Getting ready to leave the traffic and tourist-hasselling of Delhi and Jaipur behind us, Brianne and I found ourselves preparing for an Indian expedition of questionable tranquility. So far our inability to produce free pens to distribute ot children, our lack of interest in buying pashminas or changing money, and our confusion at constantly being asked our country of origin had made us feel like disappointing excuses for white people. And our exploratory walks had been hampered by the limitations of attention. While on the road 50% of our brain seemed required to avoid motorcycles and auto-rickshaws. An additional 10-25% was taken up with trying not to step in poop of some kind. That left very little for looking about, and we found ourselves asking the question: why do so many Westerners come to one of the world's most chaotic countries in search of peace?
While many years of experience with India would be necessary before I arrived at a definitive answer to that question, the time we spent in our next three destinations - Pushkar, Bundi, and Udaipur - would get us started on the right track. In these smaller cities, less congestion and a tamer tourism business would free up vital space in our minds and allow us our first good look at the fascinations of India.
In the holy city of Pushkar, stretching around a sacred lake and filled with the semi-constant noise of chanting and drumming, we discovered the photographic allure of picturesque doorframes and women in saris; got our first glimpse of the phenomenon of urban cows; and tasted the joys of good hospitality and great cooking, when our hosts at Hotel Akash made us feel welcome with their mama's delicious desserts.
Bundi gifted us not only our first experience of travel by public bus (note: not recommended for the weak of bladder or sensitive of smell), but also a rare chance to see a picturesque city still relatively untouched by tourism. In our first day we admired palace paintings and rambled around a fort perched high above the city, which as we learned should only be visited in the morning, because at night it's overrun by leagues of monkeys.
The next day we snatched secret photos of the vegetable market with its women dressed in turquoise, saffron, and fushia: a display of gorgeous color almost matched by the view of Bundi at sunset.
Udaipur had been described to us as "fairy-tale-esque" and "the most romantic city in India." Our guidebook has exaggerated in the past (as when the fantastic Indian restaurant it described to us in Santiago turned out to be in a hotel lobby), but this time we were not disappointed. With airy palaces rising among rolling hills and amidst an almost gratuitously reflective lake, Udaipur is dreamlike. We were happy to have three days to wander through the extensive city palace; watch a festival of traditional Rajhastani dance, which included flaming pots and puppets; and sample the city's chais, lassis, and thalis - a culinary exploration that included a budget-breaking, mouth-watering, jaw-dropping dinner at Ambrai, across the lake from the City Palace.
In the interests of disclosing my full experience of time and place, I should mention that I received my first graduate school rejection during this time. The fateful email, reopening a door of personal statements and future consequences that had stayed blissfully closed during the first month of our Asia trip, has brought foreboding and anticipation, unwelcome, back into our thoughts. And as disappointed as I was to lose part of my awareness to shadowy doubts about the future, this event also allowed me to glimpse how India's overwhelming barrage of color, curry, and calls-of-hawkers can actually prove peaceful. Surrounded by something new and shocking and compelling at every turn, forced to devote my whole mind to absorbing sights so unknown and arresting, I found India was capable of demanding my attention even more loudly and insistently than graduate school. India cannot be sanitized, and it will not be ignored.
And so in the middle of cars honking and cows lowing and "hello! hello! your name? which country?" and hold-my-breath scans of my inbox, I am actually finding my own sort of peace.
While many years of experience with India would be necessary before I arrived at a definitive answer to that question, the time we spent in our next three destinations - Pushkar, Bundi, and Udaipur - would get us started on the right track. In these smaller cities, less congestion and a tamer tourism business would free up vital space in our minds and allow us our first good look at the fascinations of India.
In the holy city of Pushkar, stretching around a sacred lake and filled with the semi-constant noise of chanting and drumming, we discovered the photographic allure of picturesque doorframes and women in saris; got our first glimpse of the phenomenon of urban cows; and tasted the joys of good hospitality and great cooking, when our hosts at Hotel Akash made us feel welcome with their mama's delicious desserts.
Bundi gifted us not only our first experience of travel by public bus (note: not recommended for the weak of bladder or sensitive of smell), but also a rare chance to see a picturesque city still relatively untouched by tourism. In our first day we admired palace paintings and rambled around a fort perched high above the city, which as we learned should only be visited in the morning, because at night it's overrun by leagues of monkeys.
The next day we snatched secret photos of the vegetable market with its women dressed in turquoise, saffron, and fushia: a display of gorgeous color almost matched by the view of Bundi at sunset.
Udaipur had been described to us as "fairy-tale-esque" and "the most romantic city in India." Our guidebook has exaggerated in the past (as when the fantastic Indian restaurant it described to us in Santiago turned out to be in a hotel lobby), but this time we were not disappointed. With airy palaces rising among rolling hills and amidst an almost gratuitously reflective lake, Udaipur is dreamlike. We were happy to have three days to wander through the extensive city palace; watch a festival of traditional Rajhastani dance, which included flaming pots and puppets; and sample the city's chais, lassis, and thalis - a culinary exploration that included a budget-breaking, mouth-watering, jaw-dropping dinner at Ambrai, across the lake from the City Palace.
In the interests of disclosing my full experience of time and place, I should mention that I received my first graduate school rejection during this time. The fateful email, reopening a door of personal statements and future consequences that had stayed blissfully closed during the first month of our Asia trip, has brought foreboding and anticipation, unwelcome, back into our thoughts. And as disappointed as I was to lose part of my awareness to shadowy doubts about the future, this event also allowed me to glimpse how India's overwhelming barrage of color, curry, and calls-of-hawkers can actually prove peaceful. Surrounded by something new and shocking and compelling at every turn, forced to devote my whole mind to absorbing sights so unknown and arresting, I found India was capable of demanding my attention even more loudly and insistently than graduate school. India cannot be sanitized, and it will not be ignored.
And so in the middle of cars honking and cows lowing and "hello! hello! your name? which country?" and hold-my-breath scans of my inbox, I am actually finding my own sort of peace.
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