En route from Jaipur to Agra, I had a number of very pleasant diversions. First, I stopped in a place called Galta, home of the Monkey Temple. This backwater village was way out in the jungle up a winding dirt road, wedged in between two mountains. As you walk in the temple entrance, there is a very slick monk/guru sitting inside who takes money to ‘register your camera’ – a sneaky way of getting around the fact that you cannot charge an entrance fee to a temple. The slick monk then tries to keep the change as a donation. At first, this angered me, but then he smoothed things over by putting some orange ink on my forehead, saying a prayer, and giving me a little crumbly piece of sweet cornbread. I noticed there was a little bowl with a bunch of 10 rupee notes and 1 and 2 rupee coins. I relented and let him keep the change.
The Monkey Temple is this dilapidated series of stone structures that look like they were built 500 years ago (and maybe they were), and they look straight out of Indiana Jones. They are covered in old murals and vines, and unfortunately, scattered rubbish and even graffiti. And there are monkeys, monkeys everywhere. According to the person I asked, the monkeys are rhesus macaques. They are fuzzy, sociable, and have bright red bottoms. They are simply streaming over the walls of this place like it’s monkey mecca. There are also a number of placid cows meandering around, just as there have been in all places I have seen in India.
As you continue through the temple, you go up a steep stone staircase in the mountainside and pass by three baths. The lowest bath is a beautiful long pool, and this is the women’s pool. I scuttled by when I realized there was a naked woman in there, just hanging out. Note to self, find out why it is OK to publicly bathe naked in a country with such conservative dressing standards. Up higher, past a few beggars, there is a smaller pool with an elephant head fountain filling it, and in this pool there were about twenty screaming wet boys. They took the opportunity to scream ‘I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOUUUU!’ at me as I kept hurrying up the steps. I had decided that no matter what strange things I ran into, I wanted to hike to the top of the mountain where there would be a view over Jaipur. I continued on and came to an even smaller pool in a courtyard, this was the monkeys’ pool and they were diving and splashing there. Further and further up the mountain I went, until the last of my admirers had fallen away and I was alone. I had almost made it to the top when I rounded a corner and ran into a man peeing in the road, pointed my direction. That was the last straw, I virtually ran back down the mountain with “I LOOOOVVEEE YOUUUU!” echoing behind me.
Next stop was at a national park called Keoladeo. This is a man-made wetland that is home to many many types of marsh birds and other animals. This was my first chance to ride a famous Indian rickshaw, although I had to run a small gauntlet of park rangers who wanted me to hire them as my guide. I refused because my driver had informed me that the rickshaw drivers know everything about the park anyway, but I felt guilty since these rangers are just trying to do the job they’re trained to do, and not getting much public support for it. Anyway, my rickshaw driver was this elderly Sikh gentleman, almost so elderly I felt guilty having him ride me around, though he was very spry. He knew where all the birds were and would stop and seem to know exactly what branch the birds were in without even looking for them. We saw a jackal, an antelope, a deer, tons of storks, doves, peacocks, partridges, parakeets, and a bunch of other things I can’t remember the names for. Oh, and I even saw a monitor lizard! They look ultra-prehistoric and wild. When you get to the end of the road, the rickshaw drivers are in league with this little Hindu temple there and they strongly suggest you make a donation. Did you know peacocks made a loud yowly meowing noise to communicate with each other? It certainly must be embarrassing to be so pretty with a voice like that. My driver told me “You tell friends, I am best driver, #5 rickshaw! You happy-happy, you like, you pay me good tip.”
Final stop of the day was an old fort known as Fatehpur Sikri. It is made up of some palaces, a mosque, and various outbuildings that are in states of ruin. Although there is a lot of garbage scattered everywhere in the ruins, it still manages to be an incredibly beautiful place, which says a lot about Fatehpur Sikri. I boarded the bus from the parking lot and immediately this kid glommed onto me like a barnacle and started insisting I use him as a guide. I had refused him about 10 times, but then he cut his price down to nearly nothing and said “and I will make sure the people up there don’t bother you.” “It’s a deal!” I said.
Unfortunately this deal was too good to be true. My guide actually had quite good English and knew a lot about the fort, and I was able to hide behind him to skirt some hawkers, but there were other hawkers he was clearly in league with, and he kept telling me these were poor students and the money they make goes to educational charity, which I think was probably all lies. So I ended up getting ripped off by a crew of mosque con children, which I suppose is better than getting ripped off by a crew of raging terrorists or something. I don’t know how they sleep at night after telling lies to people all day like that. As the icing on the cake, my guide started to make some very sketchy comments to me towards the end of the tour, I’ll spare you the details but it started off with a rumination about how sexy Brazilian ladies are in their short skirts, and was I familiar with that? Then he appeared truly surprised when I became offended, threw his pittance of a fee at him, and ran away. “I am sorry madam! You are not happy??” My driver chastened me for giving in to this guide character’s con game, and I spent the rest of the night in a stormy mood, picturing myself getting vengeance on the hawkers and touts of the world.
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