In the afternoon, we had the opportunity to attend a showing
at the Raj Mandir Movie Palace—and what a palace it was! The place was packed,
the interior well described as a pink cupcake. The bathrooms were typically
Indian, with upscale “squalaters” (that’s a combination of squatting, water,
and squalor—these were actually quite nice, and I was getting used to the
butt-to-heels-plus-garden-hose-spritz). Unfortunately, it was a fairly serious
movie without English subtitles, so we left early to accompany Mo. Ali and his
handpicked squad of tuktuk drivers to the “Monkey Temple” (a hilltop temple
dedicated to the sun).
Feral pigs, bullocks and dozens of monkey families populated
the road up to the temple. A 10Rp bag of peanuts would feed dozens of monkeys;
most were remarkably well behaved, taking the peanut from our hands politely.
Some monkey mothers were very protective of their babies, who exhibited real
fear—not every visitor had good intentions. The walk up the steep road was
rewarded with a panoramic view of Jaipur—a much bigger city than could be
assessed from the back of a tuktuk. We watched as the sun cast red-orange
shadows on the sandstone buildings.
As the sun set, Mo. Ali picked us up at the bottom of the
hill. People had brought extra produce and leftover food to leave on the road
for the animals, and it was a mad scramble of pigs, monkeys and goats, chasing
rolling fruit around like opposing soccer teams. I said, “Happy happy” and a
man who was dumping a load of green fruits smiled, repeated the phrase over and
over, laughing as the animals chased down the fruit.
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| Our guide to the Monkey Temple |
On the way back, Mo. Ali and the tuktuk squad brought us to
a jewelry salon. Jaipur is famous for its precious and semiprecious stones, and
many of the pieces shown were marvels to the eyes. As a non-buyer--totally worn
out by this time--I wasn’t the most popular person in the room. The earrings I
looked at were $250, way beyond anything I’d want or need, but if beauty is its
own reward, these were worth it.
One last thrilling ride (“Is this a street?”) and we were
back at the hotel, ready for dinner, a night’s sleep and a morning bus ride to
a village named Karauli. Delhi’s and Jaipur’s pollution was manifesting in many
of us as sore throats and runny noses; riding around in a tuktuk invited that
sort of thing, and the value of scarves held over the face cannot be
underrated. Got into the habit of putting a little salt in a napkin to gargle
and nose-flush (sorry, TMI!), so made out pretty well.
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| Our Heritage Hotel Guys |
Before we left the Heritage Hotel, I gave out several of the
uber-sweet macaroons I bought in Delhi. They asked for more, so I dumped most
of the package into a bowl for the staff to share. Karauli was several hours
away, so we loaded ourselves into the bus and off we went. We were stymied a
few hours out by massive road construction in a village, and sat for an hour in
Indian-style gridlock: our bus driver, dozens of tuktuk drivers, camel carts,
bullock carts, public buses and trucks were trying to nudge each other out for
the one space that led out of town.
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| At a railroad crossing: a good time for a call and a camel |
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