Big events like New Year’s Eve are always hard for me. I usually like sitting back and observing what’s going on around me but days like these require one to actively seek out a good time. I sent Sui, the woman I’ve been meeting up with on and off since Tibet, out into Udaipur to find something for us to do on New Year’s Eve. She booked a sit down dinner with a cultural show that sounded laid back and easy.
But nothing’s easy in India. Earlier that day Sui and I shared a taxi to tour the amazing temple at Ranakpur and Kumbalgarh Fort. By the time we returned to town at 7:30 we rushed to wipe off the road dirt hustled over to the hotel where we would be spending our evening. Because she is even more particular than me, Sui had asked how many people would be there (120), what time is started (8pm), what time dinner would be served (9pm) and so on.
Expecting a nice evening, we walked into the hotel at 8pm to a room with 30 chairs arranged in a square where three elderly Indian men slumped over sleeping. A glance to our left showed that the dining room was set for a small number of guests. In her typical fashion Sui began to question the manager.
Why wasn’t anyone there? Apparently the show started at 8:30, not 8. We pointed at the poster on the wall with the events and “8pm” neatly written. The manager just shrugged and smiled.
Okay then, how many people were coming? Thirty seven. What happened to 120? We were met with a blank stare. Sui asked to see the guest list and it became clear that she was the first person to sign up the day before, when she had been told that 120 people had already signed up. And fifteen of the people were a group themselves, which didn’t leave much chance for conversation.
And dinner? Maybe 9:30. We were starving.
After a short discussion and a sizing up of their bar we decided that we didn’t want to sit through a cultural show. Surprisingly, the manager handed over Sui’s 100 rupee deposit without one complaint and we set off into Udaipur to find food and a restaurant that was open past 10pm.
We stopped into a fancy hotel, hoping to splurge on a nice meal. After climbing five flights of stairs we were met with a beautiful rooftop with white terraces covered in ivy and twinkling lights surrounding a small swimming pool. The set up was beautiful and the buffet looked delicious but it turned out to be a 1500 rupee set menu for the evening, not including drinks. That’s close to $40! With longing glances we walked back to the ground floor to find something a little more reasonable. Although that’s a great price for an event back home or a splurge on a short vacation it’s not something that fits into a seven month trip’s budget.
We settled on dinner on the rooftop of a hotel I had seen during my two hour hotel room search when I arrived in town. Most of the hotels here are over six stories, although very narrow, with rooftop restaurants. The day before the management had assured me that they would be open for New Year’s—“No event, but just a relaxed atmosphere.” Tonight the same man told me they would only be open until 10pm.
All around us were flashing lights and pounding music. We just wanted a place where we could get a drink and relax. Down the road we thought we found a good place and headed up to the roof. We must have made our decision during a programming break because once we opened the door we were assaulted by loud traditional drumming. Out of options with 10pm approaching, the manager agreed to let us in for a beer without paying for the “event” which included dinner and the show for 400 rupees.
Many restaurants in India don’t have liquor licenses so they serve their beer in teapots and cups. I was served my beer in a gorilla mug. The music was blaring and after half an Indian dance and one music number featuring a man with a funny mustache hitting a large pot placed over his head, Sui begged off. Somehow, I never seem to reap the benefits of a travel partner—sharing hotel rooms, company on New Year’s—even when I have one. She was feeling tired and couldn’t bear another hour and a half of the “event.”
I had decided to leave as soon as I finished my beer, but struck up a conversation with a German couple next to me who were as horrified by the music as I was. The music continued, even as some of the guests left, holding their ears and others moved to the tables furthest form the speakers. Even though the event was put on for foreigners, in typical Indian fashion, the manager featured music, volume and entertainers for an Indian audience.
The deafening volume doesn’t quite come through in the following two videos, but it gives an idea what my New Year’s entailed. Teenage girls dancing with pots of fire on their heads (2.8MB, avi). Children dancing to modern music (9.1MB, avi). apologize that this clip is so much longer than the beautiful traditional dancing. I can only assume that I was so horrified by the noise and sights around me that I went into some sort of trance during filming.
Eventually New Year’s came, and we celebrated by our own watches, as there was no countdown and fireworks had been going off for the past two hours all over town. Someone stuck a bottlerocket in a fountain near the stage which promptly tipped over, shooting yellow flames around the rooftop. The androgynous child dancers came by and tried to pull me up to dance, which was not in the cards. I have to drink more than two Cobra beers to start dancing, certainly to the music they were playing. The Germans and I payed up and walked through the deserted street back to our hotels, proud of ourselves for staying up even if the start of 2007 wasn’t quite what we had hoped for.