Day 18: Pushkar to Jodhpur

“Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't—don't touch me...”
-The Streets, “Fit But You Know It”

Locations: Pushkar, Jodhpur (Rajasthan)

Photos:
Jodhpur: http://princeton.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2050627&l=3403d&id=1101094

Temperature: 97

Morale: 6

Spinning: The Streets - A Grand Don't Come For Free, The New Pornographers - Mass Romantic, Of Montreal - Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?

Reading: Lonely Planet

Talking: To this Austrian girl who seemed cool at first but who got less cool as time passed.

What's next (I think): Jodhpur for one more day, and then Jaisalmer.

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I've had to borrow these words, which were originally penned by the great Mike Skinner (of the band The Streets), multiple times in the past few days. Telling people not to touch you is an extraordinarily effective way of getting them to leave you alone, because it conveys a sense of disgust that catches them off their guard a little bit, I think. I'm becoming more aggressive with the touts as each day passes. Fighting fire with fire is really the only option here—if you want to stay sane.

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I woke up in the hell that is Pushkar around 6:30, and showered, packed, and checked out of my guest house. The owner said, “You leave so soon?” Not soon enough, man.

I walked to the bus station, found the bus to Jodhpur, and got on. The bus was in bad shape, but I knew it would be that way—there was only one bus to Jodhpur, and it was public. Amazingly, the guy at the ticket booth had told me that the bus was a heap of junk before I bought my ticket. I've learned to appreciate the rare honest Indian salesman.

Anyhow, I got on the bus, found a window seat, and planted myself in it. Once you have a window seat, you don't get up for any reason. Have to use the bathroom? Too bad. Not worth it. Hold it or do it in that empty water bottle.

After a couple minutes this Austrian girl named Astrid sat down next to me. She had been in India for a month or so, and she traveled quickly like me and spoke perfect English, so we got along well. One thing I've been really annoyed with here is the backpacker culture that looks down upon anyone who is in India for fewer than three months or who stays in one place for fewer than 4 days. I don't have three months to spend in India, but I still wanted to see some of the country, so I'm making the best of the time I have. I don't need some Israeli backpacker (the worst of the ultra-cool, ultra-pretentious, “I've been in India so long that I feel Indian” backpackers) asking me how long I'm in India and then frowning and saying, “Oh, so you don't have enough time to see very much, right?” So it was nice to meet a traveler who had the same sort of time constraints as me and who wasn't too cool for school.

Astrid had some good insights into India , and specifically into Rajasthan, that were fairly obvious but which I somehow hadn't thought much about before now. First of all, after I tried to buy a banana and was told it cost Rs 10 (a banana really costs Rs 1 or 2), she pointed out that many tourists come to India and only visit Rajasthan, and so those tourists often don't know what the right price for things (like bananas) is, so the touts jack up the price and try to screw them. And because the Rajasthani touts have no way of knowing where I have been in India, or how long I have been here, they don't know if I know the right price. So they try to screw me, and then I walk away.

Also, Astrid mentioned how bad the staring was in India, and she's right. I hadn't mentioned it before, but these people stare with no shame. You stare right back at them, and sometimes say, “Can I help you?” or even “Stop staring at me!” and they just keep on staring. No shame whatsoever. Apparently, it's not rude to stare in Indian culture, or, more likely, it is rude, but these people just don't care.

Also, Astrid mentioned that she had been grabbed a lot by Indian men. I'm not certain where all she has been grabbed, and I didn't feel like asking, but in general people here have no problem with touching you as much as they see fit. Even I have been “grabbed,” though not anywhere particularly offensive. But after having your arm pulled on about 500 times by a collection of dirty hands, you don't really care that your arm is not a “private” area—you still don't want it touched. Hence the subject line quotation, above. Don't touch me, ok? Is that so much to ask?

One more thing: everyone here begs for money (obvious) and pens (not so obvious). Why pens? Are they really hard to come by in India? I guess they must be. In any case, I would have brought a whole case of pens with me if I had known how popular they’d be. Just as long as I could hand out the pens without having to touch anyone.

After talking with Astrid for an hour or so about our respective travels, I ran out of things to say. So I spent the last few hours listening to my iPod. Oh, but I had to surrender my widow seat to Astrid, because she asked, and I felt bad saying no. But later it kind of pissed me off, because she markets herself as this tough girl who doesn't need any help and can do anything that any boy can do... so why am I supposed to give her my window seat? Chivalry or equality—your pick, but you can't have it both ways.

We reached Jodhpur , and before the bus even stopped there were twenty rickshaw drivers waiting at the bottom of the bus steps, ready to pounce. I pulled out my “Don't touch me” line as I walked down the steps, and then, in case that wasn't clear enough, I said, “If you touch me, there is no chance that I'm getting in your rickshaw.” I'm not sure if they understood—maybe they just got the gist by my tone of voice—but they didn't touch me, and they actually shut up for a few seconds too. Beautiful.

Astrid and I split a rickshaw to Singhvi's Haveli, a 4km ride for which we paid Rs 10. That is way too cheap, even for India, so I'm sure the rickshaw driver got some kind of commission from the haveli for taking us there (even though we were going there anyway). These rickshaw drivers really hold a lot of sway in the tourism industry. It's obnoxious.

There was only one open room in the haveli, and it was quite nice, but we bargained the guy down to Rs 300 and took it. It could be the best value room that I've had all trip, especially because I was splitting the cost with the Austrian.

We dropped our stuff and then headed to the clock tower, which is the center of the Old City of Jodhpur. Too tired from the hot bus ride to do anything today, we got a lassi (a tasty yogurt drink) at this restaurant next to the clock tower. Menus and ordering were nonexistent at this place—you just sat down and they (eventually) brought you the lassi. You took what you got and were happy with it, or else. Very Soup Nazi-esque. I was actually kind of impressed.

Afterwards we headed to an air-conditioned internet cafe for a few hours. I didn’t get much writing done, but the cold air felt glorious.

We met back at the haveli, showered, and walked back toward the clock tower to find a place to eat dinner. We ended up eating at a haveli with an amazing rooftop restaurant that overlooked the fort (more on that tomorrow) and the whole city. The food was great too.

On the way back to our haveli, we passed a temple to Lord Krishna that was decorated and lit up to celebrate Krishna's birth. There was a cart selling Indian ice cream, so we decided to try some—it tasted like a frozen lassi, which was fine with me. Contentedly full, we walked the rest of the way back to the haveli and went to bed.

Overall, the hassle has not been bad here so far, with the exception of the bus station. Maybe that's because Jodhpur is an actual city, where people have actual jobs outside of the tourism industry (that wasn't the case in Pushkar, which explains a lot). Anyway, so far I kind of liked this place. But the following morning I planned to check out the city's major tourist attractions, so we'll see how long my good feeling holds up.