Travelers' Serendipity

This morning we go birdwatching in Baradhpur, and that is all we have planned for the day. The rest of the day is supposed to be just a travel day -- a long, boring drive. So, in the way that these things happen, it is filled with wonderful surprises and turns out to be one of our most memorable and favorite days of the whole trip. For example, we see these ladies carrying rainbow-colored loads of grass on the side of the highway:

And a pilgrimage, working its way toward Jaipur for the Holi festival next week:

We stop at a temple along the way, but I can't tell you what it's called since it's not normally visited by tourists, and the name is written only in Hindi script. We have to run across both directions of the highway to get there, nearly causing my poor mother a heart attack. It opens just after we arrive, and so we are there to watch the temple-goers enter, ringing the bell at the front. They get stamps (like a Hindu third eye) on their forehead, and if there's one thing I love about Hinduism and Buddhism, it's how un-dogmatic and laid-back they are. So they warmly offer us the stamps, too, though it's so clear we are not followers. In the photo below, I may look like I have a worried furrow in my brow but, in fact, it is just my red forehead stamp. They also have the girls take rice puffs from a communal  outstretched hand, and I quickly usher them away, take their photos, and surreptitiously take the puffs from them and throw them away. The girls want to know why I won't let them eat any, and on our way out of the temple, a boy going in vomits all over -- then keeps going, presumably to stick his hand in the communal outstretched palm, too. "That's why!"

And finally, as we pull into Jaipur, our driver Dinesh takes us to see the Gatalji temple at dusk. It's not on our itinerary, and in fact we've never heard of it, but right from the start, it feels magical. First of all, it's run down -- but not too much so -- and beautiful at the same time. It looks like something straight out of Shangri-La, nestled inbetween cliffs. I take a crazy number of architecture and people photos here. And one of the things that makes it most unforgettable is that this is where we are swarmed by the monkeys.

 

Attack of the Killer Monkeys

Today turns out to be wildlife day, and we start it off with a rickshaw ride through Keoladeo National Park in Barhadpur for birdwatching. I must admit that it takes our family a little while to settle into the pace of slowly biking through and finding birds hidden among the branches. We are generally more of a hit-you-over-the-head-with-your-entertainment kind of a family (see: Bollywood), and since none of us are birdwatchers, it's not all that meaningful when our drivers stop, make us search deep in the leaves, and whisper to us reverentially, "You are lucky! It's a rare blue-breasted double snoot-warbler." Yes, of course I'm making that name up.

We prefer the owls, which are both more visible and a name we recognize, and the bigger and more colorful birds, even if they're as common as dirt. But still, eventually we do settle in and rather enjoy being trucked along at a gentle pace among the birds. The rickshaw is so slow-paced that sometimes we get out and walk, and we are still going faster than it is. We see large mammals also (but alas, no excellent photos as proof), and we all especially love seeing the spotted deer with big antlers leap across the pathways.

My personal favorite of the birds is at the end, at a marshy lake. The lake is spotted with tiny islands which are in turn spotted with Siberian Cranes. I'm clearly not a National Geographic wildlife photographer, but still you can see the many, many, many crane nests up in the trees.

P comes down to the water's edge with me to take a photo and, because the lake is so marshy, she steps onto what she thinks is land, only to sink into the muck. She is both laughing and crying simultaneously, and we solve it somewhat by removing her leggings and her wet shoe and sock. G sacrifices one of her socks, so P is walking around with one shoe and one sock ("Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John, went to bed with his trousers on, one shoe off, one shoe on, Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John."). Except that my parents' rickshaw driver takes quite a shine to our little P. I mean, really, the adoration of this kid is getting ridiculous here: He insists -- and it is clear if I protest any more he will be deeply insulted -- on buying her a bag of potato chips from this little shack of a canteen, which is also frequented by goats and cows. He carries her around lovingly, and she eats up the attention more ravenously than the chips, even.

After we leave Barhadpur, we stop along the way to Jaipur at a tiny little village. Actually, collection of a few dirty shacks would be closer to the truth. And here we see a cow (one of a million, and counting...), and the cow patties that are carefully gathered, formed, dried, and then used as fuel. And we have a picture of P & G trying to walk a goat. It ends up walking them, instead.

As we approach Jaipur, P becomes our group's crack peacock hunter. Of course, it's not so hard to spot them when there are literally dozens all around. But still, she spots them first. They are the national bird of India, which seems quite fitting when you see the women in their emerald and turquoise saris.

But the animal that make the biggest impression is the monkey. Make that monkeys. A troop of monkeys. A barrel of monkeys. A cartloads of monkeys. (All official terms: look it up!) We stop at Gultaji temple, just at the edge of Jaipur. We are there in the evening, and standing at the top of the temple complex, we suddenly hear this thundrous screeching. I am standing with my dad, and we turn to see the source of the noise, and see something like 100 monkeys descending on us from above. I don't even have a chance to get my camera out for a picture of the flood pouring down on us, but I do regain my composure in time to snap about 10 pictures of my mom, girls, and Dinesh (our lovely, lovely driver/guide). In each of the 10 pictures, there are about a dozen monkeys, yet they're not the same ones! I think the only reason my mother survives this is because her instinct to protect her grandchildren against the onslaught of monkeys is just slightly higher than her instinct to jump off the nearest ledge to avoid them. They race down the steps and swarm over the temple complex and surrounding cliffs.

 

At the end, we witness a small altercation between monkeys (one pushes the other into the water in order to steal his peanut) and one large altercation (when a loud, screeching struggle over some food leaves one monkey with a tail stripped of fur and bloodied). G, of course, comes to tears over this. "Why can't the monkeys just work it out nicely?!" 

But the question of the hour is asked by P, marveling at all the primates: "But how did monkeys dissolve into humans?"

Fatehpur Sikri, The Ghost Palace

On the way between Agra and Baradhpur, we stop at Fatehpur Sikri, which is always billed as a ghost town or ghost palace. It is, in fact, an abanadoned palace/temple compound, red sandstone and lovely. But I don't know why everybody insists on calling it a ghost town or ghost palace, simply because it is unoccupied. I mean, all the palaces we visit that are now tourist sites/museums are unoccupied. No tumbleweed goes drifting past. At least, not while we are there.

 

   

We do have plenty of cows and pigs and goats drifting by, however, between the main palace and a back temple area. We walk the gauntlet between the two, preferring the cows and pigs to a whole gaggle of the most aggressive hawkers ever.

 

At the back temple complex, we encounter a head-shaving ceremony for a boy's first birthday and a temple where you are supposed to purchase then donate string and fabric in order to make three wishes. Being more skeptical and stingy than superstitious, but still wanting to indulge Pippa's wish to make wishes, I tell her to whisper her three wishes into the temple through the lattice wall. This is always a risky move in our family, as Gigi just recently told us that she made the same wish at every opportunity up till her recent eighth birthday: to get a real fairy wand that would do real magic. Evidently, a Wii does not do the trick.

  

Here, again, our daughters are a star attraction, and people want to take photos of Pippa & Gigi as much as we want photos of them.

   

If you are interested in knowing more, this is one of the more loving and detailed descriptions of Fatehpur Sikri. We like the place, but I think this NY Times writer likes it a whole lot more:

http://www.nytimes.com/1981/11/01/travel/india-s-royal-ghost-town.html?pagewanted=all

Agra and the Taj Mahal

The Taj Mahal really is everything it's cracked up to be. It's not the most famous and recognizable building in the world for nothing (think about it: can you name one other building that could be instantly identified by so many? The Eiffel Tower is probably just as recognizable, but it's a tower, not a building. Yes, I'm splitting hairs). Given that the Taj Mahal was built as an enduring symbol of love, I cannot help but include a photo of my parents, married 52 years and going strong!

And at the Taj, there are also beautiful red sandstone buildings, including a mosque on the side.

 

The only sad part about our trip to the Taj is that my brother and sister-in-law are supposed to join us but run into a series of bad luck. We are a in a convoy, with them following us and our hired driver/van for the five hour trip to Agra. But while still in Delhi city limits, the transmission of their car dies. They rush home, get it to a shop, and change cars, then following a GPS proceed to drive for five hours but make it only about 30 miles from home, since the GPS has taken them on the old road instead of the new highway. We are all disappointed not to do the Taj with them, and can imagine how frustrating that must have been for them. On the other hand, they got some fascinating photos and have an interesting story to tell about the time it took them one solid hour just to cross a crazy intersection. That kind of traffic is as much India as the Taj is, and you can read about it in "Road Rules", once it's posted.

Agra Fort, in the same town and just across the river from the Taj Mahal, is almost as impressive and picturesque as the Taj Mahal.

Our guide here, Sanjay, is amazing, and if any of you are going to be in the area and want a guide, we have his contact info. Knowledgeable, funny, great with the kids, and also excellent English (and Japanese and Spanish). You'd think that since this is India, the English would not be an issue, but I can say without exaggeration or melodrama that from all my travels in Asia -- and even comparing with countries such as Indonesia and Thailand and Vietnam nearly twenty years ago -- this country has the worst level of English I've ever experienced. There are some people who do speak English, but with such a heavy accent, it is absolutely incomprehensible. And there are many, many others who don't even have the simplest grasp: We found we had to use classic traveler pantomime to communicate even with the people working at the customs counters in the airport, a place you would really expect some command of at least numbers (one, two, three).