After Udaipur and Jodhpur we worked our way to Jaipur on yet another train journey. Energy levels were dipping and we'd been gripped by cynicism about the locals that came in fits and starts. The constant attention and more so the constant small battles to not get scammed every time you went anywhere or bought anything were getting to us. Being local celebrities, though unnerving was still comical, but bit by bit being viewed as walking cash machines (a familiar feeling) was beginning to grate once more. The Indians view anyone with white skin as being rich beyond belief, and worse still anyone from British or America as being richer still. Before 90% of transactions you would be asked where you were from so that a price could be generated. We took to choosing countries at random to tell them and avoid inflated prices, or more annoyingly it being a hook for unwanted attention from someone wanting to practice their English and or get some scam/deal rolling.Trust no one we said to ourselves, well, at least trust no rickshaw driver. This seems to have escaped us when the charismatic Nana (Baba) got his claws into us on our way to our first taste of a night at the cinema, Indian Stylee and we agreed to meet him the next day 1st thing in the morning.
It is impossible to overplay the importance of Bollywood to the Indian people. The stars are treated like gods and you see their images as often as you see the images of the plethora of Hindu gods. They churn out 1000's of films and the budgets are massive these days for the blockbusters which are advertised round the clock on TV, and on posters everywhere. The songs from the films also become the biggest hits on the radio and music TV stations. We decided to sample our first taste of a trip to the cinema at reputedly Indias finest cinema, the Raj Mandir. It looked like some kind of bizarre pink art deco blamanche. Inside it was as opulent as a maharajs bedroom. Sadly you werent allowed to take photos inside. Thanfully this did give us a respite from being papparazzi'd by the locals.
The film was not one of the big shows that we had seen being hyped up, like 'Dostana' about 2 faux gays after a sexy lead set in Miami, 'Sorry Bhai' about a bloke who does the dirty on his brother with his wife' and ' Rab na bana di jodi' about a man leading a double life, part dancing rudeboy, part geeky office worker. We settled down for 3 hours of antertainment in the form of
Ek Vivaah, which had the tag line of
he lives in her prayers, she lives in his songs. The storyline was somewhat confusing considering it was in a blend of Hindi, Urdu and bits and bobs of English, and featured what we can only assume is a very common music filled love story. The female lead was stunning, had a vast array of amazing outfits and could act quite well, wheras the male was an odd looking fella with a hook nose and only 1 expression reminiscent of Zoolander's Blue Steel. He did have a posse of devoted chums though, whereas she only had onechubby mate. It was a fascinating and engrossing spectacle. She played the devoted traditional young woman trying to keep her family together after the death of her mother then father, unable to follow her emotions and be with the cool musician because his mum didn't accept her. We couldnt work out why though because she was basically the perfect daughter in law, when he was a bit of a starry eyed gimp. He really only had that he was impressively tall for an Indian going for him. Cheers and applause burst out when they were finally united. There weren't nearly as many impromptu singing and dancing sessions as I'd thought there would be, but when they was they were on a scale and a complexity that his hard to describe. It was mesmeric.
'Nana' the rickshaw driver-cum-tour guide was a stocky little fella with a head of dyed red hair (we've still not to the bottom of why they do this) who was very keen to share the details of the routine that had kept him looking well beyond his years. He looked mid 60's but was pushing 80. With some pride he explained that he had colonic irrigation once a month, did yoga each morning, ate a vegetarian diet and 'met' his wife just once a month when he would be strong for 45mins. With a smile on my face and red cheeks of embarrassment on Nic's, once she worked out what he'd meant, we thought that we'd have a funny and hassle free day with this little man with a sexy-stay-young-plan especially after he promised us we wouldn't get taken to any shops or restaurants to get him commission. We met him the next day and discussed how we just wanted to go out to the Amber Fort and then back into town to see The Palace and the astronomicalcreations of Janta Manter, and nothing else. As we sped our way through the Pink City to The Fort we were left wondering if we had made a mistake not confirming the price in no uncertain terms.
Jaipur is a funny addition to the 'golden triangle' of Delhi-Agra-Jaipiur that is the core of so many package holidays. It lacks the beauty and charm of the White City, Udaipur, and the majesty and splendor of the Blue City, Jodhpur and its Mehrangarh Fort. The Pink City, Jaipur, is a sprawling mess that doesn't look or feel very historic, and is very self consciously pink.
The deserted Lake Palace marooned in a Lake oustdie of town on the way to the Amber Fort was a surprise, but not as much of a surprise as when leafing through Nana's book of previous clients reviews we found that the French twat called Stephane that rudely ran the horrific hostel we were overcharged to stay in for Caranaval in Rio had been taken round by nana and stuck his card for casa6ipanema in the book
The Jaghar and Amber Fort's are curiously close together, and mobbed by elephants ferrying package tourists up to its ramparts. It was strange not being a target for the beggers and hawkers. They had wealthier targets in their sites. Having seen the comically inflated entrance fee, we decided we had seen enough from the outside and were unlikely to be that impressed after seeing Mehrabgarh Fort in Jodhpur and went back down to a confused Nana who didnt understand that we might not be up for paying a entrance fee that had been inflated 20 fold for foreigners. We have got increasingly annoyed at the government charging foreigners many times the rate that they charge Indians, without any understanding that they have their own wealthy middle class and that not all foreigners are as wealthy as each other. 250 rupees is not alot, 4 pounds, but its a lot here (a basic hotel room or a good meal for 2 people costs this much) so tocharge that for entrance to a shoddily presented attraction and get no more info than the locals that pay 10 Rupees isn't on, in our view.
We headed back into town, and after some chai and a chat and then a cracking lunch at a little place recommended by Nana, that featured toilets worse than Trainspotting and was frequented by mahouts who parked their elephants alongside our rickshaw, and a bizarre episode where Nana cured my nosebleed by pouring cold water on my head whilst a crowd of people stopped and stared, we visited Jantar Mantar and its enormous sun dials. They were created to measure all kinds of stuff, and predict even more, but we were content to just take lots of abstract shots of the EC Escher-esque structures and ponder how they made them.
It is impossible to overplay the importance of Bollywood to the Indian people. The stars are treated like gods and you see their images as often as you see the images of the plethora of Hindu gods. They churn out 1000's of films and the budgets are massive these days for the blockbusters which are advertised round the clock on TV, and on posters everywhere. The songs from the films also become the biggest hits on the radio and music TV stations. We decided to sample our first taste of a trip to the cinema at reputedly Indias finest cinema, the Raj Mandir. It looked like some kind of bizarre pink art deco blamanche. Inside it was as opulent as a maharajs bedroom. Sadly you werent allowed to take photos inside. Thanfully this did give us a respite from being papparazzi'd by the locals.
The film was not one of the big shows that we had seen being hyped up, like 'Dostana' about 2 faux gays after a sexy lead set in Miami, 'Sorry Bhai' about a bloke who does the dirty on his brother with his wife' and ' Rab na bana di jodi' about a man leading a double life, part dancing rudeboy, part geeky office worker. We settled down for 3 hours of antertainment in the form of Ek Vivaah, which had the tag line of he lives in her prayers, she lives in his songs. The storyline was somewhat confusing considering it was in a blend of Hindi, Urdu and bits and bobs of English, and featured what we can only assume is a very common music filled love story. The female lead was stunning, had a vast array of amazing outfits and could act quite well, wheras the male was an odd looking fella with a hook nose and only 1 expression reminiscent of Zoolander's Blue Steel. He did have a posse of devoted chums though, whereas she only had onechubby mate. It was a fascinating and engrossing spectacle. She played the devoted traditional young woman trying to keep her family together after the death of her mother then father, unable to follow her emotions and be with the cool musician because his mum didn't accept her. We couldnt work out why though because she was basically the perfect daughter in law, when he was a bit of a starry eyed gimp. He really only had that he was impressively tall for an Indian going for him. Cheers and applause burst out when they were finally united. There weren't nearly as many impromptu singing and dancing sessions as I'd thought there would be, but when they was they were on a scale and a complexity that his hard to describe. It was mesmeric.
The Jaghar and Amber Fort's are curiously close together, and mobbed by elephants ferrying package tourists up to its ramparts. It was strange not being a target for the beggers and hawkers. They had wealthier targets in their sites. Having seen the comically inflated entrance fee, we decided we had seen enough from the outside and were unlikely to be that impressed after seeing Mehrabgarh Fort in Jodhpur and went back down to a confused Nana who didnt understand that we might not be up for paying a entrance fee that had been inflated 20 fold for foreigners. We have got increasingly annoyed at the government charging foreigners many times the rate that they charge Indians, without any understanding that they have their own wealthy middle class and that not all foreigners are as wealthy as each other. 250 rupees is not alot, 4 pounds, but its a lot here (a basic hotel room or a good meal for 2 people costs this much) so tocharge that for entrance to a shoddily presented attraction and get no more info than the locals that pay 10 Rupees isn't on, in our view.
A family who insisted on having their photos taken after they had laughed themselves silly at me having my photo taken by some elephant poo.
The day started to unravel after this, with Nana spinning out the day with chat duller than a pub bore's and unnecessary stops at shops we didnt want to go to and elongated routes to them, as he persued commissions, that he had promised he wouldn't, and a longer days work so that he could angle for a full days fee for being a tour guide. He was evidentally well practiced at spinning out the day and sure enough it was late by time we got back to the hotel and we had the awkward job of insisting that we weren't gonna pay anymore than the generous fare agreed before we left. 
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