Sunday was one of those awkward days in which everythign jerks along strangely but eventually works out in the end. Kristen and I headed up an effort to see 'Don,' the Bollywood version of the Matrix, but were so intimidated by the long line of adolescent boys staring us down that we ran and hid in Domino's instead. They still followed us and a few peopel stood outside the glass pickign their noses and staring as we hid our faces and chewed our garlic bread...a security guard started shooing some fo them away with a big stick.
Our plans for Mt Abu were shaken up and eventually we ended up with tickets for an 11:45 pm bus to Bundi, the town where Kipling wrote "The Jungle Book." We decided to kill time in the nearby revolving restaurant, where we could see all of the Vegas-like Divali lighting and fireworks over Jaipur...it was pretty incredible. The restaurant was moving along kind of jerkily, but it was well worth the twelve dollars we spent there. While I was looking for the bathroom I wandered into the nether-regions of the mechanics of the building, but I couldn't get a good look because someone came and I had to scurry away. Afterwards we stopped at a hotel, heard Val's stories of how she is technically married to her boyfriend's brother in Nepal because she wanted to get him a work visa to the States, and took our habit of telling everyone we're Canadian to an unprecedented level. When we got up to leave, a guy insisted on getting us dessert "because it was his birthday"...but after giggling and telling him that sure, we like paneer, but in Canada we eat it with gravy and our fathers wear red coats and big brown hats, we skedaddled. Slept like a rock on the bus, but Libby was so groped that she was in tears by the time we arrived at three in the morning to the middle of nowhere.
The next morning I woke up early at our gorgeous little Hotel KatKoun and drank my masala tea with two adventurous girls from Australia and Sweden and two hilarious retired British railway workers in golf caps and fanny packs. I fell in love with them and the charming management, Raghu and Chinto. Chinto has is the three-time Rajasthani boxing champion. And Monty is the long-haired tour guide with friends coming out his ears. We were loud and lingered far too long over breakfast, but after awhile we started wandering the streets and ofund the Bundi palace. Which was absolutely amazing. We climbed further up the hill in our good company talking philosophy with old men questioning whether or not they'd thrown their lives away as they hufffed and puffed up cumbling stairs. The fort at the top was completely deserted...it's so strange, in India there are so many thigns that escape the guidebooks and are still crumbling under Banyan trees virtually unnoticed. I felt like my eight year old self again wandering around those ruins through all of the little passageways and catacombs. On the way down we had an encounter with a pack of monkeys that scared me so much I had to sit down to keep my knees from shaking afterward. You know, as much as I generally resent chauvinism, I really appreciate it when giant packs of screaming monkeys with sharp teeth and rabies are involved.
Afterwards a man in hilarious eighties sunglasses led us to his guest house where we met his family and watched the sun set over the palace and the rest of the city from the roof. A guy sat silently with us during dinner, and kind of puzzled us by interrupting our heavy conversation with "YOU ARE ENJOYING BUNDI?" over and over again. My guess was that he was there with his slingshot to protect us from the oncoming monkeys, but that's just because we've started to find it less emotionally trying to give strange men the benefit of the doubt when they dont' seem threatening.
Afterwards, we ended up with the entirety of the hotel crew shoved into little cars and packed onto motorcycles to a rooftop dinner party at someone's old farm estate. It was a really great time--one of the first times we've gotten to really hang out with Indians in a social setting without feeling threatened and where our cultural insensitivities and loudness are appreciated. The stars were incredible. On the way home we ended up shoved into a very small car with very large British men...my head was resting on the dashboard. We popped a tire in the midle of nowhere and awkwardly fumbled around with the jack and had arguments about which words constitute racial slurs.
I wish I could really sit down and write one cohesive post, but I'm being whisked off somewhere else right now!
Our plans for Mt Abu were shaken up and eventually we ended up with tickets for an 11:45 pm bus to Bundi, the town where Kipling wrote "The Jungle Book." We decided to kill time in the nearby revolving restaurant, where we could see all of the Vegas-like Divali lighting and fireworks over Jaipur...it was pretty incredible. The restaurant was moving along kind of jerkily, but it was well worth the twelve dollars we spent there. While I was looking for the bathroom I wandered into the nether-regions of the mechanics of the building, but I couldn't get a good look because someone came and I had to scurry away. Afterwards we stopped at a hotel, heard Val's stories of how she is technically married to her boyfriend's brother in Nepal because she wanted to get him a work visa to the States, and took our habit of telling everyone we're Canadian to an unprecedented level. When we got up to leave, a guy insisted on getting us dessert "because it was his birthday"...but after giggling and telling him that sure, we like paneer, but in Canada we eat it with gravy and our fathers wear red coats and big brown hats, we skedaddled. Slept like a rock on the bus, but Libby was so groped that she was in tears by the time we arrived at three in the morning to the middle of nowhere.
The next morning I woke up early at our gorgeous little Hotel KatKoun and drank my masala tea with two adventurous girls from Australia and Sweden and two hilarious retired British railway workers in golf caps and fanny packs. I fell in love with them and the charming management, Raghu and Chinto. Chinto has is the three-time Rajasthani boxing champion. And Monty is the long-haired tour guide with friends coming out his ears. We were loud and lingered far too long over breakfast, but after awhile we started wandering the streets and ofund the Bundi palace. Which was absolutely amazing. We climbed further up the hill in our good company talking philosophy with old men questioning whether or not they'd thrown their lives away as they hufffed and puffed up cumbling stairs. The fort at the top was completely deserted...it's so strange, in India there are so many thigns that escape the guidebooks and are still crumbling under Banyan trees virtually unnoticed. I felt like my eight year old self again wandering around those ruins through all of the little passageways and catacombs. On the way down we had an encounter with a pack of monkeys that scared me so much I had to sit down to keep my knees from shaking afterward. You know, as much as I generally resent chauvinism, I really appreciate it when giant packs of screaming monkeys with sharp teeth and rabies are involved.
Afterwards a man in hilarious eighties sunglasses led us to his guest house where we met his family and watched the sun set over the palace and the rest of the city from the roof. A guy sat silently with us during dinner, and kind of puzzled us by interrupting our heavy conversation with "YOU ARE ENJOYING BUNDI?" over and over again. My guess was that he was there with his slingshot to protect us from the oncoming monkeys, but that's just because we've started to find it less emotionally trying to give strange men the benefit of the doubt when they dont' seem threatening.
Afterwards, we ended up with the entirety of the hotel crew shoved into little cars and packed onto motorcycles to a rooftop dinner party at someone's old farm estate. It was a really great time--one of the first times we've gotten to really hang out with Indians in a social setting without feeling threatened and where our cultural insensitivities and loudness are appreciated. The stars were incredible. On the way home we ended up shoved into a very small car with very large British men...my head was resting on the dashboard. We popped a tire in the midle of nowhere and awkwardly fumbled around with the jack and had arguments about which words constitute racial slurs.
I wish I could really sit down and write one cohesive post, but I'm being whisked off somewhere else right now!
posted by Sandy at 11:16 PM
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