Well, they said it would happen and it has. As I sit here at 2 am waiting for the next attack, I find myself tracing my culinary steps. When did it happen? Was it the water today at Ellora caves? I thought the bottle was sealed? Or, was it the spicy Indian food tonight at the hotel. Was it a little too spicy? Do I in fact feel like vomiting or is that just residual disgust from the cave attendants today at Ellora? Or, at my driver because he obviously wasn’t there when he was supposed to be, as I figured out while sitting with my new found friends, the hawkers. Or, is it the result of the multiple mosquito bites I’ve been getting?
I give up. India, you win this one. You are actually more overbearing and in my face than Russia. You actually beat Russia! I’ve never felt so watched and monitored in all my life.
If I tell one person that I need the ladies room, five others will know and not just at the hotel, also at the caves.
I’ve stopped chasing down white people, who will make excuses for the constant needling for cash.
If an Indian asks you if you would like to have something, they mean would you like to buy something. They have no interest in any kind of cultural exchange. They want you to buy something from them, their friends, their friends’ friends, etc. They are not offering you a gift. And when they see you coming and you are white, they don’t see a person, they see a pile of lose bills theirs for the pulling.
I can’t decide at this early hour who is worse, the hawkers or the cave attendants or my driver or the hotel. They obviously are all in league with each other. Forget about those beautiful Hindu and Buddhist values. Just forget about them. They are as cold and silent as the cave statues that depict them.
The culture here is take it if you can get it. Otherwise move out of the way and let someone else try.
Yep, that’s real nasea. I’ve broken out the Pepto Bismol.
I’m bummed too because I had a full day planned for tomorrow complete with a trip to the “mini Taj Mahal,” the Bibi Ka Maqbara. This masoleum is dedicated to a son’s mother, while the big one on Acra is dedicated to a favorite wife. Then, there was to be a trip to a banana farm followed by some fresh coconut juice.
It was suggested that I return once again to the Ellora caves, but I just can’t stomach the cave attendants. I worked out a deal with the head hawker to keep the others off my back, and this has worked wonderfully. But once I get into the caves, where the hawkers can’t go, it’s nothing but chatty Kathys. They chew your ear off while you ponder a painting and then they want you to pay them.
I’m supposed to feel sorry for them for forcing themselves upon me and ruining my experience of this magnificent art. I don’t.
Maybe I could if we were not standing directly in front of Hindu, Jain, and Buddhist statues and carvings.
As a white American woman traveling alone in hopes to see a World Heritage site, I feel nauseated. I don’t want to go back to the caves and that’s a shame. They are truly magical and awe inspiring. During the rainy season they are surrounded by waterfalls.
So, I am scratching Ajanta off the list. It’s a three hour drive just one way to be chased around by more hawkers and cave attendants while trying to see and appreciate some of the world’s most historic and magnificent art. No thanks. India, you have won. If you can’t be better to your tourists, I suppose you won’t have that many.
But out of the various groups, the self deprecating hotel staff, the smarmy and tone deaf cave attendants, my robot like driver, and the enterprising hawkers, I find myself sitting with the hawkers, the ones who seemingly caused me the most trouble. I think this was because an understanding could be reached. We could eventually cut the crap and just sit together as human beings.
Maybe. Or, maybe I’m just kidding myself.