By 11:00 am on April 6th, we had already seen the Taj Mahal, Sister was now engaged to FBIL, we’d had a great breakfast, and packed and left the hotel. The rest of the day was just as busy as the first few hours- we visited two stores, saw another Fort (Fatehpur Sikri), we drove for about four hours, checked into our Jaipur hotel (which was AMAZING), and had a lovely dinner before heading off to bed.
Fatehpur Sikri was built by Akbar the Great as his capital city. Remember, Akbar is the grandfather of Shah Jahan, the man who had the Taj Mahal constructed. Fatehpur Sikri is another red sandstone fort, built in 15 years, and then quickly (14 years) abandoned as the water wells dried. It was apparently the first ‘planned city’ of the Mughals, which I guess means they built it entirely from scratch rather than capturing and reusing already present locations. Mistake on their part, as the water dried up. I guess the locals knew what was best!
But before we reached the fort, we had some shopping to do.
Our van, with two seats in the front, and three rows of three in the back, was fairly full, and we all sat in our self-assigned seats. It was like a very tiny airplane, where there are three seats per row (but only three rows, rather than 20 or so). An aisle ran between the seats, such that one seat was a single, and the others were a pair. Fez and I occupied row 1, her in the single seat and me next to the aisle, where the AC blasted most efficiently. AC is a must on bumpy roads with irregular driving, because the cold air, coupled with my seaband motion sickness wrist bracelets, were my best chance of avoiding car sickness. Sister and FBIL where together behind me, the single seat empty. The back row had Auntie in the two-seater aisle seat, and Mom in the single seat. It was hot sitting next to the window, but we kept the thin yellow curtains open for the views. The seats all had white sheet covers, and airplane-like seat belts. A narrow trough, big enough to hold your water bottles, sunglasses, Michigan cap, etc ran along the interior of the tan colored van. The car still had a faint floral smell from the leis we had been given the day before.
In the front, Watcher H was riding shotgun, and Driver R was obviously behind the wheel. My driver in Mumbai told me that Watcher H’s real job title is ‘cleaner’. Maybe he is the person who washes the car in the morning as well as opens the door? I’m not sure. But one day we did see a pair of washed underwear hanging to dry in the window of the back door, so maybe that isn’t all he cleans! But I’ve called him a Watcher for too many entries to change it now.
Our tour guide sat in the one empty single seat, occasionally talking. I tried to listen, because I knew I’d be interested in his words (I love history), but of course, I was also reading a historical fiction novel, so it was a difficult battle of wills.
As we drove along, Fez and I were still oblivious to the world, engrossed in our books. Probably Sister and FBIL were engrossed in engagement happiness, and I’m not sure what Auntie and Mom were up to- probably planning the wedding. But very shortly, we stopped at our first stop, and got out.
Mom, of course, once out of the van, exclaimed over all of the great (in her mind!) photo spots and insisted on taking them once we left the store. We were herded inside the elegant looking building, sat on small wooden benches, were offered drinks, which we declined, and watched a quick demonstration on how the marble inlay was made.
Both the Agra Fort (which we’d seen on Monday the 5th) and the Taj Mahal (which we’d seen earlier that day) made extensive use of marble inlay. The end result is a smooth piece of marble with fitted pieces of precious and semi-precious stones. It is very beautiful, and quite expensive.
Families are hired as a group to do the work. So an entire family will work on one, say, table top. One person makes the design; another person has the job to shape each stone in that design. The marble itself is painted a bit of an orange color, so they can etch the lines on it more visibly, and once the stone is shaped, anther family member’s skill is to cut the marble to that exact shape of the stone. There is proprietary glue that is used to hold the stones in place, and then the entire thing is polished, removing the dye stains and smoothing the surface. Depending on the design, it can take weeks to many, many months to finish a little end table top.
The demonstration was quick, but fun. The person shaping the precious stone held it, and shaped it by holding it against a spinning circular stone, which was attached to a wooden block. He spun the block with a stick, making the sharpening stone spin. It reminds me of toys we had as a kid, where you put the flat piece of plastic in a slot, and when you pulled it out, the toy would run…. I know I at least had a He-Man toy that did that. I’m not sure if that explanation makes sense or not. Regardless, he had a wheel, sitting vertically like a car tire, and he spun the wheel it by pushing a block with a stick. The stick was held in his right hand, and in his left hand he held the stone that was to be shaped. Look at the picture if it helps!
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| Making the Inlay Marble |
After we watched the demonstration, the store people brought us to a wall of rocks, and asked us to identify them. Mom and I had great fun with that. She was amazing. After the rock ID, they turned us loose on the merchandise.
The store is incredibly expensive. The less intensely designed end tables may cost $300, but the price quickly increases as the intricacy of the design increases. Yet, still, $300 per table, spread out over 4 people, and if it took 4 months of labor, the cost is less than $20/month per person. So when you look at it that way, it is incredibly well priced. Or a big rip off to the poor employees.
Of course, as we looked at the tables, Mom and I kept offering to buy something gorgeous as a wedding gift to Sister and FBIL, but they declined. The employees at this shop were even more annoying than the hawkers waiting outside. The instant you looked at any item, three employees swooped in and tried to convince you to buy it. It was very annoying, and made it difficult to enjoy the designs.
Now, in the lovely personal power outage + bathroom anecdote I told here, the story took place in a store very similar to this one. Apparently the same people own them. But this store had a much, much nicer restroom, and all of us took advantage of it safely without any mishaps. We even discovered the air freshener had our surname! Well, I guess it isn’t mine anymore, but it will always be my name in my heart. It is still Mom’s and Sister’s.
We looked at many grand pieces, not just tiny end tables, but large dinning room tables, small coasters and figurines, white marble, black marble, jewelry boxes, plates, endless items. Eventually Auntie and Mom each purchased a lovely set of coasters, and, if I remember correctly, I think Mom also bought a tiny pillbox or something for one of FBIL’s relatives. As we were about to leave, we noticed a few tiny necklaces, expressed interest, and were hustled to a previously unknown level of the building, full of stunning jewelry. I tried on a ring with ten two-carat diamonds on it. I thought it was a hideous ostentatious disaster, but bigger is better in India, and the salesmen were eager to put it on my finger, as if I would actually buy such a thing. They must be the most hopeful people ever.
But it was the inlay necklaces that entranced us. Quite simple and small, maybe a half-inch per side, the shapes were squares, diamonds, triangles, or teardrops. Each had a silver fastening, and the marble pendant had a small inlay flower on it. We gazed through them, Mom insisting upon buying one for each of her three daughters and herself. Poor Auntie didn’t get one, though.
I picked the one that instantly caught my eye- the flower, an orange blossom of some sort, was standing straight up on its stem. It was proud looking, and instantly made me feel happy. It was just a cheerful looking flower. The marble was a square, but tilted such that the corners pointed up and down. The orange flower had a tiny blue bud near the stem. If I remember correctly, Mom picked out a rectangular tablet shaped, blue flowered necklace, Sister had a tear-shaped orange flower, a big vivid flower that took up the whole stone, and Fez had an oval marble with a pretty pale blue flower.
We went outside, took the photos that Mom requested, and sweating like mad, despite being under the sunlight for only a few minutes, gladly jumped back into our van.
Our pockets lighter, and, I’m sure, a commission happily weighing down the drivers and our tour guide, we headed out to a second store. This store wasn’t on the original itinerary, but they had asked if we wanted to stop somewhere else, and one of us wanted something- I think Auntie wanted a good book on the Taj Mahal, if I remember correctly. Thus, we stopped at a small store, looked at the books, Mom bought her friend a scarf, and we looked at overpriced post cards. Sister and FBIL went to sit outside, to occupy a few empty seats along the wall, and were saddened that our driver and watcher jumped up from their seats and refused to sit while FBIL and sister were sitting. So weird. So circa 1950s. It made Sister and FBIL incredibly uncomfortable.
It is really odd, how stuck in that system they were. I mean, they were happy to talk to us, from their van seats, and happy to smile and help us out of the van, but they couldn’t sit in the same chairs as us, something that an American wouldn’t even know to think about. They are just chairs!
After all of the items were purchased, and we were comfortably seated in our van, we took the hour drive to Fatehpur Sikri. As this is the site directly after the Taj Mahal, I didn’t remember it too well from my 2009 trip, and I was eager to put it back in my memory. We were dropped off in a fairly wooded area, with large empty parking lots, and plenty of single-story buildings, all full of tourist trap souvenirs and food or water stands. We walked through them, and to a large white bus. We filed into the bus, sitting in the back rows, and very shortly the full bus took off and drove up a steep hill to the fort. Memories were starting to come back to me- we had taken autos in 2009, and the auto drivers were awfully rude to us. One even kicked us out of the auto when an India woman came up and wanted it. So I was glad for the van and the distancing of that rudeness.
When we reached the fort, memories flooded back to me, but they are apparently short-lived, because I couldn’t remember labels for the photos!
Akbar had many fun rooms built here. One, a two-story building, had a huge column in the middle, and apparently at the top of the column is where Akbar sat. The seat at the top had four walkways radiating to the four corners of the building, and along the walls sat his advisors, from all religions. Here they discussed religious philosophies and made laws, and here he tried to unite all of the religions into one. The entire fort has designs that incorporated the many religions, so it was fun having the tour guide point those out.
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| Akbar's Seat |
We saw rooms believed to be his wives’ quarters. His Muslim wife's room was small, but incredibly sculpted, with flowers, trees, and animals on every inch of it. The heads of the animals were all scratched out and obscured by a more orthodox ruler at a later date. His Hindu wife, apparently the most loved, and the one who gave him the son he so desired, had an entire set of buildings at her disposal. The Portuguese Christian wife, who may or may not have existed, had rooms full of brilliant paintings, though time has dulled them and they are difficult to see.
The fort was beautiful, but we took very few photos, probably because it came directly after the Taj Mahal. Also because I think Mom’s camera battery was dying by that point. We saw air conditioning, circa 1575, which means hallowed walls that have water flowing through them. We were forced (by Mom!) to rub some carved fruit, which meant we’d have children. Sister rubbed a pair of fruits; maybe she’ll have twins. All too soon, the heat was hitting us, and we were finished at the fort.
Mom was feeling quite sick, despite wrapping her dupatta over her head to shield herself from the sun, and was very happy to get off of the white bus that took us back down the hill. As we stepped off, right next to us, a kid threw up the very full contents of his belly. I hope Mom didn’t see that, because it was enough to make me feel sick! We walked back to the van, past the vendors and hawkers and food stands. Mom, sick as she was, wasn’t too sick to stop and purchase a cute little beaded purse for her sister.
When we got back on the van, we gave Mom my coveted seat, and I sat next to her. The air-conditioning on the window seat was terrible, but I didn’t want Mom to get sick, either. So we suffered along, driving for maybe forty minutes, weary of Mom’s belly.
Our drivers asked us if we wanted lunch, and we said no. But we were all hankering for some ice cream, so they stopped at a perky yellow hotel that they claimed had ice cream. We walked in, said we wanted ice cream, and were asked if vanilla was okay. We said sure, and sat at a table with sparkly gold tablecloths and relaxed. It was a large, galley-style room, with white walls and curved windows.
We chatted, went back to planning Sister and FBIL’s wedding, and guzzled water. The seconds turned to minutes, which continued to drag out. Where was our ice cream? I soon confided in our group my thoughts on the situation. “When we lived in the guest house, they would just go out and buy us anything we wanted,” I told them. “I think they don’t have ice cream here, they are just going out to buy it at another store!” As we continued to wait, someone caught sight of a person running up the steps with a bag in their hand! Bingo! Minutes later, a server came out with a tray full of ice cream.
“It is butterscotch!” He announced. I bellowed, “Oh God, no! That is awful!” before I realized I had left my manners behind and shut up. The server started apologizing, and said they had vanilla as well. I’d just like to say that I’ve had the Indian version of butterscotch at a wedding before, and it truly is awful. The server placed the butterscotch ice cream in front of Fez, Auntie, FBIL, and Mom, who all decided to try it, despite my outburst. Mom took one bite, choked, and requested a change to vanilla, to the amusement of the servers who stood watching. The other three tried it. Fez and FBIL actually liked it. But I was happy with my vanilla.
When we finished, we headed back to the van for the long drive to Jaipur. Mom was still feeling sick, so she stayed in the really good seat and I read less to counter-act the sick feeling. But I helped Mom adjust her seabands, and I think she started to feel better when she was wearing them properly.
As we drove along, we started to notice many camels and their herders. Excited, we stopped and took a closer look. Since everyone and their mothers ask us for money (women carrying anything will say “snap shot? Only 100 rupees”), we preemptively grabbed a 100 rupee note and put it in the camel herder’s hand as we rushed out of the van. I didn’t catch their expressions, but my sister, who made sure to hand the second herder an additional 100 rupee note, told me their faces just lit up with glee and happiness. They were simple men, slightly bent from work, wearing nothing but a white turban, white t-shirt, and white knee-length lungis. We felt so much better giving the money (works out to about $4.40) to these hard working gentlemen who didn’t ask for anything than the obnoxious hawkers. You could tell we just made their day. I itched to get closer to the camels, and asked, forgetting they didn’t speak English, if it was okay. But they understood, and by gestures directed me closer. As I got closer, with dire warnings of spitting and kicking coming from the peanut gallery, I got scared. They were SO big! I know I’ve seen them at zoos, but there is something different, seeing them on the street, blocking traffic. Plus, I’m pretty sure these guys were a lot bigger than anything at Binder Park Zoo. I hesitated, and stopped. No way was I getting any closer to them! I did my best to pose, half a dozen yards away, before rushing back to the safety of our group!
After the long drive, we pulled up to our hotel. It was a 200 years old British haveli (private mansion) and we were all speechless at the beauty of it. Of course, when I showed photos my husband later, he didn’t like the antique look and didn’t understand what the big deal was. But let me assure you, it was spectacular, though in want of a good coat of paint.
We walked up an incredibly steep ramp, which was riveted for better footing, were greeted by guards and a sari-clad woman, and walked through a narrow hallway painted blue with darker blue flower accents. It smelled amazing, by the way, which was a relief after the last hotel. She seated us in an open-air lobby that was adjacent to a courtyard that was full of small pools and yellow iron lawn tables. We sat, drinking, from a straw, an orange pop drink that was given to us, and enjoyed the beauty surrounding us.
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| Haveli Lobby |
Eventually our passports were in order and she took us on a tour to our rooms. Sister and FBIL’s room was first. We went down a stairwell, past a beautiful blue swimming pool, surrounded by bed-like lawn chairs. Next to the pool was a building, complete with a sauna, exercise room, and massage room. Past the pool was Sister and FBIL’s room. It was on the ground level, and we passed through a gate to their private patio, which had a small couch and a table with two chairs. She unlocked the door and everyone said, in unison, “wow”. The room opened into a wide space, with a large bed sitting in the center. It had an intricate baseboard, and narrow-legged end tables with squat lamps made of pottery. The walls were white, with a maroon floral pattern painted daintily about the corners and doorframes. A flat screen TV sat on top of a dresser, and the walls had extremely old photographs of Indians and Indian artwork. The floor was marble and jasper, and the bathroom huge, with a solid marble bathtub. A solid wood horse stood as room décor.
We lingered, gawking, but soon left Sister and FBIL’s luggage and continued on our tour. We headed back pass the pool, up the stairs and back to the lobby level. We then went up an incredibly narrow flight of stairs (reminded me of the escalators at a few train stops in Chicago), and faced the next room. It was for Fez and I. It was completely different, but still beautiful. We had a four-post bed, with slightly sturdier furniture. Our floor was a pattern of marble and a green stone, and we had comfortable brown couches on which to lounge. Our TV was pathetic, though. Our room’s porch overlooked another courtyard, and was full of squashy comfortable furniture. Our bathroom had an onyx and marble chevron pattern and two sinks. The light switches were made of brass. The walls were adorned with black and white photos of sullen men dressed in huge turbans. By far the best part, though, was our door lock. Sister/FBIL and Mom/Auntie had normal keys and locks. But we had a paddle-lock! You had to crouch down, pull a brass bar through the loops, put the latch down, and lock it. The key was huge. Every time we locked the door we broke into giggles. As Fez pointed out, the lock was good for us, as it was impossible to lock ourselves out!
The last room, Mom and Auntie’s room, required another set of stairs. We were starting to get confused, as the building twisted with several courtyards. Additionally confusing was the fact that all of our rooms started with the number “1”, despite being on different floors and in different buildings. We never did figure out the nomenclature.
Mom/Auntie’s room was painted an apricot color. It was large, also with a flat screen TV, and, we joked, it must be the honeymoon suite because of the layout. While lying in bed, which had a well-cushioned couch at the foot of it, you could stare directly at the bathroom door. The bathroom, nearly as big as the bedroom, had a glass door. The door was not a frosted glass. Just plain, clear, easy-to-see-through glass. Directly beyond the bathroom door was the shower. The shower, which also had glass door, as in the clear, easy-to-see through kind. So you could sit in bed and watch the other person shower, clear as day! Other than that bit of poor planning, their bathroom was amazing. So large, it also had a marble bathtub in an alcove, and two sinks. The entire room had big columns and archways, and an amazing mosaic jasper and marble floor, each piece a different polygon.
Once we saw everyone’s rooms, we headed back to our own to relax and unpack for a half hour before dinner. Fez and I put on our complimentary slippers and read our books. I called the housekeeping for wash clothes. They were confused, and just sent a person to my door. He understood perfectly in person, and came back shortly with two washclothes. Mission accomplished!
When it was time for dinner, we arrived last as we were completely lost. We hadn’t been back down to the lobby- after we’d been shown our room, we saw Mom and Auntie’s, and then had headed back to our own, which wasn’t too far away. Fez and I wandered up and down so many narrow flights, looked into different courtyards, until finally, she spotted a jar that she remembered as a room décor. It was just sitting on small low table (I mean, LOW, like 2 inches off of the ground) in the middle of the room. I’m sure people must trip over it all of the time. Regardless, we were relieved she had found the way to the lobby, and, for the next two days, we smiled happily every time we saw that jar.
We sat outdoors, in the pool patio, and ate by candlelight. We ordered Indian foods, and Sister and FBIL, eager to try a new flavor, were disappointed when once again told the only beer was a Kingfisher. Every restaurant has a list of beers, and every time, nothing on the list is actually at the restaurant. Except Kingfisher. We enjoyed our meal, topped it off with desserts, and headed back to our rooms to rest.
As Fez and I were getting ready for bed, she took off her necklace that Mom had bought her earlier in the day. And oops- it broke! The clasp had completely fallen apart. Having owned many pieces of jewelry from India, and having this exact same problem with three necklaces of my own, I was disappointed, but not exactly surprised. Shoddy workmanship is king here, and this was just further confirmation. She was incredibly disappointed and worried about hurting Mom’s feelings, but I told her we could fix it.
Fortunately, the hotel provided us with a sewing kit, and a quick call to housekeeping gave us scissors to cut the thread. I sewed the clasp back to the chain. We tugged on it. It seemed like it would hold. We snipped the thread, leaving the ends hanging in case we had to tighten it. The next day, Fez wore it just fine, until Mom, noticing the clasp was near the bottom, moved it for her and noticed the thread hanging! But Mom thought Fez had forgotten to take the price tag off of the necklace and was none-the-wiser for the broken gift…. until now. Fez is sorry, Mom! But it just broke in her hand, and there was nothing she could do about.
After we fixed the necklace, we got ready for bed.
Of course, I was in the last hundred pages of my book, so I didn’t sleep until I finished that, although Fez drifted off to sleep immediately. Once I finished the book, I then decided the air conditioning was way too loud, and flipped every switch, lights included, trying to figure out how to turn the AC off. Poor Fez. 3:00 am and I was still up annoying her. She woke up and asked if it was time to go yet. I laughed and said no. Eventually I figured the switches out, and I finally got some sleep.
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