There's no lie in today as we need to start our sightseeing tour of the Pink City -Jaipur, in the cool of the early morning and we have a lot to do. As we climb on the bus, I hear someone mention that Frankie has twisted her ankle and will stay behind to rest it, but there's no time to go and see her. Our tour guide for the day is funny and interesting. He punctuates each anecdote on Indian life with ' Incredible India' so we can believe whatever it is can only happen here. 'Who controls the traffic? Not the traffic lights. Not the traffic police.' Yeah. I'd already figured that bit! 'Only the cows. Incredible India'. What 3 things do you need to drive in India? Not a driving licence. Not a good car... No.' Yeah. I'd kinda guessed that bit too. ' Good horn. Good brakes. Good luck. Incredible India'
We pull up outside the 'Wind Palace'. So called because it is only a facade of fretwork windows where the Maharajah's ladies could look down upon the street action without being seen. As with all the other major buildings in the old city, it is painted pink or terracotta. We pile off the bus to cross the road for the necessary photos, once again, taking our life in our hands as we do so. Like every other city we have visited, the streets are dirty, smelly and littered with the rubbish of generations, not just of the day. Although all the shops are still closed, immediately, we are surrounded by street traders and beggars asking for money. It is so hard to ignore the beautiful small children, no more than five years old, with their big, brown eyes and winning smiles, each with a naked baby on their hip. They are everywhere.
From there, we go on to the Amber Fort. At the bottom of the hill, there dozen's of elephants and their mahoots. Most of the others have signed up for the elephant ride but I had deferred a decision. As we pull up, I decide to join them but, as we climb up the stairs and onto our elephant I realise I have just made the wrong decision. I feel party to some of the worst kind of exploitation and I am sickened at myself. As we slowly climb the hill, we are bombarded with cries to buy this tablecloth, that picture, this trinket, and the mahoot starts claiming more 'expenses' for his 'baby' elephant with a 'gourmet' appetite. The beauty and splendour of the Amber Fort evades me as I reflect on my decision to take the elephant up the hill.
At the Observatory, the huge sundials and planet positioning instruments are fascinating. There's even an instrument to position the planets at the time of birth for each sign of the zodiac. Here you can also see the largest sundial in the world (allegedly). It looks pretty big to me.
By the time we are finished in the afternoon, I'm pretty hot and tired, so decide to go back to the hotel instead of traipsing yet another bazaar full of hawkers and pedlars. As some of the others are going to see Frankie I decide to leave it till later. When I come down later, she is in lying in a chair with her foot up. It doesn't look good at all and I think we should get it checked out by a doctor before we continue our trip. The hotel manager suggests a private hospital 10k out as being the best solution. A taxi is ordered and Becky and I accompany her. We are pleasantly surprised when we arrive. It looks modern and clean. An orderly brings a wheelchair and we are guided through to triage. There are more assistants, doctors and orderlies than patients and they all crowd round Frankie to take a look at her injury. As we wait for judgement to be passed, more spectators arrive to take a peek. Eventually I am handed a scrap of paper. On it says, x-ray and follow up. I am relieved they will xray to make sure its not broken and pleased that they have thought to write it down so we know what's going on in all the confusion. Half an hour later I ask when they are going to do the xray. 'Oh' I am told.'You have to pay at the reception first'. The scrap of paper is not for our information but is, in fact, a prescription. How could I have guessed that? The writing was legible! By the time I have negotiated (yes, everything is negotiable) the prescription charges, there is chaos in the triage room. Becky has noticed that the clean, white sheet Frankie had lain upon is now soaked in blood and it is all up the back of Frankie's t-shirt. They have both panicked that Frankie is hurt somewhere but no cut can be found on her back. The blood is from a previous patient and had soaked into a puncture in the mattress. This freaks us out even more and we check her back carefully for any possibility for the blood to get in her system. She is cleaned off but there is nothing we can do about the tshirt and we don't have anything for her to change.
The x-ray shows no break but the doctor decides that she should have a half cast to protect it from further damage for a while and she disappears into another room. Frankie is adamant she will need crutches but after many requests to many people and many phone calls to many other people, there are no crutches to be had in the hospital. Three hours later, after waiting for the plaster to set, our patient taxi driver follows the doctor to a medical supply street stall where I negotiate hard for a matching set of adjustable crutches. 600 rupees (<£10). A bargain.
We have missed Matt's birthday celebrations by the time we get out and are starving. Our patient taxi driver takes us to MacDonalds on the way back – Indian Style. It tastes good. When we get back there is birthday cake waiting.
We pull up outside the 'Wind Palace'. So called because it is only a facade of fretwork windows where the Maharajah's ladies could look down upon the street action without being seen. As with all the other major buildings in the old city, it is painted pink or terracotta. We pile off the bus to cross the road for the necessary photos, once again, taking our life in our hands as we do so. Like every other city we have visited, the streets are dirty, smelly and littered with the rubbish of generations, not just of the day. Although all the shops are still closed, immediately, we are surrounded by street traders and beggars asking for money. It is so hard to ignore the beautiful small children, no more than five years old, with their big, brown eyes and winning smiles, each with a naked baby on their hip. They are everywhere.
From there, we go on to the Amber Fort. At the bottom of the hill, there dozen's of elephants and their mahoots. Most of the others have signed up for the elephant ride but I had deferred a decision. As we pull up, I decide to join them but, as we climb up the stairs and onto our elephant I realise I have just made the wrong decision. I feel party to some of the worst kind of exploitation and I am sickened at myself. As we slowly climb the hill, we are bombarded with cries to buy this tablecloth, that picture, this trinket, and the mahoot starts claiming more 'expenses' for his 'baby' elephant with a 'gourmet' appetite. The beauty and splendour of the Amber Fort evades me as I reflect on my decision to take the elephant up the hill.
At the Observatory, the huge sundials and planet positioning instruments are fascinating. There's even an instrument to position the planets at the time of birth for each sign of the zodiac. Here you can also see the largest sundial in the world (allegedly). It looks pretty big to me.
By the time we are finished in the afternoon, I'm pretty hot and tired, so decide to go back to the hotel instead of traipsing yet another bazaar full of hawkers and pedlars. As some of the others are going to see Frankie I decide to leave it till later. When I come down later, she is in lying in a chair with her foot up. It doesn't look good at all and I think we should get it checked out by a doctor before we continue our trip. The hotel manager suggests a private hospital 10k out as being the best solution. A taxi is ordered and Becky and I accompany her. We are pleasantly surprised when we arrive. It looks modern and clean. An orderly brings a wheelchair and we are guided through to triage. There are more assistants, doctors and orderlies than patients and they all crowd round Frankie to take a look at her injury. As we wait for judgement to be passed, more spectators arrive to take a peek. Eventually I am handed a scrap of paper. On it says, x-ray and follow up. I am relieved they will xray to make sure its not broken and pleased that they have thought to write it down so we know what's going on in all the confusion. Half an hour later I ask when they are going to do the xray. 'Oh' I am told.'You have to pay at the reception first'. The scrap of paper is not for our information but is, in fact, a prescription. How could I have guessed that? The writing was legible! By the time I have negotiated (yes, everything is negotiable) the prescription charges, there is chaos in the triage room. Becky has noticed that the clean, white sheet Frankie had lain upon is now soaked in blood and it is all up the back of Frankie's t-shirt. They have both panicked that Frankie is hurt somewhere but no cut can be found on her back. The blood is from a previous patient and had soaked into a puncture in the mattress. This freaks us out even more and we check her back carefully for any possibility for the blood to get in her system. She is cleaned off but there is nothing we can do about the tshirt and we don't have anything for her to change.
The x-ray shows no break but the doctor decides that she should have a half cast to protect it from further damage for a while and she disappears into another room. Frankie is adamant she will need crutches but after many requests to many people and many phone calls to many other people, there are no crutches to be had in the hospital. Three hours later, after waiting for the plaster to set, our patient taxi driver follows the doctor to a medical supply street stall where I negotiate hard for a matching set of adjustable crutches. 600 rupees (<£10). A bargain.
We have missed Matt's birthday celebrations by the time we get out and are starving. Our patient taxi driver takes us to MacDonalds on the way back – Indian Style. It tastes good. When we get back there is birthday cake waiting.
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