Pushkar is a small town built around two sides of a sacred lake. The first thing you do when you get to Pushkar, I was told, is to go to the lake. Then you go to the temple dedicated to Brahma.
The lake is small, you can walk around it in 30 minutes, if you are not stopped by curious or you don’t take pictures. It’s different from Varanasi because here they built some basins at the border of the lake, where people bring their offers (mainly flowers and coconuts), wash feet and face, wash the children and pray for a few minutes. Sometimes they bath completely and wash their clothes.
When I first came here yesterday, two Indian boys asked if I had prayed. No, was my answer. Why not? Don’t you respect our religion? No, it’s not that I don’t respect your religion, but I don’t usually pray or I pray when I feel like. They didn’t get upset, they just wanted to explain me how it works here.
There are some steps leading to the lake. One of these staircases is called “Gandhi Ghat” because when Gandhi died some of his ashes were scattered here. Shoes are forbidden 40 feet from the lake. So you walk on this floor full of pigeon excrement barefoot; or with your socks, if you prefer. Some ghats are full of people feeding pigeons with corn or some other seed. Then a dog comes, scares the pigeons, and these fly away and I’m sure sooner or later they’ll shit on my head. Why do they do it? It reminds me of the pigeons in St. Mark’s Square in Venice; feeding the pigeons is forbidden now there, but I have a picture of a young me feeding them.
It’s nice here, it’s very relaxing. The low white houses that face the lake and the drums in the background create a nice atmosphere. There are continuous weddings and celebrations going on.
Around Pushkar there are mountains with other temples. In the mountains live the Babas, those strange men that decide to leave the family and the comfort of a house to live of berries and meditation.
This is the only Brahma temple in India. I went there in the morning. Quite similar to the others I’ve visited, many small altars, gods statues that I don’t understand. It seems like they are the usual three deities that have reincarnated many times. In this temple the altars are in particular dedicated to Shiva, his wife and three children, of which one is an elephant. Another god is a monkey. I can’t remember the names.
Apparently writing a blog didn’t help me much. When I called home yesterday, my mom suggested I won’t go to Africa. It’s better if I get a job and do something with my life. As if I hadn’t worked so far in my life. Of course, there are people that worked more then me, but there are also those that have been traveling for 2-3 years or forever. The problem is that in Arzignano you don’t meet these people, so it seems something out of this world. Working and making money is everything. Maybe I say this because I’ve been lucky and I was never hungry, but I am not interested in making a lot of money or owning an expensive car. Of course you should think about the future, and save some money. But a couple of months won’t make a big difference. It will be difficult to travel once I’ll have a stable job and in Italy you can only go on holiday in August, when everything is more expensive and places like Africa, India or Middle East are too hot to travel. I’m actually not sure I will go next year because I’m a bit tired, need some rest (travelling full time is not relaxing at all). But I don’t want not to go for the wrong reasons.
I didn’t like Jodhpur too much. I’m glad I was there only for one day. I don’t know if it’s because I was very tired because I didn’t sleep much on the train and I might have had some fever, but people were particularly annoying. A man kept looking at me while walking in front of me, with a not-so-nice look, and I had to tell him to fuck off to make him stop. Kids kept coming to me asking for money and pulling my shirt. A kind man invited me to his blue house and at one point he asked to exchange one euro in rupee to pay for his wife medicines, a wife that was on the terrace sunbathing. Another guy started laughing while looking at me. The special saffron lassi is not that good at all. Restaurants are more expensive. So, nothing good.
The fort is nice, built by one of the many mahrajas. Jodphur is also called “the blue city”, because many buildings are painted in blue. A nice shiny blue. Inside and outside. In the past it was only brahmin houses that were painted in blue, one of the highest chastes; today anyone can paint his house in blue.
Now I am in Pushkar, on the shores of a sacred lake. People come here from far away to bath in the lake. I haven’t seen much yet, but the little I’ve seen relieved me. It seems a nice holiday resort. People is relaxed and happy. My room is beautiful, painted in lilac, with green, white and blue strikes. And a warm shower (at least the first two minutes). I haven’t had a warm shower in two weeks.
Pushkar is in Rajasthan, a region in the North-West of India, near the border with Pakistan. In Rajasthan you can also find Jaipur, Bikaner, Jaisalmer and Jodhpur, where I was in these last weeks. On the bus coming here we passed villages where the elder men were wearing turbans in the most bright colors. White, red, red with white dots, yellow, orange; fluorescent greens and fuchsia. Some women wore their sari (the long shawl that they wear on their head and that they knot around the waist) of a super bright yellow. At first I thought it was muslim women who wore the sari on their face, but it’s actually quite common, so to avoid men’s looks. But why do men have to look at women lasciviously in the first place? Why don’t they look at their dirty nails?
There were a couple of trucks on the road that had had an accident. It didn’t surprise me. Here the only rule is that of the strongest. The largest vehicle has all the rights. So when our bus was overtaking another vehicle, if from the other side a motorbike was coming, this last one had two options: either stopping or going out of the road. Pedestrians are treated even worst. Pedestrian crossings or not, it doesn’t matter. The problem comes when you have to cross a large road. To cross a road with many lanes you have to do like in that frog game on the Commodore 64, when you cross the first lane, than the second, you wait among the running cars that the third is free and so on (the same is in China actually). Roundabouts have no rules. You don’t actually do the whole tour if you just have to go left or right, bike or car or pedestrian. And you don’t need to stop to see if a car is approaching when you enter a new road; it will be their duty to see you and anticipate your moves and let you in. But the most dangerous remain overtakings. If there’s a bump or a bend, it doesn’t matter. If another truck comes from the other side you just slow down and go back to your lane. If it’s only a car or a motorbike approaching, it will be their duty to stop or go out of the road.
I was walking on the street and from an open gate I saw a group of people dancing at drums rythm. A bit further there was a procession, with drums and trumpets and people dancing. Men in the front, women following. At the very back, a guy on a horse, dressed like a Mahraja; he was probably someone important. On the side walked some poor guys carrying lamps that seemed very heavy. And behind them a chart with a generator, for the lamps. The noise of the generators fought with the drums, to see who could be heard more. At one point they stopped, while music and dances continued, and from a gate people brought yogurts, that here they call curd and that they eat at any time (it’s the main ingredient for lassi), to refresh the partygoers. I would have liked one too, but strange enough I wasn’t offered one. When the procession started again the street was full of the empy packages. I don’t know if it was a wedding or a religious celebration.
I went out for dinner, but I had to come back to wear some shoes, it’s too cold! Why? We are not that heigh.
Jaisalmer is another town on the border with Thar Desert.
I arrived this morning on a train from Bikaner. At 5.10. So far trains have always been at least one hour late on scheduled time.This morning I would have slept a bit longer, and we arrived 20 minutes early. I walked in the dark with other travelers, chai vendors, cows and angry stray dogs. Everything was closed and I was afraid I would have had to poo in the street (which could actually have concealed in cows’ shit), but after some research I found a beautiful hotel, in a former palace, where I could use the bathroom and toilet paper. The cheapest room was 50€ per night, less than what I paid for the safari in the desert. I should sleep in one of these nice hotels before I go back, it would cost at least 3 times more in Europe.
Jaisalmer is beautiful. The whole town was built with bricks made of golden sand, and for this reason it’s called “Golden City”. There a nice fort on a hill, surrounded by walls and with tiny alleys and palaces. It would be even more beautiful, if it wasn’t for the hordes of tourists. This morning I walked for about 3 hours and I was exhausted. I’m glad I’m staying only for the day (my train is tonight again). From here you can also tour the desert, and at first I thought to come here to do my safari. Luckily in McLeod Ganj I met a girl that recommended me to take the tour in Bikaner instead.
There’s a place where you can buy the Bhang Lassi. Bhang is a cannabis, the only legal drug in India, I’ve been told, and this coffee shop can sell it, in the lassi. I didn’t go because I wanted a regular lassi, and they don’t sell it. I don’t need the Bhang, I’m stoned enough due to lack of sleep. So I came to this place cuper cool, a restaurant on a roof of a Haveli, a typical residence of Rajasthan, with an inner courtyard and full of decorations.
In the afternoon I decided to go back to the desert, on a jeep this time, to see the sunset from the sand dunes. Well, that wasn’t a great idea. There were about a hundred camels waiting to carry tourists, Indian, Chinese and from all over. I thought it would have been quiet, I wasn’t expecting to be alone, but not more than 50 people. It looked like a circus. Or a fair. Drums, flute players, little girls wearing a traditional dress with lipstick spread out all over the face, dancing at flutes’ rythm.
I survived two days in the Thar Desert, near Bikaner. On a camel. My butt and thigh are aching. No more camel rides for me, thank you. They asked me to go back. Ok, I might, one day, if you give me a bike instead of a camel.
I was on a tour with two French guys and a Dutch-Portuguese couple. These last two were interesting. She’s a bag designer, that uses recycling materials. He’s an artist, that to pay the bills owns a coffee shop in the Netherlands, somewhere near the border with Germany, and earns quite some money from the business. Six camel men, a guide and his son. The youngest of the camel men, Umad, 12 years old, is basically everyone servant. He’s called around everywhere, to wash dishes, peel potatoes, wait. And he runs forth and back always smiling. These desert guys are beautiful. Except maybe for the red-brown teeth colored by tobacco. That are not as bad as those of their camels, anyway. The oldest camel man, Kesudan, is 53 years old. He looks 20 years older. I guess life in the desert is not that easy.
The tour started with a visit to the Karni Mata Temple, a temple dedicated to mice. It was quite impressive. And a bit disgusting, if I can say. At the entrance you have to take off your shoes, like in all temples, and than you walk amid mouse shit and food. It’s good omen if a mouse runs between your legs, and even more if you can spot the white mouse. I waited for 10 minutes at the entrance of the white mouse house, but nothing. No luck for me. I’ve never seen so many mice in my life.
These two days in the desert were a completely different experience from what I had in Wadi Rum. There I was traveling on a 4×4, amid mountains and red sand. The Great Indian Desert is a great extension of dry spiny bushes and sparse trees. Camels walk very slowly, so you don’t go very far. And I think that is the point, to spend two days with a different space-time perspective. That is actually unnerving, when you are used to rush and do everything quickly. But I guess it has its advantages.
The plan was to sleep on the dunes under the stars. But the weather wasn’t too good, so the guide took us to an abandoned building, to sleep under a roof. This was built as a school, but was never used because the Indian government never sent teachers to the place. So is the Indian bureaucracy, explained the guide. Money is spent on infrastructures, then teachers are left without jobs and children without school because there is no communication between the various offices. He doesn’t vote, because everyone is corrupted, so there is no point in voting. He’s the first person I’ve met that doesn’t like Sonia Gandhi. When I mention that I’m Italian, everyone smiles and says “like Sonia Gandhi!”. Edvige Antonia Albina Maino was born 30 km from Vicenza and married a descendant of Mahatma Gandhi (the Gandhi family has had important roles in the government for decades; Sonia Gandhi in 2010 was president of the Indian Natioanl Party and could have become Prime Minister if the opposition didn’t complain that she’s not fully Indian).
So we slept under the porch of this building. Getting up was awesome, surrounded by fog, with the noise in the background of camels chewing nearby and the desert men preparing chai on the other side of the portico.
Lionel, one of the French guys, coouldn’t find one of his shoes. It was 10 meters from the porch, a bit nibbled at. Some animal must have taken it during the night, probably a goat.
I went a bit away from the group and tried to do the 5 yoga exercises I learnt the previous day. But this thing of being calm is not for me. I should have done every exercise for 5 minutes 3 times, instead I did it one minute once. I kept thinking at the others that were cooking breakfast and I couldn’t wait. I have to try again. Only when I play solitary games at the pc I can spend hours without doing anything (this was in 2010, now I spend hours playing candy crush). Which annoys me, because I waste time that I could spend reading or doing something else. But playing on the pc helps me to think. I get some good ideas sometimes (like going to Africa).
Another day on a camel, but after half an hour I couldn’t take it any longer. I don’t know how people can enjoy this. I spent the rest of the time on a chart, pulled by a camel. I was laying on the hay that they use to feed the camels when we stop, letting the sun warm me up, cradled by the chart and the camel men dirge. Much better.
Kesudan was on the chart with me. At one point he stripped a piece of string from the towel he was wearing around his waist, and weaved a bracelet for me. Now we are brother and sister, explained another guy. Next time I come to Bikaner he hopes I’ll call him, he gave me his address. He has a handsome son, so I might really go back. But it’s better if I wait until the son grows older…
Bikaner is a small town at the border with the desert, with a lot of traffic, camels in the streets, an old town with a labyrinth of small alleys and houses with pastel colors, and a lot of people. Stressful people. I can’t walk two meters without someone reaching out saying hello and asking where I come from and if they speak a bit Italian it’s even worse. It’s a 40 min walk from the town center to my hotel. Last night while I was walking back I had at least three bodyguards escorting me the whole time. One kept asking if I wanted to marry him. I had to shout at him to convince him to go.
The trip on the bus was a nightmare. The road wasn’t paved for most of its length, I couldn’t sleep for the continuous jumps on the holes. Luckily for the next two destinations I have already booked a train ticket.
Tomorrow I will probably go to the desert. When I first went to the desert, one year and ten days ago, in Wadi Rum (Jordan), I fell in love. I hope I will enjoy this one too.
In one month I will be at Dubai airport, on my way back. A few days ago I thought that I should go to Africa in January. Just for a couple of months. In Mali, Senegal or wherever. I must before I find a job (it will be more difficult to travel for three weeks once you have job). I got this idea because of you. I loved all the positive feedback I received from this blog, it made me realise I should visit some other place and tell my experiences to you. I want to see Africa and bring it to you.
They showed me the bill. Does it mean it’s time for me to leave?
A few minutes ago I bought some gums. 1.6 cents each. 0.16€ for 10. Alpenliebe are even cheaper. They sell gums individually, like cigarettes. I guess because people here don’t have enough money to buy the whole packet. I stopped at that particular shop because there was a lady at the cash register. You don’t see many women in the shops here. Her son confirmed that this is a sexist society, women usually stay home to cook and look after the kids.
These were busy days in Jaipur.
Yesterday I met with Vishal, one of the guys I met the first day. I jumped on his Royal Enfield and he took me to his friend’s house that was celebrating his wedding. Royal Enfields are chopper bikes that were brought to India from England; they haven’t been built in England for decades, in India they are very common. Next time I come to India I want to buy one and go back to Europe on a motorbike. This time I can’t do it because apparently as Italian you can only get a visa for Pakistan at the embassy of your own country (this since the floods in 2010 – but you should check your Foreign Affairs Ministry for updated info). I loved going around on the Royal Enfield. It’s not like on a rickshaw. Rickshaws are old coaches carried by bicycles, that sound like cool. But they have no dampers and on Indian roads they are very painful.
The wedding was probably at its 5th day. The bride comes from Agra, and they celebrated at their home the first 4 days, then they came to Jaipur to celebrate 3 more days with the family of the groom. The bride must be 28, the groom told me. He saw her for the first time on the first day of marriage, before that they had talked on the phone for 2 months. Every day. I haven’t seen the face of the bride for one second. It was covered by a veil the whole time. You could tell she was shy, and she was probably a bit scared because she left her family to move in with this new family where she doesn’t know anyone. Not even her husband. I hope they’ll be happy together. He seems fun and ok, a bit strict with children. He often travels for work, so he’s quite open-minded. He told me he ate all his fingernails this last month, because he was nervous. Not sure he’s doing the right thing.
We went to a temple to pray for a long and happy life for the new family, women only. I was the guest of honor, they called me all the time and posed for me (in particular the kids). At 9pm finally some food was served. I was starving. They usually dine at 10pm. Biriani rice, chapati (bread with lentils inside), and some curry vegetables. All delicious. They promised to paint the henna on my hands, but there was no time, shame. Before leaving I helped to prepare the “bedroom” (just a box-size room freshly painted, without matress because the bride should bring it). Flower garland and petals on a towel on the floor. It was their “golden night”. It’s very expensive to give a daughter or sister as bride. The family has to donate money and accessories as dowry. But then during the marriage it will be the husband to sustain the family. I brought 3 roses for the newly weds.
This morning I had an appointment with Vashal for breakfast. I arrived at 10.10. After two minutes of wait I left. I wasn’t too sorry I missed the meeting. But he found me a bit later. In the half hour I was alone I was stopped by 3 men. A commission guy while I was having breakfast with chickpea and bread (he admitted he gets 20% provision when he brings a tourist to a shop); a rickshaw driver and a biker. The first two alerted me on the scams you can get into here in Jaipur. It was today’s discussion subject. Maybe because it’s Sunday? I don’t know. The Lonely Planet mentions it too. Some people might offer you to start a stones business that is actually a scam (Jaipur is famous for stones and silver jewelry). When I got rid of the biker, the rickshaw driver came closer and asked if the guy had offered to take me to the old town where he was meeting some friends. These were the exact words the biker told me. They know too well all their tricks.
When Vishal found me on the street he took me to have a coffee at a friend’s. He owns a jewelry shop. Here we are, I thought, I’m trapped. But we didn’t speak about stones once. The friend was actually nice. The shop was closed, as every Sunday, but he does’t like to drink in front of his children so he spends here most of the time. He’s an alcoholic, I guess, he had two glasses of whiscky in half an hour. He has 4 sons and one daughter, the youngest, 9 years old. The oldest is 24. His wife died giving birth to the last one. Now he grows his children, alone. I don’t know how, if he spends his time in the shop, drinking. It’s a shame because he seems kind and peaceful.
The idea today was to go back to the newly weds and cook something with the bride, but I asked Vishal to excuse me. I didn’t want to go back and there were a few more things I wanted to see in town. I said goodbye to Vishal. All the time I spent with him I was kind of expecting him to ask to buy something, or to start a business, but no, he was totally uninteressed, he is a nice and cool guy. Loves movies. I felt a bit sorry to leave him, but I explained to him that I like to stay alone and get tired when spending too much time with others. He seemed to understand.
After two lassi and a coffee I was on the road again, towards the old town, and of course someone else stops me. With the usual sentence. “Can I ask you something?”. I don’t know why I answered. I told him we get tired of talking to Indians because we have something else we want to do when traveling here, not just talking to locals. At the end I spent one hour with him. He offered me a chai. He said he stopped me because he saw me spitting (I hope I’ll give up this habit once I go back to Italy), because I spread a good energy (typical compliment), and he liked my smile. My smile with a large nose, crooked mouth and bulging chin? All right. Raj. He lives in Brighton, South of London by the sea. He trades in stones and silver. They are all a bit philosophers here in India, I like this. He told me a few stories that I had already heard. Like that men and women are different. Men are physically stronger, but women have stronger personalities (I don’t agree). Then women have developped a wider sight because this way they can watch their children while they work. Men can see further away. A few curious things: why are cows holy? Because they are quiet and peaceful, they are not afraid of anything or anyone. They walk in the middle of the street, in the traffic, they eat or sleep there, and nobody moves them. Traveling is good for the spirit, like when you wear a new dress for the first time, it gives you a sense of pleasure. I like this.
This culture is transferred from one generation to the other, from grandparents and grandparents’ friends to grandchildren, from gurus. Everyone has a guru in India. They seem like our confessors in Italy. Raj is not the first one to tell me that Italians and Indians are similar (but don’t tell them). Because we both like to stop in the street and talk. Maybe this is true in some parts of Italy, not where I live. Raj wasn’t too bad talking to, but after half an hour I got tired; nevertheless I accepted to meet him again after I visited the Wind Palace.
Landmark of the town, the Hawa Mahal, or “Wind Palace”, is amazing. Built by a maraja for Krishna, it’s full of windows to allow women to look at life in the street without being seen (sad).
At the end Raj didn’t show up, and I went for dinner. On the way I stopped to have a chai and in a couple of minutes there was quite a crowd around me. Nice. I like when they stop without being annoying.
While I was writing at the restaurant a guy sat at my table. A white man. Alfredo, about 45 years old. Born in Venezuela, but he has been living in Europe since he was 14. At the moment he lives in Nice. He plays his guitar on the street, this is how he earns a living. Grown up Hari Krishna. He swings his head like Indians do, after 3 months living here. His flight is also on December 23. He invited me to visit him at Canary Islands this Winter. “But you’ve just said you live in Nice!”. I’m a hippy, I don’t live in one place, I move.
In a few hours I have a bus to Bikaner, North of Rajasthan, near the Thar Desert. I don’t like traveling by bus, but it’s difficult to find a seat on trains. The buses I use (obviously the cheapest) are like the old public buses in Italy. Fixed seats, broken dumpers, windows that don’t close. The first time I took a bus in India next to me was a guy of 150kg. I was able to sleep. I always sleep, but wake up every two hours, when we stop to pee and chai. Let’s hope it will be all good tonight.
