4.13.2008
India Journal: Part 5
I forgot to mention that underlying the journey up to now has been my ongoing saga with the Ethiopian Airlines ticket office in Delhi. Ethiopian has by far the cheapest Kilimanjaro-Delhi ticket and by far the least reliable booking system I have ever encountered. I was cancelled off my flights twice in the weeks before my departure and as a result was on a waiting list for my return flight. Every morning and afternoon I called the Ethiopian office and had the following conversation:
Me: Hello, I would like to confirm my flight from Delhi to Kilimanjaro.
Hani, the Ticket Agent: What is your reservation number?
Me: DJGIR63
H,tTA: I am not able to confirm that flight at this time please call back this afternoon/tomorrow morning.
Was it Einstein who said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? And how many American sounding women were calling that office and trying to confirm a spot on that flight? Couldn’t I even get a “oh hi, Emily”?
Anyway the upshot of all that was that my return flight was delayed by two days so that we circled back to Jaipur, The Pink City, to catch the Elephant Festival. On our previous visit there, earlier in the trip, we had been unpleasantly overwhelmed by the size and the bustle of the city and having seen the major sights, made tracks. I think we imagined the Elephant Festival as a massive parade down the streets of town, huge decorated elephants narrowly passing the cycle rickshaws and fruit stands as colorfully-dressed Jaipurians cheered and threw confetti.
In reality, it was a fairly sedate, yet delightful affair. It was held at the stadium and the majority of attendees were white and came by the busload. The parade circled the grassy stadium and the elephants were great, their faces and trunks encrusted with gems and painted with pictures of tigers and flowers, their backs draped with velvet and topped with a proud mustachioed rider. Despite all the elegance, the elephants still swept the ground with their trucks, snacking on bundles of fresh-cut grass. Between the elephants came marching bands and dancing troupes, from tribal dancers dressed like monkeys to girls with giant peacock tails. The tourists snapped a million pictures.
That night was the first night of Holi, which is celebrated with bonfires. As we left the stadium, these bonfires were being set up in public roads, right in the middle of town. Sheaves of dried grass propped up over sticks with kites and other bits of color were set alight even as regular traffic continued to pass. The fires were huge, and the feeling was part insurrection, part campfire. At some of the fires, holy men in white said blessings, at others families burned more grasses to take to their home’s temple. As dark descended, the fires were left unattended, and subsided to coals.
Me: Hello, I would like to confirm my flight from Delhi to Kilimanjaro.
Hani, the Ticket Agent: What is your reservation number?
Me: DJGIR63
H,tTA: I am not able to confirm that flight at this time please call back this afternoon/tomorrow morning.
Was it Einstein who said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? And how many American sounding women were calling that office and trying to confirm a spot on that flight? Couldn’t I even get a “oh hi, Emily”?
Anyway the upshot of all that was that my return flight was delayed by two days so that we circled back to Jaipur, The Pink City, to catch the Elephant Festival. On our previous visit there, earlier in the trip, we had been unpleasantly overwhelmed by the size and the bustle of the city and having seen the major sights, made tracks. I think we imagined the Elephant Festival as a massive parade down the streets of town, huge decorated elephants narrowly passing the cycle rickshaws and fruit stands as colorfully-dressed Jaipurians cheered and threw confetti.
In reality, it was a fairly sedate, yet delightful affair. It was held at the stadium and the majority of attendees were white and came by the busload. The parade circled the grassy stadium and the elephants were great, their faces and trunks encrusted with gems and painted with pictures of tigers and flowers, their backs draped with velvet and topped with a proud mustachioed rider. Despite all the elegance, the elephants still swept the ground with their trucks, snacking on bundles of fresh-cut grass. Between the elephants came marching bands and dancing troupes, from tribal dancers dressed like monkeys to girls with giant peacock tails. The tourists snapped a million pictures.
That night was the first night of Holi, which is celebrated with bonfires. As we left the stadium, these bonfires were being set up in public roads, right in the middle of town. Sheaves of dried grass propped up over sticks with kites and other bits of color were set alight even as regular traffic continued to pass. The fires were huge, and the feeling was part insurrection, part campfire. At some of the fires, holy men in white said blessings, at others families burned more grasses to take to their home’s temple. As dark descended, the fires were left unattended, and subsided to coals.
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