Greetings from Jaipur, Rajasthan State. We drove out today -- six hours with a stop for lunch. It's so bizarre to be hiring a driver and staying in this fancy pants place called Hotel Diggi Palace. It affirms all those horrible stereotypes about westerners waltzing into other countries & living the high life (for US$70/night). Only I think we're not doing that. Only we are...without trying to. More on that later...

Anyway, it was a beautiful drive. The first two hours were the same route to Neemrana, but then we continued along National Highway (NH) 8. Sarinder Singh is the man behind the wheel. He's a sweet Sikh guy with a limited English vocabulary. And our Hindi at this point consists of little more than "hello," "happy wedding," "where is ___," "I'm sleepy" and something dirty I shouldn't type out here. So there's lots of "what?" and awkward silences and smiles all the way around.

India is Morgan's colors all wrapped together. Pinks. Bright aqua. Red and yellow. This gorgeous rich orange tinged with pink. I was thinking as we wandered through Dilli Haat, this craft market in Delhi, how much I love the vibrancy of this place. For all the crowds & chaos, it's so very beautiful. In fact, that's part of what makes it beautiful. But I digress.

The women on the backs of motorcycles sit sideways here. Not sure if that's modesty talking or the challenge of where to put all that sari material... I saw a few people riding three to a motorcycle. Many more camel-pulled carts. Bicycles with paniers on either side piled high with old tins and plastic containers, bags full of recyclables. You name it. Bulls were squashed up inside pick-up trucks, their necks stretched upward. I saw one man caressing the back haunch of the bull he was holding. The back of every Tata truck says "SOUND HORN!" You beep when you're coming up close so they know not to slide over and into you. There seems to be a pecking order of cars first, then trucks, then motorcycles, then auto-rickshaws, then bicycles & rickshaws (pedal-powered). I'm struck by the fact that I haven't seen one instance of road rage except for that accident at the Khan Market.

So we arrived at Diggi and were shocked at the opulence of it. It's an old family home that's been turned into a heritage hotel. A big grass lawn. Flowers all over. Courtyards and porticos. Our room is HUGE. Granite floors. Sitting area. Armoire. We put our stuff down & put blankets on the beds. (I've got a wool sweater on now, if that's any indication of how chilly it is. I mean, it's probably low 50s at the moment, and dropping down to the 4os later. And we're blessed with that rare commodity, a heater, if it turns too cold for comfort.)

Then we headed out to walk out to and then along the main drag in Jaipur. First the dirt road from Diggi out to the SRS road. A portable toilet, multiple stalls, reeking of urine & more. The pipe leading out of it was cracked open. Rickshaw drivers called out to us. Miss! Ma'am! Hello! Hello! We slipped into the steady stream of people walking along SRS. There were a few clumps of women and children who were cooking meals over open fires on the sidewalk. The traffic was zooming by us. No California pedestrian-first laws in place here -- you have to haul across the street if you see the slightest little break in traffic. And both Delhi & Jaipur are full of roundabouts, which makes crossing the street even more of an adventure.

Turned left onto MI, which is a rather fancy shopping street. Lots of jewelry stores (Jaipur is known for its silver), food shops, a few clothing shops (womens' storefront outfits including capris, even though I haven't seen a single pair worn here). Tailors. Shoeshiners. A tyre shop. General stores, skinny NYC-style. Narrow little sidewalks. We were the only tourists out until we came across a couple running. In the dark. In the pollution. In tight pants. On a really crowded street. I was embarrassed for them. (Just like people walking in Lodhi Park the other day were probably embarrassed for me.)

Tomorrow morning we're going to go for a hot-air balloon ride! MN's fiance arranged it. I'm hoping to gather some audio for a radio postcard if there's interest. It's the first hot-air balloon company in India, as far as I know. Then recovery from the early morning, then hopefully some walking around the Old City area. I'd like to visit Amber Fort too, if there's time.

I put in a call to Barefoot College & it looks like we'll go there Monday. Can't wait! They lead these solar trainings & people come from Bhutan, Bolivia, etc. to learn how to solarize & then take the skills back to their villages around the world. So interesting. (To me, at least.)

So, westerner wandering through India. I've come to the conclusion that it does me no good to feel guilty about how much I have compared to the people I've seen in Delhi & Jaipur. But it's yet another reminder not to ever take for granted how lucky I am in the grand scheme of things.

This kid came begging up to the car window the other night, when we were driving back from Neemrana. Open, scabby sores all over his chest and shoulders. He was making these moaning noises because his tongue had been cut. Apparently it was likely done by the beggar-master in charge of him. (Someone said they'll cut off limbs to make the kids look bad enough that people will give to them when they beg.) I looked in his eyes for just a moment & felt paralyzed. Give money? I don't have coins. Give food? Don't have any in the car. Don't give? But then isn't that bad? I mean, I have so much compared to him. But if I give, then shouldn't I give to everyone? It's such a sticky situation. You can't fix this. You know it's so far from right that you have so much & these kids are starving. But what's the right thing to do?

So I sit here in the internet "cafe" at Diggi, listening to drums in the background. Recorded some chanting from a religious ceremony in the distance earlier. We'll go buy dinner in a few minutes, then sleep well in a fancy room. What's that kid doing tonight? What will he do every night for the next 5 years? I feel this gnawing in the pit of my stomach. These aren't easy questions. It's not easy to see. But it's crucial to rub up against them and feel that layer of my skin come off. It's crucial to feel uncomfortable. It's crucial to think these things through instead of ignoring them.

Off the soapbox. Internet time is up. Hope you're all well...

S.