Casi and I took a bus from Jodhpur to Udaipur leaving at 7:00 after getting in at 6:00, an early squeeze that involved a quick and spicy breakfast. Though bumpy at times, it was surprisingly bearable and shorter than we expected. It was quite a scenic route through the hills.
After another protracted negotiation with a rickshaw driver, we visited a hostel suggested to us by Chandra. Out of courtesy we saw it (though I would have happily skipped it as he made me feel overly awkward), but lacking a lake view, we moved to the next. Casi gave up and let me scout around for accommodation. Very quickly I found a place with a great view and negotiated it down to Rs 200 (barely 3 pounds). A tree blocked our view of the lake where at the reasonable hour of 5:00, Indian women would wash their clothes by beating them with paddles (I'm still not convinced that beating your clothes with all your force is the most efficient way to clean them); a Hindu temple within arm's reach of our West facing window would mean incense would be carried in on the morning breeze and constant bell ringing on the evening winds; the hotel next door was under construction, so our heads were inches away from hammers, bricks, cement, metal beams and the acoustic pandemonium when those elements are transformed into a suspiciously sturdy structure; and a toilet so close to the adjacent wall that you had no choice but sit sideways on it. Regardless, it was the best room we had had so far because it was so relaxed and light filled compared to the schmorgasboard of accommodation that we had between Varanasi and Jaisalmer.
We spent the afternoon and whole of the next day resting. I slept an uncountable number of hours. We saw the City Palace. We ate at several of the over-abundant rooftop restaurants...
Meanwhile...Christine, having taken an earlier bus to Udaipur, had met a young Indian man by the name of Ankit. They really hit it off on the bus, so he invited her to stay at his family's house. In a show of surprising courage and perhaps a sprinkle of stupidity, she accepted and (thankfully) had a wonderful time with this guy's family. She couldn't stay the second night because his parents were leaving for a funeral, uncomfortable about their son staying in a house alone with a girl, it was best she left. As such, she found our hotel and checked in to the room below us. She happened to walk into the restaurant hotel as we were having a cooking lesson with the cook; I will try to import some cooking knowledge, but it was more impressive how quick they made such tasty food, and though fresh, how disgustingly fatty it was.
Ankit came over around 21:00 to hang out with Christine - this was our first chance to meet him and Casi's first chance to size up the competition. Ankit was a slim but sturdy Indian, young and handsome, but beginning to bald at 25, with an impressive grasp of English having studied in Australia. He had done a Masters in International Business and was soon to head off to Africa, in particular, Senegal, Cote d'Ivoire and South Africa where he would be joining or starting companies (seemingly simultaneously). His business acumen and forthright courage were impressive. However, this was soon to turn into an over-controlling and patronising pushiness hidden behind a child like naiveté of an over-caring host.
The next day, Casi and I were awoken by a phone call from Ankit. Though we had agreed to meet at 10:00 in the restaurant for breakfast, he was already there at 8:45 with Christine. We showered and packed up our stuff as quickly as possible to eventually make it to breakfast at 10:00 (...as per planned...).
Due to the upcoming Diwali festival, the rooms at our hotel were all pre-booked, so unfortunately we were kicked out and had to find somewhere else to stay for our final night in Udaipur. Before we had managed to finish breakfast, Ankit had called us from the roof of the adjacent hotel with Christine to tell us he had found us two rooms. Casi and I had already checked out the place - it was grim and overpriced. However, the price had dropped dramatically and Christine was already checking in, so we accepted nonetheless. Inside the construction site, the lack of light complemented the faded colour of the walls and sewer stench of the toilet.
Ankit headed to work and we hit some sights. We got a boat out to Jagmandir island, sitting neatly in the middle of a lake, it's ornamented with marbled elephants and arches all around. Inside, it has a lovely, but heavily overpriced, restaurant and a small and well kept botanical garden. It was a great place to get some views and photos of the palace.
We headed back where Christine and I went shopping for a few presents, while Casi worked on his essay back at the room. We met Ankit back at the room where after thorough inspection, he insulted our purchases as poor quality and overpriced. He was getting closer to insulting me personally.
Kids were throwing bangers in the street and, I think, into the construction site right next to our room. The blows were akin to the sort one would hear in a Kabul market - scary as hell. I said that kids shouldn't be allowed bangers that big, they'll blow their hands off. Ankit retorted that I can't say that because it's part of the culture. I flipped. I am completely pro-religious freedom, but I will not support kids blowing up their hands for Lord Rama....who supposedly made his way back from Sri Lanka to Ayodyah by a path lit by candles...candles - yes, fireworks - yes if properly regulated and organised, kids let loose with sticks of diamond - hell no. It's like saying that if you support religious freedom, you support female circumcision in Saudi Arabia or the stoning of someone outside the city walls for working on the Sabbath in a Christian nation...or even suicide bombing in the name of Allah. I recognise the major difference in the examples which were intentional and the actual facts where the kids are negligent...but I think that should be included just the same.
We had planned to go to dinner with Ankit and two English girls we had met earlier that day. We managed to find each other, despite some awkward moments and relaxed organisation. Finding a restaurant was the first hassle. Once we did, Ankit proceeded to choose and order for people as if none of us had ever ordered food at an Indian restaurant. Each order had to pass through him.
As you might expect, entire meals were forgotten. The rest of us were eating happily...though there were a few garlic flavoured milkshakes rolling about...but Casi's Chicken Butter Masala just didn't turn up. As if comunication in this country wasn't hard enough, our host was making it infinitely harder.
The bill arrived; he duly snatched it and began questioning everything. There were no mistakes. An old-married-couple-on-the-verge-of-divorce style bicker broke out between Christine and Ankit before we could all pay, have a few photos and escape le Diner des Maladroits.
I felt vindicated when one of the English girls mentioned that last time she was India for Diwali "so many kids had their hands and/or fingers blown off".
Over a few cups of chai on the lakeside, we started to relax. The two English girls had a good sense of humour which allowed Casi and I to break out the more risqué jokes.
When we returned to the hostel, Ankit, not at all interested in the rest of us, forcefully questioned Christine as to what her plans were for the next day. The doctor prescribed some 100mg chill pills to be taken three times a day with plenty of food. If the problem persists, we'll consider surgery.
A more relaxed breakfast allowed us to enjoy the morning and midday in peace. I purposely forgot to turn my phone off...mostly to have a lie in.
Christine had agreed to meet Ankit at Café Edelweiss (an exclusively white café due to a recommendation in the Lonely Planet guide) at 12:30. Casi and I, though originally interested in joining his family for Diwali preparation, had decided to go in another direction by that point. Having bought Christmas presents, I needed to send them on to Australia to lighten my load for the next month. Casi had bought some large wooden masks that he wanted to send home, again so he didn't have to lug them back to Thailand, then the US. As most simple tasks in India, this was an incredible hassle.
Half a day was spent finding the post office; waiting for the boss to turn up (though other staff are there, they are useless in that they don't know how to send anything); waiting for the guy who wraps parcels; having this old guy wrap them; going back to the post office; filling in three forms; showing our passports and paying...
The wrapping is by far the lengthiest and most ridiculous of tasks. I had a carrier bag with a few soft items in, nonetheless, this old man, who can only be described as a Mahatma Ghandi look-a-like (no hair, no teeth, white pyjamas) had to find a box that was slightly too big, cut it down to size with a wooden ruler and tape it up with my stuff inside. Then he sizes up a few pieces of white cotton cloth and sows them together using a sewing machine that had jumped out the early 1900s. His toes grip a panel that when pushed back and forth, makes the sewing machine begin to weave the needle in and out of these two pieces of cloth he is merging. Eventually a pillowcase emerges and he shoves my box into it - a very tight squeeze. He sows up the loose ends by hand and finally melts red wax on to the stitches and imprints them with a two rupee coin.
It took over an hour and a half just for the wrapping. The posting was horrible overpriced.
Overspent by a hectic day, we headed to a café to chill where the English girls would eventually join us...though not before a failed attempt at finding a café started by an English woman all the locals were raving about and regardless of a map, was impossible to find. We had planned on grabbing dinner before catching our train to Mumbai/Bombay.
Due to Udaipur's idyllic palaces (floating or not) and surrounding picturesque scenes, it was the setting for the James Bond classic: Octopussy, starring Roger Moore. Much to our delight, the restaurant manager set up a television on the roof and let us watch the film over dinner. It was surreal to be sitting on the set of a film while watching it. A fort sitting neatly atop a steep hill is in a transition scene in the film and was actually in the background to the television simultaneously.
Meanwhile across town...Christine was being bugged incessantly. She had bought a Sari (traditional Indian outfit) that she had had tailored. When they went to pick it up, the trousers didn't quite fit because they weren't the right size. Ankit's explanation was that she wasn't putting them on right. He got his mother to literally explain to Christine how to put trousers on...one leg at a time.
He tried to convince her to change her train to a later one, but thanks to her pushiness she managed to make it just in time. We met on the train, where Ankit sat with us talking until the train started moving, he finally panicked and jumped off. Understandably, Christine wanted some serious alone time on the train.
17 hours later we arrived in Mumbai.
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