I arrived late at
night into a tangle of narrow streets filled with zooming motorbikes and slow
moving tourists. My overzealous taxi driver tried one last time to
convince me to hire him as my driver for the next day, however, two things kept
me from giving into him, the fact that Udaipur is a very walkable city, and the
fact that his English was so terrible that I was lucky to figure out a third of
what he was saying to me.
I decided to pay a little more to stay in a hotel right across from Jagdish Temple, which meant it took me a second to locate once I arrived in the old city. This gave me the opportunity to relax and situate myself in my new location. The arrival to a new city is a traveler’s most important moment. To be able to locate a temporary home, put down bags, grab a map and orient oneself is crucial.
I decided to pay a little more to stay in a hotel right across from Jagdish Temple, which meant it took me a second to locate once I arrived in the old city. This gave me the opportunity to relax and situate myself in my new location. The arrival to a new city is a traveler’s most important moment. To be able to locate a temporary home, put down bags, grab a map and orient oneself is crucial.
"Thank you,"
I told my driver as I handed him a few rupees as a tip, and in exchange he gave
me his card, which I took, telling him that I would call if I changed my mind
about wanting a guide. We both knew I
wasn’t going to call.
I had read my hotel
was not a real Haveli, but the details put into the interior could have fooled
me. The moment I stepped into the lobby I felt like a princess, alright,
maybe it was more like a homecoming for a banished princess to a home that’s
glamour was past its prime, but that's the kind I like. After all, my own
family history is one of banished power mixed with Chinese royalty.
Five star hotels can wow and impress easily
with their opulence, but for me there's something about faded glory that makes
me spend more than a few seconds to ponder and wonder at the details and
history. 
After dropping my one
bag into my room and confirming that the internet was not working, I headed
upstairs to the much boasted about rooftop restaurant. While the man at
reception had the weaselly face often expected to run a piece of
history past its prime, the man running the restaurant greeted me with kind golden
eyes and softness much appreciated by a hungry and tired woman on her first solo
stop in India.
"After your tea,
why don't I show you the higher levels, the view is much nicer," the owner
suggested as he caught me snapping photo after photo of Jagdish Temple and the
City Palace. He brought me chai which I sipped appreciatively, as it was
the first bit of nourishment since I had a few bites of leftovers early in
the day while still in Mumbai. Once done, I followed the owner up a
flight of stairs, then higher and higher still until I was in the chhatri
surrounded by the city lights afar and the intense darkness below. With
the grace of a hospitality veteran, the owner descended the
steps and informed me that he'd come get me when my meal was ready.
At that moment I fell
in love with India. Seeing the Taj Mahal at the beginning of my trip was living
a childhood fantasy, regardless of where I was or what I was doing, beholding
the sight of my dreams would always be magnificent, however, falling in love
with a country takes more than a dreamed about sight, instead it happens in
moments like this. Listening to the distant conversations of the other
diners below, feeling the slightly cool breeze tickle and tease my astonishment,
and watching the devout night prayers in Jagdish Temple, it was enough to make
me understand what it meant to appreciate a fleeting moment without worry about
the future or wistfully rewriting the memory of the past. For just a
moment I fell for the hyped exotic mysticism of India promoted by tourism
posters, but all too soon my meal was ready.
After a delectable
tandoori paneer with a side of veg bryani, I took a quick moment to walk around
the city, but over friendly men were too much for my tired state of mind.
To bed I went, only to discover the downside of sleeping in a hotel right next
to a temple as 5:30 AM morning prayer prematurely woke me. Having
traveled to holy destinations before, this call to prayer did not bother me as
much as it could have, in fact I welcomed it. For a girl who grew up
without faith, being around religious rituals, regardless of the religion,
offered me a sense of comfort. I lay awake in bed for a few hours more
until it was a decent time for breakfast.
Again the owner of the
rooftop restaurant greeted me with kindness and suggested I see the view during
the day time. As he readied my meal I enjoyed watching the city wake up
to a new day from my position perched above it. After breakfast, and a
quick consultation with the hotel owner I marveled at Jagdish Temple up close
and then walked to the nearby City Palace. Discovering it would not open
for another half hour I wandered down to the ghats to get a glimpse of the
lake. Down slopping hills and perilously placed cow dung, I arrived at
only a small sliver of lake and a door marked “no entry”. Ahead of me I
noticed a foreigner snapping away with his camera and a group of Indian men
coming in and out of the forbidden door. As I turned to leave, the Indian
men beckoned for me to go through the door marked against violators, which was
all the encouragement I needed for me to walk through the threshold and into
the most tranquil and private view of Lake Pichola and the Lake Palace.
The men gave me free reign of the private lake garden and the foreign man,
following my lead, took this opportunity to see what was beyond the door as
well.
As I turned to thank
the men and go on my way, they stopped me, I readied a few rupee, as bribes and
tips were usually the norm in such situations, however, all they wanted was a
few photos with me. After what felt like an endless amount of snaps, I
was able to walk away and step into conversation with the foreigner as we both
headed to the City Palace. Once inside the City Palace the endless
requests for photos continued. In a good mood I agreed to just about all
requests since in turn I found ready and eager photographers who were willing
to take my photo for me with my camera. After realizing there were a
number of tour guides willing to take time away from their paying customers to
take photos of me for me, I started to say yes less often to the requests from
what felt like my fan club. This must be what it feels like to be a blonde
girl in China.
Sad to leave the overt
friendliness I discovered touring the City Palace, I directed myself away and
headed down a different alley for another glimpse of the gorgeous shades of
blue and white that made up Lake Pichola.
“Hi, I’m not trying to
sell you anything, I tried to talk to you last night, but you walked away,” an
Indian around my age started. In contrast to my tired and slightly weary
attitude of the night before, I was in a good mood and responded to this young
man. He asked the usual questions and told me about the water
conservation project he was working on and his time living in France.
Since I didn’t have anything planned for the rest of my day I kept up the conversation
and even half suspiciously let him lead me to the store of his friend.
When he didn’t try to sell me anything I relaxed a little more and agreed to
meet him after lunch.
At the appointed hour,
I found the Indian boy on a motorcycle in front of his friend’s shop. He
asked if I wanted to see Fateh Sagar Lake, I told him I didn’t quite trust
riding a bike through India, but I’m a sucker for adventure and after some hesitation,
agreed to hop on the bike. Had I not decided to get on that motorcycle I
would have missed one of my most memorable adventures. Not because we
rode through the winding uphill climb to the Monsoon Palace, nor because of the
gorgeous elephant I was able to pet for good luck, but because riding on a
motorcycle through the city of Udaipur and the villages around was exactly the
type of day I needed.
Once back in the old
city we stepped up many flights of stairs to yet another rooftop. As the
sun was debating whether or not it was time to set, the boy brought out his
photo album and showed me photos from the stories he shared during our
outing. There he was in Nice with his friends and with his ex-wife, the
French woman who cheated on him with their neighbor. As I flipped through
the pages I started to get distracted by the only other occupied table where
two women sat. The owner of the café was teaching one of them words in
Hindi, but it was the one or two words in Mandarin that caught my ear.
I spoke to them in
Mandarin and the chattier one of the two was relieved to find someone who she
could speak with.
“I am teaching them
Hindi since they don’t speak English and it’ll be hard for them to
communicate,” the owner informed me with a show of playful exasperation.
“I’m from Shanghai,
and she’s from Beijing,” I learned from the chattier of the two, “We’re retired
teachers spending a month in India.” This was the first time I had seen
older Chinese travel outside of the normal flag waving tour groups, and their
thirst for adventure made me warm to them. We traded tips from our
travels so far and I asked her for her impression of India. While
chatting with the Shanghainese woman it threw me back to my days of living in
Shanghai, the openness in conversation and lack of hesitation to share her
opinion was a welcomed reminder of a past I often miss.
Once again the moment
was interrupted and the Indian boy called me to go with him upstairs. Up
another flight of stairs to a perfect view of clear water reflected with flecks
of orange sunset, I sat down next to the Indian boy as he rolled a joint.
We sat for a heartbeat. In that moment I thought about my gratefulness to
be introduced to such a perfect view of the sun setting over Lake Pichola, but
knew where the direction of the conversation was heading. Earlier while
he talked about the heartbreak of divorce he dropped hints of romantic
intentions, so I brought up a situation of love and disappointment of my own.
During that beat while feeling the warmth of the sun fade away, I knew I had to
summon any residual acting skills left dormant from my high school days and
overdramatize what I felt was an unrequited love, a situation that was impossible,
yet tugged at my heart. Oscar worthy.
“I don’t know what to
do,” I lamented, “I know that it is hopeless, but I can’t help being so in love
with him still.” I looked down and away to emphasize the hopelessness of
my feelings.
“Don’t worry about
what to do in the future, just focus on what you do now to make yourself feel
good.” This was going to be harder than I thought.
“You’re right, I’ll
just enjoy this sunset now, but I can’t get over how in love I am for someone
who showed me he isn’t willing to do what I need him to.” I had to keep
playing dumb about his intentions and focus on my oh so heartbreaking love.
“It’s so easy to talk
to you, I felt a connection the moment we started talking, and because of this
connection, I feel like I can share my secret. After my marriage to the
French woman ended, I was heartbroken. I came back to India unsure of
what to do next. My mother was afraid I would marry another foreigner so
she quickly arranged a marriage for me. I was so depressed that I went
along with whatever my family wanted and married a traditional Indian
girl. It was a mistake from the start. I was used to my lifestyle abroad,
but my new wife wanted a traditional life. All we do is fight, and I just
feel trapped. I have a son with her, but still I feel nothing towards
her.”
“Have you tried to
make things work? It’s like you said,” I decided to use his words of woo
back at him, “all women are special and men need to take the time to figure out
how to love each individual woman the way that they need to be loved, did you
take the time with your wife to try and love her?”
“Yes, at first I
tried, but our differences are too much.”
“It’s the curse of traveling
abroad and seeing a different lifestyle. You are changed yet everyone
back home is still the same and they treat you like everything you’ve
experienced didn’t have an effect, but it did.”
“Yes, that’s exactly
what it is.” I’ve seen his situation before; I live this situation every day.
“I’m glad to be able to share this with you, I don’t like to talk about my
situation with my wife, but I feel like you understand.”
“It's nice to have a
friend who can understand the troubles we face.” I felt glad to know his
advances were over and emphasized the friend aspect of our moment on the
rooftop. Oh silly me, I didn't realize this was still part of his tactic.
“Come on, the sun has
set. You will meet my friends and myself for dinner, won’t you? You
can meet the Japanese girl I spoke about, maybe you can get a ride with her to
Pushkar.”
Dinner included still
more flights of stairs, as every hotel in Udaipur was blessed with beautiful
rooftop views of Lake Pichola. Arriving earlier than his friends, we sat
and enjoyed the view of the Lake Palace lit up with lights like a sanctuary in
a sea of midnight water. Once his friends arrived I discovered the
Japanese girl spoke very little English, and mentioning names of places in
India with a smile and over enthusiastic nodding was the extent of our
conversation. His other friend, an Indian living in the Netherlands,
spent the night over emphasizing his Europeanness, as if trying to cover up his
Indian background.
I had hoped that his
admission to being married would stop the French Indian man from making any
more advances, however, he spent the night trying to convince me to stay one
more day. He asked me to change my plans and promised to show me even
more of Udaipur. I understood his intentions and made up my mind, I would
leave early the next morning.
The last time I left
earlier than planned was a similar situation in Luxor with an Egyptian felucca
captain. The Indian and the Egyptian both had a taste for life outside of
traditional expectations and so consistently hungered for more, but instead of
figuring out how to change their situation, they focused on bedding female
travelers instead. From what I’ve learned about both countries, lonely
European women have been known to travel to each in search for an exotic tryst,
often times both men were rewarded with the attention of women seeking sex with
locals. Around the world there are lonely people, when I travel alone I
ward off any aches with conversation, but like the tourist who encourage child
beggars by giving candy, money, or pens, the women who give in to such advances
are only ruining it for those of us who seek connection outside of carnal pleasures.
I felt sorry for
him. His glory days were behind him and
he knew it. Instead of facing his
responsibilities, he tried to stay connected to his past through the women he
slept with.
The next morning my
time in Udaipur ended as it began, with a meal on the rooftop of my
hotel. Once again the kind eyed owner took special care of me. As
the morning showed itself to be chillier than the day before, he invited me to
use the indoor hookah lounge, filled with rainbow colors reflected by the sun
through multicolored glass, as my private dining room. Protected by the
wind outside, I sipped my chai and felt like a princess enjoying the last
moments of her kingdom before it faded away.
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