Chit Chat India: Udaipur: 21 – 25.08.2013

Our first day in Udaipur was fantastic; relaxing and thoroughly enjoyable, and already we’re in love with this place.

We woke late and spent the morning on the roof top balcony overlooking the city and lake, sipping lassi and doing nothing much else.

We put away our guide book and maps for the day and instead, wandered into town without plans or restrictions to simply get lost amongst the tiny lane ways and streets.

We wandered through art galleries and little shops, chatting for a while with each artist and shop owner. We browsed through book stores and purchased some Hindi language and books about Indian culture, and ended up at an awesome little street side juice bar, where the owner proudly presented me with his best juice. We stopped for frequent cups of chai and chatted with the vendors as they pulled our tea, dodged sleepy cows wandering the streets, and met camera-happy children who were desperate to be photographed so they could see themselves on the digital screen.
We passed over the Pichola Lake by bridge, and wandered through little laneways and past very friendly faces and more lazy cows.
Our day was filled up by simply looking and chatting with the locals – everywhere we went we found ourselves being told to “sit, sit,” while we were asked the standards “From you where?”, “She your wife?,” “Children?”, “What you age?”, “What job you?”…

Udaipur Old Town is SO touristic, filled with shop after shop selling camel leather bags and journals, hippie pants and pashmina scarves, perfumes in strange bottles, books, handicrafts, and miniature paintings. A chorus of “yes come look my shop”, “Come yes please sir, only looking is free” and “hello where from?” rings out from the touters that line the street, and it never ceases to amaze me the odd words and phrases that spill out of their mouths when we refuse to go into their shops. One man asked me in an odd ‘Australian accent’, after I refused his offer for “free looking” – “Okay…you going get some tuk-kah!?” (“tucker”: Australian slang for food – where he picked up that phrase, I have no idea… seriously, who even uses the word tucker!?…) I blame Crocodile Dundee for atrocities such as this.

The traffic here is heavy and the streets are narrow – foot paths are hard to find – it gets difficult to stick together and usually we end up walking single file. At one point, Jake walked ahead and I got stuck between a tuk tuk, a motorbike, a car and a group of school students, which must’ve seemed like the perfect opportunity for an Indian boy to strike up a conversation, grab my hand and propose to me. Yep. First marriage proposal of the trip. The conversation continued – very briefly – whilst I tried to escape between the wheels of various moving vehicles, hobbling street dogs and a group of school boys fighting with each other.
Miss, what name you?” Shiiiiiiit…. Jake! Jake!
“Miss, you so very beautiful, can I kiss you?” Absolutely not.
“Miss, leave that man, he too old for you, I nineteen, right age for you.” Please leave me alone.
“Miss, you leave him and I show you all of Udaipur.” Tempting, but no.
“Miss, you perfect for me, leave him.” Goodbye.
“Miss!… Miss!… Leave him, come with me!” Jaaaaaakkkkkkkeeeeeee!!!

Safely away from the nineteen year old Indian Fabio, we had lunch at an organic vegan restaurant, sitting bare footed on cushions overlooking the surrounding buildings that were covered in peeling paint and complete with beautifully carved windows.

We found a musical instrument shop where I finally bought myself a ukulele, and strummed away in the shop with the talkative owner, whilst Jake took it upon himself to destroy one (accidentally, of course).

Our afternoon involved more chit-chatting to locals, avoiding stray dogs with serious health concerns, more chai, a lake side walk and exploring the lane ways. We were invited to dinner at the local chai vendors home for the following evening, Jake was offered free Hindi lessons by the vendor’s son, and I booked myself into an art class with a local artist.

The evening was spent strumming my ukulele on the roof top balcony whilst Jake jotted down new Hindi phrases from his book.

Oh India, how we absolutely adore you….

Udaipur quickly became one of these places we feel very at home in; as though we’d been here for ages.
We spent more time here than we intended, not doing all too much other than simply wandering, observing and chatting with people. The days spent here have become a bit of a blur – we’ve been wandering about, eating healthily, drinking lassis and chai, exploring, meeting new people, learning bits and pieces of Hindi, getting a feel for the place, and I’ve been painting. Yes, painting.

We spend our days waving hello to locals as though they’re old friends and stopping for frequent chai at our usual chai guy’s stall. He and his sons invited us to dinne and treated us as though the king and queen had just walked into their humble home. They served us dinner and we enjoyed their company and generosity; it was a real joy.

The local musician who sold me my shiny new ukulele checked each day to see how we were doing, and told us about a fantastic evening concert featuring famous Goan musicians playing the tabla, drum and sitar, complete with incredible singing and traditional dancing, down by the lake. We spent a happy evening listening to beautiful Indian music and watching colourful, glittered women dance with incredible precision and grace.

We ate at our local breakfast joint – Pap’s Juices – every morning for delicious freshly made muesli, yoghurt, fruits and honey; one of the healthiest thing we’ve probably eaten since arriving in India. He teaches us one new phrase in Hindi each morning.

Lunch was spent at the Indian vegetarian and vegan health restaurant, where we filled our stomachs with millets, fresh vegetables and delicious healthy oil-free foods.

A couple of local artists invited us into their shops each day for a chai and a chit chat, and we’ve been learning Hindi – especially Jacob – from every local, at every possible opportunity. I joined a painting class, and each day for three days attended ‘art class’ for four or five hours with a talented local artist named Rakesh, who was especially excited by the word “cool” and had an entire head worth of hair sprouting from each of his ears.
I thoroughly enjoyed spending my afternoons and evenings sitting out side the front of Rakesh’s little shop front, painting in the sun watching the hectic traffic and many cows negotiate the tiny road. I did not enjoy, however, being sprayed with shit when a passing cow let loose, flicking his tail – and poo – all over me. Yes, that was me that you could hear screaming.

 No matter where we went, people were keen to talk and were very friendly, and the feel of the town was really lovely. Evenings were cool and the town became quiet, and from our roof top balcony we looked over the city to see an ocean of colourful lights dancing on the lake. One evening, several travelers congregated on the rooftop and together we spent hours laughing and singing and chatting.
The guest house we stayed in – Kesar Palace Hotel – was fantastic, and probably contributed to our decision for a “lengthy” stay.

We decided not to visit the main attraction of Udaipur – the Grand Palace – instead, we enjoyed its exterior beauty from afar, and just spent our time getting a feel for the place. On our last day we spent a few hours in the New Town area – looking through the markets and stalls and getting drenched during a downpour of rain. The muddy ground and muck and waste everywhere made walking around a little more challenging (and disgusting) but we enjoyed chai, thali and the pure joy of something new; away from hippie pants, camel leather bags and fancy coffee shops.

Although the main streets often got clogged with traffic , cows and an orchestra of horns and petrol fumes, and the touters were always keen to sell us something we didn’t want, we found Udaipur relaxing and rejuvenating. We absolutely loved this place, and didn’t really want to leave. Reluctantly, we packed our backpacks and spent our last evening on the rooftop overlooking the lights.

We know this is a place we’ll come back to some day; for now we head to Pushkar at the lovely hour of 6am.

A note on India:

Have I mentioned how much we love India? Although sometimes it can be challenging here, and some parts of this culture are shocking and saddening, or simply unbelievable, but more often than not its just simply, indescribably amazing. Every day we’re learning a bit more, observing a bit more, trying to make sense of this country, the people, their beliefs and their ways of life. It’s surprising how much we are willing to adjust; not even consciously – just naturally adjusting to our surroundings and relaxing our ‘Western Standards’ – simply by experiencing and being immersed in all of India’s everything. It seems as though you can either flounder or flourish here, in the sense that you can either hate or love India. We are flourishing.

Every day we observe and learn new things; new behaviours, new traditions, what is acceptable here and how things work in often nonsensical and unfathomable ways… Sometimes India is inspiring, sometimes its challenging, sometimes it’s crushingly despairing, but it’s always exciting, always enthralling, always fascinating, and always incredible.

India is testing us, pushing us, confronting us and questioning the way we think and behave. Simple tasks like queuing to buy a ticket or sitting on the bus take on a whole new meaning and procedure here, and it’s an experience to ‘learn’ these things again. Sometimes, we are forced to step out of our comfort zones, but so far that’s never ended in a negative way.

Everything feels intoxicating here in India; the sounds and smells and sights captivate and exhilarate us, and also sometimes repulse us – often at the same time. Either way, India is like an addiction; we just want more and more of what this country has to offer.

Street stalls, tiny shops, markets, bazaars and food vendors feel like the beating heart of India, with everything and everyone working and functioning around these buzzing activities. Everyone has a job to do; the shoe makers, the umbrella fixers, the chai vendors, the touting tuk tuks, the fishmongers, the tailors, the launderers, the hat sellers, the hundreds of fried-goods vendors, the people… somehow they all work around and with each other in invisible unison, amongst honking horns, hectic traffic and an ocean of human bodies on the move.

The sounds! Oh, the sounds of India… Noise is constant here, silence is a rarity. Honking horns, two-stroke engines and buses accelerating set a beating base for the rhythmic Indian tune that never ends. Food vendors can be heard selling their goods, bicycle bells ding, men hock and spit, scraping sounds of brushing and sweeping marble floors grate against the chit-chat of locals. Cats mew and dogs converse, while touters yell their “Hello madams, you come look?” and “Yes, hello Sir you want tuk tuk?” Inquisitive locals yelling “Hello where you go!?” is a chorus we’ve become accustomed to, and sometimes we add to the tune by responding “Just walking.” For some reason, people don’t seem to grasp that concept.

Indian people are lovely. We notice their smiles before anything else (even when they’re trying to scam us) and often, those big smiles with white (or red pan-stained) teeth are infectious, and we end up instantly smiling back. The children love to say hello, and it’s not uncommon for people to come up to us, shake our hands and simply ask us (with those huge smiles) “where from?”
They speak like they are singing, and their spoken English sounds as if each word is dancing on their tongue before it emerges with unique, only-in-India word structure. I never tire of hearing them speak; especially their ‘cute’ descriptions such as “you feel the freeness”, “you eat good taste” and “that is mostly not possible.”
The Indian people (if they’re not trying to get our money – and sometimes even when they are) are welcoming us into their country with the utmost respect and again – the biggest smiles.

Family units seem very strong here and children seem to be the beating, lively pulse of every family. The babies and children are gorgeous – as all babies and children are – but these little ones are stunning; decorated in brightly coloured clothing, materials, shiny beads, henna tattoos, jewelry and lacy dresses. It seems like parents dress their children for every day activities as though they’re participating in a festival or parade of some kind. Children are everywhere, playing, laughing, and sometimes shockingly, working.
Friendship seems just as strong as family; people are connected and work together in big communities. Neighbours are friends,  adult friends hold hands, teenage girls chatter while walking arm in arm, and young boys carry on with their arms around their each others shoulders.

We spend most of our time marveling, smiling and laughing at what we’re experiencing; everything is so new and exciting, and we’re loving every minute. Of course, there are things we find shocking and distressing too; but never the less, we are observing what is happening around us, and we’re learning what life is like in this part of the world. We sometimes have to remind ourselves that this is not our culture, so we must just accept that it is different from our own.

Traffic is so hectic and unstructured at times, we cannot comprehend how it can actually work – but it does, much to our thumping hearts and sweaty palms delight. Watching the chaotic order unfold mesmerizes us, and offers us a glimpse of how these drivers and stretches of road somehow operate. One of the general rules we’ve observed is the attitude of “Fuck you all, I’m a bus – get out of my way now!” in which any sort of traffic – human, bikes and vehicles – disperses madly in every direction to accommodate for buses that rule the roads.

Poverty here is confronting; every day we encounter so many struggling people asking for money and food. People with horrifying disfigurements, disabilities and illnesses and injuries lay begging on the streets, and it’s impossible to not feel extreme sympathy for these people. We sometimes buy food and give it to people in need, but we don’t give money; as heartless as it may seem, how do you choose who to give and not to give to? Furthermore, unfortunately we have to wonder if the money is really even going to these helpless people, or into the pockets of someone else.

The pollution in the air is terrible – I imagine this thick, black cloud clogging the breath of every person, clogging the clouds and the skies and the oceans with its ever-growing filth. Sadly, sometimes I don’t have to imagine – I can literally see that thick black cloud. I breathe it in whilst wincing and gasping, hoping that somehow I’ll be able to catch a breath of fresh air if only I hold my breath a little longer.

We watch as people, over and over, finish with whatever they’re using and then simply throw it to the ground – our Western morals flinch at this littering every time with despair. The streets are lined with filth and waste, plastic, bottles, paper, waste and polystyrene dishes are strewn everywhere; it seems people are comfortable walking through rubbish filled streets, swimming in the ocean along with floating debris, and walking along beaches where pieces of trash outnumber the grains of sand. Bins are hard to come by, but the ones we see are never full; I guess people don’t regard waste management as important.
The other day on a train we watched a group of very well educated people, who all dressed impeccably and spoke fluent English, physically move from their seat to open the window of the train to throw their rubbish out, and it took everything I had not to tell them how disgusting and disappointing that is to see.

Almost just as shocking as the littering problem, is the fact that some people seem treat India as one big open-air toilet. People find anywhere and everywhere to relieve themselves; people shitting and urinating in the streets, on piles of rubbish, in train and bus stations, in back alleys, in bodies of water and in open fields is not an uncommon sight. An Indian man recently told us that sanitation and toilet facilities in India are “so really bad,” and it’s obvious; trying to find a functional toilet outside of a guest house that is a) in existence and b) not terrifying is no easy feat. The other day I was forced to use a urinal: literally, it was called a “Lady urinal.” I don’t even know how to use the squat toilets properly, let alone a terrifying “Lady Urinal”!

Dangerous driving, poverty, pollution, littering and scary toilets aside; we are so excited and thrilled to be here. We’re learning, we’re observing, we’re [starting to] understand, we’re exploring, and we’re loving every minute.