Day 14: Bundi, continued

“I'm all lost in the supermarket; I can never shop happily...”
The Clash, “Lost in the Supermarket”

Locations: Bundi (Rajasthan)

Photos:
General Bundi: http://princeton.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2050525&l=5406b&id=1101094
Teej Festival: http://princeton.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2050524&l=84de3&id=1101094

Temperature: 97

Morale: 8

Spinning: The Clash - London Calling, The Wrens - Secaucus, Voxtrot - Voxtrot, The Walkmen - A Hundred Miles Off, Weezer - B-Sides and Rarities

Reading: Lonely Planet

Talking: To a few more tourists, but mostly keeping to myself.

What's next (I think): Udaipur (Rajasthan)

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Is London Calling the best rock album ever?

Before I get back to Bundi, I’ll offer a quick Vampire Weekend update. Having been to Dharamsala just before listening to “Oxford Comma” for the first time, I was curious to know if the band's lead singer, Ezra Koenig, had been there himself, or if he just wanted to use the place in his song because he thought it sounded cool.

So I turned to the source of everything that is knowable: Facebook.com. I dropped Ezra a Facebook message with subject heading “Dharamsala?” and, surprisingly, he responded within 24 hours.

It turns out that Ezra hasn’t been to Dharamsala. But he did go to northern India, and he got as far north as Shimla before running out of time. Fair enough. He’s legit. Plus, he admitted to not having been there, and his rock star self replied to a Facebook message from lowly me in under a day. And he said he enjoyed looking at my pictures. I almost like the guy.

I listened to their LP some more today, and it really is catchy stuff. And I read some more news on them, and it seems they’re “New York's biggest buzz band right now.” Good for them.

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Having gone to bed before 9 the night before, I woke up around 6 feeling plenty refreshed, and I sat out on the roof deck of my haveli and caught up on my trip log while waiting for the sun to rise. I had a nice view up to Bundi Palace from where I was sitting, and when the sun first hit the palace after rising over the hills, it made for a picturesque scene.

I went to breakfast at Uma Megh Haveli—yes, the one with the lakeside terrace. I'm not really this boring—I would have tried another restaurant except all the restaurants were in havelis and only this one served people who weren't staying in that haveli—how's that for discrimination? I would have just eaten in my own haveli, but it charged Rs 300 for dinner and Rs 200 for breakfast, which is ridiculous.

Around 9 I started the hike up the hill, first to Bundi Palace and then on to the top of the hill and the Taragarh (Star Fort) that sits at the peak. I figured I'd start before it got too hot, and before the sun got too strong—I had been burnt pretty badly the previous day while on my motorbike. Unfortunately, 9am was not an early enough start to avoid the heat. My shirt was soaked by the time I reached the palace gate.

I paid the Rs 150 foreign admission charge (Indians admission cost Rs 10) and then on my way in I was asked if I wanted a guide. Initially I said no, but then I found out that guides cost only Rs 100, and given that I knew almost no Rajasthani history I figured the $2.50 would be money well spent. Indeed it was—I can't remember ever regretting paying for a guide. Maybe that's because I rarely do it.

One more thing about the ticket office, and about India in general: nobody has change, ever. And even if they do have change, they still try to make you pay in exact change. This includes places that have no excuse for not having change, like ticket offices and reasonably nice hotels. At the Bundi Palace ticket office, I gave the guy two Rs 100 notes, and he said, “You don't have change?” Come on man, I gave you Rs 200 for a Rs 150 ticket. That is not exactly unreasonable. Anyhow, he had to go down to the nearest store to get my Rs 50 change. And here I thought NYC cab drivers were bad about change.

Anyhow, I won't bore you with the details of Bundi Palace history—the most interesting things in the palace were the murals, which were incredibly detailed (down to the last hair in the beards of all the hundreds of soldiers). In one room, Chinese painters had painted parts of the mural, as evidenced by what my book referred to as the “Chinese eyes” of the representation of the Hindu goddess Krishna.

After the palace I took a path up the hill to the Taragarh, which took about 20 minutes and involved considerable additional sweating. I don't know how I had any liquid left in me to sweat out. On the way up, I passed many aggressive monkeys; one was so aggressive that I actually ran away from it. These things are big, and they travel in groups, and I would not want to find one suddenly attached to my neck.

The views from the fort were amazing. I could see everything—the palace, the lake, and the blue houses of the town. Definitely worth the climb, and the sweat.

I climbed back down, avoiding the monkeys as much as possible. One big one followed me down for about three minutes and I had to run to stay ahead of it. I don't think he would have attacked me unprovoked, but in the end what the hell do I know about monkeys in India?

I made it back to the haveli, had a shower, and decided to stay out of the sun for the rest of the day. By now I had seen all of Bundi, and was only sticking around for the Teej festival that night. So I headed to an internet cafe and spent most of the afternoon there.
At 28 kbps, I think I managed to load at least five web pages in three hours.

I ate dinner at my usual restaurant, and had mutter paneer (peas and cheese in a curry), which was decent but not my favorite Indian dish by a long shot. Then I headed down to where the festival procession was going to start.

The procession was supposed to start at 7pm, but nothing in India actually starts when it is supposed to, so it was 8:30pm before anything actually happened. But in the meantime I got to ride an elephant, which was a lot of fun. The course of events that led to this was as follows:

1. I take a picture of the elephant, which was drawn on with what looked like sidewalk chalk.

2. A guy standing near the elephant says I have to pay Rs 20 for the picture.

3. I tell the guy there's no way in hell I'm paying to take a picture of the elephant. So stop talking nonsense.

4. The guy realizes the game is up, and decides to extort cash from me in a different, more promising way: “You want to ride elephant?”

5. Ooooh, the guy found my Achilles heel. Of course I wanted to ride the elephant, and was prepared to pay any reasonable price to do so. But the ride also didn't cost the guy anything, so I figured I had some bargaining power, and that bargaining power was greatly increased if the guy thought I didn't really care about riding it. “No, I don't want to ride it.”

6. “Elephant ride very cheap! Only 500 rupees!”

7. “Not a chance.”

8. “Ok, 400 rupees!”

9. “Nope.”

10. “Ok, 300 rupees!”

11. “Keep going....” (this guy was not a very good bargainer)

12. “200 rupees!”

13. You know what, I need to go back to my haveli anyway, so maybe I'll see you later...”

14. “Ok ok 100 rupees, best price!”

15. “DONE.”

The coolest thing about riding the elephant was climbing up onto it. I started the climb from a 1-meter wall, which left about two meters to climb—directly up its back. At first I was worried I would hurt it if I put all my weight on its back, but then I felt how tough its skin was and stopped worrying. I don't think it felt a thing.

I rode for ten minutes, which turned out to be about 50 meters. Elephants don't move very quickly, it seems.

I jumped back down and was immediately mobbed by Indian kids who wanted their picture taken. Way to draw attention to myself.

The procession finally started, and it was worth the wait. The elephant was followed by camels, which were followed by the palanquin with a woman dressed up as the goddess Teej (Hindu deity of the monsoon) dancing on top of it. After that came about 20 floats pulled by cars and jeeps, and the floats were incredible—each one was ornately decorated and had children dressed up as gods and goddesses on it. I had no idea which gods and goddesses were being represented, but it was still cool. A few marching bands went by too, and at the end there were makeshift fireworks (much like the ones for the engagement party on Dal Lake, in Srinagar). The whole thing was actually very impressive, especially considering the resources with which the town had to work.

I met a British family just before the procession started, so I had some people to talk to while the floats went by. Unfortunately none of us knew enough about Hindu deities to be of help to the others. But we did exchange stories about our travels, and their account of Udaipur (most importantly, that there was water in the lake) solidified my decision to go there the following morning.

After the procession the town died down immediately. As I mentioned before, this is not the place to go if you're looking for nightlife. I walked back to my haveli and went to bed.