It is hard to imagine a more stark contrast between life inside Amanbagh and life everywhere else we have been on this trip. It is difficult to believe that what we saw yesterday exists in the same country as what we are witnessing today.
As RJ, a Delhi-based Equity-Fund Manager that we met here, said to me earlier (and I paraphrase), "If you spend 6 weeks in India riding the trains, witnessing the stark contrasts in this country, you cannot help but become a philosopher." To give you some idea of what I am speaking of, the tiny village we visited today has no electricity. Now take the image you have of that village, and imagine the opposite... That's where we are today.
Our trip to Amanbagh:
When Karin woke up on March 3, she was not well. We both attribute that to the highly-recommended, yet unfortunate, lunch we had on top of the city wall in Jaipur. We had arranged to be picked up at 10:30 AM to be taken to Amanbagh. But Karin was not feeling up to it. When the driver arrived, I asked if he would wait. I returned to the room and asked Karin if I should tell the driver that she would not be able to go at all that day. She was hesitant at first, but I spelled out just how therapeutic Aman would be and she agreed to go.
We made our way down to the waiting car. As you can see in the first picture of this post, she fashioned a cocoon for herself in the car in an effort to endure the 2 hour ride. Getting out of Jaipur was particularly unpleasant as traffic was a mess. Once we were on the highway the drive was fine - but Karin was not. She had us stop a couple of times on the way to get some fresh air (euphemism).
While Karin may not have seen much more than the inside of her green scarf, the drive was very interesting. We passed through a number of villages and shared the road with many different modes of transportation. Ubiquitous were cars and trucks with many people on the roof. When the roof is full they they hang outside the vehicles. We saw cars built for 6 with more than 20 people hanging on - tearing down the highway! Those ovepacked vehicles share the road with, among other things, enormous trucks, tiny tuk tuks, and camels. Of course cows and other animals often wander into the middle of the road as well. This was the first time I've ever felt like driving myself would be unpleasant.
The roads in India are chaotic and obstacles are ubiquitous and dynamic. People drive so aggressively that any tiny mistake is a guaranteed accident. And, in fact, our vehicles in Delhi and Varanasi did touch other vehicles more than once (in Varanasi our driver got out of the car and slapped the driver of a motorbike that he had hit).
Eventually, we turned off the major roads and onto unpaved and little-used roads. We drove through beautiful, barren landscapes dotted with tiny rural villages. The contrast from the loud, dangerous frenzy of urban India to the quiet rural landscape was wonderful.
Arrival at Amanbagh
Driving onto the Aman property is striking. From a distinctly harsh and rugged countryside with nothing more than tiny remote villages populating the miles around it, we entered a beautiful, manicured oasis. We drove up to what resembles a modern palace and were greeted by the waiting staff, who gave us refreshing towels, introduced themselves to us, and then took Karin to the room so that she could sleep.
Walking through this serene and immaculate setting after the constant bombardment of our senses over the past 2 weeks was fantastic.
Karin went straight to sleep and slept until late afternoon. I explored the property and did some reading. Pure relaxation.
We happen to be here for the celebration called
Holi (also known as the Festival of Colours). Here is part of Wikipedia's description of Holi:
"On the first day, a
bonfire is lit at night to signify burning
Holika. On the second day, known as
Dhulandi, people go around until afternoon throwing colored powder and water at each other. A special drink called
thandai is prepared, sometimes containing bhang. People invite each other to their houses for feasts and celebrations later in the evening. "
On our first evening here, the hotel brought us to a neighboring village to celebrate Holi with the villagers. They built a huge bonfire in a field in the village. We were then given long poles with vegetation tied to the the end of each. We and the villagers stuck our poles into the raging bonfire - a ritual that is used to encourage a good harvest. Once the poles were burnt, the men of the village danced around the fire while the women made a circle of their own and a few young girls danced in the middle.
Following that Holi celebration (which would continue the next day), we returned to Amanbagh for dinner. Amanbagh has a Western Menu and an Indian menu. As much as we adore Indian food, and as much as we want to eat Indian food, we are both hesitant to do so at this point as our stomachs have been sending regular SOS pleas to us for the past few days.
So, at each meal, we go through serious soul searching: Do we dare test our biological and digestive prowess again? Or do we order the club sandwich? Do we take that precarious step into the culinary abyss at another attempt at gastronomic nirvana? Or do we have toast instead?
Karin has not risked eating Indian food in days. I, on the other hand, have had it almost every meal. And I have the digestive issues to prove it.
Following dinner we made our way to our haveli (what they call each of the living spaces here) and went to sleep.
I awoke early the next morning and went on a trek to a nearby former tiger-hunting area of the
Maharajahs. Built into the rock was a seat where the Maharaja could sit with his rifle. He would then have dozens or more villagers form an enormous semi-circle around the animals in the wild. The villagers would bang drums and make noise to scare the animals closer and closer to the Maharajah's seat. They would close in the semi-circle so that the Maharahs would be able to effortlessly kill the prey of their choice. I think our guide said the practice was called Hakata. It was so effective a hunting technique that tigers are now extinct in the area.
During the hike through the serene and stunning countryside, we came upon monkeys, parrots, camels, parakeets, peacocks, and a host of other creatures (luckily for them the Maharajahs' egos were connected primarily to tigers and other big game). Once at the "throne", the guides brought out ginger chai and almond cookies and we sat on rocks enjoying what was once the Maharajahs' personal playground.
On the way back, we passed through a few villages and saw small structures that are used as lookout towers. The pic below is of a villager on guard for wild animals (no tigers to worry about mind you).
Present on the hike were two attorneys from Sao Paolo and an equity investment manager (and his lab) who spent the last 7 years in Hong Kong and who has recently moved to Delhi. I learned all about how the court system works in Brazil and something about Asian equity management. It was on this walk that I was also told about another part of the celebration of Holi - that being the drinking of bhang. While I could not get a definitive answer about what the drink is, it sounded to me like the "special lassi" that I had read about while researching our trip. What I was told is that everyone drinks it, but only around the time of Holi. I made a note-to-self to ask about it back at the hotel.
Following the trek, we all had to get ready for the big Holi celebration we were going to attend in another nearby village. Holi is also known as the Festival of Colors because on day 2 of the celebration everyone gets dressed in
Kurta Pajamas and then sprays everyone around them with bright colors and water. And that's exactly what we did. We headed into the village in our pristine white kurta pajamas and had a huge color and water fight with the villagers. I think the villagers won but they have had centuries of practice. Karin had a particularly intense color exchange with one little girl and ended up much more colorful than the little girl.
Once we were sufficiently ensconced in color, everyone gathered in a circle, bongos were brought out, and the dancing began... men only, mind you. Seems like the men and women dance separately, much like in the more devout reaches of our own culture.
The dancing lasted a little while and then the guests (us) were brought before the Village Elders. The Elders had remained outside the fray and had no color on them. I was handed some color and was instructed to put color on the Elders. I walked from Elder to Elder and placed color on each of their faces. What qualifies me to do such a thing? Excellent question. Maybe the Village Elders like the blog?
Following the crazed Holi color-fight and celebration, we returned to Aman and went for lunch. Western or Indian? Indian or Western. True to form, I went Indian and Karin went Western. The rest of the afternoon was spent by the pool and in the library reading. Very enjoyable.
I should describe the pool and the library. The pool is magnificent. It is built out of turquoise marble and is enormous, beautiful, and surrounded by pink modified-Moghul architecture. The library is also a pleasure as it contains a fabulous collection of dozens of superb coffee-table books about Indian life, Indian art, Indian religion, Indian geography, Indian history, the Maharajas, and much more. It is a tremendous place to learn more about what we have been experiencing over the past weeks and what has transpired over the last few thousand years to evolve into modern India.
At 7:00 PM, Karin and I departed on a night-trek to a temple with our guide for
Aarti, a fire ceremony performed twice daily, and at the end of holidays (such as Holi). We entered the temple and two men began an interactive drumming with each other. Each of them held a circular medal cymbal in one hand and a hammer in the other. They faced each other and would each raise one hand in unison. The one would strike the cymbal the other was holding and then they would alternate. The result was a deep trance-like rhythmic sound that filled the small marble structure.
Behind the two percussionists, an older bearded man appeared (we were later told he is a local religious leader and is 130 years old). He lifted a plate of candles and began waiving them around and chanting in a little worship room that we could partially see through a marble screen. He finished the ritual in that room and then came into ours. Once he had emerged, we could see that he had a school-bell in his other hand. As he waived the candles with one hand, he would ring the bell with the other. He went up to each of the gods that was represented in the room and waived his candles and rang his bell. Once he was done with the main temple room he went into another temple room. And then to a small worship area outside. And then to another across the street. And then to a different room across the street. Each time he would chant, waive his candles, and ring his bell, and all the while, the cymbal players continued with their own beat. Karin, for much of the ceremony, sat cross-legged on the floor with her eyes closed, in mediation.
Following the end of the ceremony, we walked back to the Aman and once again faced the Western vs. Indian Menu dilemma. True to form, Karin went Western (gnocchi) and I went Indian (amazing Rajasthani lamb dish).
This morning Karin is again not feeling 100%. She canceled her morning yoga and is taking it easy. I, on the other hand, am feeling strong and healthy.
We are leaving on a flight that departs from Delhi after midnight tonight. Our trip home will involve another 2 hour drive - this time to the Jaipur airport. Hopefully Karin is feeling better by the time we leave, late this afternoon. We will then be flying Jaipur-Delhi-Chicago-San Diego. Total flying time is a bit over 20 hours.
There is much more about this trip that I have yet to post. I expect to be able to catch up a bit between flights, though it will probably not be possible to post any pictures until we are back in San Diego.
Amanbaugh is highly recommended.
I loved the Holy City of Varanasi. Had I been a back-packer with plenty of time I would certainly have stayed there to take in the multitude of cultures, traditions, and it's unbelievably diverse population. Varanasi is extremely important to Hindus, Buddhists, and Jainists (whose priests go naked or wear masks to avoid inhaling organisms of any kind). One million Hindus make pilgrimage to Varanasi each year. And thousands come to die in Varanasi. The River Ganges is at the center of it all. 
row-boat captain was an 18 year old Varanasian by the name of Babu – a good looking and very good-natured guy. Babu rowed us up the 
