Jaipur: A not-so Truly Pink City

We took our last leg with Raj, our reliable and ever-re-re-confirming driver (as one is always directionally challenged when in India), to Jaipur. After a relatively easy 6 hour drive (and a few near monkey attacks) we found ourselves in Jaipur, the largest of the cities in Rajasthan. We said goodbye to Raj, who we didn't realize how much we would miss until the next day, and went straight to the rooftop restaurant of our hotel for a beer and some aloo gobhi (a very typical Indian dish: potato and cauliflower curry). Having missed the Jaipur Kite Festival (Indians are particularly enchanted with kites and on any given afternoon one can simply gaze at the skies and the rooftops filled with kite fliers. This festival is in homage to them and is celebrated all over India but is supposed to be particularly beautiful in Jaipur) we were lucky enough to find ourselves in Jaipur on the last day of the Annual Jaipur Literary Festival. Filled with international literary nerds, authors, and journalists the festival also showcases numerous international musicians. We decided that literary musings were over our head and so we spent the day in the not so Pink City (it's really terra-cotta colored) unenthusiastically touring the City Palace and dodging touts and men peeing on the streets. After a harrowing pinch in which we were nearly mashed between a bus and a public urinal, we headed straight for the Diggi Palace, where the musical talents were gearing up for a night of diverse shows. Upon arrival we purchased tickets for at least 6 glasses of Sula wine (as wine is particularly difficult to find in this country) and found ourselves some seats. The opening act, an Italian violinist accompanied by traditional Indian drummers was outstanding. Our favorites of the evening were the Sufi Quawalli singers from Sindh, Pakistan. These were the same sect of singers we had seen in Nizamuddin Dargah in New Delhi on New Years Eve, however, we were much better equipped to appreciate their musicianship equipped with socks and shoes and a glass of red wine in hand.

The following day was Indian Republic Day and we found ourselves atop the less-than-impressive Amber Palace along with all the other locals who had the day off. Our pictures were 'snapped' more than a few dozen times by fellow Indian tourists. By 'snap' I mean that I was requested to pose in my sunglasses with any number of young, naughty Indian men. I don't even want to imagine what they are using those photos for. While I have been a minority in other countries before and had my photo taken numerous times it was always along a family portrait, rather than with groups of young men and so having my 'snap' taken in India seems to carry a different weight. Having only 2 days left in Jaipur, we decided to hone our shopping skills.

By many accounts the best shopping city in Rajasthan, we found ourselves in the basement of a textile manufacturer for almost 2 days straight. Shopping in India is like nothing we have ever encountered before: the terms "wholesale" and "fixed rate" seem to mean entirely different things when in India. Therefore, it really does take 2 days or more to settle on a price, amount, and comfort level. We were lucky, however, to have fallen into this particular 'wholesaler' as we immediately liked their energy and over many yummy Masala chais and thalis we finally walked away with several purchases of textiles and goods. Overall, Jaipur was rather uneventful and we were greatly looking forward to our 15 hour trek by bus and train to Amritsar, Punjab: the home of the Sikhs. From here we now write, more on our four day Amritsar experience soon!

Oh, and I almost forgot! What to do when sold a fake beer? Take it right back to the dirty scoundrel who sold it to you in the first place, pour it out on the street so he sees it's fake, then demand your money back! Now, it is important to recognize that purchasing alcohol in India requires one to enter one of many terribly sleazy misleadingly named "English Wine and Beer" shops where one will be the only woman amongst already quite drunk men buying cheaply made and cheaply costing Indian-made whiskey. All this hassle for just a plain old Kingfisher, and then to return to the hotel, pour oneself a drink, and find it's stinky, dirty sewer water? I don't think so Mr....