City Palace and Hawa Mahal

I finally found Jaipur's City Palace and Hawa Mahal. I only saw the outsides, because I didn't want to spend the money. The walk there was an experience. You pass through the main bazaar. It's located on a wide avenue and the sidewalks are relatively clear. It's much more pleasant than the chaotic Old Delhi bazaars, if not as memorible. I was feeling friendly and said hello to a man in rags walking next to me. He said hello back and I thought our interaction was done. He had other ideas. He then asked for 10 rupees. Apparently, a "hello" costs you 10 rupees here.

The main bazaar was littered with pollution. It got to me a little bit. It gets to the locals too. People are always spitting. Men wear bandanas over their mouths and noses. Young women wrap their faces and arms in scarves, although that might be for another reason. Whatever the reason, it doesn't do me any good to have all the young ladies covered up.

Of the couple dozen people who I have approached on this trip to India, all have been helpful. Of the hundreds of people who have approached me, only one genuinely wanted to give me directions. The rest haven't had my best interest at heart. Today, as I walking through the nicer part of Jaipur, around the Jai Singh statue, a young man rode his motorcycle up beside me. Within two minutes of the conversation, he had asked for my full name, if I had a cell phone, the name of my hotel, and my email address. I didn't give him any of it. He must be new to the scam business.

Since last night, I've gone a little crazy while in public. I sing Only Fools Rush In and Skee lo's I Wish I Was A Little Bit Taller. I yell random things like the Mike Singletary look-alike on the Letterman show. For the most part, people leave me alone then, because they think I'm nuts. My new thing is, when asked, "Where you want to go?" by a rickshaw driver, to reply, "Away from you!" Oh, snap! I've also asked the rickshaw drivers who they think is better, Manny Pacquiao or Miguel Cotto. Two went for Pacquiao (probably, just repeating what I said), 5 wanted to take me to the park, and one mistook Miguel Cotto for Monkey Temple. I told him that was racist.

There's an old saying in Jaipur, we have it Moldova, I think you have it in Jaipur, that goes, 'I don't want to go to the fucking Monkey Temple. The monkeys will shit on me.' One guy asked if I liked elephants. I told him that I did not because an elephant did something terrible to my (ficticious) sister, but I won't tell you the terrible thing I told him. Then he told me he has a wife and a baby daughter, which wasn't the logical place for that conversation to go. In any event, ESPN-Star cut away from the Yankees game in the 11th, but at least came back before the end. They never came back after leaving the Red Sox game in the 7th. I was pissed!

Work

There are explosions outside the hotel every evening. Not sure what they are. I keep forgetting to mention that. It's probably the auto repair shop across the street.

I've had diarrhea since Monday. It had been getting progressively worse. Yesterday, my poop was just liquid. Even water ran right through me. The human body is amazing. It knew something in my system was bad and made sure everything that came in was thrown out, just in case. However, all that wiping really irritated my hole. Thankfully, my bathroom is relatively nice. I have a nozel that I've been using as a beday or however you spell that, I'm not French). I think it was Pizza Hut that did it to me. I can't take dairy here, yet I am too stubborn to stop.

I was going to ask the rickshaw drivers what they thought about Ronnie Belliard's game-tying hit for the Dodgers, despite the fact that he sucked with the Nats. He's this generation's Felipe Lopez. But I largely stayed in because of the diarrhea.

One aspect I've wanted to write about for a while is the Indian work ethic, if one can generalize like that. There are guards dressed in smart uniforms, who stand outside of the McDonald's all day and night, opening the door for foreigners and yuppie locals. Europeans seem to have taken to the local custom of ignoring these guards. There are vendors who get up at the crack of dawn and close up shop at 11pm. All they do is stand in their little stall. There's no weekend for them. Then there are the guys with cycle rickshaws. If they are fortunate enough to get a fare, they use every ounce of energy to pedal the customer to their desired destination. At night, they contort their bodies in order to sleep on their livelihood. And to some extent, these are the lucky ones.

Getting Hot

Last night I saw a Hindi movie with two Australian women. The movie was called Dil Bole Hadippa. According to Lonely Planet, the theater is the number 1 cinema in India. It was half empty and nothing really suggested Lonely Planet's claim was true. It was funny that people were yelling at the screen though.

The two Australian women were of similar attractiveness. One was short, thin, and blonde. The other was tall, brunette, and a little fuller. When we were walking on the street, every Indian man gazed at the tall brunette; it was astonishing. They not only stared, they yelled at her. The blonde got nothing, much to her delight. A couple of rickshaw drivers tried to get a little aggressive with either woman, until they saw me walking behind them. Then, their faces filled with shame. It was pretty funny.

I haven't met one American since I've been here in India. I haven't overhead an American accent. I haven't even seen someone who looked like they could possibly be an American.

Today, I was messing with the rickshaw drivers. I asked one what he thought about the Celtics now that they have Rasheed Wallace and Garnett's back. Did he think they were better than the Cavs? His answer was, "Festival?" I said, "Festival? What? No, I'm talking about the Celtics and the Cavs." He replied, "Camels!"

Then it got hot for me. I was approached by a guy who said, "Nice beard." I told him, "Thanks. It's better than yours." (Keep in mind, I knew he was trying to either sell something to me or scam me). Then I started a new thing. I told him I was from Moldova (a la two years ago) and my name was Asswipe (pronounced Assweepay) Johnson- a take off of an old SNL sketch that had a good premise but fell flat (thanks to Nicoloas Cage, the guest host). Soon, his buddy came and they tried very hard to scam me. The buddy said that beardy was from a small village and just wanted to talk to a foreigner. He wondered why foreigners were so rude. In the words of Sunshine Anderson, I heard it all before- from the Monday night scammers.

Speaking of which, one of them returned as I was walking with these latest two clowns. He was on the back of a motorcycle with a guy I never met. As soon as he arrived, the other guys split. The returning guy had a flat nose and a pony tail (2 of them from Monday had a pony tail, never a good sign). Right away he asked why I ddin't show up to meet his friend (don't you think you'd eaze into that subject?) He asked if he would see me tonight. I said no, I had plans with a friend. I kept walking. Then his friend pulled back up beside me and asked why I hadn't shown up the other day, again. In a non-scam situation, why would he care? Then, they drvoe off and I believe called me an asshole. We'll see what happens with that. Thankfully, I leave here Sunday.

Right after they left, Muhammad, from Monday night, rode by me and the back of a motorcyce. He screamed, "Hello David!" with a big smile on his face. He didn't stop, which makes me rethink whether or not he was trying to scam me. But why would a rickshaw driver be riding on the back of a motorcycle and not in his rickshaw?

Target vs. Privilege

In India in general, foreigners are both targets yet enjoy privilege. No matter how shabby my clothes, I can walk into any store because of the color of my skin. Last night, I ate at Pizza Hut. I've eaten there, at Subway, and at McDonald's; that's only three non-Indian meals in a week, give me a break. The drinks were really expensive, so I didn't order one. The waiter gave me filtered water, but I didn't touch it. Then he kept giving me Pepsis for free. I'm still not sure why, but it was very nice. The guy at the internet place, when filling out the form, asked if I was male. "Good guess." He laughed. Then he guessed I was 23 years old. I thanked him.

Foreigners are also targets. As you know, targets of scams. Targets of shocked stares. Jaipur is the capital of Rajasthan, supposedly a heavily traveled area. It sits on the Delhi-Jaipur-Agra triangle. Yet, whenever I walk by, I'm gawked at as if this was a remote part of India. Maybe it's just me. Targets of beggars. Targets of overzealous rickshaw drivers. After I told one I was from America, he said he had three friends from America and named a few cities in a bid to get me to go with him. I said, "Tell them to come here!" He said, "They are coming. They are coming in summer." I said, "That doesn't help me now," and walked away.

Jaipur is decorated with garbage. There are hoards of animals wondering about. Camels, pigs, goats, cows, hump-backed oxen, and dogs. They feast on the garbage. They seldom go hungry here. There is supposed to be a beautiful palace. I still haven't found it. Jaipur is called the Pink City. I was anticipating everything painted pink. Not quite. Maybe they should call it the Garbage City instead (no disrespect intended). Or the Stare at me like I'm a clothed monkey City (a little disrespect intended).

More From Yesterday

The guy from the train, Arun, asked if I had a girlfriend.
"No."
"Really?"
"No."
"Really?"
One more "Really?" and I would've had to take him with me as my wingman.

The Muslim driver, who took me from the train station to the hotel, also tried to sell me his services as a tour guide. The hotel manager, who was so nice to confirm the scam, charged me a ridiculous fee for using the internet last night. Of course, he didn't tell me that until this morning. Muhammad, the rickshaw driver who first alerted me to the scam, was also trying to scam me himself.

I'm still upset at myself that I let the scam go as far as it did. It would've never made it past the first night, but I still set up an appointment with one of the guys to go to the Monkey temple (of course, I didn't show up once I learned it was all a scam). At one point last night, while I was sitting in the private room with the 5 guys, one of them said, "You look like you're uncomfortable." I was. I need to tap into to my instincts a little better. Never trust a man with a pony tail.

These guys are pros. There's even a warning about them in the travel guide, but it only mentions a "gem scam." Of course, I was far from that point, so I didn't immediately recognize it from the guide book. There was a lot that was off about the interactions, but I didn't put it all together right away. I wanted to believe they were nice guys. But I was going to ask the hotel manager if it was on the up and up regardless.

Today I walked around a bit. I saw some of the old city, which is the big thing in Jaipur. It's not nearly as crazy as Old Delhi. So far in Jaipur there have been a number of beggars. The rickshaw drivers are a little agressive, not unsual though (worse than Delhi, however). Since the attempted scam, I either totally ignore them or stare right through them. I'm sure both are very rude. I've been battling a little diarrhea that carried over from yesterday. My sore groin persists. I think I'll take it easy tonight. Maybe take a bath. Hey, we all need a little pampering!

Jaipur to Delhi

The makeup of this post in my mind has changed a few times since I've last been able to sit down to a computer.

If someone put up "Honk If Your Horny" signs all over India, this would be a nation full of Wilt Chamberlains.

Back in reality: Because the AC wasn't working one day in Delhi (I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy; in that room anyway), I got a discount. More accurately, I asked for a discount. They also charged me less than the orginial price they quoted me, a rare occurance in India.

I made it onto the train to Jaipur, no problem. At one point a few of us were piled on each other. A nice 23 year old guy, Arun, invited me to the upper bunk for lunch. He shared this wonderful potato dish with me. Unfortuantely, it went through me, and I had a tough train ride bladder-wise. But I hardly noticed. I had a nice talk with Arun. Then there was a family with a couple of little girls and a baby. We kept smiling and playing. Life was great. Arun let me borrow his phone so I could call the hotel in Jaipur to pick me up for free. The driver asked me if I was Muslim because of my beard. I said no, but a lot of people think that. We then introduced ourselves, shook hands, and he touched his right hand to his heart and then kissed it. I've always thought that tradition was very touching.

The hotel room is so nice (relatively speaking). I feel like a king for under $20. I unleashed my badder flurry, showered, and was on top of the world. Then, I went searching for dinner.

Three guys on a motorbike stopped in front of me. They were disheveled. "Why are tourists so mean?" they wondered aloud. One guy's friend just wanted to learn about art. He was wondering why a Swastika, that is good luck in India, is so bad in the West. I explained. They offered to get a drink with me. One guy with a pony tail said that it was too cloudy and wanted to get off the street. That struck me as odd. I was hesistant, but figured I'd go for it. We sat in the bar and the pony tailed man suggested we sit in a private room. Two more guys came. It was supposed to be one of their niece's wedding tomorrow and they invited me. I thought it odd to invite a stranger to your friend's niece's wedding. They peppered me with bad jokes. They offered to take me to the monkey temple. They rambled on and on. They weren't too interested in what I had to say.

I was dropped off near the hotel and went searching for a drink. I had it in my mind to ask the receptionist if this was on the up and up. A rickshaw driver named Muhammad approached me. I was slightly annoyed. He started talking and I decided to humor him. It was then that he explained that they were big scam artists. I thanked Muhammad. I confirmed it with the hotel manager. The manager told me absolute horror stories. People losing lots of their money. People being holed up in the scam artists' homes. He said that they are very tricky, so they haven't been caught. Plus, the legal system is very slow.

I was skeptical, but I must admit, I was duped to a point. If you're in Jaipur, be careful. And as a result, I haven't eaten since Arun offered me some of his lunch.

Old Delhi

Too much to say. I forgot about the woman who was carrying 20 bricks on her head yesterday. I was stuffed in a metro at one point. My ass has been touched too many times.

Last night, I planned to take a nice stroll through the bazaars in Old Delhi and then grab a bite to eat. Uh. Opps. I think I went at the wrong time. It seemed like there were all billion Indians in that narrow street. And they were all going in the other direction. It was surreal. I had to wade through miles of people. There was just so much going on. I slammed my knee against a motorcycle. Or to put that another, more accurate way, a motorcylce ran into my knee! The bazaars twist and turn, so I totally lost my sense of direction. I ended up at the Jama Masjid, which can hold 25,000 people. I was there during the call to night prays. The power of it was awing (is that a word?).

I walked so much, it took a lot out of me. I got a very mild case of diarrhea, but that was from my own hygenic shortcomings. Independent of that, a got a rash on my tushy from sweat. My groin muscle is also tight and sore from walking. Here you wanted tales of spirituality and delciious food from my trip to India and I give you ring-around-the-asshole.

Today, I saw a Hindi movie, Do Knot Disturb. The theater was really nice. That completes one of my three goals for this trip.

Later, I went back to Old Delhi to see where the train station is. It was more laid back (relatively speaking. At one point, I had to grab the back of a cycle rickshaw and yank myself forward to avoid an oncoming motorcycle. In India, you have to shut down. Tonight, I grasped why. I opened myself up. I can't really explain it. Guys with limbs cut off. Pleading mothers clutching their half-dead babies. But that's not the point. I'm not able to explain everything that flowed through me. All I can say is that I dreamed to be able to process it all, even though I know that will never be possible. And then I ate at McDonald's.

Assassination Saturday

I asked for a Sprite from a vendor and how much it cost. I didn't hear what he said and asked the guy next to me. He said 24 rupees. I gave the vendor a dirty look. Turns out the guy next to me misheard; it was 22. The vendor said, "22 rupees. That's Indian price. Not foreigner price. I only charge Indian price," smiling, knowingly lying (I paid less than that across the street). I responded, "What about handsome price?" showcasing my face a la the Price is Right girls. I got a laugh. I still had to pay 22 rupees.

The street I'm on is called the Main Bazaar. This place smells like urine. In fairness to Delhiites, it smells like my urine.*

I found out that yesterday was Mohandas Gandhi's birthday, which is why everything was closed. Today, I went to the place where Gandhi was murdered. It was emotional. The only problem was, I walked in the wrong way. You are supposed to follow in his footsteps (literally) to the spot where he was shot and take off your shoes at some point. Unfortunately, because I went the wrong way, I didn't realize my shoes were suppose to come off and I got in trouble.

I also visited Indira Gandhi's house, which displays the blood soaked sari that she was shot in. It also has pieces of Rajiv Gandhi's clothes that he was wearing when he was blown up. Keeping in the family line of past Prime Ministers, I next saw Jawarhalal Nehru's house. Let's just say it pays to be the Prime Minister of India.

*- In fairness to the reader, I should note that while it does smell like urine, it's not really mine.

Low Key

Yesterday was a low key day. I took it easy as to not get sik and it worked! To show you the area I'm in, I hardly went out yesterday and was offered hash 3 times. The foreigners here are all hippies. But not the good kind of hippie. The arrogant druggy type of hippie. But it's safe. One local did describe Pahanganj as "the slums."

I mostly read, watched tv, and slept. Indians love cricket. It's on the tv all the time. It's even on the news. I' talking CNN and CNBC. And not just a blurb either. Everyone was discussing "the top 7 reasons why the Indian cricket team sucks." And they won! They beat West Indies, which is now a country apparently.

Today, I did more. Delhi has a great metro. It compares favorably to New York or DC. I walked around New Delhi, which was very nice. The place I wanted to go was closed, because of some festival honoring Gandhi. I saw several monkeys. That's not racist, I mean actual monkeys (Who am I, Don Imus?) I yelled at a couple of monkeys, "You monkeys are fucking hillarious! Thanks for making my day!" Then I saw a guard behind a gate looking quizically at me. Later, there were thousands and thousands of screetching bats hanging on to several blocks worth of trees. I wasn't afraid of bats before. I am now. But this is just your typical national capital, monkeys and bats roaming around.

While I was walking around in Connaught, an upscale tourist spot, 4 guys came up to me (at separate locations) and said, "Nice beard." Then they each (inocuously) followed me. Back home, the girls all want me to shave the beard and walk in the other direction when they see me. I wish there was some way to switch the two groups.

The people have been nice and the food great. I had two wonderful tikka dishes. I did have a hissy fit in the Subway (fast food chain). I wanted pickles on the side. They said, "Not allowed." Instead of in the sandwich, I want it on the side, what's the difference? Every other Subway in the world lets you have pickles on the side. These are reasonable points in print, but not as much when your arms are flailing about, making more of it than should be. I instantly felt bad.

In Delhi

"Let me check to see if I can let you go," said the woman working behind the desk in Newark's airport.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because your passport is mutilated, that's why!" she retorted as if I was the stupidest person in the world for not knowing that. Her supervisor came over and let me go. But not before issuing a warning, "You might have trouble with the government when you get back." Thanks for the helpful advice, jerk.

It was an arduous flight. I cried during the wedding in Meet the Fockers, I saw Godfather for the first time, I saw Rocky for the millioneth time, and watched Austin Powers. I also had a nice talk with the lady next to me that rambled on too long.

I was anxious about the taxi ride from the airport to the hotel. Apparently, the drivers try to tell you that your hotel is booked or closed and take you to one where they get a commision. I played dumb, which was enhanced by not sleeping for 24 hours. I made up some ridiculous story that I was meeting my friend, but didn't know the name of the hotel. Instead he was going to call me. All I had was an address. Everything tunred out fine and I even talked with the driver a bit. He came to Delhi 20 years ago. He asked if I spoke Hindi and I said that I just couldn't get it. He said it was easy. I said I knew, but was too stupid. He chuckled in appreciation of my modesty and was turned out to be helpful.

I wandered for a while trying to find the hotel. I'm in the Pahangarj area, which houses a lot of tourists. It's probably not a great representation of Delhi. But you can't escape India. The noises, the smells, the dust, the heat.