I’ve been keeping a secret. Four months ago I  made plans to come back to Udaipur. Nirmal and I decided not to tell Rafiq or Pushker. He gave them a story about picking up a friend from France at the airport on May 31st, and much to their surprise, it was me who arrived! We’ve been busy the past 12 days talking, laughing, eating and relaxing. It’s been so hot, I haven’t really wanted to do much sightseeing. I could have come at a cooler time of year, but since the three of them have more free time in the off season — which is now — I came despite the heat.

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We did go to Sunset Point one day and rode the cable cars to the top of the hill for some spectacular views of Udaipur.

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Lake Pichola and City Palace are pictured in the foreground,
while Lake Fateh Sagar shimmers in the distance.

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Lake Pichola, with Doodh Talai — the small pond — in the foreground.

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Imtiaz (Rafiq’s brother), me and Pushker

Recently I’ve been reading a number of blogs written by travelers on their first trips to India. Some are interesting, some breathless, some cringeworthy, but all fairly crackle with the excitement of first contact with India. Despite little or no prior research on the culture, and with some having only a rose-colored glasses tinged romantic notion of what they’re getting into, most of the bloggers are having fun most of the time. Perhaps one of the reasons can be explained by what my Indian friends told me on my last visit:  In India, the guest is god.

Indians are generally happy to see foreign visitors in their midst, and they look out for them better than St. Cristopher. If you’re a foreigner in India, Indians will help you, rescue you and take care of you, even if they don’t know you. After waiting in line over two hours for the elephant ride at Amber Fort, where everyone was a captive audience for the constant pestering of touts hawking their wares, my patience had worn thin. Inside the fort, a few followed me around, not taking no for an answer. About the third time I heard, “Madam! Madam!” I snapped.

“Chalo! Chalo! (Go away!)” I growled.

“Madam, excuse me,” the earnest voice continued. “You don’t need to climb those stairs. There is a ramp on this side. It may be easier for you.”

I felt like a giant ass.

If they do know you, Indians’ hospitality, warmth and kindness is boundless. On the other hand, some will grope you, cheat you, annoy you and beg from you, just like some of your own countrymen at home. And then there’s the staring, which many travelers find unnerving. Indians do that. I’ve never noticed it. I’m too busy surreptitiously staring at them.

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Happy Shopper

While on a bumpy rickshaw ride through Delhi’s Chandni Chowk neighborhood, I momentarily locked eyes with a lady shopper, and her whole face lit up. I hoped it was because she was happy to see a female foreign visitor in her usual shopping stomping ground. Yeah, let’s go with that!

Sharing the excitement of the maiden visit to India on these blogs is fun. I wasn’t immune to a huge amount of breathlessness in my emails to close friends while on the road experiencing massive daily doses of exotica, but by the time I had the time to blog about it, a good chunk of it was replaced by a more measured analysis of what I had seen and experienced. Too much breathless blogging is exhausting if not annoying to the reader. And although much of my first trip was overwhelmingly dazzling and wonderful, not everything in India is, like, totally awesome. Not the extensive, heartbreaking poverty; not the maltreatment of animals; not the pollution, litter and carelessness about the environment; not the repression and mistreatment of women; not the spate of brutal rapes and murders of women and children in the news over the last six months. India is not just a tourist’s magical wonderland. It has its problems and its dark side, just like my own country and every other country in the world.

What was cringeworthy was some of the ignorance. One blogger was surprised that traffic is on the left side of the road. History was always a painfully boring subject when I was in school, and I may not have paid a lot of attention at the time. But not to know that India had been colonized by England for, oh, a few years (almost a century) and to be unable to put two and two together is just embarrassing. Everywhere I go, the fact that people I meet know more about my country than I know about theirs motivates me to read more and research more about the places I go so that I can show them that not everyone in the U.S. is an ignorant clod. We in the U.S. really need to do something about our crappy education system and put more emphasis on learning about the rest of the world.

Even more cringeworthy were some of the cultural misinterpretations. We all analyze our travel experiences based on what we know, on what is familiar:  on our own culture. But these analyses — even with the benefit of research and other travel experience — are often grossly wrong. What you experienced and how you felt at the time are about the only parts of the experience that no one can argue with. It’s when you start trying to figure out what is really going on — and especially the why — that things really go off the rails. Sometimes a little research will shine a light on the mystery of an odd experience. Sometimes you’ll never figure it out. Better to wonder why than try to explain why, even to yourself.

I’ve been to India twice. I’ve had intercultural training in college, lived in another culture, done a bit of travel. I’ve read a lot of books about India, haunted India travel forums where I picked up many useful tips on Indian culture, and have learned some interesting cultural facts from my Indian friends. To mix a metaphor, I’ve barely scratched the tip of the iceberg. Despite my background, there are going to be oceans of things I don’t understand on future trips, and I’m sure to make some idiotic and embarrassing cultural mistakes because of my cluelessness. Happily for me, Indians will see the good intentions in my heart and forgive me as they will all the other blissfully ignorant foreign travelers.

Posts on this blog from my first India trip are sure to contain their fair share of cringeworthy cultural misinterpretations, some of which I may not even recognize for years to come. I haven’t decided whether to reread them and correct some of my ignorant first impressions. Guess I’ll just eat my shame sandwich and leave them there. I hope they at least provide plenty of comedy for the many Indians who read this blog, who are far too kind to correct me in public under the comments section.

Whether we misdescribe, misinterpret or misunderstand what we see and experience, we are all nevertheless much richer for having done it and having shared it.

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Nirmal

My last full day in Udaipur had come all too soon. I spent a good part of the day at Nirmal’s shop with him and Pushker, watching Nirmal do business with a parade of people who came and went.

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Rafiq

Several people also stopped in to say goodbye and wish me a safe journey home.

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Suddenly some loud music brought us to our feet to curiously peer out the shop door, wondering what was happening outside. It was a wedding procession.

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Life in Udaipur is a never ending parade. There’s always something interesting going on.

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You can have a good time just hanging out with your friends. That’s all I did that day. After dinner we had one last get together at the rooftop restaurant at the Island Tower Hotel.

The following day I was to fly back to Delhi, stay overnight then return to DC. Woke up feeling sick. Soon after getting up, I was throwing up and having diarrhea. You travel, and — sooner or later — it happens. I couldn’t reach Nirmal, who was going to take me to the airport, but the guy at the Mewar Haveli front desk came to my rescue. He asked for my symptoms and very kindly went to a nearby pharmacy and got me some medicine. The cashier from the bookstore annex explained each medication in detail, what they were and how often to take them. Getting sick while traveling alone in India is no cause for panic. Someone will help you. India is like that.

I was glad to have a full day in Delhi to recover before flying home, even though I spent most of it in bed in the hotel.

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Nirmal and Pushker

Now that I’m back in the states, I miss India and my Indian friends very much. But, like Arnold, I’ll be back.

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The Muharram Festival took place in Udaipur on November 26. A group of us went to a rooftop restaurant near the Mewar Haveli Hotel which was at the end of the parade route. We planned to hang out there so we’d have a great spot to view the activities when the time came. We ordered a round of drinks and watched the first show, the Udaipur sunset.

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These floats, called taziyas, are carried through the streets. In the historic section of Udaipur, the streets are not only narrow, they are hilly.

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Carrying the tall taziyas through hilly streets causes swaying at best. Ropes are tied to them to help keep their balance.

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Despite the best efforts of the team carrying them, sometimes the taziyas topple into nearby buildings.

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Muharram is a Muslim festival. There were no women in the procession.

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The festival is connected with the death of the prophet’s grandson. There are many websites which offer detailed explanations of what the festival is about. Rather than paraphrase them here, if you’d like to know more about it, follow the link in the first paragraph.

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