I said goodbye to India, at three in the morning this past Sunday. Now, in Bangkok I’ve been asked, by several fellow travelers what I thought of India. Now that I’ve had some time to process my time in India, I thought I might share my overall impressions here.
As I write, I am sitting, watching the sunset high over Juhu beach, sipping a gin and tonic, and indulging in canapés, to be followed by a glass of Chilean wine and dessert. All of this complementary. I’m in the executive lounge of Mumbai’s JW Marriot. A gift, for I on my meager backpackers budget could never afford such absurd luxuries. I am alone, and yet they’ve upgraded me to a suite, with 850 square feet, its far larger than any apartment I’ve ever lived in. I hardly know what to do with myself. I had forgotten what it felt like to be in a temperature controlled room with plush linens, a rain shower, fruit basket, free bottled water, and not a single bug in sight. When I walked in, I literally emitted something near a squeal. I’ve been giddy all day. It all feels so luxurious it’s borderline ridiculous. And I intend on enjoying every last minute of it. Which includes making an active effort to utilize the sitting room and second bathroom, lest they go to waste. But I suppose thats what $10/night guesthouses will do to a person. Sure, it’s a bit stuffy and aside from a few families with young kids I’m easily one of the few guests under 60, rolling up in an airport taxi instead of the usual Mercedes town car. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t care for luxury, the truth is while I love quaint guesthouses, love how you feel part of a small family, I am, a self proclaimed hotel-whore. I love absurdly luxurious hotels, and make a point of splurging every chance I get. And after sweating for six weeks, I think it’s about time.
Udaipur is easily the prettiest city I’ve seen thus far. Our hotel is set on the lake overlooking the white and blue speckled city. It could almost be Greece. On our first night after a day of meandering the streets the four of us who felt like venturing out of the tourist box found ourselves weaving through alleyways in the heavy heat of an Indian summer night. We were off to Natraj, a thali restaurant where we would be the only foreigners. Despite the late hour and still oppressive heat I had been waiting for a food experience like this, and I wasn’t about to miss out. Once we sat down we learned Anthony Bourdain had been there, which while I religiously watch his show and truly enjoy his special brand of snarky narcissism, his presence tends to create hordes of tourists and deceased service. I was relieved to find this was hardly the case, the crowds were all local and the service was ridiculously quick and efficient. Not to mention delicious! Much like in Nepal it’s a set menu of several smaller dishes that are continuously refilled, resulting in an absurd level of fullness. Finally! A food experience worth writing about.
Jaipur, the pink city: a photo essay.
Colliding With The Earth 