On Christmas day, Robin, one of our new friends form Jaipur, drove us out to the little village of Samode. He's been working out there for years trying to get an NGO off the ground that supports the traditional lifestyles of the area.
It just so happened that a large Hindu celebration was underway, and even without Jesus or Santa they were throwing a pretty good shindig.
We walked around and saw a shrine that supposedly ignores the revolving of the Earth, got introduced to some interesting people, saw a water table that they swear never runs dry, and watched children scamper after monkeys across the top of the temple.
Then it was time for dinner. The townsfolk were cooking on a massive scale. Apperently thousands of people come in from the countryside to eat pakoras, dal, chapati and halwa. It was fascinating to see the logistics.
After dinner, Mr. Ramsurud, one of the temple caretakers, took us back to his sprawling farm. Unfortunately it was dark so we couldn't see the lovely landscape but we did get to smoke a chillum and enjoy a piping hot chai on his roof under the Rajasthani stars.
Me and Mr. Ramsurud.
It was an unusual Christmas to say the least, but one we very much enjoyed. Thanks again Robin and all the other fine folks we met!
In the Pink City of Jaipur we were lucky enough to meet up with the friend of a friend of ours.
Man does that make a big difference. Kevin, the FOAF (and remembering to include that first f is important) has lived in Jaipur for years. He turned us on to good restaurants, interesting places to visit, hooked us up with his trusty tuktuk driver, and awesomely introduced us to more locals.
I couldn't get Kevin to hold still for a picture, but I did manage to get one of Dushyant and his lovely family after they had us over for breakfast. Thanks guys!
We ended up visiting Jaipur during Christmas so it was extra nice to have some friendly faces.
Besides the great company, I'll forever remember Jaipur as the place with the seriously kickass lassis. For you folks new to the lassi scene, it's basically a rich Indian drink made from a yogurt-like curd. Mmm. Can I sell it or what?
Sad description notwithstanding, lassis are amazingly delicious. Well, some are. Some taste like ranch dressing mixed with Sweet-n-Low, but that's another story.
Lassi Walla on MI Road is the real deal though. They don't serve mango lassi, or chocolate chip lassi or double mocha half-fat strawberry frappa-lassi. Nope. You get big or small and that's it. Either way they'll top your order with a carefully preserved piece of yogurt skin that's been set just so for your enjoyment. It's better than it sounds.
On my first trip, I made the mistake of ordering a small. All too quickly my creamy, lightly sweet, slightly tangy beverage reached the end of its terra-cotta cup. I smashed it in frustration. Well technically you're supposed to smash it, but I pretended I was drunk and pissed off.
Jaipur is also known for Dal-Baatti-Churma. Since it's basically an Indian version of beans and cornbread, I took to it right away. They even brought some pickled peppers and raw onion on the side.
For dessert I tracked down some ghewar- a deep fried buttery disk soaked in sugar syrup. I can't say that it was my favorite dish but it was fun watching the guy hand scoop the batter into the oil.
Outside of food, Jaipur has some not too shabby architectural sites as well.
Takin' care of bidness.
The City Palace isn't the most impressive royal compound we've ever seen. It did make for some nice strolling though and I appreciated their efforts to get into the Christmas spirit.
Inside a grandly ornate pavilion, this little Christmas tree sure did cheer me up,
but probably not for the right reasons.
I made Rachel stand by this because now I have an idea of what to do with my 32 spare rifles when we get home. It's amazing how fast those things just stack up.
Just outside the palace walls, we met up with these snake charmers. No sooner had I sat down than they slapped a turban on my head and swung a huge cobra around my neck. You probably can't tell but I'm being VERY STILL. The guy kept muttering noproblemnoproblemnoproblem but I'm pretty sure that snake didn't speak English.
After the palace, we went to check out a very cool place with an even cooler name: the Jantar Mantar!
The Jantar Mantar is a huge astronomical/astrological park cum sculpture garden. Built by Jai Singh II in the early 1700's, the place is a massive observatory playground.
Like a Rolex for Mughal-town.
Among other things, it's home to the biggest sundial in the world. SJ II had a real hard-on for making everything as big as possible because he was obsessed with accuracy. The exact second you were born apparently influences a lot of your future, so he really wanted to get things right.
Rachel realizing she was born 6 minutes too late, causing her to marry a jackass.
In our tours around town we put in stops at the top of a huge hill to see the Nahargarth Fort (where this girl totally thought I wanted a picture of her but really I was just trying to get her to move)
and the Jal Mahal, which is a stately water palace that pretty much just sits there looking impressively off limits.
The final stop on our list was the the show stopping Hawa Mahal or Palace of the Winds. This rippling, honeycombed structure was built as a party get away for all the ladies of the harem.
Since the commandments of purdah forced the women to remain almost entirely hidden, this palace, with its cleverly carved viewing screens, was the perfect place for them to watch festivals, shop, and generally get down and rowdy.
I kept its history in mind as a group of young Indian guys followed Rachel around taking pictures of her in a decidedly un-purdah like manner.
And next our Christmas visit to a small town celebrating dinner-fest! I love dinner!
Like you've heard, Agra (the home of the Taj Mahal) is pretty much an unfortunate craphole. The hotels suck, the touts do spot-on impressions of lampreys, and some restaurants will literally try to poison your food as part of a complicated insurance scam.
But all that fades to black when you walk through the gate at the foot of the Taj.
There it is, in all its richness, majesty, and symmetry, and suddenly you feel a bit faint and kind of not present in the moment, because... it's the Taj Mahal. Like THE Taj Mahal. The one you've seen pictures of and read odes to and dreamed of. And it's just as perfect as everyone's said your whole life.
Talk about surreal.
The entire complex is perfectly symmetrical. On one side of the Taj is a mosque (which is why the area is closed on Fridays), and so there's another building built on the other side, just to match. It can't be a mosque though 'cause it points the wrong way. Sorry not-a-mosque.
Our eyes were like saucers, I tell you.
The glowing marble changes shades as the sun moves. We were there in the mid-afternoon, so were lucky to see the Taj at sunset.
We overheard so many tour guides calling the place "romantic", and "a monument to love", but I see mostly a testament to death. After all, the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan built it as a tomb for his dearest and most favored wife, Mumtaz Mahal.
Another site to see in Agra (though my brain was much too full of WE WENT TO THE TAJ MAHAL!?!?!?) to really take this in:
The Agra Fort. It dates to the 11th century, but was completely renovated by Shah Jahan. Later in life, the Shah was imprisoned there by his son (the next Shah) Aurangzeb, who IMHO sounds like a bit of a jerk.
The exterior is all sandstone, and the rust tones are glorious against the blue skies. Inside, the areas Shah Jahan rebuilt are all in white marble.
When he was locked up, SJ could actually see the Taj Mahal from this fort. Now, the smog is so intense that the Taj is pretty difficult to pick out, though it's only a bit over a mile away. You're supposed to be able to see it from this throne.
The Fort is a really nice respite from the craziness outside on the streets of Agra.
It's stunning in its own right, but doesn't seem to get much love due to its famous neighbor.
Also in Agra: Food!
Dhokla (fermented chickpea bread quick-fried in mustard seeds and curry leaves, served cool with chiles and cilantro) and warm sweet milk:
We picked this up from a street stall. Dhokla, or dhokra, is easy to find at most sweet shops and is a good, protein-ey snack.
Mughal food, in the form of Chicken Nargisi Kofta (stuffed chicken breast with egg and dried fruit in a cinnamon/clove/cashew sauce) and Gobi Kheema (spicy cauliflower sautee) from Park Restaurant, where the food was good despite the fact that the restaurant was nearly empty and also looked super fancy:
Their Peshawari Naan was delicious, too- sweet, stuffed with nuts and fruit and topped with a masala that included candied fennel seeds.
But, really, and not to be a big dumb tourist stereotype, Agra is all about the Taj Mahal. And what's wrong with that? It's perhaps the most stunning building in the world.
Next: we move along to Rajasthan! Jaipur, here we come.
Our train to Varanasi was getting later and later, and we were getting kinda snippy hungry (by "we", I of course mean "me", as Logan never gets angry-hungry and instead remains perfectly reasonable and competent while I melt down completely) when a guy walked down the aisle with a bucket of eggs and a container of... something. We signaled him over, and for like 20 rupees (40 cents) we got this:
He took three hard-boiled eggs, cracked them, sliced them in half, and topped them with masala, chopped onion, chile, and cilantro. That was it. And it was delicious.
The hangry was averted, and a new entertaining idea was born.
Varanasi is an intense place to visit. Many of the qualities we found in other parts of India exist here, only magnified.
While other towns have livestock roaming sporadically, the streets of this holy place on the banks of the Ganges are teeming with buffalo, goats, donkeys, cows, and dogs.
A particularly classy goat.
They're in the river, on the the roads and squares, and around the markets and shops.
The country's ubiquitous smog is here too, only it's compounded by the thick, heady woodsmoke of the 24 hour funeral pyres.
They burn around the clock, always blazing, crackling, and consuming and have been going strong for hundreds of years.
Walking near the burning ghats, your eyes begin to sting and water and bits of ash settle on your clothes and skin.
Ritualistic shaving.
You can lose yourself in the press of hundreds of mourners and priests as they mill about, moving through all of the minutia of cremation and grief.
Varanasi is the oldest city in India and one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the world and it feels like it. History hangs on it like a shroud.
The most common fuel is still made from cow dung here and the patties are left to dry everywhere.
They cover crumbling walls, the sides of homes, carts, wagons, and shops. Their pungent smell lays down an earthy base note that mingles seamlessly with incense, food, sewage, boat tar, and bubbling cauldrons of fragrant chai.
This place is holy to Hindus, Buddhists, and Jains. Temples are profuse, lining the banks from end to end. Pious men weave brightly through the crowds- blessing, begging, and consoling.
On the roof tops is a second city.
Rachel considers the Ganges.
Day and night they are bustling with children flying kites, women washing laundry, and men holding court with their friends around hookas.
Textures here are rich. Nothing seems thin or new.
Varanasi traffic.
Layers of paint, layers of grime, layers of music, of smells, of colors are all stacked as high as the cords of wood lining the alleyways.
The hallowed waters of the Ganges are central to life in Varanasi. People use the water for bathing, drinking, washing, swimming, fishing, and of course for burial.
From my western perspective it was hard to reconcile the sooty, trash strewn river with what others so clearly saw as an immaculate, self purifying, holy watercourse.
We tried to get a better understanding one evening as we took a boat downstream to watch the nightly Ganga Aarti at Dashashwamedh ghat.
The rhythmic chanting and bells were hypnotic and the impressive fire displays held our attentions.
Making an offering.
Ultimately though, without much background the ceremony was more simple theater than any sort of insightful enlightening.
Most of the old city is located on the west bank, but we did make a special trip across the river to see the Ramnagar Fort. I can fairly confidently say that the walk to get there was more interesting than the final destination.
I particularly liked crossing the pontoon bridge. It's disassembled during monsoon season, but while we were there it was a rickety, jouncy thoroughfare packed with a disturbing amount of traffic.
These punched tin cycle rickshaws are a popular mode of locomotion.
When we finally left Varanasi I wasn't sure what to think. It's a place so alien to my own upbringing and experiences that it was difficult to crack the surface or tap into it in any meaningful way.
I love that Varanasi is out there and I love that we got to visit. It's one of those places that keeps the world from feeling too small.
And as a bonus, here are a couple videos!
The Ganga Aarti
Arriving in Varanasi at night and coming in over the pontoon bridge.
