Redefined Timeline

The tour included a few days in Udaipur, India. A city that was a bit dirtier, busier and extremely sprawling. The old town area had many quaint rooftop cafes to look out over the lakes surrounding the city. Strolling through had the vague feeling of Venice, with the added smell of cows instead of mold and water. Unlike the last city, this one allowed its inhabitants to eat meat. We stayed at a nice hotel a little farther from the old town area called Hotel Ace Plaza. Absolutely zero complaints about this accommodation – newly remodeled, clean, complete with a normal shower (no bucket required), and no mold smell. Honestly, the only downside of this portion was the emergence of the Mean Girls: India Edition.

While some of my fellow travelers didn’t quite care for the location of the hotel and the distance from the main tourist sites, I enjoyed walking everywhere. I took a tuk tuk one day given the heat, but that was about it. Udaipur was expansive, so I certainly got my steps in. As usual, the group took an orientation walk with the guide. Ours was centered on the Old Town area close to the lakes. Shops, cafes and restaurants line the winding avenues.

Part of our tour took us to Jagdish Temple, which sat squarely in the old town, and it was considered one of the most architecturally significant temples in northern India. It was built in 1652 AD, and the entire exterior was adorned with sculptures. After removing our shoes, we were allowed to enter the temple, but as with many religious buildings worldwide, no photographs were permitted indoors.

City Palace, the centuries old old lakeside complex, holds the palaces for eleven separate rulers. It was built in 1559, and sprawls across acres in the old town. The palace had been turned into a museum and boasts Medieval, Chinese and European architecture. And don’t mind the giant elephants hiding in corners. I believe the website called is the “jewel along the banks of Lake Pichola.”

Instead of going on the museum tour that was offered, I elected to have brunch at Rainbow Cafe overlooking one of the lakes with Julia, the guide, and the two girls the Mean Girls didn’t like (I should get into that debacle shortly). The weather was absolutely perfect for an outdoor lunch. Rainbow Cafe was quirky and boasted some hilarious bathroom instructions. A few of my favorites:

• We suggest you sing to demolish inappropriate noises. Song sheets are available on request.
• To all men: Always come closer to the target because what you are holding is just a pistol, not a rifle.
• If flood occurs – keep calm. Life vest is under your seat. Tread water until helps arrives.
• In case of fire, jump into toilet and flush.
• Graffiti writing is welcome, but make sure it is dirty and readable.
• Long timers be warned! Are two hours the ejectochair will start working.

The view from Rainbow also included some locals bathing and laundering clothing in the lake below. Not quite what I was expecting, and I am also not sure how sanitary the conditions were judging by the color of the water.

One afternoon, I elected to take a LONG lone stroll through a solid portion of Udaipur to the fountain gardens, called Saheliyon ki bari, or Garden of the Maidens. Enroute, I came upon a more westernized market, complete with fruits and vegetables that were refrigerated and bug-free, unlike the outdoor stands. I was finally able to stockpile respectable snacks for the remainder of my journey.

During my stroll, I happened upon Gem Arts Emporium, a hidden away shop on a quiet street. Julia was meeting me to go to the fountain gardens nearby, so we opted to stop to peruse fancy things first. As per usual, I bought far too many pairs of earrings, even with Julia discouraging some of my purchases. My damned husband entered my brain cajoling me, “Just get them!” The man wasn’t even there, and somehow he weaseled his way into my subconscious forcing me to spend money. Yes, he is my scapegoat.

After our garden walk and jewelry store excursion, Julia and I gave into the desires of our stomachs, and we stopped for lunch at the Bottegaa Cafe. The newly opened cafe had delectable coffee, and a nice variety of sandwiches, wraps, toasts, pizzas, pastas, and salads. And who can go wrong with a Nutella pancake topped with fresh strawberries?!

While Julia and I were making the lengthy walk back towards the hotel, we came upon another hidden spot along the lake, Grasswood Cafe, with its fire engine red door. I believed we had sufficiently worked off our lunches, so another coffee and smoothie were in order. Situated below a road and bridge, the patio of the bistro was void of most road noise as we watched boats meander by on a gorgeous, sunny afternoon.

One cannot visit India without taking a cooking class at the local home of an Indian woman. The best part of that lesson? Discovering the simple ingredients of the famed masala tea – ginger, loads of sugar, milk, and water. Sadly though, each maker also has their own concoction of a mix that is also added to the boiling liquid. Drats. Our welcoming chef started cooking at the age of eight with her own mother. Now her daughter acts as her sous chef in the home for these classes, as well as being the translator. We were sent the recipes, but they were void of any amounts, only general instructions, thus my reasoning for why I will likely never be able to replicate them. I guess I will just have to revisit India again someday!

We learned how to make vegetable Pakora – cabbage, onions, coriander, gram flour (I still don’t fully know what that is), rice powder, garlic paste, salt, cumin seeds, oil and water. These ingredients are formed into a dumpling shape and fried until they turn a wonderful caramel color.

Malai Kofta is made of cashew, onion, milk, coriander, turmeric, salt, mashed potatoes, paneer (westerners know it as cottage cheese) raisins, oil, red chili powder, and water. Much like the previous dish, this was also a dumpling. After being deep fried, the dumplings are combined with the malai sauce just before they are serve.

Chana Masala is made of chick peas, onion, tomatoes, coriander, ginger, garam masala, and some salt to taste. The chick peas have to be soaked overnight, or for at least six hours. They are then boiled with salt, bay leaves, cinnamon, black cardamom and cloves until ONE whistle from the kettle blares. The mixture is then left on a lower heat for forty minutes. Our chef then made the curry from the other ingredients like it should be a piece of cake before incorporating the cooked chick peas. She made it look so easy, but there is no way I could ever replicate it.

And she wasn’t done! Pulao, another curry, with rice was prepared. And again, she was not finished. Jeera Bhindi was made with cumin seeds and okra (100 grams to be precise – one of the few measurements they did provide). She used a wok to fry up the okra. The amount of food we ate that night left us all waddling away from her home afterwards. A majority of Indian cooking is done with mustard oil instead of canola or vegetable, which I decided to convince myself was healthier and meant I consumed fewer calories.

Earlier in this post I mentioned Mean Girls: India Edition. This G Adventures tour started off normal enough – mostly women traveling alone, generally chatting individually, before branching out to get to know others. One of the girls, we’ll call her the Asian Australian, and I gabbed for three straight hours on a train ride – she did enjoy gearing subjects towards herself, but seemed nice enough, and we appeared to have a decent amount in common – promising. She was loquacious, to say the least, so a few of the other women gravitated towards her. Initially, I did too. Another human, I shall refer to her as The Englishman, and Asian Australian bonded quite quickly (I shall characterize them as The Leaders). I began to notice The Englishman tended to be a bit moody and had a gossipy nature that soon amplified Asian Australian’s rapidly developing negativity, but I tried to ignore it and enjoy my three week escape. My roommate, aptly called Roommate, was the unequivocal definition of a “follower” and latched onto The Leaders like a leach early on. Next, Barbie, who reminded me of a Barbie doll with her tall stature, platinum hair and skinny build, was pulled into their orbit. They were the epitome of a high school chick clique. Let the drama begin!

The age difference of the group turned out to be the exact extremes of the travel style – 18 to 39 – with me as the oldest and two newly minted 18 year olds. Most were early 30s with a few 20 somethings thrown in. The Mean Girls decided they hated these other two that had bonded, an 18 year old and a 28 year old. The Mean Girls found their age difference off putting for a reason I never understood, and they took to insulting everything the pair said or did. They hated the two just… because. The Mean Girls would get offended and angry when those two laughed and giggled, and just generally enjoyed themselves. I had started distancing myself from the clique, spending more time with Julia, who also bounced between groups. Why does our gender relish in being so petty?

Asian Australian was miserable for the sake of being miserable and would pout if group members disregarded her unhappy state at any given time. She drove this point home the night of the cooking class. The girl sat unflinching in the second row of seats with a permanent grimace on her face. She barely spoke, which honestly was a blessing not having my ears assaulted by her whiny, high-pitched, Australian drawl belting out insults. Instead, she glared at the jolly, delightful cook with a look of pure hatred dripping from her unfortunate face. By this point, I had fully transitioned away from the Mean Girls to the India Outcasts (aka. Harriett, the eighteen year old, and Bronte, the twenty-eight year old), who were gleefully watching our host create scrumptious concoctions. Fritters, curry, chutney and homemade roti ballooning on an open flame. I think I consumed an entire pot of masala chai tea that evening. I could hear the Mean Girls muttering about Bronte, Harriett and me debating which dishes we savored most. We had apparently now formed a trio, adding thirty-nine year old me to the mix. Just another decade of age discrepancy for them to revile.

The next morning we left for Ahmedabad and Mumbai on an overnight train.

March 2024