RAJASTHAN- I
On the oustskirts of Jaipur. Dust road village, terrace and small stuc-up homes where the one-room general shops don’t sell bottled water for some reason. We’re staying at our first couch-surfing site. It started off auspiciously enough when we stepped off our 5 and a half hour non-AC train from Delhi to find a little man with a big sign- Welcome Adrian and Katya. There’s nothing like having someone meet you in an unfamiliar city.
We piled into the little man’s rickshaw, and he darted and dodged camels and trucks, finally taking us off paved roads and onto the dust ones, urban surroundings sinking further and further into suburbia. Middle of nowhere. We stop outside a pinkish one-storey home, and I step out of the rick and into a cowpat- supposed to be lucky. Kuldeep (the homeowner, my contact here) is at work, but his wife and two small children are home. I don’t know if her and Kuldeep see eye to eye on this whole couchsurfing thing, because she doesn’t seem too excited by our presence and our questions. But she is cordial. The place is: stone floors, a threshold, two bedrooms, a kitchen and small bathroom and terrace roof. We out our bags in room number 2, which looks like it is probably usually the kids’. I knew already that there was another guest staying (Uncle Stephen from Britain), but we’re informed there will be a German guy as well. Four people in this room that’s about 10 by 10 and already has a single cot, two chairs and a loveseat and a computer desk crammed in it. Looks like three of us will be on a mat on the stone floor. Katya’s taking it well.
We’re famished. The little girl, Pinky, walks us through the dusty village to find something to eat. Little shops sell gum and chips, then one unlikely looking place called Indian Idol is said to be a restaurant by the little girl. The friendly owner seats us in what appears to be his household office (turns out this is his home), and says his wife can cook us noodles or rice, but nothing else. He assures us they are a restaurant, but just getting started. We’re too hungry to be picky. We ask for noodles and potatatoes and rice. They bring us delicious, creamy-sweet lassi drinks as well. And the food turns out to be scrumptious. Raul, the owner, chats with us in enthusiastic if not struggling English. Introduces us to his young son and wide-eyed daughter- apparently he’s Good and she’s Naughty. When we finish eating Raul has no change for my 500, so he takes me on a motorbike up to the main road where we find change as well as water and some fresh fruit.
Katya and I walk back to our temporary home, escorted by our pint-sized guide. Crossing the dusty field, a group of boys finally overcome their shyness and start to ask , What country you are from?, etc. They’ve got some pick-up cricket going, and are gleeful when I agree to give my batting a try. I connect for a four on the third ball, and try my hand at bowling as well. They all crowd in as Katya snaps a snap, and we continue on. In a strange town in a strange home with a strange sleeping arrangement, but we’ll make the best of it. More interesting than the Marriott anyway.
On the oustskirts of Jaipur. Dust road village, terrace and small stuc-up homes where the one-room general shops don’t sell bottled water for some reason. We’re staying at our first couch-surfing site. It started off auspiciously enough when we stepped off our 5 and a half hour non-AC train from Delhi to find a little man with a big sign- Welcome Adrian and Katya. There’s nothing like having someone meet you in an unfamiliar city.
We piled into the little man’s rickshaw, and he darted and dodged camels and trucks, finally taking us off paved roads and onto the dust ones, urban surroundings sinking further and further into suburbia. Middle of nowhere. We stop outside a pinkish one-storey home, and I step out of the rick and into a cowpat- supposed to be lucky. Kuldeep (the homeowner, my contact here) is at work, but his wife and two small children are home. I don’t know if her and Kuldeep see eye to eye on this whole couchsurfing thing, because she doesn’t seem too excited by our presence and our questions. But she is cordial. The place is: stone floors, a threshold, two bedrooms, a kitchen and small bathroom and terrace roof. We out our bags in room number 2, which looks like it is probably usually the kids’. I knew already that there was another guest staying (Uncle Stephen from Britain), but we’re informed there will be a German guy as well. Four people in this room that’s about 10 by 10 and already has a single cot, two chairs and a loveseat and a computer desk crammed in it. Looks like three of us will be on a mat on the stone floor. Katya’s taking it well.
We’re famished. The little girl, Pinky, walks us through the dusty village to find something to eat. Little shops sell gum and chips, then one unlikely looking place called Indian Idol is said to be a restaurant by the little girl. The friendly owner seats us in what appears to be his household office (turns out this is his home), and says his wife can cook us noodles or rice, but nothing else. He assures us they are a restaurant, but just getting started. We’re too hungry to be picky. We ask for noodles and potatatoes and rice. They bring us delicious, creamy-sweet lassi drinks as well. And the food turns out to be scrumptious. Raul, the owner, chats with us in enthusiastic if not struggling English. Introduces us to his young son and wide-eyed daughter- apparently he’s Good and she’s Naughty. When we finish eating Raul has no change for my 500, so he takes me on a motorbike up to the main road where we find change as well as water and some fresh fruit.
Katya and I walk back to our temporary home, escorted by our pint-sized guide. Crossing the dusty field, a group of boys finally overcome their shyness and start to ask , What country you are from?, etc. They’ve got some pick-up cricket going, and are gleeful when I agree to give my batting a try. I connect for a four on the third ball, and try my hand at bowling as well. They all crowd in as Katya snaps a snap, and we continue on. In a strange town in a strange home with a strange sleeping arrangement, but we’ll make the best of it. More interesting than the Marriott anyway.
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