Nov 26. Hanging out of an open train door, watching the fabulous mountain desert scenery rush by, I have a much more positive attitude towards India. Later, after settling in at the Lal Ghat Guest House (recommended) and dining next door at the Natural View Restaurant (recommended) overlooking the Lake Palace, with the marvelous Aravalli Hills in the distance, I'm feeling more content than I have been since Jaisalmar. As a woman at the next table just put it: "it's magic out here!"
Sybil just informed me that it is Thanksgiving Day. I'm feeling very thankful.
Nov 27-28. Lazy days, lounging around the lake. We mail off a package, visit a temple, and just wander about. We linger long over meals at the Natural View and the roof top restaurant of the Anjani Hotel (recommended, Anjani staff is helpful - 0294 421770). We move to a more expensive room than is usual for us at Lal Ghat and savor the luxury of a decent bed.
Loud firecrackers in the night herald election results. The Congress Party wins, by a larger than expected margin. Seems like the price increases turned people against the ruling BJP.
Every other tourist restaurant in Udaipur shows the egregious James Bond "Octopussy" movie practically every night, as several scenes were shot locally. The villain's abode is in the Monsoon Palace overlooking the city. In one scene, Bond disguises himself as a crocodile to sneak into an island palace (Jagmandir) inhabited only by woman. The symbolic interpretations of the film are its only interesting feature, but it is truly ubiquitous in Udaipur.
Nov 29. We visit the excellent City Palace, better maintained than most since part of it is run as a hotel and another part is still used as royal quarters. The Maharanas who lived here appear to have been obsessed with hunting. The palace has hundreds of paintings depicting specific tiger, bear, and boar hunts. These paintings are a bit like large, one panel comic strips that detail exactly where the beast was heading, and how he was shot and killed. They even detail the unfortunate beast's death agony. Somehow these Maharanas never seemed to tire of having one more painting done to record their hunting exploits.
In the afternoon we perch on a balcony overlooking the lake and watch the fascinating activities involved with Sunday washing. Clothes are copiously soaped and then mercilessly beaten with wooden mallets that seem to be used by children for cricket matches during the week. Kids and dishes are scrubbed down in the murky lake water along with the clothes. An occasional dog joins them.
Endlessly repetitive chanting drifts over from a temple's loudspeakers across the water. The incessant droning merges with the "whack, whack" of the doby ghauts. A tourist boat glides past and some kids unsuccessfully attempt to swim out to it. A man on shore lays down pieces of damaged books to dry in the sun. Another man pitches a large cloth covered bundle (a dead animal?) into the water.
The afternoon drifts lazily along with the rippling waves. Light sparkles on the water in front of the white marble Lake Palace island. On a smaller island, just in front of me, some ruins are overgrown with weeds. The Monsoon Palace hangs precariously off the corner of a nearby mountain. From here it seems as if a strong monsoon might send it sliding down.
A kingfisher hovers in the air before diving. A cormorants floats on the water before a deep dive. A hawk drifts on a breeze before accelerating towards some prey. The sun begins its rapid fall into the dusty purple hills and I am enchanted by this place!
Nov 30. After a trip to the bank replenishes our wallets, our British friend Katherine joins us for a visit to the Bharatiya Lok Kala Museum. This fine folk museum has some interesting puppets, masks, and depictions of rural traditions.
We also check out the Mewar Inn. These guys are unfortunately far from the fabulous views of the lake, but they do provide some of the best rooms for the price I've ever seen. Huge, comfortable, well furnished rooms for 60-100 rupees a night!
Back at the Anjani Hotel, Sybil teaches the staff there how to make apple pie. She produces a pretty good version out of makeshift ingredients. The Anjani manager wants to make sure he gets things right on his menu. "We call this apple pie, right?" he asks. "No," I reply. "Around here you should call it Octopussy Pie -- and serve it during the movie."
Dec 1. Riding up through the dry, yet bush covered Aravalli Hills towards the Monsoon Palace, we are reminded of a Southern California range. I gratefully breathe in the desert air, perfumed by flowers, and marvel at the rugged terrain. At the top, we ignore the gatekeeper's demand for rupees. "Ticket? ticket?" we ask. We never give money to anyone at an entrance unless they can provide a reasonable facsimile of a ticket. The palace itself is nothing, but the views are stupendous.
Next we head over to Shilpgram. An arts and crafts village created for tourists wouldn't ordinarily appeal to me, but I must admit that this place is very well done. Aside from the many vendor stalls, we see replicas of typical dwellings from all over the country. We're fortunate in visiting during a large festival. We join a large, mostly local crowd to watch dance and musical performances. The crowd's enthusiasm enhances the festive mood and we enjoy most of the performers, who hail from all parts of the country. The announcer sprinkles his introductions with a few humorous (to us) English phrases. He twice mentions that the variety of performers give India "university through diversity." Any older performer is invariably dubbed a "stalwart."
Dec 2. The bag to our "Golden Crunch" brand corn flakes pictures a folded newspaper next to a bowl of cereal. Sybil notices that the newspaper is from a New Delhi English language paper and she can clearly read one (and only one) of the headline stories:
"In the worst ever carnage witnessed in the State, at least 61 persons were killed and four injured when hundreds of armed Raveer Sena activists orchestrated an orgy of violence at the Subhashnagar tola in Laxmanpur-Bathe village late last night. the deceased are said to be family members and activists of outlawed extremest (sic) outfits.
...
The deceased included 19 children below 10 years of age and 26 women. The age of the deceased persons varies from one years to 66 years.
All of the bodies were lying at their respective housed made of mud as the CPI-ML workers and other villagers who had assembled at the spot were not allowing the police to remove the bodies. They were demanding the removal of the Chief Minister on the spot.
... ."
What a curious article to place on a bag of corn flakes! Was it simply an oversight, or is this some sort of subtle political statement being made by the cereal makers? Perhaps they had ties to the deceased?
We could have spent a lot more time in Udaipur. A couple we met (Michael and Jane) are spending all of their three month India stay here. Not a bad idea.
We take a short boat ride around Lake Pichola, stopping off at Jagmandir Island. As soon as we land, Sybil and I jump off and explore. We have plenty of time to cover the entire island, but I can find no evidence of the female clan that James Bond snuck up on. We crawl through a hole in a gate to get to some hidden ruins, overgrown with vines and swarming with gigantic bees.
Later, we meet Katherine, Michael, and Jane for lunch at the Garden Hotel. Unfortunately, we arrive too late for lunch and too early for dinner. Katherine relates to us of how she once went into an Indian restaurant where she was seated and given a menu by a waiter. After studying the menu she asked if it was too late for breakfast. "Yes Madam, too late for breakfast," replied the waiter. Katherine asks what is available on the lunch menu. After a few questions back and forth she learns there isn't anything at all available to eat. Giving up, she orders a drink. The waiter then tells her they don't have any drinks either! They had a menu and a waiter though!
After snacking on some good street chapatis outside the gates of the Sajjan Niwas Gardens, we finish out our corners with some tasty dosai at the Shreeji Garden Cafe (recommended). Back at the gardens, we follow signs for the Rose Garden only to be told that they don't actually have any roses here. Still, the place is delightfully overgrown and good for bird watching.
In a hurry to catch a train, Sybil and I rush back to Lal Ghat, grab
our stuff, and head over to the station. Whoops! We've forgotten
our clothes that were drying on the roof of the Lal Ghat Guesthouse.
I'm ready to give up on them, and they are mostly my clothes, but Sybil
is determined not to leave them. She calls the Lal Ghat and a member
of their staff rushes over with all the clothes from the roof! Pretty
nice place. I'm amazed at their ability to get the clothes to us
in time.