Monsoon Honeymoon: Part VIII: Elephants, Romance, and Hamesh the Male Masseuse
Monday, June 24: Udaipur
The White City, The Lake City, the most Romantic City in India. Whatever the moniker may be, Udaipur exudes magic. It's been drawing people to the banks of its rivers and lakes for so long, that the accrued architectural celebrations of centuries past only enhance its natural elegance. While the city expands densely in every direction, the historical and touristic core hugs the twenty mile perimeter of the Lake. Here you will find the luxury Oberoi hotel, the Raj's Palace, the Old Palace, the riverfront walk, the temples, the stair steps into swimming holes, a collection of high rise hotels with rooftop terrace restaurants, and a host of shops offering yoga, cooking classes, travel agencies, crafts, books, massages, aromatherapy, and everything else you might find in a 21st century Indian tourist enclave.
Leigh loves to walk like I love to surf. She can never get enough. After a rooftop breakfast, we circumnavigated the lake, crossed the footbridge, and meandered past courtyards, hotels, shops, and secret walkways. The crushing summer heat meant that this was tourist low season in town, and so we walked slowly and took many lakeside respites. Down by a temple-marked peninsula, we watched Indian children happily splashing and cooling off in the lake. Sadly, it was all boys playing, as girls fully dressed watched on. Women are second-class citizens in India, and it's distressing that they don't get to swim and play in public like the boys do. Almost all the jobs- hotel workers, waiters, shopkeepers, road-workers, police, military- are performed by men. Where are all the women in India?
We walked on through the rabbit warren streets, at one point turning to face a man astride an elephant ambling down the lane. We lost our way a bit, ending up in a local residential hillside where children laughed and cheered at us, noting clearly that we were outsiders.
Hot and bothered, I retired to the room to cool down, read, and rest, while the irrepressible Leigh ventured back into the streets to seek out massages, yoga sessions, and cooking classes.
In the mid-afternoon we embarked on a thirty minute boat ride circumnavigation of the lake. Along for the ride were four young Indians who were hotel employees of the Oberoi Jaipur, down for a long weekend to rejuvenate in the Lake City. This Lake was unique because scattered throughout the water were gardens, houses, temples, and palaces. Somehow the Indians had constructed these island structures in the middle of the Lake, perhaps before the lakebed was flooded. Now these buildings had been converted into exclusive hotels and restaurants, but circling around these water-borne island buildings gave a feeling of a Venezia of the East. We stopped briefly on the far edge of the Lake, long enough for Leigh, vertically blinded by her round-brim hat, to knock her head on the boat canopy's steel frame. This was just a foreshadowing of head bonking to come. . .
In the later afternoon we ducked into a massage parlor for a couples massage. While I had been an enthusiastic patron of a post-surf massage in Indonesia, this was a different sort of operation. I opted for the fully body plus facial treatment. My masseuse was a gentle, head-shaking, bearded man named Hamesh- That is, not exactly who I pictured as the person I'd want giving me a ninety minute rubdown. Meanwhile, an eager, talkative, college student was preparing to work on Leigh. Whose idea was this. . .?
Ninety minutes later I emerged befuddled. Lots of oils and rubbing had occurred, and a few things I don't think I can mention in polite company. I re-entered the late afternoon relaxed, clean, and confused.
At sunset we summited the nearby Jain temple, where we removed our shoes and took a seat on the carpeted floor to sway and absorb the chanting coming from the tabla player and a few ultra-enthusiastic Indian ladies. My purification was complete.
Returning to our hotel, we retreated into a pillowy alcove overlooking the lake for an early evening reprieve. As night fell, we strolled across the lake to a waterfront stone terrace to relish a meal I've already forgotten, except for mango ice cream. The full moon illuminated our path home, but our glowing hearts would have led the way in pitch darkness. . .
The White City, The Lake City, the most Romantic City in India. Whatever the moniker may be, Udaipur exudes magic. It's been drawing people to the banks of its rivers and lakes for so long, that the accrued architectural celebrations of centuries past only enhance its natural elegance. While the city expands densely in every direction, the historical and touristic core hugs the twenty mile perimeter of the Lake. Here you will find the luxury Oberoi hotel, the Raj's Palace, the Old Palace, the riverfront walk, the temples, the stair steps into swimming holes, a collection of high rise hotels with rooftop terrace restaurants, and a host of shops offering yoga, cooking classes, travel agencies, crafts, books, massages, aromatherapy, and everything else you might find in a 21st century Indian tourist enclave.Leigh loves to walk like I love to surf. She can never get enough. After a rooftop breakfast, we circumnavigated the lake, crossed the footbridge, and meandered past courtyards, hotels, shops, and secret walkways. The crushing summer heat meant that this was tourist low season in town, and so we walked slowly and took many lakeside respites. Down by a temple-marked peninsula, we watched Indian children happily splashing and cooling off in the lake. Sadly, it was all boys playing, as girls fully dressed watched on. Women are second-class citizens in India, and it's distressing that they don't get to swim and play in public like the boys do. Almost all the jobs- hotel workers, waiters, shopkeepers, road-workers, police, military- are performed by men. Where are all the women in India?
We walked on through the rabbit warren streets, at one point turning to face a man astride an elephant ambling down the lane. We lost our way a bit, ending up in a local residential hillside where children laughed and cheered at us, noting clearly that we were outsiders.
Hot and bothered, I retired to the room to cool down, read, and rest, while the irrepressible Leigh ventured back into the streets to seek out massages, yoga sessions, and cooking classes.
In the mid-afternoon we embarked on a thirty minute boat ride circumnavigation of the lake. Along for the ride were four young Indians who were hotel employees of the Oberoi Jaipur, down for a long weekend to rejuvenate in the Lake City. This Lake was unique because scattered throughout the water were gardens, houses, temples, and palaces. Somehow the Indians had constructed these island structures in the middle of the Lake, perhaps before the lakebed was flooded. Now these buildings had been converted into exclusive hotels and restaurants, but circling around these water-borne island buildings gave a feeling of a Venezia of the East. We stopped briefly on the far edge of the Lake, long enough for Leigh, vertically blinded by her round-brim hat, to knock her head on the boat canopy's steel frame. This was just a foreshadowing of head bonking to come. . .
In the later afternoon we ducked into a massage parlor for a couples massage. While I had been an enthusiastic patron of a post-surf massage in Indonesia, this was a different sort of operation. I opted for the fully body plus facial treatment. My masseuse was a gentle, head-shaking, bearded man named Hamesh- That is, not exactly who I pictured as the person I'd want giving me a ninety minute rubdown. Meanwhile, an eager, talkative, college student was preparing to work on Leigh. Whose idea was this. . .?
Ninety minutes later I emerged befuddled. Lots of oils and rubbing had occurred, and a few things I don't think I can mention in polite company. I re-entered the late afternoon relaxed, clean, and confused.
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| Missing Cow in India?: Good luck. . . |
Returning to our hotel, we retreated into a pillowy alcove overlooking the lake for an early evening reprieve. As night fell, we strolled across the lake to a waterfront stone terrace to relish a meal I've already forgotten, except for mango ice cream. The full moon illuminated our path home, but our glowing hearts would have led the way in pitch darkness. . .
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