Jaipur Diaper

Alright! Peace up bro.

Exciting news bra. Guitar! Fuck yeah!

Yep, bought a guitar bro. Yeeeeeeah!

2400 rupees (I make that about 33 squid, maybe a bit more) with a case and a set of strings. Took a bit of haggling but I got there. I even got a ride on a fast motorbike out of it, while I got a lift to the ATM. It didn’t exactly help my haggling. If I had the money first – I could have shown him 2000 and said take it or leave it. Oh well. Whatever, I’m happy dawg.

It’s a big bodied (yeah, nice move), dark brown, cut away type affair. It kinda looks like an electric guitar but isn’t. And it’s as light as anything. Did I mention it’s big?

When I got back to my luxury hotel (it’s sweet dude) I played some shit to Chuck-D and got myself a tan. We boxed-fresh with an American dude called Dave (I don’t know what boxed fresh means, but it sounds kinda Canadian) and I also chived two other travellers called Dave today. How exciting.

Chived means danced the moonshine under a bucket of decaying onion retards. Ok?

The length of my stay in Jaipur is dependent upon a quick trip to a music school tomorrow. I rang today and found out that if I wanted, I could do 3 hours of tuition a day - an hour each of singing, tabla and sitar) for 3000 rupees a month. Sounds pretty neat, y’all.

So I might go do some of that.

However, a month here? It is as dusty as a sprung field. Post-rickshaw travel through the city requires a sit down while you remove the sand from your nose, mouth, eyes and ass. It is also hot here. But then, I am in India.

Already conversations with locals bore the sheeeeeite out of me. Usually it just consists of young kids "hello, hello, hello." That’s no kind of chat. Or rickshaw or bike drivers following you the entire distance of your walk asking if you want a lift, and when you get where you are going, they offer to wait until you leave to take you home.

Jeez

And with more sophisticated locals – "hello, which country? England? I like your hair, you are beautiful." No shit. Though unfortunately that is always the men. The women – they don’t talk. Though if I’m instructed to go to Goa once more to "lick some easy pussy" I’m gonna grab the nearest sunbathing, half-dead nutritionally-deficient feline from out of the pile of shit and straw it is dying in – and lick its belly up and down. Just to prove a point.

I do love the way all the Indian guys, within seconds of meeting you say: "England? I have a girlfriend there." And then they show you a business card of a reflexologist from Devon, with a picture of a bland blonde. No wonder they all fancy me.

Even my five and a half foot, fat rickshaw driver today – he showed me a picture of his wife. I looked at the frumpy dowd and said "er, nice?" He said "really?" I said, "I guess." He then told me he like American girls. "After a ride on a camel – ninety percent of times, they want to fuck you."

Jesus.

Though the dude did let me drive it which was pretty fun.

Oh and in other news, I saw some temples (one of which floats) and some forts and some other shit. God being a tourist is boring. "Oooh, wow. How old is this? Really? That’s old."

So, Chuck is off to Agra tomorrow (to see the Taj Mahal, the big tourist) and I’m gonna stay a bit longer (maybe a month?!) and maybe go to Pushkar soon. I’m not looking forward to the next bus or train ride with all my stuff and a guitar!

Gotta dash dudes.

What’s new? Keep the comments pumping y’all. Props Polly and co.
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