huge Indian company, and the guest house is used for foreign travelers. I assume it’s mostly business partners.

Traffic lines, signals, et al are treated as suggestions here. Everyone runs red lights when it’s clear; many run them no matter what. I wish the folks who wait at the traffic circle at Glisan and 39th could see this. Just barge in! A car in front of use, who would normally have to go 3/4 of the way around to affect a right turn (they drive on the left so circles flow clockwise) sees an opening and cuts right. He goes 1/4 of the way around and is off. Nice move.

Don’t pet the dogs! They’re feral, and we see them about. We see some shanties. There are cows walking around in the streets.

We arrive at the guest house and review tomorrow’s itinerary. It’s packed. We’re asked if we’re Hungary and say a snack would be great. I guess they’re making a big meal, because 45 minutes later Leena and I turn in before the food arrives. We feel bad, but we’re tired. Unlike a red-eye to the East Coast or Europe, where you arrive at dawn exhausted, at least it’s really time to sleep here when you get in. I’m hoping that with a good night of sleep now I’ll adjust quickly.