Today we drove to Jodhpur, and the first place we went was a store with all kinds of trinkets, furniture, and fabrics. The kid who was showing us fabrics was classic. He just had the salesman gene—he’s one of the few people who is somewhat over the top but you’re entertained rather than annoyed because he’s just so good at it. He would bring out miles of fabrics and tell us to pick which ones we wanted to look closer at. “If you don’t like it, say, ‘Bye-bye’.” He said that all of these designers, including Versace and a bunch of others, were going to be featuring these fabrics at huge multiples of what they were selling for at his store. Justin broke the bank buying four duvet covers.
Later, we went into the center of town to look at the market. Bartley, Beth, and I went into a shop that sold spices. The owner had several pictures on display that he claimed were of Garry Marshall, but the person in the pictures looked nothing like Garry Marshall. He also said Richard Gere had been in his shop, and he mentioned selling stuff to many of the same American designers that the guy at the fabrics place mentioned. I bought a few spices for family members, though I had basically no idea what I was buying.
We found our way to this great outdoor vegetable market, and as we were on our way there a cow sneezed on Beth and me. How tacky. Somebody’s got to rein in the cow problem in that country—you treat them like deities for long enough and pretty soon they start believing it.
Also at this market I met two of the most interesting (read: insane) people I’ve met so far. The first one was a guy who came up and walked right next to me. He asked me where I was from and what I was going to after Jodhpur. I told him, and he said, “Okay, we are friends. Make me a deal. If you see me again in Udaipur or Mumbai, you pay me ten dollars. Okay?” I said, “What will you pay me if I don’t see you?” He said, “No, this will be great if we see each other again and you pay me ten dollars.” We went back and forth about this for a while. At one point, I tried talking him down from ten dollars, as if we were in an actual negotiation, which entertained me for a little while. The thing is I can’t distinguish him from most anyone else here, and if somebody in Udaipur does come up acting like my friend and asking for $10, I probably won’t know the difference. I imagine that’s the scam he’s running. When I related that story somebody else said the same thing had happened to him.
The second guy also walked alongside me. He asked me where I was from, and he said, “Do you like Jodhpur?” Now, this is something I’ve gotten used to from India, the feedback solicitation capital of the world. We’ve naturally received comment cards from hotels and airlines, but we’ve also gotten them at an unusually large number of restaurants and other places. Jenny was handed got a page-long feedback form on a gas station bathroom. And whatever town we’re in, people want to know how that town is doing. We’ve gotten used to singing the praises of the town we’re in, so I did the same when the guy asked me if I liked Jodhpur. Except that wasn’t what he had asked me. He clarified: “No, do you like George Bush? He’s your president.”
Okay, I know that Americans are often criticized for not being knowledgeable on world affairs, and I am proud to say that I now contribute to perpetuating that stereotype. But it isn’t all deserved. I swear it sounded like “Jodhpur” through his thick accent.
In response to his question, I said, “I guess he’s all right,” which is probably a strange take on the most polarizing president in history. Then the guy asked me why people would dislike him. I said probably because he invades other countries. He said that he has a friend in New York who has a theory about the red states and the blue states—that the people in the “countryside” like Bush better because they have less education—and asked what I thought about that. I responded that the real reason that people voted differently is that they just have different priorities. I don’t think he liked my answer, but it’s the truth.
There are two kinds of toilets in India, the EWC and the IWC, and you better know the difference. EWC is the European water closet, and it is what you and I might call a toilet bowl. IWC is very little more than a hole in the floor. Most of the upscale places have EWCs, and some of the less nice places we’ve been have IWCs, but some of the places have both. Which means that, when given a choice between a toilet or a hole in the ground, some people will actually choose the hole in the ground.
Today’s food of the day was the Coke float I had at On the Rocks. It was like a little piece of America—if only the waitress who brought it out had been on roller skates. And I extended my fried rice streak to four days.
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