Jaipur

That night, when you arrive in town, you will be swarmed by rickshaw drivers. They will get right in your face to hassle you – all at once. Each of them knows a “good” hotel he can take you to. Some are even courteous enough to ask you where you want to go. If you go with one of these people, they will not take you there. Instead, you will go to the place paying them commission. Welcome to Jaipur, the City of Victory.

You go to the taxi stand to get a sanctioned driver. He agrees to take you to your destination, although he leaves the option open (if you want it) to go to a “better place” he knows of. Also (if you want), he knows a place you can go if you “like women” and another if you “like men”. You respectfully decline.

The driver finds his way to the Laharu House (though he will needs you to call the place and get directions…) which is a beautiful old mansion that is ostensibly owned by royalty.

On the first day there, you inexplicably purchase the services of a bike rickshawman – who speaks no English – despite the abundance of auto rickshawmen – who do speak English. You will have to pull a kid off the street to use as a translator. The rickshaw ride will be humiliating. You will never feel so embarrassed in your entire life. Until – it starts to downpour – and the poor old man struggling to pedal you to your destination gets completely and utterly soaked.



The palaces that are the highlights of Jaipur will be crumbling and under construction – little care is taken to maintain historic sites here.



During your day’s travels, you will be introduced to an autorickshaw driver named Shiek. He offers to take you around town – for a flat fee to be determined later. You agree to go with him because he is extremely friendly and speaks great English. He even knows some Japanese – “ittai!” – gross…

Of the sites Shiek drives you to, the Sun Temple (aka the Monkey Temple) will be the most interesting. He will drop you off at the bottom of the hill, and leave you to make your own way up to the temple. On the way up, you will meet a young local – a fifteen-year-old kid who will follow you around during your visit to the temple. He will be interested to hear about America and Japan, but he will be even keener to talk about WWE Wrestling. Of particular interest will be a giant, seven-foot Indian man called “The Great Khali”. Having not watched wrestling in twelve years, you will not have heard of this man. Bret Hart? Anyone? No? Ok, I thought so…

The curator of the temple will be cool. You will hang out with him for a while before descending the hill and returning to the rickshaw. As on the way up, the kid will follow you back down the hill. When you say goodbye to him, the kid will ask you for a tip. A tip? For what? Hanging out? Talking about wrestling? Yes. Apparently every interaction with an Indian person is assumed to end with a monetary transaction.

[Monkeys casually dismantle a motorcycle parked near the monkey temple.]


After the temple, Shiek will take you to a local fabric shop. Jaipur (like all Rajasthani cities, you will come to learn) is apparently famous for its temples and shopping. Oh boy…

In the fabric shop, you will be led upstairs, given chai, and sat down on a couch. One you are seated comfortably, one of the salesman will begin his spiel. He will grab a throw from the shelf, toss it to his assistant, and dramatically unfurl each one – so that it gently grazed your lap before floating to the floor by your feet. Feel free to examine the fabrics. Many can be made into duvet covers in “five minutes”. “Shiek is certainly the man to know, if his friends are treated in such a manner,” you will think, until, moments later, you hear the exact same spiel from another salesman when a different group of white people are escorted in.

[In the textile den, hapless white people meet with a practiced demonstration designed to create desire for duvet covers they have no need for.]


Throws will only hold your interest for so long. What use have you for these things? But, oh… It seems they tailor suits here… You will be intrigued. After a fierce negotiation, you will be fitted for a suit. “It will be done tomorrow,” you will be told. Tomorrow? Is that all the time it takes? Suspicion will begin to creep in – this is going to be a big mistake…

The next day: The suit will not fit correctly. The tailor will be incompetent. He will take it to the back room and come back a minute later. What could he have possibly done in a single minute? Nothing. That’s what. After three BS “attempts” to fix the problem, the boss of the shop will, finally, admit there is, in fact, a problem with the suit. He will tell the tailor to seriously fix it. This will only take a half-hour, you will be told. Time apparently moves more slowly in India, because an Indian half-hour turns out to roughly equal a western two hours. You will wait around scratching your asses and making awkward small talk. When the tailor finally returns, you will put on the suit, and immediately realize that there has been no change to it – nothing. Everyone will laugh – even the boss and the tailor (with a “you got me!” look on his face). You will get an additional discount, but leave pissed.

At the bus depot: the air-conditioned bus to Pushkar doesn’t leave for two hours, but having been set back by the tailor, you decide to take the non AC one, which is starting to drive away. Chase it down. On the bus, the seats are still damp from the afternoon’s rain (because of the lack of ventilation, the windows must be opened at all times – rain or shine). Good thing there’s a breeze. As you go to sit down, you will realize that your seat’s broken. Looks like you’ll be reclining the whole trip. Your friend remarks that this is the “worst bus [he’s] ever been on.” He hasn’t seen anything yet.