Jaipur report - I promise I'll stop waffling after this one!

MrsC_772

Jaipur - where a real man has a big moustache and fancy gold earrings (preferably with pearls).

Jaipur - the "Crown-one-coat-emulsion-ginger-nut city" NOT the pink city. (It dawned on me after a couple of days there that the city was painted exactly the same colour as my living room walls at home).

Jaipur - where my guide knew little about the City Palace, Jantar Mantar, Amber Fort and Hawa Mahal (providing briefer explanations than other tour guides, or simply repeating what they'd told their groups which she and I had both overheard, or referring to a crib sheet in her handbag), and was much keener to take me to jewellery shops. My one real disappointment of the trip. (Oh well, you win some, you lose some, and so far in India, I'd won at every stage).

The driver, on arriving at my hotel (the General's Retreat - see review elsewhere), said "guide not coming". Was that iffy grammar for "the guide has not yet arrived" (i.e. from the "from where are you coming madam" school of English)? Or was it a Freudian slip for "the guide you have booked will not be coming so I'll try to phone a friend to stand in"? Was she a last-minute sub? Or was she still training, not a fully qualified guide (a Hindi conversation between her and the driver after coming out of the City Palace was scattered with the words "provisional licence")?

Whatever the reason, we'd finished our gallop round the sites and returned to my hotel before 2pm (having left the hotel at around 8.15 am).

Amber Fort has the builders in at present - I was almost as fascinated by the female construction workers: saris, silver ankle bracelets, bowls of cement on heads, and one with a baby in a sling around her back, as by the jalis, carved pillars, floral painted walls etc.

Amber Fort was also thick with visitors, with some particularly bad examples of "fat white Westerner in mock-Rajasthani turban hat, vest and shorts" tourist chic, as well as a Japanese woman looking surprisingly elegant in a green sari.

Work is also underway at the City Palace - particularly in the costume museum. I didn't see the costume of the 250kg maharajah, but encountered an inexplicably angry tourist, exploding at a museum attendant who had tut-tutted and wagged his finger as the man was about to take a photo (prohibited in that part of the palace). Having spotted the attendant's gesture, and the man's oblivion to it, I told him "I think he's saying you're not allowed to take photos". The photographer stormed over to the attendant "What's "tut-tut" - if you don't want me to take photos tell me not to take photos, don't just "tut-tut", what's that supposed to mean?". I was shocked. Maybe the visitor had had a bad experience elsewhere, maybe he was feeling ill - I don't know - but at the time, I could see no rational explanation for such a tirade.

With an afternoon unexpectedly free, I treated myself to a massage at the Kerala Ayurveda Kendra just round the corner from my hotel - 500 rupees for an hour's body massage, though I had the 900 rupee 1 1/2 hour aroma massage with a (relaxing) head massage and an (overly vigorous) facial massage as well. Women be aware - if you're used to European masseuses who steer well clear of your boobs, with the smiling young woman with a sparkly bindi, none of your top half is off limits - there was nothing sexual or uncomfortable, it was just a little unexpected.

That evening, after floating back to my hotel with a post-massage inane grin, I headed out for dinner at the Four Seasons restaurant, which looked reasonably close on the Lonely Planet guidebook map. Walking along Sardar Patel Marg, I realised the map was less helpful than I'd hoped, and this time, when a rickshaw wallah "madamed" me, I took him up on his offer. Unfortunately, the rickshaw wallah had even less idea about where the restaurant was than I did. I was firm when he pointed me vaguely and hopefully at other hotels and restaurants, as I emphasised that it was the Four Seasons where I wished to dine. After he'd stopped to ask directions from at least 3 different people, finally we arrived (we must have gone 3 1\2 sides of a square block, and ended up almost back where we started) and I overpaid him simply out of relief to have ended up at the right place rather than seeing every suburb of Jaipur that night.

One standard thali and lime soda later, as I walked in the dark back to my hotel along the edge of the carriageway (given the state of Indian pavements) the "horn please" school of driving suddenly made sense. I felt reassured, rather than irritated, by the beeps of auto-rickshaws and quacks of mopeds coming up behind me, warning me of their presence rather than simply whizzing past.

After the massage, I dropped off to sleep easily that night, despite the fact that every wedding band in Rajasthan (volume inversely proportional to talent) appeared to be playing outside my hotel window. Can someone start a Bharat Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Trumpets, please! The next morning's Hindustan Times reported that there had been 2000 weddings in Jaipur that Friday, with priests being imported from far and wide, to meet the demand. Blame the astrologers!

The next day, I ditched the guide, and went shopping. First Anokhi (all air-conditioned calm, for women wanting to escape the noise and chaos of the bazaars and buy fair-trade block printed clothes and drink organic tea). Contrary to the Lonely Planet, it's no longer on Tilak Marg, but round the corner on Prithviraj.

My driver then dropped me at the edge of the old city so I could hit the bazaars on foot alone.

First Rajasthali (the government emporium on MI Road near the entrance to the old city), a CD, a shawl and an encounter with Indian bureaucracy. The pashmina department being upstairs, and the till downstairs, having finally selected a dark red one, I was given one copy of an invoice and sent downstairs to pay, the shawl being sent downstairs to the packing desk with a member of staff and a carbon copy of the invoice. (The idea of my carrying the shawl downstairs was met with a horrified expression by the salesman). A separate invoice was prepared on the ground floor for the CD (the CD department being on the ground floor). Having paid for both items, they were then presented to me in separate bags, to which the invoices were stapled. I'd rather thought this had died out with the old Soviet Union!

Halfway along Johari Bazaar, I spotted a jooti (shoe) shop, and with the foolish tourist's instinct for culturally specific clothing which seems like a good idea at the time, but looks jolly silly in Guildford, I went in. To my pleasant surprise, unlike at home, every pair on display was in my size (3), so I had no qualms about trying on a dozen pairs (no backs ... in red ... with patterns on .. but not so sparkly) and came away with a pair of slippers with painted fish. (Having seen the state of my feet after a day trekking round India in Tevas, my old slippers, which I'd brought after warnings about cold stone floors in hotels, should probably have been disposed of as toxic waste!)

Then on to jewellery. I had a cunning plan. I like a blue stone called iolite: rather obscure, mid blue colour, transparent like sapphire, but much cheaper, rather than opaque like lapis lazuli. I thought that asking for a silver and iolite bracelet would demonstrate to the jewellers (a) that I had some idea what I was talking about; and (b) give me a good excuse to leave their shops, given the likelihood they wouldn't have any (only amethyst, garnet, lapis etc.).

After much unsuccessful rummaging through plastic ice-cream boxes of gemstone bracelets, the young man in the 4th shop produced a bracelet with teardrop shaped iolites, 1050 rupees. I tried it on, and attempted to haggle. It was a little large for my skinny wrist. No problem, he said, they could remove a link. I think we both knew at this point I was going to walk out of the store with that bracelet! Would I like some tea? Surprisingly good masala chai was brought. Would I like to see some pendants? Not really, as I'd hoped that the removed link from the bracelet would make a pendant itself. Unfortunately for me, and fortunately for the salesman, he produced an elegant silver and iolite pendant, 350 rupees. The rotter! I got the bracelet and the pendant, for a total of 1200. OK, so a skilled haggler could probably have done better, but I was happy, he was happy: result!

I'd arranged to meet my driver 2 1/2 hours after being dropped off outside a jewellers on MI Road (presumably where he gets his baksheesh). I wandered in, thinking I might as well have a look. Some fairly simply silver bangles were actually the right size. Once again I attempted to haggle. Unfortunately, a mental arithmetic error on my part, when working out the price for 4, established my cluelessness in the eyes of the salesman, and he dug his heels in. "My best price", he says. "Oh well, if your best price isn't the same as my best price, I guess we won't be able to agree", I say, making to walk out. "Wait, I'll speak to my boss ... type in what you're prepared to pay on the calculator", so I do. The discount I got may not have been great, but I was happy with my purchase (and so, presumably, was my driver, although not as happy as if I'd gone for the serious Bond Street style gold and emerald and ruby necklaces upstairs!)

In the Anokhi shop I'd spoted a leaflet advertising the Anokhi Haveli museum of block printed textiles just outside Amber Fort, so I got my driver to take me there. Well worth a visit. It explains the significance of the different fabric patterns among the tribal villages (e.g. some print designs only worn by women doing particular jobs, or at particular stages of life (e.g. "married but eldest son not married" or "never worn by widows"), as well as on the printing and dyeing techniques. I hadn't realised that the ultra-traditional styles involve printing not the coloured inks, but resist pastes before the fabrics are dyed. There's a little cafe serving tea and biccies, and a shop selling Anokhi clothes and fabrics.

That evening - Chokhi Dhani (see my post on the Dancing in Rajasthan thread).

The following morning - yet another ATM visit, before my train to Ranthambhore, and a puzzling encounter in the street. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a white Ambassador pull over, with 2 young Indian men. Raised hand + smile + nahiye (I assume it's a taxi). 1st young man, speaking excellent English: "Why are you westerners so suspicious of we Indian people"? I explain that (a) I'm in a hurry as I need to get to the bank, back to the hotel, check out, and get on a train; and (b) that we westerners understand that SOME Indian people see us as an easy opportunity to make extra money by charging us more than we should pay. He responds with words to the effect of not all Indian people are the same, don't tar us with the same brush. I say that I've encountered far more good Indian people than bad on my travels, and that while I'd love to chat, I'm in a hurry.

I'm still trying to figure that one out. Was he being genuinely friendly? Or was it to be the lead in to the great Agra gem scam, or something even more sinister? Why would they simply pull over the car to talk to a random female tourist trudging along the street? Anyone else experience this before? Greatful for thoughts of the IM gurus. After all, with no-one having attempted to sell me a carpet, surely it was about time I came across a great Indian rip-off!

Sama

you mean they're not just in Cochin?

loving your travel reports by the way....

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karuna

Please don't stop waffling, I love your write-ups.

Yes! It seems they've repainted, it was a darker reddy-pink before, I'm sure. But now it is nearer ginger, you're right!
This is my greatest fear- looking like that.

Oh man, perhaps I'm going to sound like the world's worst cynic, but I've had this line from touts when I wave them away- "You don't like Indian people?". Designed to guilt you into talking to them. I doubt it would be "something even more sinister", but I am pretty certain there would have been selling involved somewhere along the line. The excellent English you mentioned is a possible sign that he's in the tourist industry in some fashion. And the white car- probably wanted you to take a city tour with him. I don't think a genuine (ie non-selling) person would approach you in that way and I don't think they would comment on your lack of trust like that- that's someone who knows how to get at a tourist's conscience.

I guess you'll never know, but I would have been dismissive of them too.

anar

what's 'nahiye'? is that a shortened 'nahin chahiye' maybe? ('don't want it'.)

loved going through your account of time spent in jaipur (i'm biased, it's the city of my childhood).

Nick-H

Wow! What a busy day. There's no way I'd be going out in the evening after that lot!

Great post .

The separate departents and staff for choosing, paying, paking and delivery mode of shopping was still alive in my childhood in 1950s UK. In later years, Foyles bookshop managed to keep a similar system, designed to give their staff the maximum amount of work and their customers the maximum amount of inconvenience. Perhaps it died out with the infamous joining-a-union-is-a-sacking-offence Christina (I think?) Foyle.

Anyway, it seems to work quite well in the larger Indian shops, and one gets used to it. Just as one eventually gets used to being followed around kitchen shops by a small girl who carries your selection.

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PeakXV

Far more sinister than the great Agra gem scam - it appears that you were singled out as a viable prospect in the great Jaipur gem scam.

Nice, vivid account! ..... think you only missed the afternoon tea on the lawns of &/or cocktails at the polo lounge bar - Rambagh Palace.

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Don't go to India ~ Pre-trip Warnings & Misconceptions?

bijapuri

excellent writeup!

It's like this, Mrs.C . . .

No Indian male in his right mind would walk up and start talking to any female, and ESPECIALLY any Indian female he did not know. Any Indian who does is usually trying to work ya. There are exceptions- notably on a train from a fellow passenger, if that person has his family with them, or is obviously from the middle class and has an of urbanity about them.

don't give it a second thought- they are already scanning for the next mark!

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MrsC_772

I did have afternoon tea (well, masala chai) on the front lawn, but at the General's Retreat (the guesthouse where I stayed), not the Rambagh Palace, on the afternoon I arrived in Jaipur from Bharatpur.

I referred to "Agra gem scam" as I understood Agra was where that particular con originated. (Or does Jaipur claim the credit? And if it does, is that in itself a con?)

My understanding was that "nahiye" was a shortened version of "nahin chahiye" - I tried the latter first in Agra, but was (mis?)corrected by my guide there.

I had an interesting discussion about environmental issues, development, and Northumberland with a random Indian bloke who struck up conversation on the train to Sawai Madhopur. I had to disappoint him that my budget didn't stretch to staying in Taj Hotels (for which he now worked). No attempts were made to persuade me that the hotel I'd booked had burned down/gone out of business/was very dangerous and to stay in his hotel instead!

karuna

I don't know if you've seen it recently Nick but Foyles has lost all its magic. Bought out and modernised- looks like any other bookshop now. Everything interesting about it died out.

Nick-H

You mean there's no longer a small room down a couple of steps filled with strange volumes from India?

Sorry about the sideline here, Mrs C: keep up the good reporting work!

And I entirely agree about the 'gentlemen'. I think your judgement was right, and what they might think is their problem.

dzibead

Fantastic post!

NeeliAankhen

I saw the beautiful Japanese lady in the sari too, at an airport - we couldn't decide if she was Japanese or Chinese. She was my favorite person in the airport to look at.

Aishah

Mrs C - enjoyed your post! Anokhi now moved and no longer with that lovely outdoor cafe? That's sad.. The white ambassador with two young men? I think touts out to take you to their favourite rip-off shop where they will get high commission if you buy stuff. They use a gimmicky (actually their one was corny) line to start you talking - the thing is to totally ignore them, go about your business and don't even answer their first question.

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NeeliAankhen

Anokhi apparently did move, but it is in a nice place with a nice cafe. But not I think with an outdoor part.

Aishah

Oh good, thanks Neeli for info! Their rocket salad was a favourite of mine, so hope still on the menu.