So I arrived in Udaipur after a 17 hour journey on a government bus, with just the chicken on my lap for company. Despite my wish to maintain contact with the measured and cynical fowl after such stimulating conversation, the owner took it to a nearby stall where it's head was neatly lopped off, marking the end of our short relationship. Morose and alone, I managed to stumble to a nearby guesthouse to mourn the passing of my recent acquaintance, which luckily had both an excellent view and delicious chicken curry.
It was here that I came upon a group of dread locked UK residents playing the pan pipes. This is the closest stock image I could find. Like this but much less awesome.
The group withdrew back to the kitchen door like the successful raiding party they were, leaving one 'guard' beside me to ensure that I went through with this glowing recommendation. I wrote the review to the best of my literary abilities, making sure to mention the friendly staff and the 'fantastic' omelette, before submitting this lie under the watchful gaze of my gaoler. Satisfied that his work was complete he retreated grinning to the kitchen, allowing me freedom from the restaurant at last. I was left feeling violated, like some cyber prostitute who had just been pimped out for virtual gold stars. 5 quid gets you a like, 10 quid gets you one review, and for 50 quid I'll go the whole shebang, 5 stars all round.
It was here that I came upon a group of dread locked UK residents playing the pan pipes. This is the closest stock image I could find. Like this but much less awesome.
Using my now bulletproof pickup line ('Can I have a cigarette?') I sat down and joined the collective. It quickly became clear that the group weren't familiar with each other despite their similar appearances, and as such were rattling through the usual small talk until we got to the (apparently contentious) topic of what everyone was reading at the moment.
"War and Peace man, I really connect with the like, spirituality of the battle of, you know, war and peace" stated one of the 'Brad Pitt in True Romance' lookalikes.
"Ugh, another one of those", came the retort from across the table. This one was short and rotund, wearing baggy cotton trousers that were just a little too small for him, allowing his fairly considerable stomach to bulge through the gap between his jodhpurs and 'natural fibres' t-shirt. His douchey goatee made him look like Gimli's less popular brother.
"whaddaya mean, man?" said a third.
"I'm like, fed up with everyone talking about Tolstoy and Kafka", said the pretentious fatty. "I read Anna Karenina before, like, everyone was talking about it." So before you were born or the book published.
"I'm not gonna read W&P until all the fuss dies down, and I can like, enjoy it without fakers interpreting it wrong". Really? EVERYONE'S talking about a writer dead for the past 100 years? Yeah, I can't open the Hindustan Times without seeing an Editorial debating the merits of a dead bearded Russian, I thought. I tried to lighten the tone.
"I'm not gonna read W&P until all the fuss dies down, and I can like, enjoy it without fakers interpreting it wrong". Really? EVERYONE'S talking about a writer dead for the past 100 years? Yeah, I can't open the Hindustan Times without seeing an Editorial debating the merits of a dead bearded Russian, I thought. I tried to lighten the tone.
"Haha yeah, any of you guys read Game of Thrones?" This was deemed too lowbrow a literary topic to draw an answer from any of them. "Harry Potter, or....". No answer. I decided to keep schtum.
"Anyway, I'm only gonna read it in Hebrew, because it's the language it was designed to be read in, man" he continued. This seemed to have a pungent whiff of bullshit about it, but again I kept out of it on the basis that I, like everyone else there, knew nothing about Tolstoy.
Following this 'profound' point the issue of literature was considered closed by the other members of the group, which somehow led the topic of conversation onto evolution, specifically, the lack of existence of said theory.
"I see it like this man", spake the prophetic hobbit, tucking into some chicken drumsticks. "Now I'm not like, religious, but if you really interpret the Old Testament like it's meant to be read, you can prove that evolution is phoney". I asked him what he meant by this. He blustered out some bollocks and changed tack. "Riddle me this, man. How come we have fish, and like, people, but no fish people?" He spread his arms in a triumphant and final gesture. Ironic that such a point should be made by the missing link I thought, but nothing witty came out of my mouth. I honestly had no answer. Sensing his advantage, the man who would be Jesus stood up and made to leave, bestowing on us one final piece of wisdom. "The tide comes in and the tide goes out. You can't explain that, man". There was an awkward silence for a couple of seconds. True Romance hippie was the first to break the peace.
"Um, isn't that, um, the effect of the gravity of the moon?" There were some consensual mutterings among the group. The human bowling ball stopped his flight towards the stairs, turned and surveyed the group.
"But what is the moon other than the Earth's daughter?" The arms raised again in victory and he half turned to leave.
"Kudos man, Kudos" said True Romance. What the hell? WHAT? The very fact that these people are allowed to roam free without some sort of selective breeding system to cull their numbers is something I have given some thought to.
Anyway, as much as I would like to write about the need for a 'no hippie left behind' re-education program, the regular power cuts here mean I must press on, or lose my rant to another lightning strike.
I left Udaipur for Pushkar, the birthplace of 'the creator' of Hinduism. It was as amazing and beautiful as was to be expected, but once again nothing particularly strange happened during my visit, leaving me little to write about. So as is becoming a theme, here are some sweet photos, followed by another monologue of western bewilderment.
This guy was practicing his Napoleon Dynamite-esque bow staff skills, and dropped the stick every time he flamboyantly threw it skywards. Such as right after this photo. Profound, man.
So following this enlightening sunset I took the train to Agra in order to tick off the Taj Mahal from the list of monuments everyone must get photos in front of, with some success.
However, it wasn't until my sightseeing was done that utter bemusement once again found me, manifesting itself in the form of compulsory trip advisor reviews.
On returning to the guest house in Agra, it had occurred to me that the staff were being slightly over friendly. Wherever I moved, there they were, asking me if I needed anything, providing bottles of water without request, and knocking on my door just to check that my stay was satisfactory. It seemed a little strange, but I was one of three people staying there at the time, so I figured they were just bored. But the reason for this constant interference became clear the next morning over breakfast.
There I was, enjoying my omelette alone in the restaurant without a care in the world, when through the kitchen door emerged the entire staff of the establishment. Organised in a formation rarely seen outside of West Side Story, they walked slowly towards me with fixed and determined grins, as though this moment would be the piece de resistance of my stay. The receptionist led the group, bearing a laptop, which he gently but firmly placed in front of me. Trip advisor was open on the screen. Suddenly the over familiarity made sense - it had all been a Machiavellian ploy to make me sing their praises to anyone on the internet that would listen.
"I don't have a trip advisor account" I explained, hoping this would be enough to deter the grinning wolverines. However, all this seemed to cause some discontent among the group. After some discussion the receptionist, clearly the kingpin of this cyber gang, confronted the issue head on.
"You....create account?" This was met by agreement and much head bobbing. I really didn't see any way out of this, so an account was created for the very purpose of extolling their virtues, essentially against my will. The five pairs of eyes were glued to the screen as I typed my name and address. Every aspect of this process would be meticulously scrutinized. On the account's creation, my hand was gently but firmly removed from the keyboard, and the hotel was typed in.
"You enjoy stay? Please, you write review" said the leader.
I didn't know what to say. I hadn't even showered yet, let alone mentally prepared myself for social lynching.
So with expectant faces looking on, I compromised with myself that I WOULD write the review, but would first gauge the reaction to the differing levels of review I could offer. I clicked on 2/5. Furious muttering commenced among the assembled group adamant that this was not a fair representation, and accusatory glances were thrown towards culpable members of the party. I went for 3/5. The muttering softened, but discontent was still evident. One of the waiting staff appeared to be getting blamed for the faults in my stay. 4/5. Smiles all round and the waiter was allowed back into the group. I went the whole hog: 5 out of bloody 5, the most undeserved score in the history of reviews. Muted celebration erupted; hands were shook, backs were patted, and general merriment replaced the air of uneasy anticipation that had existed just moments before.
I didn't know what to say. I hadn't even showered yet, let alone mentally prepared myself for social lynching.
So with expectant faces looking on, I compromised with myself that I WOULD write the review, but would first gauge the reaction to the differing levels of review I could offer. I clicked on 2/5. Furious muttering commenced among the assembled group adamant that this was not a fair representation, and accusatory glances were thrown towards culpable members of the party. I went for 3/5. The muttering softened, but discontent was still evident. One of the waiting staff appeared to be getting blamed for the faults in my stay. 4/5. Smiles all round and the waiter was allowed back into the group. I went the whole hog: 5 out of bloody 5, the most undeserved score in the history of reviews. Muted celebration erupted; hands were shook, backs were patted, and general merriment replaced the air of uneasy anticipation that had existed just moments before.
The group withdrew back to the kitchen door like the successful raiding party they were, leaving one 'guard' beside me to ensure that I went through with this glowing recommendation. I wrote the review to the best of my literary abilities, making sure to mention the friendly staff and the 'fantastic' omelette, before submitting this lie under the watchful gaze of my gaoler. Satisfied that his work was complete he retreated grinning to the kitchen, allowing me freedom from the restaurant at last. I was left feeling violated, like some cyber prostitute who had just been pimped out for virtual gold stars. 5 quid gets you a like, 10 quid gets you one review, and for 50 quid I'll go the whole shebang, 5 stars all round.
Considering that my stay had realistically been pretty terrible, I rescinded the review as soon as I checked out, with the view that allowing it to stand would make me the eternal bitch of the Taj Residency, Agra. I felt that being assaulted over breakfast twice in three weeks was enough to merit some response, no matter how petty a victory. So yeah, 1-1 India, your move. With this pathetic personal triumph I boarded the train to Varanasi, which while just as strange, merits it's own post - it's not so often you see that many burning corpses in one place. So, due to time constraints and the regular lightning strikes in Darjeeling, that is where my well trodden and unoriginal tour currently ends.
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