Dave the Nomad

Sam and I experienced our first train ride heading to Udaipur. We booked seats in the sleeper class, which is essentially composed of several units in a car, each unit has eight beds. Six of the beds are facing each other three stacked on each side, and then across the aisle are two more beds stacked on top of each other. The whole car is open to the sights and smells of everyone around you, and the only solace from the heat are one foot diameter fans sandwiched to every free section of the ceiling. The windows open and allow you to reach out into the fresh air several inches before the bars stop you. We both left the experience happy with the community vibe on the train, and ecstatic it was only warm outside, and not sweltering.

To the James Bond connoisseur, Udaipur is known as the backdrop for Octopussy. For the lay person, it is a city who is surrounded by artificial lakes made by the Maharajas of past years, which have delicately placed palaces in the middle. The shores are buttressed by the buildings during the rainy season, and during bad droughts bone dry. We managed to be visiting during the wetter half of the year, and the shores were only starting to recede. The town is small, relaxed, and a timid version of the cities we have visited so far. People are happy to just converse with you, and store clerks will wait for you to show a semblance of interest before heckling you to come over.

Sam and I have been tromping around cities, and we thought it would be a good idea to do a little hiking before trekking in Nepal. Surrounding the lake and city are the Aravalli hills, and on the highest peak several kilometers away sits the Monsoon Palace. We thought it would be a good jumping off point for a day hike. Originally we had great visions of climbing to the top and watching sunrise over the city, but were struck down by the wisdom of a sleeping person at 5 am. The palace is about 8 kilometers from the city center, so we took a rickshaw to the gate of the wildlife sanctuary and hiked the rest of the way. On the ride over, the rickshaw driver tried to convince us we would be attacked by tigers, and we should just take his rickshaw the whole way. After a simple check with the park ranger, we assuredly walked into the park on our own.

The hike to the top was nice, but entirely on paved road. We wandered around the bare interior, and watched several langurs (monkeys with really long tails) sun bathe on the edge of the palace before heading off for more interesting terrain. The ridge opposite the monsoon palace was untouched, and looked like a relatively easy climb up with a good path along the ridge line. To our surprise we spent the first half hour dodging thorny trees and cacti, and moving brush aside enough to find a solid foothold. There were some rocks near the top we climbed through, and at one point Sam shouts from below me, “Hey Dave watch out for that hornet’s nest right above your head.” After a few moments of slowly looking for the nest, I was relieved to find it abandoned. On the other side, we were met by rolling grassland. We enjoyed a well-deserved lunch on the peak, and hiked the ridge line before again descending the steeper slope back to the road below. We hiked another 3 kilometers to the outer edge of the city, and caught a rickshaw back to our hotel.

Rajasthan is well-known for its miniature paintings. These paintings originate under the Islamic realm, the figures are set at certain poses which are not realistic, but rather like those found in Byzantine icons, and are literally very small paintings with extreme detail. Sultans would have an entire workshop of artists commissioned to make large intricate pieces depicting sometimes hundreds of people topped with gold inlay. After reading a book by Orhan Pamuk My Name is Red, I was interested in this style of painting. We visited the museum in the palace, and after viewing several hundred pieces I could relate my education from the book with the art itself.

Sam and I were wandering through the streets, and decided to check out a small shop solely based on the shopkeeper’s witty comments. As we entered he said in passing, I also have some miniature paintings. By this time, I had visited several places, but was unimpressed by the either poor workmanship or large scale production. I asked him if he had any he made. Ram, the owner, smiled, and quietly walked past us to the far corner of the shop. After a minute or two of fumbling with a hidden door he pulled out a large paper portfolio, faded by the years.

I asked to see his horses, as this is generally the way to compare an artist’s workmanship, and more specifically its face. Ram smiled again, and slowly started showing us his early work. He would meticulously look at a piece and sigh, or exclaim how this one was such a good piece back then. He stopped, looked up and asked us if we would have some chai. For the next half hour, we were simply people. He telling us his story, and we admiring his pieces and seeing how his style grew with age. We became acquainted with him as an artist, and he was happy to share his work knowingly we weren’t interested in any of these particular pieces.

Ram was the third generation in his family to be in charge of their school. Young boys were taught a small task, and when they became better, they would advance to a new task. After mastering each part, he would sketch the design, and each person would do their part of coloring, shading, or applying gold inlay to create the final piece. Ram explained to us how certain styles and figures came and went out with the years. Nowadays the triad of horse, elephant, and camel in caravan is popular, and customers do not care as much about detail and fine craftsmanship.

Both Sam and I picked out a couple pieces to bring home, he was as happy with our purchases as we were, and the glimmer in his eye seemed to say, “Thanks.” After making our purchases, I ask Ram for one favor. I asked him to draw a horse for me without picking up his pen. He laughed and said, “I’ve never been asked to do this before.” We watched as he contemplated his approach, and drew the outline. Afterward, he said, “I know the great masters could do this in a heartbeat, and could start from any point on the horse, each time it would be perfect. Perfect…but this is the first time I’ve ever been asked to do this.” As we were leaving, Ram told us he was losing the shop. He couldn’t afford it anymore, he said he was an artist, not a salesman. He gave us his cell number so we could contact him when we returned with wives.