Street Sights

Two years and counting...

Happy Anniversary, John!

Thanks for picking the bugs out of my hair. I love you.

Get a whiff

John and I have agreed that years and years from now we’ll still be able to mentally transport back to Bombay in an instant if we encounter particular smells. This a pungent city, indeed. Here is a list of all of the aromas/stenches I made a conscious note of smelling on the mile-long walk from yoga practice to our flat this evening.

Exhaust (car, taxi, scooter and bus),
Tobacco,
Raw onions,
Dust,
Poop (dog and cow),
Roasted corn and nuts,
Nagchampa,
Sea air,
Fresh flowers,
Hot, wet garbage,
Rotting leaves,
Ginger and other cooking spices,
Public urinal,
Chai,
and of course, body odor.

A few of these smells were subtle, but most of them were utterly overwhelming. Walking down the street in Bombay is difficult. Despite being a little more confident in crossing the road, it hasn’t gotten much easier in seven months. You have to be very alert while walking. Otherwise you’ll step in dog poop or in a pothole (or in some of the more rubbley areas you’ll be surprised by stepping out of the predominant pothole), or you’ll get run over by a bicycle, or you’ll take a deep inhalation just as an exhaust-spewing bus hurtles past, or while not realizing you’re down-wind of the urinal or the garbage bin. It’s a sensory challenge, and very exhausting. And take it from me, this is one situation where deep, yogic breathing is not helpful.

June Holiday, July Monsoon

Well, I’m back in Mumbai after a month-long trip back home to the States. John and I flew back to Atlanta for his sister’s wedding, an extravagant, joyful occasion. It was a terrible journey, full of long delays, but it was of course worth it. We spent a week or so there with family and friends, during which I got to bond with my mother0in-law, have “brain dates” with my sister-in-law, celebrate with my newest brother-in-law, and spend some quality time with my beautiful little niece. Living abroad since we were married has taught us that when we go home to Atlanta, we see everyone, and it is always very busy. So its always nice to have some down time in Iowa afterward. John spent about a week there with my family. Apart from some barn dancing, severe weather, dinner with grandparents, and a visit from friends from Minnesota, it was a pretty uneventful and relaxing week. John flew back to India to return to work and I stayed in Iowa with my family until the end of June.

Before we left it was deadly hot here in Mumbai. Now the monsoon is upon us. After my return it was clear for a few days, a bit overcast but not rainy. Then it poured for three days straight. I almost felt like I was back in Wales as I sat in our flat, curled up with a book and listening to fat raindrops pelt the windows. But the air here is decidedly more humid and the rains smell different. It’s nice to see the trees washed clean of dust for a chance. But the water on the streets is something to contend with. One day this week only about 20 percent of John’s colleagues made it into the office because commuting was too difficult. Luckily we live on a hill. After a day of hard rain though, the downhill streets in our neighborhood were covered with rushing water, with little waterfalls over the curbs and, no joke, rapids. But overall the trend seems to be short downpours off and on rather than steady pouring like we saw this week. At least its nice and cool now!

Chowpatty Beach

On Sunday nights Chowpatty Beach is the place to be. Even the last few weeks when the weather has been just sweltering, Chowpatty has been swarming with people on Sunday evening. As the sun starts to set over Malabar hill, families flock to the beach and settle in the sand, play with their children, wade in the water, eat snacks and ice cream, and enjoy the atmosphere of the crowd. Its almost like a mini festival every Sunday in celebration of the sunset and a day of rest. There are food vendors and man-powered rides under twinkling lights at one end of the beach. Balloon and piwheel sellers, chai boys, ice cream men and people selling other goodies like roasted nuts and corn roam through the crowds. Grown women play tag with their families, with saris trailing and bangles jangling. Some children venture out to wade in the ridiculously polluted, though cool, water of the bay. And everyone is just there, to be out and to be together. Its a very vibrant but comfortable place to spend a summer evening. As an added bonus, it is just a twnety minute walk from our flat. Here are a few photos from a week or so ago when John and I spent and evening out at Chowpatty:

These mats outside the food stalls are actually serviced by wait staff. They're beach restaurants. See the menu?

The man swinging from the top of this ride is powering it with nothing but his own weight and the help of gravity. There are about three guys to the wheel and they take turns spinning it.

The food and drink is a big attraction to Chowpatty Beach. You can smaple the delicacies of Mumbai street food:

If you're hot you can cool down with a technicolored ice slush:

But I prefer fresh mango juice from Bachelor's, the famous juice stall across the street:

Om...

I’ve been lucky enough to do my yoga practice in a pretty idyllic spot the last few months. My instructor, a young Indian woman called Samantha, teaches all over the city. One of the women she gives private instruction to lives in a beautiful bungalow in Worli, right on the seaside. The home actually has a lawn in the back, and a wooden terrace overlooking the rocky coast and the waters of the Arabian Sea. Twice a week she lets Samantha teach an open class there. It is an amazing setting for a yoga practice. We begin at 7 pm as the sun goes down, the breeze picks up, and the tide rolls in or out on steady waves.

Samantha is a good instructor who leads a challenging practice. My ability and love for yoga have grown a lot, even in working with her a short time. Her focus is on the asanas, the body positions, which doesn’t seem all that common with other yogis here in Mumbai. Some of the other branches of yogic practice—breathing, meditation, etc.—get a lot more attention here than in the U.S. (Which is quite cool. Walking down Marine Drive the other night we saw a man sitting in lotus, pinching his nostrils shut in an alternating rhythm.) So although Samantha’s classes are familiar to me, who was introduced to yoga in the west with our focus on the body, she does incorporate breathing exercises and chanting into all of her classes. I think this is quite rare in the U.S., although some of my readers could correct this assumption of mine if I’m wrong.

But like many Mumbaikers, Samantha is taking a short vacation during the end of May, after which she is actually setting up shop in her own space. No more traveling all over town to teach classes. And the studio will be quite close to our flat which I’m happy about. But I will definitely miss practicing at the idyllic bungalow! Om…

Mango Season

My favorite thing about being in India during the month of May is MANGOES! It is mango season here, and yum! They are absolutely delicious. I’ve never really enjoyed tropical fruits before, for obvious reasons. Every mango I’ve tasted before this had to fly thousands of miles before getting to me. No wonder they weren’t juicy and flavorful like the mangoes I’ve been eating here. Mango slices, mango juice, mango lassi, mango with ice cream—at home, on the street, in restaurants. So many different colors and varieties…mmm. Our good friend Rupak and his family gave us a whole box of Alphonso mangoes which have been the most delicious so far. When we get back to Mumbai in June after our trip home, I think mango season will be over. So I’m going to keep eating them every day until we leave! Yum yum!

Bombay Reading List

When I’m in a new place I really enjoy reading fiction set in and around that place. Since I have so much free time here, I have done a lot of reading! Books upon books have stacked up in our place—all sorts of novels, but especially a lot of works by Indian authors and stories set in India. I wanted to post a few recommendations of novels that feature Bombay for those of you who want to get a richer picture of the city from some people who can really write! If I come across any other books worth mentioning in the upcoming months, I’ll add them to the list as well.

A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry is an extremely moving and well-written novel that explores the lives of the city’s poor immigrants, the living they make, the hardships they face, the people they meet and their ability to navigate the gray areas between hope and despair. The novel tells the story of two tailors who immigrate to Bombay during The Emergency years of the nineteen seventies. They find work with a young Parsi widow and befriend her tenant, a young engineering student. As they struggle to live in the sometimes welcoming, sometimes terrifying city of Bombay. If you enjoy this book, check out A Family Matter also by Mistry. This novel gives a rich depiction of Parsi life in 1970s Bombay. There are some very memorable scenes involving religion, superstition, bureaucracy, and community and mob mentality. In both novels Misty thoroughly and memorably depicts life in Bombay, the city becoming almost another character in the stories.

If you enjoy magic realism (in the vein of Murakami, Garcia Marquez, et al) like I do, then I recommend Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie. It is the story of Saleem Sinai, born at midnight on August 15, 1947, the exact date and time of India’s independence. The coincidence of his birth links Saleem inextricably to the birth and trajectory of the young nation. The special hour of his birth also has unexpected consequences: he is given telepathic powers that allow him to communicate with all of “midnight’s children” born in the initial hour of India’s independence. As Rushdie lets Saleem tell his story, he paints a picture of post-partition India and Pakistan that is both serious and comedic. I just finished this novel and really enjoyed it, often chuckling aloud at the clever observations and dark humor of this fantastical tale. (On a personal note, I especially enjoyed reading it while living here in Mumbai as Rushdie references many places and events that I have experienced myself. Saleem grows up just up the road from our neighborhood in Breach Candy and thus references many of the landmarks that John and I use to orient ourselves on a daily basis.)

Baumgartner’s Bombay by Anita Desai is the story of Hugo Baumgartner, a German-born Jew who, after leaving his home country, finds a home of sorts in Bombay. Always an outsider, Baumgartner is closest to his many adopted cats, and his only routine task is scavenging in the city and visiting tea shops to collect scraps for them. His sole human confidante is Lotte, an ex-cabaret dancer and German expatriate, until he unexpectedly meets a young German hippie whose presence in his life has profound results. Desai is an incredibly talented writer who is able to string words together in moving and delightful ways. I highly recommend her books to anyone who dapples in writing—there is a lot to learn from reading her work. Her descriptions of Bombay are very vivid and her characters complex and believable. ( I also recommend her novel Clear Light of Day, a character-driven story which takes place in the outskirts of Delhi.)

Of course I feel obligated to mention Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts. This adventure tale of an escaped Australian convict navigating the Bombay underworld is immensely popular with travelers here. You can’t go a week without seeing a well-thumbed copy in the hands of some backpacker carrying an overstuffed rucksack. This fast-paced tale is semi-autobiographical but officially labeled a work of fiction. At the risk of sounding snobbish, I have to admit that I was not as enamored with this book as many people I’ve talked to were, and in fact I didn’t even finish it. I found the writing style a bit amateurish and personally I don’t have much patience for pop-philosophizing which seeps up through the tale from time to time. That said, there is always a time and place for a quick and easy adventure book, and in conversation I hear more rave reviews than harsh criticisms. And if you’re one of those people who has to read the book before seeing the movie, now is the time to pick up Shantaram. Word on the street is that Johnny Depp has bought the rights to the story and hired an Indian director to shoot the film starring Depp in the lead role.

So if you have some free time or are looking for a good read, check out some of these Bombay novels. And feel free to post your reviews as comments on this page. I would love to hear the impressions of other readers!

It's the Heat AND the Humidity

Phew. It’s getting really hot here. Like most Midwesterners I pride myself on my ability to withstand extreme weather. Builds character and all that. But man! It’s getting hot and its only going to get hotter until the monsoon brings rain and a (slight) cooling effect. Most of us have experienced that cliché, “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity…” Well, this afternoon after about five minutes of walking through Colaba, I was convinced that both heat and humidity were likely to kill me if I didn’t sit down and gulp some water. Every day now is like the hottest, most humid day in an Iowa July. Actually, to describe it, I find myself thinking about the extreme cold of Midwest winters. You Minnesotans will know what I’m talking about. When I lived in Minneapolis and had to walk to work in the dead of winter, there were mornings when my snot would freeze immediately upon stepping out the door. Here it’s getting so hot and humid that if I have to go out for something in the afternoon, whether its groceries or relief from cabin fever, my eyelids start sweating as soon as I hit the pavement/dirt of Doongarshi Road.

We do have an air conditioner in our flat, but most of the time a ceiling fan on high is enough to keep us comfortable at home. But I think of all the people who live and work without even the luxury of a ceiling fan…what do they do? Well, they sweat. They’re just hot. And it’s okay. We have a tendency to want to over-heat and over-cool ourselves when we get a little uncomfortable. Needless to say, the fancy hotels and high-end restaurants here are absolutely frigid. But for the banana man and chaiwallah who set up shop outside St. Elizabeth Hospital down the street, a blue plastic tarp is enough to provide some relief from the midday heat. Suspended from the wall and supported by two long sticks, a simple shady lean-to provides enough relief that they still sip that piping hot chai! Though when the sun sets in the evening and the breeze starts to pick up off of the Arabian Sea, all of Mumbai lets out a nice long sigh.

Thanks for reading!

I am back in Mumbai after a spontaneous but necessary trip back home to Iowa. During my visit as I was chatting with family and friends I came to realize just how many people check in on this blog on a regular basis. Its many more people than I thought! Family, friends, friends of friends, parents of friends... I was amazed. It means a lot to me to know that I have a few curious and dedicated readers; what a morale booster! Knowing this also motivates me to do more personal writing and post more. So keep checking in for more frequent updates. And, if there are any parts of life here that you are really curious about, post a comment and I'll try to write a little something about it. Thanks again for reading!

Flower for you, Didi!

My beautiful little bhaiyas. Roshan, Akash, Aditya and Adarsh.

Haji Ali

The story goes that a Muslim pilgrim died somehow on his way to Mecca. His body washed up on the shore of Bombay and this shrine was built as his burial place. At low tide hundreds of people walk out to Haji Ali; families spend an afternoon out seeing the monument and drinking fresh juices at the famous Haji Ali juice stall; beggers line the causeway shaking tins, mangled limbs and hungry children at passersby; the resourseful sift through garbage that has washed up on shore looking for salvagable things; the energetic play impromptu games of cricket as the tide comes up; and hawkers sell knock-off sunglasses, postcards and food. Its a busy place.

Mumbai Photos

Shopping. "Shoes, Madam?"

Walking from our place down Marine Drive. Smog, mmm.

Mumbai has the largest slum population in the world. About half of its 20 million people live in communities like this:

So many things are done by hand here, including painting all of the curbs in the city:

The trucks are all elaborately painted and tassled:



Rickshaw:

Lack of facilities can be a problem:

Let the Music Take You

Dancing

Last month our Akanksha class learned about space. The kids learned about the Milky Way, the Solar System and its nine/eight planets, famous Indian astronauts and so on. When the kids found out that we were going to take a field trip to the Nehru planetarium they were ecstatic. Most of the kids had huge smiles, a few let out excited screams, and one kid, Ravindra, started dancing. He jumped up from the mat, put his hands in the air, closed his eyes and started shaking his hips and shoulders without shame. It was wonderful.

Dancing is big here. All of the Bollywood movies have musical interludes that may or may not have anything to do with the plot of the movie. The choreography, costumes, singers (all of the songs are lip-synced), etc. take up most of the budget of any Bollywood film. The songs saturate all of the radio stations, are set as ringtones on cellular phones and are sung by people of all ages and classes. All of the songs have their own exaggerated dance moves. I know, it sounds ridiculous and to me it kind of is. But here this Bollywood song and dance is the coolest of the cool in pop culture. Thus the boys in my class sing Om Shanti Om and imitate Shah Rukh Kahn’s shoulder-shaking and hip-swiveling.

In February John and I were invited the sangeet of a friend of a friend. A sangeet is a traditional pre-wedding musical celebration. I’m told that in a lot of families it is a more informal night of energetic eating and dancing. But the one we went to was something different all together. When we entered the hall of the hotel there were a few women wearing extravagant sequined saris doing a choreographed dance on a stage at the front of the hall. We quickly learned that these were in fact family members of the bride and groom who had most likely been practicing for months to get these moves down. The couple happily danced too, and got married the next morning. (It was an arranged marriage, which is still very common here, a norm in many communities, and a different entry altogether.) Some folks danced along in the crowd and we were told that by the end of the night, most of them would have gotten on stage as some point to dance, either something they had planned, or because the music took them spontaneously. It was quite a sight, and actually very refreshing to see uninhibited middle-aged people dancing poorly but confidently in front of hundreds of others who couldn't get enough of it.

Acclimation

Here is an analogy I’ve been thinking about in honor of Sir Edmund Hillary.

When people climb Mt. Everest they have to do it in stages. The most important place on that mountain isn’t always the top, but the base camp. The people climb up a bit then climb back down and do some adjusting to the altitude. Then they climb up a bit higher and then back down to a new base camp at a slightly higher altitude. You can’t just sprint to the top of a mountain because the environment is so radically different that it’ll kill you.

Sometimes I think moving to India feels a little like climbing a mountain. If I sprinted into a life here, just dove into all of the new things at once, I don’t think I’d make it. It wouldn’t kill me, but it would be pretty emotionally dangerous. Living in Mumbai is hard. Really hard. There are a lot of beautiful things about this culture and this city, but a lot of things are draining, frustrating and heart wrenching. I’ve realized that all of the differences and difficulties of India, combined with the everyday challenges of moving to any new place, will require a long period of acclimation. I wasn’t wholly willing to accept that at first. My fears about moving here manifested in my putting unreasonable pressure on myself to see things, do things, get settled, and most importantly like everything here. How naïve! My expectations were totally unreasonable and I’ve ended up in a pretty emotionally vulnerable position.

So I’m climbing back down and setting up base camps: our apartment, Priyadarshni park, the local bookshop, yoga class, Akanksha. I venture out from those places realizing that I can climb back down into their comfort for a few days at a time. Next I hope to build up some more relationships here that become sort of comfort zones—real friends outside of John and my own mind. I know I might not ever feel really comfortable during our stay here, but I hope that by paying attention to acclimation at least I’ll be able to breathe better.

The Gathering Tree

There is a spot in our neighborhood that I like to call “The Gathering Tree.” Just about any time of day or night there is a group gathered around this substantial tree. There is a low wall built around its perimeter that makes a perfect bench for lounging and chatting. Two entrepreneurial types have set up small stalls at this tree, one a paan and cigarette shop, another a small fruit stand. In this case “stall” just means a glorified wooden suitcase full of cigarettes, matchboxes, chewing gum, and paan making supplies all stacked up and organized remarkably neatly. In the case of fruit, it’s a few baskets set on the ground with piles of fresh fruit and a small scale for weighing the customer’s choices. Though small, these two businesses provide the hub of activity for our street. People gather, eat fruit, smoke cigarettes, chew paan and talk. In the evening, men who make Indian snack sandwiches and roast nuts set up shop at the tree as well. The only thing the Gathering Tree is missing is a chai stall, but there is one just a few meters down the road. Mumbai has no shortage of street-side vegetable, fruit and tobacco vendors. But the Gathering Tree has the unique appeal of leafy shade on a relatively quiet neighborhood street. This place to sit, relax and enjoy the company of friends and neighbors is one of my favorite places in Mumbai.

Young at Heart

Most of the people I know in India are under the age of ten.

The neighbor kids from our building have taken a liking to me and John. All of them seem excited by the novelty of a young American couple staying in their building. They ask a lot of questions about our country and our families. Most of them speak very good English, as the municipal schools in this and other well-to-do neighborhoods teach in English. While John has been very busy at work the last few weeks, I have spent a few evenings teaching card games and hosting drawing contests. The kids have taken to ringing the doorbell just to come inside and play cards whether I play with them or not. But they are eager to include me in their games and teach me words in Hindi. In a lot of ways they are more welcoming than many of the adults in the building.

In January there was a festival called Makar Sankranti, which has something to do with astrological phenomena, something about the sun, and a planet changes houses…I don’t really know much about the origins of the festival because what everybody talks about and gets excited about are the kites. On Makar Sankranti everyone goes up to the rooftops of their buildings or to the parks, or even just to the streets, and they fly kites. My young friends invited me to spend the afternoon kite-flying with them, and it was great fun. The kite-flying here is competitive. The small paper kites are flown on very thin, sharp strings, and people from one building try to cut the strings of neighbor buildings with their own kites. When they are successful, they shout and laugh and sing. Here are a few pictures of the kids and views from our rooftop:

I have been volunteering for some time now with a group called Akanksha, which has introduced me to another whole group of kids age 8-10. Akanksha helps to educate “underprivileged” children. Unlike the children in my building, these kids do not learn English in their municipal schools, so Akanksha focuses on teaching English. I go to one of the 25 centers around Mumbai every morning and spend a few hours tutoring in grammar, reading and writing. Math, Values and other basic skills and knowledge are also a part of Akanksha’s curriculum, so I help in those areas too. But the best thing about it is that it provides a safe, fun place for these kids to go for a few hours in the morning or afternoon. Take a look at the organization’s website if you’re interested: http://www.akanksha.org/. I know I will have a lot to write about these kids and my experience working with them during my time here.

Kittens Make Me Happy

One of the things I look forward to everyday is seeing if the kittens have grown. Mumbai has a good number of stray animals, dogs, cats, and chickens. Our building compound doesn't see any chickens or really even any dogs, but we have a lot of cats. Its a cat friendly area with minimal traffic and lots of hiding places. A couple of weeks ago I heard a tiny "mew" come from the back window and opened it to see the smallest, cutest kitten in the world staring up at me. Now Mama and her three little ones are regular tenets at our building compund. People put out little food treats for them and watch the kittens scamper about and explore. It is such a treat to have them around and watch them grow.



Adorable! The kittens and their scampering clumsiness remind me of baby Howard (my pet cat who is now living with my parents. I adpoted him when he was just about the same size as these little ones.) Really, these kittens are some of the best friends I have here in India. But I don't dare name them because I know one day they'll be big enough or bold enough that they won't turn up at my window. Until then, I'll just swoon over them like a little girl.

She's Conspicuous

Staring does not seem to be a social faux pas here. So when you’re a six-foot tall white girl…you get stared at, by women, even more by men, and especially by teenage boys. In the tourist district you sometimes see foreign women, college girls and twenty-somethings, wearing strappy tanktops and skirts that fall above the knee. Outfits like that are a traditional no-no, and because staring isn’t, they’re in for a big dose of unwanted attention. (Although I have to say here that you see quite a few Indian young women wearing “Western” clothing, especially in Mumbai and Delhi. But this usually means jeans or trousers and t-shirts, nothing that is by any means skimpy.) Once you’re out of Colaba, the main tourist and business traveler’s area, you rarely come across foreigners. Then it doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.

For a while, feeling so conspicuous was making me paranoid. When I’d go for walks I’d feel like groups of people were talking about me or laughing at something about me as I passed. This is ridiculous, I know. But going on walks is one of the few remotely interactive pastimes that I have after I finish up my volunteering sessions for the day. I don’t like feeling so solitary and uncomfortable just going for a walk, which is normally one of my favorite activities. Really, I have this urge to go to the chai wallah on the corner, buy a cup, and squat down on my haunches and sip it while all the other men gathered there go about their business. This will never happen though, because no matter how long I live here, no matter that the chai wallah sees me walk by every day, I’ll always be a white woman. My approach alone, whether I order a chai or not, is a total conversation stopper. Though I'm not up to hanging out with the chai-sippers yet, I’m learning that the best way to handle the staring is to walk confidently with a faint smile on my face, sometimes making eye contact and offering a smile of greeting—most people beam back, or say hello. A few more weeks and hopefully I’ll be able to find going out for a walk a more pleasurable experience.

But again, it’s different in the tourist area where there are more beggars and hawkers. There its best to avoid eye contact or you’ll be followed for 20 yards by men selling ridiculous things you would never need or want, like silly little drums, laminated maps, or huge balloons. Or you’ll meet eyes and be followed by little children in rags or women carrying babies, trying to keep walking, trying not to look while a lump of guilt sits in your throat. Zuber says the beggars don’t get to keep most of the money they collect. He says that there is usually someone behind the scenes that organizes the beggars and offers them “protection,” then charges most of their collections for these “services.” Seeing some of these people, though, is when it is hard for me not to stare—especially when there are little children, barefoot with matted hair and swollen bellies, or people crawling on their shriveled limbs, or waving the stump of an arm.

Being conspicuous also has the strange result of being asked to take photos with a lot of people. Yesterday I walked from my flat to Chowpatty beach and as I sat on the public beach reading the newspaper, I was asked by three different people to take a photo with them. The day before at my favorite local gathering place, Priyadarshni Park, a group of women and their children wanted their picture taken with me. A quick snap on a camera phone is one thing, but two of these people used up a frame of actual film! I don’t get it…the only thing I can thing of is that it has something to do with everyone’s innate desire to gawk at things they find disturbing or freakish, and to be able t prove that they saw it to their friends. I just wonder how many random photo albums I’ll end up in over the course of our stay here.

Another Bunch of Photos from December

Here is one more set of photos from my trip to north India in December. Soon I'll have more recent stories and photographs to share. The slow internet connection here is making me a slow post-er. But I hope to be up to date soon. Until then, here are some pics from Jaipur, the forts near Jaipur, and Pushkar.

This is Jaipur, called "The Pink City" after the pinkish wash on the buildings in the old center. As you can see, motorcycles are a very popular mode of transportation in India. I think Jaipur had the craziest traffic of any city I've ever been to. Worse than Mumbai traffic because of the sheer diversity of vehicles, people and animals occupying the road. Though it looks calm in this photo, the streets are normally crowded with cars, trucks, buses, motorcycles, autorickshaws, bicycle rickshaws, bicycles, carts pulled by oxen or camels, pedestrians and the occasional elephant. Put all of these in a roundabout, and you've got trouble.



You can see the reddish-pink of the walls better in this photo, taken from inside Jaipur's City Palace. The palace was built by the Maharaja of Jaipur, its namesake Jai Singh.



Fun fact: This is the largest silver object in the world. When Jai Singh traveled to England, he brought along his own water supply, river water from the Ganges, in this huge urn.



In the hills above the city stand three forts. Yes, we saw many-a-fort on this trip. These weren't particularly well-maintained, but they provided a nice view of the valley and the city itself. Here's a shot from fort one:



This is the view of the town of Amber from the Amber fort and palace. Some tourists opt to ride an elephant to the top of the hill rather than climbing up to the fort on foot.



Some fellow tourists enjoying a picnic at Amber palace:

Some women on a crew doing restoration work on the palace. Like most of the construction I've seen done in India, things are done largely by hand with hand tools.

The third of the palace forts provides a panoramic view over Jaipur. You can see very far, despite the smog.

Enjoying a sweet lassi at the hole-in-the-wall Lassiwallah in downtown Jaipur. Delicious and served the traditional way in an unglazed ceramic cup.

The holy lake at Pushkar:

The Brahma Temple at Pushkar: