Two Train Tickets to Rajastan

Floating Palace Jaipur 

We've been in India for over three weeks now. People always pulling for our attention. Be it a shop owner hollering “Excuse me, madame! Good price for you!” Or young boys asking for selfies with us “Excuse me, one photo!” You attention is pulled in a million different directions all at once. While visiting a fort, a man popped his head over the balcony above us and said “Money?”...What? No. Where did you even come from?? 

The sleeper trains have many different classes at many different price points. It goes 1st AC--super posh. 2nd AC--four bunks, a curtain, bedding. 3rd AC--six bunks, bedding. Sleeper class-six bunks, no AC, no bedding. And then General Unreserved--no garintee. For our journey to Jaipur, Anni and I had our first experience in 3rd class. Upon boarding there was already a man sleeping in our bed. We woke him up, showing our ticket. He grumbled and crawled up to the top bunk. The man across from us was sprawled out, sawing logs! Scratching his butt, rolling over and snoring some more. 

Train Neighbors

Soon after we departed, I went on a coffee mission, looking for the dining cart. I walked through rows and rows of people in the various states of dishevel that comes with a cross country trip. I opened the exit to one car, passed the bathrooms and the metal connector--where you could see the tracks passing under your feet in a blur--then into the entrance of the next car. I repeated this 25 or 30 times. Finally I stumbled into a car where ten train employees were sitting on the floor eating curry and rice with their hands. They all looked up with total shock...”Coffee?” I said

Yeah yeah, but what was I doing there? A question we seem to get asked quite often. They asked my seat number and sent me walking back through the train labyrinth of dozing Indians. In this country, I often find myself surrounded by so many people, I can’t help but feel lost, anonymous, and small. Not in a tragic way just in the realistic way of being one of seven billion. 
A few minutes later two steaming cups of Nescafé arrived on a tray. (How he compensated for the jostle of the train and opened allll those fucking doors with out spilling our coffee still has me awed)

After our 22 hour relationship with train car B1, we spilled out onto the streets of Jaipur. Our host had told us the hostel was difficult to find and gave us his number just in case. Sure enough our driver got lost. Annika called our host, who we handed over to the taxi driver, who promptly rolled down his window and called over a boy working at a fruit stand. He handed the boy Anni’s phone through the window. The boy then carried the phone back to his father, who consulted with his brother (?). We watched as her phone was swallowed up by the busy street. The two men finally walked back over to our taxi, gave the driver her phone, and told him the correct directions.

Chalo hostel was our home for the next six nights. Chalo means “let’s go” in Hindi. Which turns out to be quite confusing when trying to explain to a tuk tuk driver where you’re trying to go! I mean, you can imagine how the conversation would go something like:
“Where do you want to go?”
“Chalo hostel.”
“Which one?”
“Chalo!”
“But where?”

Just kidding, the taxi and tuk-tuk drivers never have any idea where we’re trying to go! Like a surprising lack of knowledge about the town they drive in. Which seems like if you’d been born and raised in a city AND you drive around for a living that you would know some of the places. It’s not like they don’t know some of the places, they know none of the places...

Chalo was a small 4-story home with a large Indian family living on the 2nd floor—we had to keep investigating the family tree, it seemed everyday we met a new cousin or nephew, auntie, or barnyard critter. One morning while eating breakfast, our host walked in and announced “Look! A small goat!” A neighbor kid had a week old little little goat in her arms. “Wow that IS a small goat!”

There was a beautiful rooftop garden that looked out on a jam packed rustic skyline. On almost every rooftop there was a group of boys flying a small plastic kite. The kites filled the sky, the sun was setting. A nearby mosque began broadcasting evening prayer. What a magical place we’d stumbled upon.

Chalo was located in the old town: a largely Muslim area of Jaipur. Women wore more black berkas than colorful saris. Goats roamed the crowded streets-eating the most unusual assortment of street offerings, once we saw two eating posters off a wall. The whole area had a completely different vibe that other parts of India.

Too much sweetness for one picture! Annika, Shana, Aaron, and me.

View from Chalo 

Our next door neighbors where a sweet couple from Florida—Aaron and Shana—who’ve taken the brave, bold move to quit their jobs and travel the world. They’d been on the road for eight months so far! I forgot how much I loved Americans. There was a sweet familiarity of kicking it with my people. We played by the same social rules, and shared slang, little things I take for granted. Three days in a row we went out with Aaron and Shana in search of salad! Indian food is amazingly delish but sits in your belly like a led weight. Because of the Diwali holiday every salad possibility was thwarted. But man we gave it a good shot and it led us on some hilarious adventures. 

Diwali is a Hindu Festival of Lights, where good raises above evil, light above dark, and intelligence over ignorance. There are twinkle light hanging from every building. The whole city sparkled. In fact the whole country of India shines so bright during the Diwali holiday it’s clearly seen from space! One night, Annika and I ended up on the wrong bus. After an hour, we stepped onto the sidewalk in completely not the location we were shooting for. But being glass-half-full-babes, we both agreed it was a wonderful 10 rupee Diwali light tour!

This is India on Diwali

Sleeping Prohibited