Lives of Wander

For some people, there’s nothing more emblematic of India than the Taj Mahal. For others, including myself, the most iconic image is of the pilgrims of Varanasi bathing in the Ganges. In our last week in India, we took in both of these sights.

First off was the Taj. According to pretty much everyone, you can’t go to India and not see the Taj, so we braved Agra, a city with really no redeeming qualities beyond the fact that it’s home to the Taj Mahal, to see this monument to love.

I’m not creative enough to add any descriptor to the long list people have already created when waxing about the Taj Mahal. It’s beautiful. The fact that there’s nothing behind it, no background noise to take away from it, magnifies its beauty. It’s a wonder to gaze on (and we were lucky enough to get a $10 hotel room with a million dollar view of the Taj Mahal from our window). But I have to say, if you die without seeing the Taj Mahal, I think you’ll be okay.

Maybe it’s because I’m not a romantic, but I wasn’t overwhelmed with awe at the Taj. I thought it was a beautiful building, one of a number I’ve been lucky enough to see in my lifetime, but after an hour I was pretty much done with it. We ended up staying and staring at it for three hours though, because it cost $15 to enter (a pretty damn high price for India) and we were determined to get our money’s worth. Plus there wasn’t anything else in Agra we cared to see.

Anyhow, seeing as I have nothing new to add to the conversation of the Taj Mahal, I’ll just put up some photos. Judge for yourself where it comes on your list of the world’s most beautiful places.

Then it was on to Varanasi, the one city that I’d been determined to see since India made it on to our itinerary. As it was the city we arrived in just after my purse was stolen, I didn’t reach it in the greatest mood, and the filth of the alleyways we had to wander to get to our hotel almost sent me back to the train station. Much of India is dirty, filthy. It was nothing new. But when the alleys are barely as wide as two people standing next to each other, the filth is impossible to miss. Cow shit, dog shit, probably human shit, food waste, plastic garbage, and who knows what else literally fill the alleys. I wanted to burn my shoes when we left; I refused to put them back in my bag.

But if you can look past the filth, there’s more to Varanasi. We woke early the morning after we arrived and went down to the Ganges, where we boarded a boat for a sunrise ride past the ghats lining the river. And while I was unwilling to touch the river with more than my pinky (which, thank God, hasn’t rotted off), Indians find this river to be holy. (Unfortunately that also means that they “give” all kinds of things to the river including dead bodies, cows, and all manners of offerings.)

The ride along the river was fascinating. We watched men, women, and children bathe in the waters.

We watched people raise up handfuls of water and mumble prayers as it flowed back into the water.

We saw dhobis washing laundry in the Ganges, pounding it clean on the stone steps.

We saw the effigies of the goddess “Durga,” who was being celebrated while we were there in huge festive parades that ended with the image of the goddess being submerged in the river.

And we saw bodies being cremated in pyres at the river’s edge. For Hindus, there is no better place to die than in Varanasi because they believe that if you die there you will skip the cycles of reincarnation and enter directly into nirvana.

India is not an easy place. I think it might be one of the basest places I’ve ever been. Though it’s teeming with humanity, it is for so, so, so many people impossibly inhumane. The desperate level at which so many people live is devastating. The disparities are despicable. But it’s also interesting. The north, where the Himalayas provide constant backdrop, was so beautiful. The history so well preserved in Rajasthan was magical. The spirituality of the faithful along the Ganges was moving. India is not for the faint of heart. I’m not sure I’ll ever go back. But I think I’m glad I went. For all the good and all the bad, there’s simply nowhere else in the world quite like India.

We’re quite happily back in Thailand now, enjoying the last week of our trip at the beach before heading home. We didn’t, however, keep you updated on our whirlwind tour of India, with all of its ups and downs. So with that, I’ll pick up where we left off and finish off our tour of Rajasthan with visits to Jaipur, Jodhpur and Jaisalmer.

Jaipur, dubbed the Pink City, was not as pink as you would think. The shops along the bazaar were painted in more of a peach color, which was at least uniform if not particularly “pink,” but everything else was painted however the tenants wanted. Suffice it to say that was a variety of colors.

Nevertheless, the city was teeming with fantastic Indian architecture. Without even counting the interesting historic houses and commercial buildings dotting the city, the city palace, the Jantar Mandar and the Hawa Mahal were fascinating to explore. I thoroughly enjoyed the Jantar Mandar, an astrological observatory with a sundial accurate to two seconds, and all sorts of fantastic angles to photograph.

From there we headed on to mainly two forts: Jaisalmer Fort and Jodhpur Fort. Both were fascinating in different ways. Jaisalmer Fort is still lived in and in many ways reminded us of Zanzibar, will tiny alleys leading to fascinating slices of life within the fort. It was great to wander around and get lost. We met a few locals that were given to conversation and found ourselves on a beautiful rooftop for sunset. The lit up for after the sun went down was particularly beautiful.

Jodhpur Fort was physically, a more imposing and more impressive fort. The architectural majesty and beauty of the fort was unrivaled in the India we saw.

For all of our current lamentations about India, Rajasthan was an area we thoroughly enjoyed. It is rightfully the most well traveled part of India, it has the culture and history and tradition people come to India looking for.

There’s a certain romanticism associated with the desert. Perhaps it’s because of ancient stories of explorers crossing the desert in camel trains, the silk route winding its way through the sandy landscapes of the east. Maybe it’s the vastness–of the desert underfoot and the sky overhead–that ignites the imagination. Perhaps it’s the harshness of it, the incredulousness that anything or anyone can survive here.

Whatever it is, it has spawned stories and songs. The Eagles sang of their desire to sleep in the desert with a million stars overhead, and America romanticizes the escapism of being a nameless person crossing a desert on a nameless horse.

But friends, I’m here to tell you that neither crossing the desert or sleeping in the desert is all that it’s cracked up to be. It’s an adventure—a hot, sweaty, sandy, dirty, adventure—but it’s one of those that you can put on the list of “I’m glad I did it once, but I don’t ever need to do it again” adventures.

From the town of Jaisalmer, a small city crowned by an incredible fort, on the eastern edges of India, where the temperature hit a lovely 42 degrees Celsius, we set out by jeep for the sands of the Thar desert.

About 40 kilometers from the city, we were greeted by a group of local camel herders and their charges. Before we could have a long enough look at the camels to register just how ugly they are, we were sitting in a saddle on top of them, leaning back, and holding on, as these awkward animals clammered to their feet.

Then, forming a train, we were off. Though I didn’t see any of the camels spit, as they are well known to do, I did get to hear more than a few farts. For not eating or drinking that much, these animals sure do produce a lot of gas. It wasn’t quite the soundtrack I had in mind for the trip. But the desert itself also wasn’t quite what I had in mind. I pictured high rolling dunes, a vastness empty of anything but sand. I think I was picturing the Namib desert. What we got instead was a scrubby desert, low and flat with lots of thorny shrubs, punctuated every once in a while by a nice dune.

The sun blazed overhead, but a constant wind blew making it seem not as blistering. The camels rocked back and forth, and for most of the two hours that we rode, it was, while not romantic, still fun. At least it was for me until my camel decided he’d had enough and tried to buck me off. Maybe I should have been a cowgirl, because I hung on and rode it out for what seemed like a good eight seconds, until the herders got him under control. I was a bit uneasy after that and when he showed signs of a second round of misbehaving, I opted to hop down and walk. Luckily we were just a bit shy of our destination, one of the few dunes of the Thar desert, from which we watched the sun disappear.

Then, with me sharing a camel with Jeff this time, we continued on a short bit to our campsite, where we had a very tasty dinner and watched the sky light up with stars. This was my favorite part of the trip, the sky a diamond studded blanket complete with shooting stars. I should have just stayed up watching the stars, because sleeping in the desert is just flat out not romantic. The wind that had kept things bearable during the day, blew all night, sending sand onto our beds and into our blankets. The heat disappeared and a wetness moved in, leaving our pillow and blankets damp, and us feeling sticky and gross.

I was happy to see the sun rise and to bid the desert good morning. I think a family who started the trip with us had the right idea when they opted for a one-day safari, returning to Jaisalmer and a hotel room with a bed and a shower, around 10 p.m.–long enough to enjoy a camel ride and see the magnificent sky but not endure a long, uncomfortable night.

Around 9 a.m., after breakfast, I gladly hopped up onto my camel–not the same one as yesterday, but a calmer camel–knowing that a shower was only a few hours away. I felt pretty disgusting. We again rode for about two hours.

The scenery for the most part was the same as the day before, although this time we did come across a village with a well where women in brightly colored clothes from all over the area gathered to collect water and carry it home on their heads. I admired them. I’m not sure what inspires them to live in the desert, but they must be tough people. One night in this most unforgiving of landscapes was plenty for me.

It’s no secret that India and Pakistan are long-time rivals and, often, enemies. Border territory, like Kashmir, is still disputed, and more than one war has been fought over the last fifty years. But the rivalry descends into its silliest at the border in Wagha, outside Amritsar.

It seems, over the years, “oneupsmanship” between the Indian and Pakistani border guards has led to quite a spectacle every night as the border closes. We arrived in our rickshaw amid hundreds of other Indians attending the ceremony, many with Indian flags, many in armed forces uniforms. The number of parked cars along the road makes for a long walk to the border, where giant permanent concrete spectator stands line both the Indian and Pakistani sides. It’s really like attending a major sporting event. We are lead to seats in the “tourist” section and have a seat.

Though we are 45 minutes early for the ceremony, the party has already started. Bollywood music is blasting over the speakers and people are lined up to carry the Indian flag down the road to the gate separating the countries. The old, hobbled people receive the biggest applause.

A little later, the flags disappear and the dancing begins, and the stands continue to fill. By the time the ceremony starts, the Indian side is completely full, while the Pakistani side remains decidedly empty, perhaps with 50 or so people. Not really a contest over who will be the loudest.

It starts with the introduction of the guards, almost like a starting lineup is announced, and as they enter, it is our first view of the much repeated high-leg kick. Then, repeated shouts of “Hindustan” with some sort of incomprehensible response from the crowd. This will also be a recurring theme.

It’s hard for us understand and remember exactly what all happened next, but there was definitely some speed marching to the gate, long, drawn out “aaahhh” sounds, a few salutes, and a few openings of the gate where at identically but oppositely clad Pakistani guard would do the exact opposite of the Indian guard. Each action was met with thunderous applause and celebration. Eventually, both sides were in position holding their still waving flags, and at the signal, everyone pulled down their various flags at exactly the same time and exactly the same speed. Then there was the emphatic closing of gates and speed marching back into the border guard house, all met with more thunderous applause. We couldn’t help but laugh through nearly the entire event.

While it was completely silly and ridiculous, it’s the kind of thing that gives you some hope about the relationship between these two countries. If I may paraphrase Lewis Black, things go to shit when there’s no one to poke fun and everyone is too serious to laugh. India and Pakistan are always going to be rivals, but it needs to become a friendly and silly rivalry rather than a dangerous one. These kinds of events seemed to be step in the right direction, and it was hilarious to watch to boot!