Jaipur Chapter 2: The Black Gnu of Doubt

It was at about the seventh turn on what was perhaps the 9th alley way that turned out to be the actual "turn for the worse". With no headlight, and a healthy distance from anything resembling a streetlamp or window, the alley was beginning to take on a somewhat more mythical ambiance. The blackness at the end, or at least the blackness that was fast approaching the end of the visible pavement seemed somehow less empty than your average run of the mill bit of negative space. It had a sort of hefty quality to it, maybe even lazy. It seemed to suggest that it could move and become real space, exactly the kind conducive to the survival of two hapless fugitives on an intercept course at upwards of 60km on a motorbike. But it also communicated that it was also quite happy to stay put where it jolly well pleased, and thus let the human body parts(probably mine) fall where they may. It was only seconds later as we grazed passed the generously be horned black cow and down the next series of increasingly dark, fetid and obstacle prone lanes of Jaipur's inner labyrinth I began to realize not only the exhilarating and stupefying fact of my situation but also what potentially fabulous copy this would make for my blog...should I survive to write it.(?) Of course I should survive...what a silly question. It was sometime in mid October...the 15th lets say. Jaipur was all but under our belt. The crew and I had a fruitful, and frustrating 4 days of footage gathering and interview taking. Highlights had included our suite...the first of my tour in India...which had the further highlight of a bathtub...that I fit in. Other moments of note had included pushing a car by hand 3 km through the desert evening and the birth of our camera operator's third son (Names pending. Krishna, Elam, Ali, Lucky). Let it simply be understood that the week had been a full one and the evening of leisure where our story begins, was well deserved. The other crew...being Hindi speakers, had decided to view a Hindi film at the local Cinema Deluxe. This place appeared from the outside to be strikingly similar to those multiplex monstrosities which we of the west so enjoy. yet inside it was by all accounts a far more classy affair. A structure to counted among the great opera halls and Vegas casinos of legend. My point being that the guys were keen to go to the theatre as much as the film...I, not speaking Hindi as I don’t, and having been somewhat spoiled in the area of experiencing big places of performance,* decided a casual stroll about the downtown core would be far more conducive to my success of an evening off. Two cappuccinos and a copy of the economist** later I was ready to begin my flaneur( this is word I learned at university, I learned the meaning, not the spelling...it means a casual walk, and also magically infers intelligent thought...as French words so frequently don't.) I got about two blocks in each direction before I realized the epicenter surrounding the theatre was possibly the most boring section of Jaipur for a walk, McDonalds, Barista Cafe and Polo Ralph L. were the closest stores, all closed(the cafe had apparently stayed open waiting for me to leave). So in a desperate attempt to preserve my all Indian experience I darted into a dark alley beside the theatre's security fence and found a soda merchant’s shack...as it turned out he was also a purveyor of Long distance phone service, so I had a coke and called home. all the while being very sweetly plied by several street children with a very PT Barnum outlook*** on the taking of alms. Upon finishing the phone call I realized that between buying the odd pop and chips combo for the local riff raff and my intercontinental phone conversation I had blown the business end of my wallet into oblivion and was now in a word...destitute. Never a man of panic, I calmly and with not a small look apology informed the shopkeeper of the situation, making it clear that I would be happy to pay if he could direct me to an ATM. This being 11pm he was now closing but remained quite compassionate and offered that a big man that he pulled with some impossibility from the wall behind him, would be happy to take me on his motor bike to the local Citibank terminal. Now. there would be two schools of thought on the wisest next step for a gentleman in my position. The first school might see the odds stacked thus: 11pm, 2 hours from the nearest companion, alleyway, dark, no helmet, big guy, big debt, taking me to bank, never met anyone involved. The result of this equation might be something like. Run! or for the more timid, drop wallet and run! However, the second school of thought offers a more confidant and possibly better option. It was this school to which I pledged my allegiance. Hey presto! My first motor cycle ride in India****. This first bike ride was short and uneventful, the gentleman who shall remain nameless, as I never got his name, was a very trustworthy, easy going sort who apparently just liked giving foreigners with hefty back ally debts a helpful lift now and again. So much the better. I paid my bill, tipped the man with the motorbike and sauntered off with an increased sense of pride in the human race. Two useless blocks later I again found myself without a purpose and a remaining two hours till my companions returned. This was a pertinent fact only because I had neither a key to our room nor a the foggiest clue where our hotel was, except that it was not where any other hotels were and was a total bleeding mystery to all taxi drivers in the city. I was now more than ever hankering to take up my recent chauffeur’s offer of a guided bike tour of Jaipur but having maintained a sensible amount of skepticism regarding bike safety and the chances of harm coming at the hands of unknown assailants I had declined. It was at this juncture, at the ratty smoke and chewing tobacco stand that Serendipity again proved it's existence, in the form of a motorbike and a friendly youth...
It would also prove that it, as with many other ineffable forces was not as cut and dried as one would like nor expect...

To be continued.

*I can't really qualify this statement. I've never been nor wished to be in a Vegas Casino nor an Opera hall, at least an opera hall being utilized as such. But a childhood of theatre and half a year as an orchestral usher was enough to make the proposed experience not quite out way the threat of three and a half hours in a movie seat watching a musical about kids of Honda scooters in Hindi.

** Truthfully it was more like 4 cappuccinos (they were very large cups) and a third of a copy of the economist as the earthquake relief bits were far more interesting than the bits about how good a year BP, Shell and OPEC were having. And as cosmopolitan as I may try to be the German parliament just has not been interesting for, well, since that big thing a while back with all the bad ideas and nice coats.

***"Hello suckers we like your money..."

****A country with a Motorbike to person ratio similar to that of sheep in New Zealand.