Bicycle
Trip Start
Oct 20, 2008
1
90
93
Trip End
Jan 31, 2009
Bundi,
Rajasthan,
India
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
I had to ask for my check 3 times, until Mama told me to pick up a piece of paper and a pen, and calculate it myself. I guess professionalism and home-stays are inversely proportional... Turned out to be 750 rupees, including room, food and internet access. Amazing how these things pile up...
Didn't have enough rupees for Mama, so I had to see an unofficial money changer (unofficial meaning he couldn't give me an encashment certificate). His rate for the day was 45.5. Told him that I would exchange double the amount if he gave me a rate of 46
Backdrop
. So he did. Even 45.5 was better than what I got at the Indra Gandhi Airport. Plus, there was no commission charge.Paid Mama; left my large backpack at her bedroom across the kitchen, and went out to rent a decent bicycle. Got a tall one for half a dollar for the whole day. Can't believe how much my bargaining skills have improved.
A tailor stopped me, asking if I could change some Korean wongs for him. How random is that?
I should have tied my mouth with my pushi (traditional Arab headwear). Too many bugs entering my digestive tract.
It was quite challenging to ride the bicycle. The main reason was not that it was too tall for me, but that the roads were too narrow. Whenever a truck wanted to pass by, I had to throw myself on to the rocks and dirt on the side.
Everybody was staring at me. I passed by Jant Sagar, a small lake where Kipling wrote a part of his novel "Kim"
Chai with the Villagers
.The countryside was not as pristine as what you would get in Cambodia. There was just too much dirt and the plants were simply not appealing to the eye.
I couldn't figure out what their major crop was, because it had just been harvested. Tried asking the villagers but none of them could even understand the question.
As I said, this was a town on the verge of corruption. I was cycling hard to get to one of the 2 villages listed in LP, Akoda or Thikarda. However, at the well-marked entrances of both of them were young touts who insisted that I hire them as a guide. Incredible India... Everywhere else, this kind of behavior is constraint to the big city. Here, even the countryside has been infested.
Despite the touts' hollers, I kept cycling for 2 hours, following the road all the way to its Northern end. Modern villagers who rode their bikes with their cool shades on, goat shepards with an incredibly long, upwards-curving moustache and colorful turbans, and tractor drivers blasting Indian pop as they stormed past me..
Countryside
. I knew that I had to make a turn into one of the dirt roads if I wanted to see an authentic village. However, I was too timid. Was afraid that I would be considered to be trespassing.Finally, the paved road came to an end. In fact, it transformed into a bumpy dirt road. A group of local men called out to me. I had to stop. A handful of villagers wearing traditional pants/shorts, turban and large earrings were sipping chai under the shade. They didn't speak a word of English. As soon as I sat down, a flock of students surrounded the chai stall. The snappiest one among them, probably 15 years of age, spoke a bit of English. Due to our severe incompatibility, the only thing they could learn about me was that I was from Turkey. They had never heard of even a bird of that name...
Most of the houses were made of brick and mud. Different from the villages on the fringes of Dhaka, Bangladesh, as scrap metal was the dominant material there.
They were quite a few awkward moments of silence after I finished slurping my chai. I must admit that I was once again concerned about how hygienic the chai was. Not as concerned as I was in Bangladesh though
Gambling the Day Away
. Thank god there was no water being offered this time...When I took my leave, the snappy boy jumped on the back of my bicycle. We couldn't keep moving for more than a few minutes, because another group of chai drinkers/ card players were inviting us over. The attitude here was not as welcoming, because they were constantly making fun of me. I didn't mind. In the past 3 months, I had been drawing so much attention in so many different geographies that I had grown immune to it. Unable to figure the game they were playing, refused a second chai and resumed cycling.
A few minutes later, a 12-year-old in a bright blue school shirt approached me with his bicycle. He told me that he was going to the afternoon session at his school. I followed him. The hundreds of students went crazy upon seeing me. Most probably, I was one of the biggest attractions of their lives. One of the teachers brought out a plastic chair for me. The teachers were recording grades prior to my visit. Asked them what they taught. The ring of students surrounding us was getting narrower and narrower. One of the teachers had to hit a few of them with a short stick in order to get us some extra breathing space. Another one answered that he taught math. They were understaffed. Hence, there was no teacher for English
Hairy Legs and Queen of Hearts
.Surprisingly, the kids were spoilt, or perhaps over-excited. They would not listen to my directions as I tried to photograph them. The chaos melted away as soon as I left.
By the way, I jinxed myself. The teachers offered me cold water in a metal cup, which I didn't drink. Both the kids and the students had a self-aware smile on their faces. I think they noticed my suspicion that their everyday water may be contaminated.
I hadn't realized how far I had cycled. Civilization, in the Indian meaning of the word, was nowhere in sight. I was exhausted and nearly dehydrated. Hadn't calculated how much water I would need for this hot day. There was not even a small grocery store where I could buy bottled water. Began to suspect that I would be dreaming about the "contaminated" water in the metal cup soon enough...
It was excruciatingly difficult to keep the bicycle moving. My mouth was completely dry and sticky. I found it challenging even to swallow my own spit. Was curding at myself like a mad man. Thank god, I finally found a café near Kipling's lake
Life Around the Pump
. Couldn't believe that I had endured the past couple hours.Although I had drunk a liter of water and a small apple juice, I was still dehydrated. Had some mixed fruit at Ringo Star's for 50 rupees. Now, it was time to move to the rooftop of R.N. Haveli for my last sunset in Bundi.
It's unbelievable how you can't trust anybody in India. Mama had told me that there was a good rickshaw driver she knew. I had a hunch that such a person did not exist. When the guy came to pick me up at 9.30pm, he asked for 50 rupees to drop me off at the bus stand. I had come the opposite way for 25. We ended up agreeing on 40.
My sleeper bus to Udaipur was half an hour late. It looked like a new bus from the outside, but the weirdness kicked in upon boarding. This wasn't like the sleeper I had taken between Ninh Binh and Hue in Vietnam. This was a mix of both seats and bunk beds. For a reason I was never told, I was requested to take my large backpack onto the bed! As a result, the bus ride became a nightmare. Had to put half of my body on the backpack, while I put my head on a quasi-pillow made of my faithful brown sweater. Moreover, it got really cold as hours passed and I began to shiver. "Patience" I kept telling myself...
