I left the rain in Mumbai and headed north into the state of Rajasthan, where most of my Indian stops would take place. After a relatively easy 16-hour sleeper bus, I arrived in Udaipur unsure of what to expect after the craziness of Mumbai. By now, I see past the street manure and general omnipresence of flies, the trash in every gutter, and the poor health of all the street animals. What’s left is nothing but charm and fascination, as elephants share roads with camels and scooters, while cows do whatever they damn well please, even if that means taking a rest in the middle of a highway.
Udaipur is set around a beautiful lake, equipped with island palaces, a mountain backdrop, and colorful buildings that run right up against the ghats that lead down into the lake. The streets are filled with the same Frogger game of cows and tuk-tuks, only rather that thoroughfares, the action takes place on tiny, winding streets barely big enough for one vehicle. Horns blare and cows moo, but everything moves at such a slow pace that I can’t help but enjoy the charm of it all. The film location of a few movies and the setting for some celebrity weddings, Udaipur is without a doubt India at its most romantic. Activities are mostly contained to visiting the palaces and temples in the walkable lakeside area, but the main attraction is really the town itself. From the rooftop of my hostel, I looked out over the lake, bathers taking a swim, sun setting behind the mountains, bats making their nightly pilgrimage into the forests, and lights flickering from every other rooftop oasis. The only reason I ever left the perch on top of the hostel where I was staying was really only because I’d feel guilty not venturing out, even though my temporary piece of real estate offered all you could ever ask for.
So I soaked in the views, I contemplated, I ate delicious food (with my hands only, the Indian way), and I continued to have quirky interactions with awestruck Indians. The selfie request count hovers around 3-4 per day, as it must be something about the (very) white skin and light hair all wrapped up in a tank-top and headband that prevents me from blending in with the crowd. Everyone wants to know where I’m from, what I do, and where I’m going. Not all that different from a majority of the conversations fellow backpackers auto-ask in every hostel common room, now that I think of it. For the most part, it’s all just genuine curiosity, so I do my best to oblige in the conversation, even if I have to deny handing out my phone number or Facebook every now and then. If a short conversation, a headbob, and a handshake is all it takes to make a day, then I can deal with the ignoring of personal space and general western politeness.
After a massage and masala, I was on the road again…