Day 9 - Tuesday 8 November
A trip out from JaipurFollow Eyewitness Guide recommendation and take an auto-rickshaw to Sanganer, an old town about 10 miles south, now absorbed into greater Jaipur. Our driver is very obliging (and half the price of hotel-arranged rates) but his tuk-tuk takes the hump. The clutch (handle-grip type, like on a lawnmower) is blown, and we get underway after every stop with a spurt followed by a series of lurches. Sanganer is famed as a textile-printing centre, and first stop, inevitably, is a "factory" where Driver knows he'll get a good percentage. I bargain hard for a couple of items, but it is fascinating to watch the precision of the block-printing techniques. Later in the day, we visit a paper factory, where cotton rags are turned into hand-crafted eco-friendly designer paper. Jaipur, incidentally, is plastic bag free, thanks to the bovine rights lobby. Holy cow eat holey bag. Bye bye holy cow.
The star attraction (thank you Eyewitness) is the ornately carved Sanghiji Jain Temple which in part dates back over 1000 years. The temple is on two main levels (plus crypt below), and on each level beautiful white marble Buddha-like idols are lined along the walls looking into the central courtyard. It is one of the most serene and spiritual places I have ever been. Outside, we watch a noisy wedding procession pass through the streets. Young people are dancing spontaneously to loud drumming and tooting on pipes and horns. The girls twirl around flirtatiously but the boys in golden turbans seem a little self-conscious . The veiled bride is led through the street by her father (or older brother?) at the end of a red silk bridle. I had not made the linguistic connection before.
Tourists are clearly a novelty in this part of town. As we wander down the narrow streets of brightly painted, crumbling houses, word soon passed round and women appear in door arches to watch us pass. Groups of teenage sari-clad girls gather on balconies and wave coyly at us. Small boys don't ask for Rupees, but pester until I take their photos, then laugh hilariously to see the result on the little screen. This is tourism in reverse; we are the sites the natives come to see. As we return by fits and starts in the clattery tuk-tuk, I speculate with RB on whether an Indian politician would ever get elected by promising a nation-wide rubbish-clearance campaign. As if on cue, we spot a line of bright new green litter bins fixed to some railings, a rare sight. A man is pissing next to one (not rare). Each bin is emblazoned with the words CLEAN JAIPUR. It is not clear if clean is an adjective or verb, but either way it seems a lost cause. The words are not translated into Hindi, so maybe the concept only exists for the tourists.
Popped out earlier this evening (by cycle rickshaw - I choose a man with 2 good legs) to the Raisa Plaza to discuss Oli's hard/software needs with a bloke called Dev. He charms me by asking my age and saying I look 50, and promises me the "best, best, best" price on anything I want - but still as much as UK prices, I suspect. There's the usual questioning routine, "Where you from? Why you here? What job you do? You like my India?" etc. For the job question I say that I work in a museum which is, occasionally, still true. The idea that someone so youthful (ha!) has retired could be hard to explain. But I am flattered when someone says, "What job you do? I think you are philosopher." It must be the hair. Outside this vast emporium of 21st century gizmos, I watch a woman dressed in rags fill a sack with bits of scavenged paper from the street. A philosophical conundrum, perhaps.
Now in my room, will meet up with RB for dinner shortly. The Ariya Niwas Hotel is certainly great value - very efficient, clean and attractively presented. There's even a lounge furnished like a Nawab's parlour with the sort of seating Victorian children sat in to improve their posture. But there's no bar, and booze is strictly banned in public areas. Jaipur has no pubs, so I'm relaxing in my room with a G & P. Pepsi is not a bad additive. "Indian" tonic water must have been a British invention after all.
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