Things Fall Apart

For the most part I'm pretty good at packing for the unexpected. I've picked up most of these tricks from other travelers like Hanna who showed me how vitally important a head lamp can be when you decide to take a sunrise hike or just need to find the bathroom while in a darkened hostel. From Mom I learned that you can never have too many band aids, and Dad that you should always have a backup form of payment. On my most recent trip with Mom, I even had what we jokingly referred to as "the pharmacy," a bag filled with every type of medication you could think of from DayQuil to Ciprofloxacin (for extreme food poisoning), and even medication for a yeast infection or UTI. Did we use any of it? No. But that's the point. We hoped we'd never have to, but just in case we had it packed away in the pharmacy next to our rolls of toilet paper. Which, in case you were wondering were very useful in Egypt. But with this, I seem to always have at least one major failure in packing. On the last trip it was my shoes. I went for cute over comfort (I know, rookie move) and had blisters that covered the backs of my feet. So for this trip I packed comfy socks and my old pair of Pumas. Remember when Pumas were popular? Yeah, that's when these are from. I even sprayed them with permethrin to keep the mosquitoes off of them. 

On the morning of my first full day in Jaipur, the pink city of Rajasthan, I slipped on my socks and Pumas and was ready for a full eight hours of touring. The shoes felt nice and squishy under my feet and I headed downstairs for breakfast and then to the lobby to wait for my driver. 

Relaxing in the lobby, I crossed one leg over the other, and that's when it happened. A chunk of the sole of my shoe dropped to the floor and disintegrated on impact. I quickly jumped up and headed to the elevator to change my shoes, unable to properly walk as more and more of my shoes were left in a cracked and crumbled mess behind me. 

Yes, this really happened:

I quickly changed into my only other pair of shoes, the shoes Mom refers to as "the devil shoes," because although cute, they have given me many a blister. 

I immediately questioned whether or not I should have treated my shoes with permethrin and whether that was the culprit, but it was time to go out and see the sights. 

My driver for the day was named Balkishan, the same driver who picked me up from the airport the afternoon before, a local Rajasthani. We negotiated what I considered to be a fair price and before shaking on it, I fulfilled my promise to Rahul by having him talk to the driver first, vet him, and review our financial agreement. With Rahul's approval, we were set for a very busy day. 

I gave Balkishan a list of the places I hoped to see (a suggestion of Rahul's) and we set off first for the Amber Fort, the furthest place on my list. The drive was a slow honking through the old walled city of Jaipur where the streets were still decorated with colorful fabrics from the Diwali festival and the sidewalks filled with pushcarts selling chickpea noodles, fabrics, and shoes. "Those are the tourist markets," explained Balkishan, anything you buy there will be expensive and fall apart very quickly." 

We made a quick photo stop at the Hawa Mahal or Palace of Winds which has become the icon of Jaipur. The palace is painted in Jaipur signature pink and is mostly just a facade. The building itself is only one room deep, as its sole purpose was for members of the harem to have a covered viewing place of the city.

A better photo would have been from the other side of the street, but with cars, motorcycles, tuk tuks, bicycles, rickshaws, donkeys, a few cows, and even a camel, crowding both directions, I probably wouldn't have made it. There was even a sneaky little monkey that I'm pretty sure was waiting for me to trip up so he could nab my phone. He probably would have laughed, too.

I asked Balkishan if he found it difficult to drive in the city, given all of the obstacles and he told me that there are only three things you need to survive while driving in India:

1. A good brake

2. A loud horn

3. Good luck

Did I mention I liked this guy? We bonded further over my love of Baingan Bharta and Aloo Gobi and he told me that on my next trip to India I would have to meet his wife and family so that they could show me their village and home. His wife, he told me, speaks to cows (they have two) and depending on their moo, will instruct him to either feed them, give them water, or milk them. I asked him if she ever misinterprets what they are saying, and with a smile and a glint in his eye, he replied a firm "no." Cows are also his favorite animals. They are nice to his family and provide good milk to his four year old daughter. He saves all of his money for his daughter, who he hopes to one day send to a private school so that she can learn English. 

Once past the city walls we drove along the river, slowly climbing in elevation to the Amber Fort:

On the opposite side of the road was a parade of elephants having just finished their morning job of bringing tourists to the top of the fort. Secretly, I was very happy to have missed the opportunity to ride an elephant. I've read in too many a guide book their mistreatment, and I am unwilling to take part in the abuse. 

Here's Babar coming down the mountain:

Can we all take a moment and remember that Babar married his first cousin, Queen Celeste? Wholly inappropriate! 

At the base of the mountain, traffic came to a complete standstill. With increased tourism due to Diwali, there was no parking, and no place for the cars to go. Many tourists began abandoning their cars/drivers in favor of walking, and Balkishan asked me if I would like to follow suit. He said that he could arrange for a free guide to walk me to the top, explain the historical significance, and then return me to him when we were done. Game on.

The guide he hired, Anil, could not have been better. He patiently answered all of my questions and showed me all of the best vantage points to take pictures. He was even more knowledgeable of my own Nikon D90, crouching down or climbing up high to get cool, artsy photos of myself along the way. He explained how the architecture was perfectly suited for keeping the palace cool during the summer, with series of copper pipes that would drop water onto tapestries, the runoff collecting in a garden below where it would again be recycled back into the same copper pipes. The interior rooms were even carved in such a way that light from only one candle can bounce across the stone to illuminate an entire room. 

On exiting the Amber Fort we hit up this cool step temple that was later converted into a swimming facility for the king:

After our tour Anil deposited me back to Balkishan and together they told me to take a look inside the arts and crafts cooperative, to see how fabrics are hand printed, rugs are hand knotted, and gems hand cut (Jaipur is the gem capital of India), "but don't buy anything!" they instructed. "Only look. Very high tourist prices." 

They had absolutely gorgeous yak rugs -- the type of rug you would design an entire house around -- that were 45,000 rupees ($680) for a full size. "This would look beautiful in your home," the salesperson told me. I don't think he pictured me with my 10'x10' bedroom, where my twin size bed takes up 60% of the space. 

Next it was on to the gem and jewelry section, where the proprietor asked me first, if I was married and second, where I was from. By this point I am used to strangers asking me if I am married or not. If you're married they tell you "very good," if you're not, it's a game of twenty questions. "Why not? How old are you? Don't you want children? Your poor parents. I have a son. You shall meet him." So, over my last few days in India I've concocted a story, one that gets more exaggerated and elaborate every day. "His name is Adam," I tell him, "he's an entrepreneur (perfectly vague occupation). We live with my parents (they love that here). We don't have children (even my dream self doesn't want kids)." The questions magically stop.

I tell him that I am from the United States to which he replies, "do you know Sting?"

"Not personally."

"I do," he points to a framed photo of him and the singer. "He's been a friend for the past 25 years. And Trudy Stiles too."

I should really learn to kill the sarcasm here. I keep getting burned. 

He proceeds to ask me my birth stone so as to sell me something personal and I gleefully tell him "pearl" (June) knowing very well that there is no natural or artificial pearl farming in India. Your move Mr. Salesman.

"June..." he replies, stroking his beard, "we do not have pearls."

Zoey: 1 Mr. Salesperson: 0

"Gemini?" he asks, grasping at straws.

"Yes."

With a snap of his fingers an assistant brings him a book on astrology, listing five or so different stones that are "significant" for Geminis.

Burned again.

To humor him, and myself, for that matter, I pointed to a pair of large sapphire earrings surrounded by diamonds and set in yellow gold. "How much?" I ask him. After hammering on his calculator for a few moments he turns the display to me and shows me "$1,800."

"Very good price madam," he tells me, "top quality gemstones." 

"Thank you for showing me," I tell him as I get up to leave.

"Why you not buy?"

"Too much money, but very beautiful."

"Ah, we take credit card, Visa, MasterCard, Discover. No worries!"

"I don't think that it works that way."

Not only do I not have that kind of money, they could have been selling me plastic wrapped in tin foil and I probably wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. Obviously I did not inherit the diamond dealer trait on the Jewish side.

Next up we headed to Jantar Mantar, an observatory built by Sawai Jai Singh II in the early 18th century. It's an odd collection of structures that supposedly measure how hot the summer will be, and the anticipated arrival date of monsoons. After a couple of structures, I was kind of over it:

By this time the sun was starting to set and I had just enough sunlight to take in the City Palace. Inside the palace was a peaceful little courtyard called Pritam Chowk, the Court of the Beloved, with four doors decorated in different fantastic colors and designs. One had peacocks, another all green. My favorite was the Lotus Door:

By this time I was ready to call it a day and head back to the hotel. "You still have 45 minutes left," Balkishan advised me.

"It's okay, you don't have to count every minute!"

"Have you ever seen real pashmina?"

Probably not. Most of my scarves say 100% pashmina, but then there's a label that says made in China and a smaller label indicating what percentage is acrylic. 

To be perfectly honest, until today I thought that real pashmina was actually a blend, 50% cashmere, 50% silk. This is incorrect. Real pashmina is actually a finer version of cashmere. The hair is spun to a more fine thread and the finished product is subsequently both lightweight, and warm. Top quality pashmina is actually translucent and can be easily passed through a wedding ring. Although you can see small gaps in what looks to be the spaces between the weave, if you pour water down the front of 100% pure pashmina, the water beads up and rolls off -- there's something special in the dander of the hair that repels water. To decrease the price of pashmina, silk is added, creating both shine and bulk. 

"Do you know Hermes?" Balkishan asked me. 

"Oh sure," I tell him, "expensive handbags and scarves."

"I know where they buy wholesale from. Would you like to see?"

"Oh sure, why not."

Hidden away from all of the tourist shops is this giant, three story warehouse filled with nothing but cashmere and pashmina.

"We don't sell to individuals," the proprietor tells me, but you are a friend of Balkishan. "Our scarves range from $1 to $7,000. From which price range would you like to see?"

"$7,000." I mean, why not?

"Yes of course."

The $7,000 pashminas are incredibly light and soft to the touch. They are almost translucent, but with all good quality pashminas, they repel water. They are either natural in color (beige) or dyed a solitary color using natural vegetable dyes. They are then hand embroidered instead of stamped or painted, with tiny flowers in silk, a process that takes master craftsmen months to complete just one scarf. Sorry, you will not be receiving these as Christmukkah gifts.

"How about a cashmere Hermes throw?"

"Oh sure, I'll take a look."

The throw was definitely a Hermes design, with an Asian-inspired water bird scene in orange hues on one side and turquoise on the reverse. 

"Hermes sells these for $2,500 each." Yeah, I believe it. "I sell to you for $250"

"Oh thank you, but no."

"We take Visa, MasterCard, Discover."

Not this again.

Sorry, they were not successful in making a sale. 

I guess I listened to Nancy Reagan. 

"No."

Oh, and the shoes? Turns out it's not from the permethrin. Puma uses polyurethane in their soles which degrades over time. Guess they don't make good collectors items.