Friday 18th January

Friday 18^th January

If you get lost in the woods a compass can help you get lost more north

I thought this tweet, which I read somewhere – NO idea where – was very amusing.  And yes I was a bit lost yesterday, somewhere more north on 2XS, idly waiting for Pete to turn up while he (NOT so idly…I think he was less than impressed…) waited for me to turn up at a fabulous MONAFOMA event in Princes Wharf One.  Crossed wires, mixed messages, whatever…

He had picked up the New Mattress Of Wonder from the foam shop in Liverpool Street, and it was all rolled up in the back of his car – that WRX is SO handy, it fits anything and everything, like the Tardis.  I had provided the weird-o measurements (it has a big extra bulge coming out of one side to fit the weird-o bunk configuration) a few weeks before Christmas, and had paid for it, so I was very keen to unfurl it and experience the wonderment of it all.  The old mattress, now t be known as that Yucky Old Thing, has been on the boat since about 2003, I think, and it has lost any charm it may once have had.  The new one has its own removable cover, whereas the old (Yucky Old Thing) is unadorned khaki-coloured foam, nasty to touch and no longer springy and delightful to sleep on. 

Pete wasn’t quite as keen as I was to hoick one mattress from above and one from below; it is narrow and twisty, on the passageways of 2XS, but I was filled with a short burst of energy, at 10.30pm, and could no longer contemplate one more night sleeping on that Yucky Old Thing.

And was it worth doing??  Well yes of course!  The new mattress is firm but yielding enough; Pete thought I might spend the night whingeing away in tones of quiet desperation, but I adjusted and slept very well indeed until – shock, horror; time to get up and go to work…

India #70

In the late afternoon Raj and our other driver picked us up and took us into the old city, which is just beautiful, all pink and glorious.  There were monkeys scampering over the buildings, camels in the streets, and an elephant ambling through the traffic. 

         

The downside of Jaipur, for me, was that it was all a bit dirty and frenetic.  The streets were lined with shops, and each shop had a hyperactive tout flapping things in one’s face and shouting BUY BUY BUY NOW NOW NOW.  Hana wanted to buy a Rajastani skirt, and I volunteered to go to the other side of the road with her to look for one.  We crossed through the chaotic traffic, holding hands and shrieking just a bit – it is SO terrifying; my preferred mode of crossing the road was to cling to Pete’s arm and close my eyes and let him tow me across, poor Pete.  Every shopkeeper had a go at us and Hana, who is a strong young woman, had dangerously flashing eyes after not many minutes.  “Haven’t they heard of the concept of window-shopping??” she hissed.  The street was lined with beautiful silk scarves, which were actually quite tempting to me.  Sellers are acutely aware of every eye movement; they could tell I was ripe for a sale, which is probably why they were hassling us so violently.  As we walked past, one bloke put a scarf in my hands.  “25 rupees!” he screamed.  Well that is not even $1.  I turned and said, “Done, I’ll buy five for 100.”  He looked thrilled, and said, “Yes, now come into my shop.”  Oh no… Why??  He gestured at a comfy mattress and said, “Sit down, let me bring you chai, or water, while I show you more scarves.  These are not good ones, they are dirty from the street,” and he started strewing gorgeous pashminas and scarves and skirts across the mattress.  NONE of them were 25 rupees, let alone 5 for 100… Pete arrived and wanted to know what I was doing.  I said, weakly, that I had negotiated a deal and he said “right, take them off the hanger and give him 100 rupees!”  But this was not to be, the hanger with the tempting scarves had magically vanished, the man was never going to sell me even one scarf for 25 rupees, it was all a con. 

I caught up with Hana, who had seen a most gorgeous embroidered bedspread, which was being energetically flapped in her face.  “What do you reckon, Marguerite,” she said, “They are asking $US10 for this, is that a good price?”  Well yes… But when she reached towards it, the bedspread evaporated and two men came to lead her into their shop where she could sit on a comfy mattress, drink chai, and buy a MUCH more beautiful and MUCH more expensive bedspread.  One of the shop owners apologised to me, “This is all very difficult, isn’t it?  I agreed wholeheartedly, but didn’t get too matey, he just wanted me to come into HIS shop to sit on a comfy mattress.  He said something to Hana about her mother, and she turned on him, “You think Marguerite is my mother?”  Well yes, obviously, weren’t we peas in a pod?  “Just LOOK at us!” she shouted.  “Does Marguerite look ANYTHING like me?”  I was very pleased to have them think I was Hana’s mother, and to tell the truth, Mary, her own small blonde mother doesn’t really look like her either; neither of us has the height, the long dark hair, the flashing black eyes and the beautiful honey coloured skin…. She was very disillusioned with her non-shopping experience and left empty-handed.