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India Day 6: Huckster Ghats and Hippie Ghettos

I have discovered that no matter where we are in the world–or how FREAKING hot it is in our room–nothing puts me to sleep faster than listening to people talk on my MP3 player. So far my talk of choice is comedy–I downloaded the Comedy Death Ray collection before we left–something like two hours of mostly-great standup for the price of lunch at In N Out. But I had no idea I’d be listening to it so often. You can only listen to Paul F. Tompkins do his bee fetish routine so many times.

So I’m frantically downloading as many talkshow & comedy podcasts as I can shove over this Internet Cafe’s broadband connex. Jimmy Pardo, do not fail me as a sleep aid or I swear I will geld you.

Anyways, the long download times let me get into a really interesting destination on our trip: Pushkar.

We were picked up at our Jaipur guest house by Ramesh, who was noticeably grumpy, likely because we stayed at a place that was actually comfortable and popular, and therefore had no need to pay him a commission for taking us there. Good. We piled in and headed to Pushkar, a place we were told was a very spiritual one: 130 temples surrounding a lake in the middle of desert. not on our orig itinerary but sounded great. Ramesh thought that we’d stay in Amer, the larger city outside of Pushkar, and got a bit pissy when we told him,no, we wanted to stay in Pushkar proper. Obviously he wanted to get us into a commission hotel. obviously we were itching to be rid of him for a day and a night.

He drove us as far has he could into Pushkar (cars aren’t allowed there) and we agreed to meet him at the same spot at 6:30, and that we’d call him on his cel if we wanted to leave later. As soon as we left the car, we were set upon by one priest after another. Or rather, “priests.” See, Pushkar is filled with these guys who try to give you ceremonial flowers to throw into Pushkar’s famous Ghats, then lead you through the ritual, then ask for a donation. Really annoying. and of course Ramesh did nothing to ward them away from us. Y’know, like a guide is paid to do.

So we shook him, and them, off and headed down the main drag, getting touted by more priests, auto-rickshaw drivers, guest houses, clothing, shops, etc. every step of the way. It was like we were back in Delhi. It was hot and annoying but we eventually found our way to the guesthouse that was recco’d to us by a French woman we met at the Pearl Palace. It was a quiet (yay!) cheap oasis from the Pushkar chaos.

Once we got a little space, we noticed that the town was full of backpackers, all making themselves comfortable as only backpackers do: eating jaffles, drinking tea, trying not to look too stoned, etc. That, and the plethora of restaurants advertising Israeli food, made us realize that this was a total backpacker’s ghetto. Skinny Dutch dudes in sarongs with no shirts and braided facial hair. That kind of thing. It’s a place where backpackers come, and stay for days. And why not? Plenty of home-type food, cafes to hang out in, and stuff to buy. It’s also a place where you can take a a course in painting, yoga, etc.

But except for the temples and the ghats, it’s also a place sans culture.

The lake, and the ghats & temples that surrounded it, were peaceful & sublime, but hard to enjoy without getting touted everywhere.

we did manage to walk around the lake, even in the intense heat.

At the opposite side we met a charming israeli couple, who confirmed the Israelis-are-everywhere-in-India syndrome. After their army service, they go travelling. He said, that these young, newly free kids settle in somewhere and change it to suit them. “Well,” I replied, “If you can do it to the desert, you can do it anywhere, eh?” We had a good laugh at that.

We also met a crazy dutch guy who talked in travel-vernacular non-sequiturs and proved to us that too much solo travel isn’t necessarily a good thing.

Eventually we got back to the town center and took a yoga class. Just us in a room full of open shutters. He took some time to explain yoga was, but his accent was so think I didn’t get all of it. I gathered it was mostly about balance- each position has it’s active & passive muscles, etc.

By The end of the practice, the wind really picked up outside. The lights went out so the teacher lit the practice with his cel phone. Then all the shutters started slamming open & shut. It was really interesting to have the elements outside be so active during our session.

When we finished, we walked into the courtyard, which the yoga place shared with a large temple. Which was holding a festival of some sort. Which infolved everyone pushig a huge wooden idol on a wheeled altar around the courtyard while the people sang, held torches near it, and banged drums. Facinating.

The wind continued to pick up and then, rain. Then a blackout–everything on the streets, dark.

WE found a restaurant that was serving despite that, a rooftop place atop a four-story building. They served Mexican food, played Bob Marley. One of Pushkar’s many hippie backpacker joints. After we ordered, the wind REALLY picked up. So much that the 15-foot-high sign outside the restaurant broke a tether and threatened to fall four stories to the ground. AS it swung to & fro, we heard screams from the ground. Fortunately the staff grabbed it and brought it inside in time, propping it up on the wall near us.

We and the other customers were ushered into a room indside the building and served there. People kept coming in, and eventually the room was crammed with Canadian college jocks, mixed-race couples in flowing fabrics, middle-aged women talking about their side businesses selling fabrics and jewlery, even the dutch guy with the hair showed up. It was a real microcosm of backpacker culture.

Later that night, when the lights were back on everywhere but the streets, I did something stupid. After trying to upload my photos at a cyber-cafe and failing–until midnight, mind you–I walked home, after all the stores were closed, which meant I had to walk the 4-5 blocks back through the dirt streets in pitch darkness. I tried to use my camera flash to light my way (see photos below)…which was just as stupid. I stepped into at least one puddle, and at some point a dog barked at me and aI almost shat myself. So that was Pushkar.

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About kengrobe

Both for work and for pleasure, I create. I'm a writer, a musician, a creative manager, a sketch comic, and a comics writer (don't get those last two twisted!). I've made rent with some or all of these. And for my next trick, I'm going to figure out which of them I want to do most.

Discussion

One thought on “India Day 6: Huckster Ghats and Hippie Ghettos

  1. For the reccord the flakes on the pictures are dust and cow dung lifted by the wind. and I tried to talk him out of going, but he is his own man.

    Posted by multivore | May 9, 2008, 9:13 am

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