Thar Ho!

Hello, and welcome to an all new and improved issue of Phases Crossed! Our trip is slowly approaching its end. While nothing about our travel is really shanti shanti, April 1st is slowly creeping up. I've slowly learned to leave behind all unnecessary physical objects in my life. In storage containers. In guest houses. In curious places. Why bother holding onto temporary things?



My travel book is such a temporary thing. Above, you can see what is left of my 2008 India Lonely Planet. The other parts of it are finished, checked off, complete, gamarnu, so we don't carry them with us anymore. Surgically removed, and then discarded. Judging by the size of the remaining travel tome, there is about 1/3 of India to go, 2/3 down. Our plan, to finish off India, is to first visit the top of the I, take a train to visit the upper part of the letter d, and then take a long bus down to the dot of the i, where we'll spend the end of our trip, before getting on the plane to go home.

In the future we won't have Lonely Planets. I'm looking forward to the new digital travel tools of the future. What they will be is an interesting thought experiment.

In this installment of our adventure much is done. Done about issues of international importance. We set out to Rajasthan, the Indian state closest to Pakistan, in search of Osama bin Laden. We are American, after all, and have certain duties, responsibilities, and allegiances to consider. But before we set out in this goal, we have some things to do. Things to consider. The border is far off, in any case. There are many things to see on the way, and many places to look.



Rajasthan is known for many things, like Rajputs, castles, deserts, camels, colors. We set out for Pushkar, the chill out capital of the former Rajput empire. On the train from Agra we meet a man from Lucknow, who says he loves how the sea comes into the city in San Francisco. I suspect he is a poet, and after we talk some more, it becomes clear that he is an renowned poet from Lucknow.

We stop in Jaipur long enough to consume some awesome dosas, nourishment we have missed since south India, and an illicit beer delivered to us out of a man's pants. We don't ask too many questions in these cases, and simply do as we're told, moving to the back of the restaurant, paying cash up front for the 750ml bottle, and drinking out of glasses wrapped in napkins. The dosas are really really good, some of the best we've had.

Pushkar



Pushkar is a town of no more than 20,000 people, built around a serene and holy lake, and is the site of India's only Brahmin temple. If you count the Israeli backpackers, the population is maybe 30,000, and if you count the rest of the travelers, then maybe 40,000. I might be exaggerating, but only by a really tiny amount. The place is so popular with Israelis that there has been a Chabad house here for over 8 years, which is completely true, but we'll return to the matter of the Israelis, and the Chabad house in due time. Hebrew appears almost as often as English in the main market, and parts of the main street are lined by Israeli style street food shops, filled with stoned Israeli travelers munching on falafel.

We arrive at night, and have a funny time finding a guest house. We settle on a place filled with really friendly French people. They feel like a big super happy, super laid back family. The feeling is a bit weird, and the owner, who is 20 something, feels like he could have grown up anywhere in the world.

At dinner, everything becomes clear. It's a guest house full of French people who have basically been living in Pushkar for months, pretty much constantly stoned. First thing in the morning, the bong comes out. That's why they are so over the top shanti, and friendly. We share a nice meal with them, the guest house owners, and some other guests, on the roof.

Bhang is a marijuana derivative, and it's vital part of life in Pushkar. Maybe all of northern India.



This is a view across the lake. Birds fly around it all day, and it's relaxing to just sit in the gazebo, or a cafe, and read and look at the water. You can see ghats, stairs like we saw in Varanasi, surrounding the lake.



I understand now the step well from Ahmedabad a bit better. It seems like Indians like to interface with water through stairs. So, you line the river with stairs, which we saw in Varanasi, but also in less intense form all over India. Pushkar's holy lake is surrounded by stairs. The step well makes more sense now. A step well allows you to interface with a well through stairs, as well.



Pushkar is indeed a chill place, and it's understandable why people spend lots of time here. Here is a snap from the Moon Cafe, across the water. Bhang Lassi is the same price as Coconut Lassi, which means that Marijuana is as easy to come by as coconuts.



Here we are, along with a new friend from England, Becky. We've just hiked up to the top of a mountain to watch the sunset. In the background, you can see the town, and the lake.



We play with some nice kids on the way up. On the way down, they transform into evil vampires.



Chasing sunsets never gets old.



We are in Pushkar for the Shiva festival. Above is a child ready to go trick or treating as Shiva. Hindu theology is still as mysterious to me now as it was two months ago, but I understand that Shiva is the God of intoxication, among other things. Sadhus, a kind of Indian holy man, spend much time naked, and stoned on bhang. Bhang lassi -- lassi with an extra bhang bang -- is served on this day. In Pushkar, however, it doesn't seem to matter whether it's a holiday or not, or even what day of the week it is, if you want bhang.



In our first guest house dinner par-tey, some local Rajasthani villagers, friends of the resident French travelers, eat with us. Later, we meet the mom, who is striking, at her shop. We know some of her story, how she lives, her family life, and so on, so when we buy from here we don't even bother to bargain.



India is a colorful place, and Rajasthan is known as one of the most chromatic. Here are some of the raw materials.



An English lady from our guest house reminds me that Shabbat is coming up, and that Pushkar has a Chabad house. Some background is in order. Shabbat is the Jewish day of rest, and Chabad is a sect of Hasidic Judaism that believes the Messiah will come once all Jews are observant. They are very friendly, lots of fun, and they chase Israeli backpackers and Jews all over the world. You can find Chabad houses in Bangkok, Thailand, all over India, South America, and even Morgantown, West Virginia, where there is a synagogue in my old house's family room. Above is the Rabbi's son.



Above, I am putting on Tefillin, which I haven't done since my Bar-Mitzvah, I think. The dinner they serve is delicious, healthy, Israeli style food. From a balcony of a guest house next door, some Indians stealthily look on to the dinner, and all of its ritual and activity, with great interest, reminding me of how I peer into a Hindu temple, wondering what the heck is going on inside.

So why all this Chabad in Pushkar? It's a very popular Israeli travel destination. It even has a Yeshiva, a religious school, and Mikveh, or ritual bath. So why all this our in the middle of the desert? The Chabadniks, in their 19th century Polish outfits, dressed in all black, look a bit out of place in the middle of the desert, where all the Israelis are dressed in loose fitting, sun and heat friendly, white.

Later, I meet some Isrealis with some hints. They explain that in school, when they are growing up, they are warned about going to India and doing too many drugs. A mom's greatest fear is that her child comes home thinking of themselves as an orange, or maybe a dolphin who has to be kept in the bathtub all the time, in order to stay wet. Moms are also afraid their children will return home ultra-religious, which of course makes all the pieces here, the Yeshiva, the outreach, the drugs, fit together a bit better.

The age of the Chabad house, eight years, explains another thing, too. This has been a popular travel destination for at least a decade, so the locals have had plenty of time to adjust. Many of the guest house owners, hip and young, are culturally indistinguishable, in many ways, from the travelers. How they talk, what they smoke, how they behave. Why? Probably because they came of age while hanging out with with the travelers they now host.

Satisfied that Osama is not in Pushkar, we move on. Our trip happens to align with Becky's, so we caravan to Udaipur. Becky is one of the few, brave, individual female travelers we meet in India. Foreigners attract a lot of attention in India, and female travelers even more so, almost all of it unwanted. A typical conversation for us begins with being asked these questions: "Where from?" -- What country are you from?, "How old?", "Married?", "Why not?", name, and so on. Becky is more than happy to claim Alex and I as her two husbands, to simplify things, on the bus trip to Udaipur. This might raise more questions, though, than it answers.


Udaipur

On the way to Udaipur, traffic comes to a dead stop in the middle of nowhere, as a truck is righted back onto the road. We meet some local villagers, as well as other stopped passengers.



I've been in India for two months without really getting sick, aside from a minor cold here and there, some congestion, or some slight digestive discomfort. But what about the Delhi Belly? How lucky can I be really? Oh not so lucky forever, as it turns out. In retrospect, I think it was the delicious snacks I bought for the bus. Becky and I were the biggest fans, and were knocked out for the longest period of time, while Alex didn't like it that much, and was only sick for a day or so. The bag said 500g on it, but it weighed more than that, and was taped shut. We gave it away to a ragamuffin as soon we noticed this, but only after consuming a handful or two of delicious and spicy Rajasthani junk food.

While one can't be sure, I think the snacks were at fault. Nothing the nuclear option, antibiotics, plus some sleep and water can't fix, though. But my experience of Udaipur was kind of weak, since I spent most of it in bed, so if I'm unenthusiastic about it, it's because it isn't that cool, or I wasn't so cool. Maybe both.



Finally, we arrive at night, to Dream Heaven Home, our guest house of choice. It's important to have a place picked out if you are arriving at night, as searching for a place, at night, with a big backpack, is no fun at all. Above is the view we see, as we sit down to our first real meal since breakfast. A glittering palace and city, resting on the edge of a lake. It's totally magical, and this photo, and my description, can't properly convey the feeling one gets up here at night.



The guest house itself has a really nice design touch, as well. Sitting up here, on the rooftop restaurant, is a real pleasure. One feels like a Raj, or a Mughal king.



Udaipur is famous for surrounding some lakes, with a palace built into the center of one of the lakes. The lake palace appears in the Bond film Octopussy, and you can choose from over 100 venues to watch the film every night.

The city palace museum was ok, but the real magic is looking at the city at night from the guesthouse's rooftop restaurant. I don't get the sense that one can fully interface with the lake, and it's beauty, unless it's from a few prescripted places, which is kind of lame. On the other hand, I spent most of my time in bed, so what do I know?



This is the city palace we saw at night, earlier, during the day. This is not the palace on the lake, but sits on the edge of the lake. It's lovely.



This is a gateway to a laundry ghat. Women and men also bathe here, in different sections. It's easier to appreciate the importance of water to all life while traveling in India. You don't have running water everywhere, and clay buckets of water are often ferried about, coming from wells, and stored in houses and restaurants. The use and importance of water is less transparent here, and it's integral relationship with our life is made more obvious. Many kitchens we eat at cook with tubs of water that is carried in. We see people do laundry and bathe in public, near real bodies of water, all the time.



We are surrounded by all kinds of interesting things. From our room's window we see a temple that is also used as a school for children. We can see and hear them running and shouting, and teachers wandering about.



Every morning, below our window, a troop of monkeys does what troops of monkeys do. Monkey business. Sleep, pick bugs off one another, and play and swing from branches.



Above, a mother and child.



It turns out the non-touristy area behind our guest house is quite lovely, a snapshot of quiet Indian city life.



There's a really cute German bakery type cafe in Udaipur that is popular with travelers as well as locals. Alex and I have a snack, and we meet a nice guy from Kerala doing a PhD in Udaipur in chemistry, and two cute high schoolers -- all of whom seem as international as any visiting foreigner. This is interesting to me, as we meet lots of Indian people from a broad spectrum of walks of life on this trip. These folks could have told me they were non-resident Indians from the US or England, and I wouldn't have known the difference.



In all of India, city cows seem to mostly subsist on the copious amounts of trash that is thrown into the street. These particular cows have a sweet spot staked out on the walk to town from our guest house. This bovine breakfast must be inspired by The Hitchhiker's Guide To the Galaxy -- a towel being a traveler's best friend. In a tight spot, it can be sucked on for nutrition.

Speaking of food -- on the way out we stop for some more south Indian food, as we miss it dearly. We eat at a restaurant that has the world record for the largest dosa -- 27ft in length. It takes engineers, not just cooks, to do something like this. The menu has a 500 Rs 4ft dosa, but we don't go there. What if it ate us?

And so, having escaped with our lives from larger than life dosas, digestive systems intact, we set out towards Pakistan, in search of Osama, with a few more stops in Rajasthan along the way. Stay tuned for accounts of all this and more -- larger than life photographs, and thinner than real written images. And bring your pajama pants, as the riding gets rough. Harem pants and dhotis are acceptable, too.