My last morning in India starts with my obligatory masala chai and toast.
I remain really worried about fitting everything in my backpack so decide to send some summer clothes back via the mail (I figure I that I won't need them for a good while once I'm back home!).
I pack a large shopping bag and take a leisurely stroll down to the post office. It turns out, similar to buying a train ticket here, sending a parcel is an interesting experience in India. The young girl behind the counter explains that I must have the bag wrapped by an authorised tailor. "Tailor?" I repeat. "Yes madam" she confirms wobbling her head. I ask politely where I can locate an appropriate tailor and for the first time whilst in India I am given the correct directions. (I'm not sure if people give wrong directions deliberately or if the correct ones are somehow, ironically, lost in translation).
I arrive at the tailors and the package is stuffed into blue plastic casing and then cello taped to within an inch of it's life. Next, a muslin cloth bag is made to fit using an old fashioned sewing machine at the front of the shop. The blue plastic bundle is then purposely stuffed into the cloth bag. It is hand sewn shut at the top and then wax is used to seal the stitching. I am asked to write my address on the cloth and state that it's from myself. The tailor is satisfied with his handiwork so I stroll back, armed with my neat little parcel to the post office. Here I complete two forms and wait for various processes to be completed which takes about 20 minutes. Handing over the money is the final stage and I wonder if my package will successfully make the journey to Marlow and if it does - how long it will take.
I hire a bike and this time she's bright pink and called The Ladybird. We cycle down to Bristow's Old Lighthouse Hotel where there is a quiet pool and I can catch some final rays and Vitamin D. (If ever visiting Fort Cochin I wouldn't recommend staying or eating here, the steep prices unfortunately don't match the food, service or quality of the other upmarket hotels in town however the pool is one of the few in Fort Cochin that is open to non residents so it's a great place to laze for 250 rupees as a day guest before sneaking back to my budget backpacker accommodation!).
I relax and enjoy the sun a little too much, and despite using factor 30, get quite badly sunburnt (big slap on the wrist). The skin on my face is so tight I have to stop off for some cucumber cream which removes the sting. I skip dinner due to the nausea, drop the bike back and head home to the challenging job of packing my backpack. The task is made just about bearable by watching India's Junior Pop Idol - a very special treat for me and my ears on my final night. I was particularly impressed with the young lad wearing a safari outfit who performed a Hindi song alongside his crew of backing 'dancers' dressed in silver tin foil trousers and stunningly unrhythmical.
So that's it - India is officially signed, sealed and it's delivered every step of the way. It's a country of contrasts. The sweet smell of spices, oils and incense and the acrid smell of cities bursting with sewage, rubbish, industry and millions of people struggling for survival. It's the kaleidoscopic colours of women's saris, haunting ragas and heavenly food. It's the rolling green hills of Ranakpur, the holy lake of Pushkar, the Venetian style streets and water palaces of Udaipur, the red sandstone forts of Jaipur and the cool white imposing marble of The Taj. It's the home of the well groomed moustache, five people on a moped, frequent power cuts, cows on beaches, a contagious head wobble, lethal rum and going bare foot indoors. It's the belief and hope in something greater than all of us, a thousand friendly hellos and one very sad goodbye.
India - you have been truly Incredible.
Thank you for having me.
Friday 9 November 2012
Wednesday 7 November 2012
Om Shanti, Miss India & Frisky Roger
I have breakfast on the circular table outside my room and am joined by a mother with her eight year old daughter who are travelling around India together. I'm up at 7:30am voluntarily (yes I know this is strange behaviour!) to head to the Kathakali Centre. I saw a poster yesterday advertising a morning meditation session and have booked myself in to see what it's like. When in Rome and all of that jazz.
I arrive at the centre, snaking my way through the alley ways to reach the colourful community venue and walk up to the hall where a small group is gathered. There is a girl having Reiki on the stage and there is complete silence. I sneeze.
It is a mixed group, a girl with long greasy hair wearing an AC/DC t-shirt, a couple of young guys and a middle aged woman in a floaty green skirt. The reiki finishes, some men arrive with musical instruments and we're invited up on to the stage where we sit on cushioned mats. The meditation leader explains that a Raga will be performed (a special Indian melody chosen specifically for this morning's practise) and we are asked to get comfortable, sit still, close our eyes and open our hearts. We sit in darkness, except for some candles burning. The meditation leader opens the hour by reciting 'Om Shanti' in a way that the sound vibrates fervently from his stomach. Om is one of Hinduism's most revered symbols and words. It is a sacred mantra that symbolises creation, maintenance and destruction of the universe. Buddhists believe that if you say this word enough it leads you into a blissful trance. The music begins, a hypnotising blend of sitar and drum that provide a rhythm and focal point. I take a deep breath and sit upright with my legs crossed. I shuffle around to get comfortable and wrestle with unwelcome and benign thoughts that flood uninvited into my mind. I sweep them away yet soon enough more hustle their way in. I fight the urge to sneeze again, move my feet which have gone dead beneath me and generally struggle to let go.
Eventually I give in and lie down. The internal battle with my mind continues for a while but after a while the thoughts vacate and all I remember is stillness. I'm not sure if I fall asleep or if I was in some other place but I come around quickly and feel totally peaceful when the hour is done. I go back to my room for another hour of sleep.
Ready to start my day officially I head straight to a shop where I can hire a bicycle. My trusty steed is aubergine in colour and has 'Miss India' emblazoned down the side of it. I navigate my way through the streets of Fort Cochin stopping at spice shops, the St Francis Church (where the Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama was originally buried), the Dutch Cemetery, Santa Cruz Basilica and the Chinese Fishing nets. I'm wobbly on my two wheels at first but then I quickly get used to riding 'Miss India' around this quaint and homely town, ringing my bell and skilfully avoiding pedestrians, goats and tuk tuks.
This is an industrial port town where the spice trade still draws many visitors and associated export commerce. There is a large Jewish community still here today and the signs of Christianity are the strongest I have seen in India with many churches and shrines depicting Jesus and Mother Teresa. The town has a cosmopolitan vibe yet retains the slow pace of all things Keralan - described by locals (and India Tourism) as God's Own Country.
After some shopping (I'm slightly concerned how I'm going to fit everything into my backpack!!) I diligently return Miss India to her owner and head back for a much needed shower.
I shower, turn the TV on and can work out from the visuals on the news that Barack Obama has retained the US presidency. I breathe a small sigh of relief and head straight out again.
This time I stop a tuk tuk and get him to take me to an ATM, followed by a pharmacy. As part of our Ayurvedic treatment at Keraleeyam, a face ointment was applied and I'm convinced this stuff has miracle ingredients. I'm told I can only buy the goods from a pharmacy so manage to locate one and purchase ten tubes to bring home. (If anyone wants to buy some please let me know!) I'm seriously considering importing the stuff to the UK (inspired by Erin's entrepreneurial influence).
With my precious cargo in tow I head to The Malabar Hotel and their Junction restaurant (part of The Relaix & Chateux group). It's some much needed R&R after the backpacker lifestyle for the past three weeks and I sit quaffing some White Indian Chenin Blanc by the infinity pool surrounded by beautiful lanterns hanging in the trees.
I meet some friendly young/oldies looking like they may be on a Saga holiday for solos including Roger the Canadian who I notice is flirting outrageously with each of the individual women on the tour, out of earshot of one another of course. He's quite the charmer! I hear him comment to one of the ladies getting out of the pool after a dip "Hey Miss McHotty" and she giggles like a 12 year old school girl super grateful for this lovely flattery. From this point on she has a glint in her eye pointed in lucky Roger's direction. When she towels off and disappears he turns his attentions to one of the other, maturer ladies who flutters her eyelashes and bends to one side teasingly. Roger is definitely hedging his bets and this looks like a dead cert strategy by the looks of things.
It's dinner for one for me but it's heavenly. Lamb Kofta in Rogan Josh sauce and my first beef in three weeks - a gourmet burger with tomato sorbet and chilli relish. I feel super guilty for eating it however reassure myself that I'm in a predominantly Christian town so hopefully I'm not offending toooooooo many Hindu friends - besides it's on the menu...(OK OK.....I still feel like I'm being blasphemous / disrespectful). But it was delicious!...
It's chocolate samosas with mango coulis to finish and I roll home. The Head Chef has invited me back as his personal guest tomorrow...promising that I can use the pool (despite not being a resident at the hotel).
No doubt he is turning his charm to the next solo female as soon as I've left i.e. I think I've just been Rogered - and not in a good way.
I arrive at the centre, snaking my way through the alley ways to reach the colourful community venue and walk up to the hall where a small group is gathered. There is a girl having Reiki on the stage and there is complete silence. I sneeze.
It is a mixed group, a girl with long greasy hair wearing an AC/DC t-shirt, a couple of young guys and a middle aged woman in a floaty green skirt. The reiki finishes, some men arrive with musical instruments and we're invited up on to the stage where we sit on cushioned mats. The meditation leader explains that a Raga will be performed (a special Indian melody chosen specifically for this morning's practise) and we are asked to get comfortable, sit still, close our eyes and open our hearts. We sit in darkness, except for some candles burning. The meditation leader opens the hour by reciting 'Om Shanti' in a way that the sound vibrates fervently from his stomach. Om is one of Hinduism's most revered symbols and words. It is a sacred mantra that symbolises creation, maintenance and destruction of the universe. Buddhists believe that if you say this word enough it leads you into a blissful trance. The music begins, a hypnotising blend of sitar and drum that provide a rhythm and focal point. I take a deep breath and sit upright with my legs crossed. I shuffle around to get comfortable and wrestle with unwelcome and benign thoughts that flood uninvited into my mind. I sweep them away yet soon enough more hustle their way in. I fight the urge to sneeze again, move my feet which have gone dead beneath me and generally struggle to let go.
Eventually I give in and lie down. The internal battle with my mind continues for a while but after a while the thoughts vacate and all I remember is stillness. I'm not sure if I fall asleep or if I was in some other place but I come around quickly and feel totally peaceful when the hour is done. I go back to my room for another hour of sleep.
Ready to start my day officially I head straight to a shop where I can hire a bicycle. My trusty steed is aubergine in colour and has 'Miss India' emblazoned down the side of it. I navigate my way through the streets of Fort Cochin stopping at spice shops, the St Francis Church (where the Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama was originally buried), the Dutch Cemetery, Santa Cruz Basilica and the Chinese Fishing nets. I'm wobbly on my two wheels at first but then I quickly get used to riding 'Miss India' around this quaint and homely town, ringing my bell and skilfully avoiding pedestrians, goats and tuk tuks.
This is an industrial port town where the spice trade still draws many visitors and associated export commerce. There is a large Jewish community still here today and the signs of Christianity are the strongest I have seen in India with many churches and shrines depicting Jesus and Mother Teresa. The town has a cosmopolitan vibe yet retains the slow pace of all things Keralan - described by locals (and India Tourism) as God's Own Country.
After some shopping (I'm slightly concerned how I'm going to fit everything into my backpack!!) I diligently return Miss India to her owner and head back for a much needed shower.
I shower, turn the TV on and can work out from the visuals on the news that Barack Obama has retained the US presidency. I breathe a small sigh of relief and head straight out again.
This time I stop a tuk tuk and get him to take me to an ATM, followed by a pharmacy. As part of our Ayurvedic treatment at Keraleeyam, a face ointment was applied and I'm convinced this stuff has miracle ingredients. I'm told I can only buy the goods from a pharmacy so manage to locate one and purchase ten tubes to bring home. (If anyone wants to buy some please let me know!) I'm seriously considering importing the stuff to the UK (inspired by Erin's entrepreneurial influence).
With my precious cargo in tow I head to The Malabar Hotel and their Junction restaurant (part of The Relaix & Chateux group). It's some much needed R&R after the backpacker lifestyle for the past three weeks and I sit quaffing some White Indian Chenin Blanc by the infinity pool surrounded by beautiful lanterns hanging in the trees.
I meet some friendly young/oldies looking like they may be on a Saga holiday for solos including Roger the Canadian who I notice is flirting outrageously with each of the individual women on the tour, out of earshot of one another of course. He's quite the charmer! I hear him comment to one of the ladies getting out of the pool after a dip "Hey Miss McHotty" and she giggles like a 12 year old school girl super grateful for this lovely flattery. From this point on she has a glint in her eye pointed in lucky Roger's direction. When she towels off and disappears he turns his attentions to one of the other, maturer ladies who flutters her eyelashes and bends to one side teasingly. Roger is definitely hedging his bets and this looks like a dead cert strategy by the looks of things.
It's dinner for one for me but it's heavenly. Lamb Kofta in Rogan Josh sauce and my first beef in three weeks - a gourmet burger with tomato sorbet and chilli relish. I feel super guilty for eating it however reassure myself that I'm in a predominantly Christian town so hopefully I'm not offending toooooooo many Hindu friends - besides it's on the menu...(OK OK.....I still feel like I'm being blasphemous / disrespectful). But it was delicious!...
It's chocolate samosas with mango coulis to finish and I roll home. The Head Chef has invited me back as his personal guest tomorrow...promising that I can use the pool (despite not being a resident at the hotel).
No doubt he is turning his charm to the next solo female as soon as I've left i.e. I think I've just been Rogered - and not in a good way.
All oiled up...
I wake up after an amazing night's sleep on the train. I have only woken up once, super cold, to get my fleece and socks. Whilst I'm down from the dizzying heights of my bed, I also brave the train toilet - which is the scariest thing I've encountered in India thus far!
The man who helped us find our way to our carriage last night has come back to see us this morning. He has also bought his wife who comes in and sits opposite us, smiling but not speaking. She is quickly followed by five young men, who could have been his sons, who also all shake our hands and sit on the lower tier benches of our carriage, not talking. They sit for 30 seconds smiling and looking at us before saying Goodbye and disembarking. I genuinely don't think they wanted anything from us - just the experience of sitting in our company. It's a hard notion to get our heads around.
I finish my book and shortly afterwards we arrive at our destination. After some bad directions (ironically from the tourist office) we find a rickshaw to take us to the station where we board a bus to Alleppey, a key backwater hub. It's a 1hr40 journey down, the weather is hot, sky is blue and landscape is super green. Our bus is jam packed and a man sleeps next to me, his head occasionally crashing into my shoulder with no apology. I have learned to have a different opinion of what should be considered personal space from my time in India!
We arrive in Alleppey and as promised by Lonely Planet we are quickly pounced on by someone trying to get us to his guesthouse. Having spent the night on the train, we are jaded, hungry and in need of a shower so agree to check it out. We arrive at 'Smiley Cat' guesthouse and it's not very smiley - at all. Despite the appeal of it being only 400 rupees for the night we decide to continue our search, trying another budget place (that has had to shut due to a family bereavement) before finding the gorgeous Keraleeyam. Set down a pretty walkway the accommodation is a series of thatched bungalows right beside the water with a mosquito net draped teak bed and lovely outdoor bathroom & shower (I've never had one before and I'm super excited about this little al fresco treat). All for £13.50 each for the night.
After the best shower in the world (only coming second to post Glastonbury), we enjoy a cheese toastie on our veranda watching the boats linger past and head for an Ayervedic massage which turns out to be quite some experience!!
Ayerveda is an Indian form of medicine treating the inside and outside of the body and the herbs used are traditionally grown in Kerala. We are taken to a bungalow where Erin heads left and I go right. There are two ladies in the room and they ask me to strip so I'm entirely naked. I oblige and obediently sit on a stool where oil is applied to my hair and I am given a brisk head massage to increase circulation. I am eventually upgraded to the hard wooden and ornately carved table in the room where the next 45 minutes are spent being contorted into a variety of positions with lashings of warm oil being poured over my entire body. I start to become worried about slipping off the table. I am literally soaked in the stuff and no piece of skin is left unmassaged!! The ritual is finished with a lovely facial oil being applied, the excess oil on my body is soaked up using white sheets and I am taken to a shower where I meet Erin again and we wash away the remaining oil. When I ask her if she went totally naked she tells me she was supplied with special knickers. Perhaps they only had one pair...
The rest of the afternoon is spent snoozing, reading, watching the view over the water, enjoying a Keralan dinner and avoiding the ridiculous amount of mosquitoes & insects who seem to live here and like the smell of the Ayurvedic oil.
We fall asleep under the mosquito net, listening to the cicadas and other sounds of the Indian wildlife outside, through our thinly thatched little hut.
The man who helped us find our way to our carriage last night has come back to see us this morning. He has also bought his wife who comes in and sits opposite us, smiling but not speaking. She is quickly followed by five young men, who could have been his sons, who also all shake our hands and sit on the lower tier benches of our carriage, not talking. They sit for 30 seconds smiling and looking at us before saying Goodbye and disembarking. I genuinely don't think they wanted anything from us - just the experience of sitting in our company. It's a hard notion to get our heads around.
I finish my book and shortly afterwards we arrive at our destination. After some bad directions (ironically from the tourist office) we find a rickshaw to take us to the station where we board a bus to Alleppey, a key backwater hub. It's a 1hr40 journey down, the weather is hot, sky is blue and landscape is super green. Our bus is jam packed and a man sleeps next to me, his head occasionally crashing into my shoulder with no apology. I have learned to have a different opinion of what should be considered personal space from my time in India!
We arrive in Alleppey and as promised by Lonely Planet we are quickly pounced on by someone trying to get us to his guesthouse. Having spent the night on the train, we are jaded, hungry and in need of a shower so agree to check it out. We arrive at 'Smiley Cat' guesthouse and it's not very smiley - at all. Despite the appeal of it being only 400 rupees for the night we decide to continue our search, trying another budget place (that has had to shut due to a family bereavement) before finding the gorgeous Keraleeyam. Set down a pretty walkway the accommodation is a series of thatched bungalows right beside the water with a mosquito net draped teak bed and lovely outdoor bathroom & shower (I've never had one before and I'm super excited about this little al fresco treat). All for £13.50 each for the night.
After the best shower in the world (only coming second to post Glastonbury), we enjoy a cheese toastie on our veranda watching the boats linger past and head for an Ayervedic massage which turns out to be quite some experience!!
Ayerveda is an Indian form of medicine treating the inside and outside of the body and the herbs used are traditionally grown in Kerala. We are taken to a bungalow where Erin heads left and I go right. There are two ladies in the room and they ask me to strip so I'm entirely naked. I oblige and obediently sit on a stool where oil is applied to my hair and I am given a brisk head massage to increase circulation. I am eventually upgraded to the hard wooden and ornately carved table in the room where the next 45 minutes are spent being contorted into a variety of positions with lashings of warm oil being poured over my entire body. I start to become worried about slipping off the table. I am literally soaked in the stuff and no piece of skin is left unmassaged!! The ritual is finished with a lovely facial oil being applied, the excess oil on my body is soaked up using white sheets and I am taken to a shower where I meet Erin again and we wash away the remaining oil. When I ask her if she went totally naked she tells me she was supplied with special knickers. Perhaps they only had one pair...
The rest of the afternoon is spent snoozing, reading, watching the view over the water, enjoying a Keralan dinner and avoiding the ridiculous amount of mosquitoes & insects who seem to live here and like the smell of the Ayurvedic oil.
We fall asleep under the mosquito net, listening to the cicadas and other sounds of the Indian wildlife outside, through our thinly thatched little hut.
Funerals and cockroaches
We rise to enjoy another fresh outdoor shower followed by masala tea, toast and apricot jam on our veranda.
I sit admiring the beautiful view but also my fingernails. It seems coming to India may have been the ultimate cure for breaking my horrible habit! (You don't want to bite your nails here - you may as well lick your flip flops).
Today is the day we will hire a houseboat to take us on a cruise along the beautiful and famed Keralan backwaters where will stay on board our vessel overnight.
We checkout and grab a Rickshaw to take us to 'Finishing Point' where we know the houseboats sit floating, waiting patiently to welcome their next guests.
We are willing to pay 5000 rupees for a boat for one night however 7000 seems to be the going rate. We are taken aboard one boat, and then another and another. All have varying levels of comfort however all seem to be converted rice barges and share a similar layout comprising of lounge area at the front complete with seating area and dining table, bedrooms on the lower tier with kitchen and staff quarters at the back. On the upper deck there is a sunbathing area and the boat is all hung together with a thatched roof, woven sides and a wooden shell. Some are immaculate and the ones in our price bracket need some TLC yet are still shabbily chic.
We meet a couple of French Canadian girls, also travelling around, and looking for an overnight cruise. Together we find a two bedroomed boat and negotiate that we will pay 9500 rupees (2500 each). We have a captain, chef and general helper on board as a dedicated crew and before long we set sail with our new friends Sofie and Vicky.
The glassy green waterways are wide and meandering with palm trees, banana trees and mango trees generously lining the waters edge. There are many other boats on the water and their inhabitants wave to us. We enjoy a freshly prepared lunch of marinated and fried whole fish drizzled with fresh lime juice (the best fish I've ever tasted) and various other delicious accompaniments including poppadums, curd, curried cabbage and salad. Our afternoon is spent reading, napping and lounging. People bathe, launder their clothes and bash them dry against stones on the banks - the beating sound travels loudly over the water. 100,000 people live here and most are employed by the boating or agricultural trade.
Sofie and Vicky have been on a different route around India and tell us about their experiences in Calcutta (Kolkata) and Varanasi. Having been recommended to also visit Varanasi by an old college friend (Helen) and visit the burning ghats and the Ganges - I'm thinking another trip to India in the future will have to happen as I haven't been able to see it all! The stories of watching the funeral ceremonies in Varanasi, cremations, everything visible, the smell of sandalwood burning and solemness seems to have got under the skin of our boat mates. In the western world, death is our unspoken destiny and a truth we choose to avoid or ignore. In India it is part of your everyday life. How you conduct yourself in this life will affect your next one and the end is purely the beginning of your next adventure therefore people have a much less affected way of viewing this right of passage.
After some wine, beer and another delicious freshly cooked meal (Sofie and Vicky had bought some fresh tiger prawns and crabs from a side market earlier and the chef had lovingly served these with dinner) we retire to bed.
The walls on the boat are paper thin and before long we can hear a blood curdling scream from the other room. A cockroach, a decent size and much bigger than my friend on the train, is in their loo. One of the staff come heroically armed with spray and the cockroach has an unfortunate funeral firstly being sprayed and then thrown overboard. Erin quickly discovers another cockroach - this time in our bathroom. Again the man comes with the spray, this time the cockroach in question decides to make a run for it to the warm high ground under the man's Dhoti. (Men in Southern India wear this loin cloth type piece of material on their lower halves I assume to keep cool!). The man promptly jumps up and down, let's out a squeal. and we next next hear the spray of the aerosol and he comes out holding the dead insect triumphantly. The cockroach joins his friend swimming with the fishes. I like the idea that they must have been horrible people in their previous life...
I sit admiring the beautiful view but also my fingernails. It seems coming to India may have been the ultimate cure for breaking my horrible habit! (You don't want to bite your nails here - you may as well lick your flip flops).
Today is the day we will hire a houseboat to take us on a cruise along the beautiful and famed Keralan backwaters where will stay on board our vessel overnight.
We checkout and grab a Rickshaw to take us to 'Finishing Point' where we know the houseboats sit floating, waiting patiently to welcome their next guests.
We are willing to pay 5000 rupees for a boat for one night however 7000 seems to be the going rate. We are taken aboard one boat, and then another and another. All have varying levels of comfort however all seem to be converted rice barges and share a similar layout comprising of lounge area at the front complete with seating area and dining table, bedrooms on the lower tier with kitchen and staff quarters at the back. On the upper deck there is a sunbathing area and the boat is all hung together with a thatched roof, woven sides and a wooden shell. Some are immaculate and the ones in our price bracket need some TLC yet are still shabbily chic.
We meet a couple of French Canadian girls, also travelling around, and looking for an overnight cruise. Together we find a two bedroomed boat and negotiate that we will pay 9500 rupees (2500 each). We have a captain, chef and general helper on board as a dedicated crew and before long we set sail with our new friends Sofie and Vicky.
The glassy green waterways are wide and meandering with palm trees, banana trees and mango trees generously lining the waters edge. There are many other boats on the water and their inhabitants wave to us. We enjoy a freshly prepared lunch of marinated and fried whole fish drizzled with fresh lime juice (the best fish I've ever tasted) and various other delicious accompaniments including poppadums, curd, curried cabbage and salad. Our afternoon is spent reading, napping and lounging. People bathe, launder their clothes and bash them dry against stones on the banks - the beating sound travels loudly over the water. 100,000 people live here and most are employed by the boating or agricultural trade.
Sofie and Vicky have been on a different route around India and tell us about their experiences in Calcutta (Kolkata) and Varanasi. Having been recommended to also visit Varanasi by an old college friend (Helen) and visit the burning ghats and the Ganges - I'm thinking another trip to India in the future will have to happen as I haven't been able to see it all! The stories of watching the funeral ceremonies in Varanasi, cremations, everything visible, the smell of sandalwood burning and solemness seems to have got under the skin of our boat mates. In the western world, death is our unspoken destiny and a truth we choose to avoid or ignore. In India it is part of your everyday life. How you conduct yourself in this life will affect your next one and the end is purely the beginning of your next adventure therefore people have a much less affected way of viewing this right of passage.
After some wine, beer and another delicious freshly cooked meal (Sofie and Vicky had bought some fresh tiger prawns and crabs from a side market earlier and the chef had lovingly served these with dinner) we retire to bed.
The walls on the boat are paper thin and before long we can hear a blood curdling scream from the other room. A cockroach, a decent size and much bigger than my friend on the train, is in their loo. One of the staff come heroically armed with spray and the cockroach has an unfortunate funeral firstly being sprayed and then thrown overboard. Erin quickly discovers another cockroach - this time in our bathroom. Again the man comes with the spray, this time the cockroach in question decides to make a run for it to the warm high ground under the man's Dhoti. (Men in Southern India wear this loin cloth type piece of material on their lower halves I assume to keep cool!). The man promptly jumps up and down, let's out a squeal. and we next next hear the spray of the aerosol and he comes out holding the dead insect triumphantly. The cockroach joins his friend swimming with the fishes. I like the idea that they must have been horrible people in their previous life...
An unwelcome bed guest...
This morning's sad goodbye is to Laura (Michael is in the shower). I am super sad to say goodbye to these guys as they've been awesome company the entire trip (despite being hit hard with sickness). I am hoping they will come over to London for a weekend otherwise I will head over to Frankfurt - in the meantime there's always good old Facebook!
Keen to move onwards and southwards, Erin and I commandeer a dedicated driver for the day for the princely sum of £28. Our plan is to get an overnight bus or train down to Kerala later this evening / tomorrow via Palolem, a recommended Southern beach in Goa.
Driving out of North Goa we go past a number of schools where the names make me chuckle. My favourites include Little Flower High School & Chubby Cheeks High School. Clearly I would have done my studies at the latter and be very proud to have that on my CV. No doubt it is a fine academic institution.
Having realised it's a Sunday and the central ticket office in Panjim is closed we head to Madgaon to enquire and book tickets for our journey south skipping the state of Karnataka and heading straight to Kerala.
Now I don't know if any of you have ever tried to a) find the correct train in India or b) successfully bought a ticket? If you have - I bow to your greatness!
We queue for 30 minutes in the foreigners queue which is also for military and senior citizens. It doesn't move and neither do any of the other long lines in the crowded ticket hall. We eventually work out (with the help of some Ukranian tourists) that a form needs to be completed in order to buy a ticket detailing names, addresses, ages, journey details, train numbers, class required and inside leg measurements (OK not the latter I'm exaggerating). After the queue proves to not be moving Erin tries a number of strategies to get the info and tickets faster. I keep our spot in the queue in the hope that the issuing ticket officer decides to light a fire up his bottom whilst Erin scouts another solution. Eventually the station supervisor tells Erin to head straight to the front of the queue. We both feel a touch guilty about this however the young soldiers at the front are very kind and let us make our enquiries. We are told which train we need, it's number and fill in the form. Submitting the piece of paper we are told by the rather unhelpful and unfriendly man at the counter (his bottom still perfectly comfortable) that we have filled the form in incorrectly with no further advice. A local man (who appears to be with the soldiers) helps us to complete the form correctly and we resubmit. We have chosen 2AC (second class with Air Con) but are informed there are no seats left so we must please change our forms to read 3AC. The form is handed back to us through the grates and past the official's pen (which sits next to him on the desk) where we are asked to change the number 2 to 3 which we do and resubmit to him again. He reinspects the form, asks for our passports and eventually issues us with a ticket. We begin to appreciate just how much Ricky (and the back office) has done for us and how seamless things have been to date!! We are super happy we've managed to do it ourselves, high fiving each other in the knowledge we will be leaving from Madgaon at 21:30 on the 18hr sleeper train to Ernakulam and are now free to enjoy a day on the beach.
Sunny, our driver, takes us on the 1hr drive to Palolem beach and we are led down a narrow track road with market stalls, shops and restaurants. Despite some concerning similarities the vibe here is a lot more relaxed than the North and there is no honking! We head onto the beach and it's a beautiful sweeping crescent shape. Palm trees drunkenly lean over the miles of sand and there is a bond style island in the distance. It's LOVELY and I finally understand what the fuss is about. I'm gutted that the others only got to experience North Goa and am really surprised that our tour didn't bring us here instead. (A big thanks to Angela W for the recommendation!).
We settle ourselves in a pristine bar/restaurant/beach hut village called Ciaran's and enjoy some masala chai and a mouth watering fresh hummus and salad wrap. I leave Erin with Shantaram and head to catch some rays. It's an afternoon of reading, snoozing and relaxing with minimal distractions (there are still some local happy snappers but luckily Erin picks up most of the slack for both of us). The water is like a bath and we share the beach with a few cows - seems like these creatures have a good old life in India (albeit steak is starting to appear on menus the more south we travel).
We find a shower where we rinse off our day and grab dinner at another lovely beachside place called Cuba Goa. We sit on soft style seating at a candlelit table on the floor looking out onto the Arabian Sea. Chill out music plays, clandestine groups gather on the beach and beach bbqs, cooked on half cut oil drums, sizzle fresh seafood.
South Goa has redeemed the rest of her state admirably.
Before long it's the one hour journey back to the station and, with the help of another kind local (who gives us his number in case we need anything) we're safely on the train with our backpacks. Conditions are pretty much the same as our previous sleeper train - this time I take the top bunk and Erin takes the middle bed. The beds are tight for space, with a modest amount of head room but it's cosy. We are sat stationary on the platform for an hour and just as I start to get comfy in my little den, I notice a cockroach climbing out of a crack in the carriage ceiling 30cms above my face. I chase it back into the crack with a pen. A few seconds later it reappears so I chase it back in again. This game continues for a while until the train starts moving, AC starts and it disappears. My eye is trained on the crack for a good 10 minutes. I'm not sure I blinked.
Blocking the thought of the cockroach crawling over me in the night, or worse still, me eating it, I am rocked to sleep by the gentle lullaby motion of the train ready to enjoy my final week in India.
Keen to move onwards and southwards, Erin and I commandeer a dedicated driver for the day for the princely sum of £28. Our plan is to get an overnight bus or train down to Kerala later this evening / tomorrow via Palolem, a recommended Southern beach in Goa.
Driving out of North Goa we go past a number of schools where the names make me chuckle. My favourites include Little Flower High School & Chubby Cheeks High School. Clearly I would have done my studies at the latter and be very proud to have that on my CV. No doubt it is a fine academic institution.
Having realised it's a Sunday and the central ticket office in Panjim is closed we head to Madgaon to enquire and book tickets for our journey south skipping the state of Karnataka and heading straight to Kerala.
Now I don't know if any of you have ever tried to a) find the correct train in India or b) successfully bought a ticket? If you have - I bow to your greatness!
We queue for 30 minutes in the foreigners queue which is also for military and senior citizens. It doesn't move and neither do any of the other long lines in the crowded ticket hall. We eventually work out (with the help of some Ukranian tourists) that a form needs to be completed in order to buy a ticket detailing names, addresses, ages, journey details, train numbers, class required and inside leg measurements (OK not the latter I'm exaggerating). After the queue proves to not be moving Erin tries a number of strategies to get the info and tickets faster. I keep our spot in the queue in the hope that the issuing ticket officer decides to light a fire up his bottom whilst Erin scouts another solution. Eventually the station supervisor tells Erin to head straight to the front of the queue. We both feel a touch guilty about this however the young soldiers at the front are very kind and let us make our enquiries. We are told which train we need, it's number and fill in the form. Submitting the piece of paper we are told by the rather unhelpful and unfriendly man at the counter (his bottom still perfectly comfortable) that we have filled the form in incorrectly with no further advice. A local man (who appears to be with the soldiers) helps us to complete the form correctly and we resubmit. We have chosen 2AC (second class with Air Con) but are informed there are no seats left so we must please change our forms to read 3AC. The form is handed back to us through the grates and past the official's pen (which sits next to him on the desk) where we are asked to change the number 2 to 3 which we do and resubmit to him again. He reinspects the form, asks for our passports and eventually issues us with a ticket. We begin to appreciate just how much Ricky (and the back office) has done for us and how seamless things have been to date!! We are super happy we've managed to do it ourselves, high fiving each other in the knowledge we will be leaving from Madgaon at 21:30 on the 18hr sleeper train to Ernakulam and are now free to enjoy a day on the beach.
Sunny, our driver, takes us on the 1hr drive to Palolem beach and we are led down a narrow track road with market stalls, shops and restaurants. Despite some concerning similarities the vibe here is a lot more relaxed than the North and there is no honking! We head onto the beach and it's a beautiful sweeping crescent shape. Palm trees drunkenly lean over the miles of sand and there is a bond style island in the distance. It's LOVELY and I finally understand what the fuss is about. I'm gutted that the others only got to experience North Goa and am really surprised that our tour didn't bring us here instead. (A big thanks to Angela W for the recommendation!).
We settle ourselves in a pristine bar/restaurant/beach hut village called Ciaran's and enjoy some masala chai and a mouth watering fresh hummus and salad wrap. I leave Erin with Shantaram and head to catch some rays. It's an afternoon of reading, snoozing and relaxing with minimal distractions (there are still some local happy snappers but luckily Erin picks up most of the slack for both of us). The water is like a bath and we share the beach with a few cows - seems like these creatures have a good old life in India (albeit steak is starting to appear on menus the more south we travel).
We find a shower where we rinse off our day and grab dinner at another lovely beachside place called Cuba Goa. We sit on soft style seating at a candlelit table on the floor looking out onto the Arabian Sea. Chill out music plays, clandestine groups gather on the beach and beach bbqs, cooked on half cut oil drums, sizzle fresh seafood.
South Goa has redeemed the rest of her state admirably.
Before long it's the one hour journey back to the station and, with the help of another kind local (who gives us his number in case we need anything) we're safely on the train with our backpacks. Conditions are pretty much the same as our previous sleeper train - this time I take the top bunk and Erin takes the middle bed. The beds are tight for space, with a modest amount of head room but it's cosy. We are sat stationary on the platform for an hour and just as I start to get comfy in my little den, I notice a cockroach climbing out of a crack in the carriage ceiling 30cms above my face. I chase it back into the crack with a pen. A few seconds later it reappears so I chase it back in again. This game continues for a while until the train starts moving, AC starts and it disappears. My eye is trained on the crack for a good 10 minutes. I'm not sure I blinked.
Blocking the thought of the cockroach crawling over me in the night, or worse still, me eating it, I am rocked to sleep by the gentle lullaby motion of the train ready to enjoy my final week in India.
Saturday 3 November 2012
In need of a Burkini...
We have a hungover goodbye breakfast with Geoff & Ricky at the hotel this morning. Ricky, our guide, has been a huge part of making my India experience utterly incredible. I've felt totally safe in his care and I'm very sad, plus a tad nervous, to say goodbye to him and fly solo. That being said he's prepared us well in terms of how to gets things done in India. Geoff is continuing his travels to China today so it's just Michael, Laura, Erin and I left. We are slowly but surely becoming disbanded brothers.
I head to Baga beach solo and set myself down on the sand. The beach is an eclectic mix of nationalities, cows, bathing costumes, string bikinis and touts selling their various wares. I am approached by a few men asking where I am from and if I am enjoying India. Some ask for photos with them (to which I quickly say no!) - some blatantly snap away from a safe distance on their mobile phones performing the infamous Indian head wobble as they do so (apparently this means something is agreeable). I've never felt so appreciated but at the same time I am feeling super self conscious. Perhaps I should have ignored the guidebook and opted for a Nigella style Burkini given they seem to appreciate my well cultivated (mostly curry & naan), bikini clad curves here a little too much. Add to this the constant "Hello Madam. Pineapple Juice?", "Hello Darling - Anklet?, "Hello hello - henna tattoo / water / bookmark / bag / manicure / pedicure" and my relaxing afternoon on the beach turns into a new & unfound lesson in how to totally ignore people.
Later that evening Erin and I head out to the advertised night market but are told that the license is not yet through. Instead we fight our way through the "non high season" crowds of locals, Russians and Brits in Calangute and Baga. The streets of North Goa are narrow, mopeds and taxis brush past you, the horns are back, shop owners hound you to come into their shop, English breakfasts are on sale and I feel a bit like we're in India's Benidorm. It's not my cup of tea (a British expression taught to the rest of the group).
We make the most of things - grab some beer & dinner, check out some great little shops and hunt for a bloody black and silver (or grey) throw for my Mum. (She has managed to pick the only unpopular colour combo in India it would seem).
Can the South redeem Goa and show us why thousands of tourists visit here for a relaxing beach holiday every year?!
Tomorrow will tell...
I head to Baga beach solo and set myself down on the sand. The beach is an eclectic mix of nationalities, cows, bathing costumes, string bikinis and touts selling their various wares. I am approached by a few men asking where I am from and if I am enjoying India. Some ask for photos with them (to which I quickly say no!) - some blatantly snap away from a safe distance on their mobile phones performing the infamous Indian head wobble as they do so (apparently this means something is agreeable). I've never felt so appreciated but at the same time I am feeling super self conscious. Perhaps I should have ignored the guidebook and opted for a Nigella style Burkini given they seem to appreciate my well cultivated (mostly curry & naan), bikini clad curves here a little too much. Add to this the constant "Hello Madam. Pineapple Juice?", "Hello Darling - Anklet?, "Hello hello - henna tattoo / water / bookmark / bag / manicure / pedicure" and my relaxing afternoon on the beach turns into a new & unfound lesson in how to totally ignore people.
Later that evening Erin and I head out to the advertised night market but are told that the license is not yet through. Instead we fight our way through the "non high season" crowds of locals, Russians and Brits in Calangute and Baga. The streets of North Goa are narrow, mopeds and taxis brush past you, the horns are back, shop owners hound you to come into their shop, English breakfasts are on sale and I feel a bit like we're in India's Benidorm. It's not my cup of tea (a British expression taught to the rest of the group).
We make the most of things - grab some beer & dinner, check out some great little shops and hunt for a bloody black and silver (or grey) throw for my Mum. (She has managed to pick the only unpopular colour combo in India it would seem).
Can the South redeem Goa and show us why thousands of tourists visit here for a relaxing beach holiday every year?!
Tomorrow will tell...
Lessons in Kama Sutra
After a heavy night's partying, we have a leisurely start to the day. I meet Johannes and Claus for breakfast in the hotel and given it's the penultimate day of the tour I start thinking about how I'm going to make it down to Kerala independently. There are no direct flights until Saturday (which is too late). Erin has decided to join me so we agree to train/bus it. We will stay another night in Calangute, North Goa and then head south tomorrow to a beach, that my friend Angela has recommended (Palolem). The plan is to then get to Mangalore.
As a group we head to Anjuna beach and find some sun loungers where we crash for the afternoon. The beaches in North Goa are wide and sweeping, fringed with palm trees with wooden beach huts. They are disappointingly dirty in places and the water is a dark but an achingly warm, green. I have to confess that if I'd booked a two week holiday to Goa expecting Thai or Australian quality beaches I would have been very disappointed. Nevertheless sitting watching the waves crash in, looking out on the miles of rolling beach and ocean at The Sunset Bar, sipping ice cold Diet Coke, reading my book and watching people enjoying the surf, it could be a lot worse.
There are lots of Russians in Goa, they even have their own mafia base here. As encountered in Egypt - as a nation they seem to be incredibly fond of posing for photos (in as minimal clothing as possible) so part of our afternoon's entertainment is spent watching a couple take turns performing various playboy type poses in a string bikini and speedos.
Some other entertainment, slightly more worthy of being noted, is a family with a young daughter able to walk a tightrope with her feet following the curves of a hoola hoop against the rope six feet off the floor. They carry the wooden poles and rope able to construct their stage in less than a minute, hammering stakes into the sand to keep the platform tight. The girl works the tourists in front of her with many handing over notes for her efforts.
Despite using sun cream and it being very cloudy, when we get back to the hotel I realise I'm super burnt making a mental note to slather more on tomorrow. We crash out for a few hours and then meet for our farewell dinner.
We arrive at Brittos, a stunning restaurant, lit with candles, soft lighting and spilling gently onto Baga beach. I share some red wine with Johannes & Claus and decide to try some of the local speciality fish which comes bathed in garlic. It's a gorgeous place to savour our last night together and we spend the evening recounting our favourite places and stories from the trip. I'm sad to say goodbye as have made some lifelong friends.
After dinner we head for drinks at a nearby club where we have a few last dances and Ricky demonstrates that Bhangra style dancing can indeed be used to dance to any genre of music to (including the song Tudthumping by Chumbawumba. We say our first sad goodbyes to Johannes & Claus, who are flying home tomorrow at 4am, and the rest of the group leave me, Erin, Ricky and his cousin, Arj, partying.
We have an insightful chat with Arj discussing how western women are viewed in India and why he thinks arranged marriages are so successful. He tells us that the most important part of selecting a bride for their son is the woman's horoscope. If a woman has a bad horoscope she is almost destined to be a spinster (cats optional). Otherwise provided the horoscope predicts a good life and family AND that they belong to the same caste (if marrying outside of their caste and into a 'love marriage' the majority of Indian families disown their kids) they are good to go. Further selection criteria would be that she comes from a reputable family with good values and there is no dishonour. Looks, education and other traits valued in the west are not even mentioned.
I ask him what would happen if his family selected someone that he bore no physical attraction to and he simply says that he trusts his parents to choose someone suitable and he is looking for a life partner, a good wife and someone to love him. The attraction grows from here. He also goes into quite some detail about the importance of sex in marriage. If an Indian man is unable to satisfy his wife this brings great shame on him. Suddenly the Kama Sutra all makes sense!
We talk about Hinduism, souls, energy, karma, Islam and Buddhism. It's an intellectual and spiritual feast (especially after the rum!).
Ricky and Erin are succumbing to lack of sleep and the kamikaze shots being administered by Arj. Despite this they remain keen to party. After a few more dances I make our excuses and we say goodbye to Arj to head back to the hotel.
Something tells me we've left a very disappointed Arj behind at the club keen to demonstrate his tantric prowess on someone...
As a group we head to Anjuna beach and find some sun loungers where we crash for the afternoon. The beaches in North Goa are wide and sweeping, fringed with palm trees with wooden beach huts. They are disappointingly dirty in places and the water is a dark but an achingly warm, green. I have to confess that if I'd booked a two week holiday to Goa expecting Thai or Australian quality beaches I would have been very disappointed. Nevertheless sitting watching the waves crash in, looking out on the miles of rolling beach and ocean at The Sunset Bar, sipping ice cold Diet Coke, reading my book and watching people enjoying the surf, it could be a lot worse.
There are lots of Russians in Goa, they even have their own mafia base here. As encountered in Egypt - as a nation they seem to be incredibly fond of posing for photos (in as minimal clothing as possible) so part of our afternoon's entertainment is spent watching a couple take turns performing various playboy type poses in a string bikini and speedos.
Some other entertainment, slightly more worthy of being noted, is a family with a young daughter able to walk a tightrope with her feet following the curves of a hoola hoop against the rope six feet off the floor. They carry the wooden poles and rope able to construct their stage in less than a minute, hammering stakes into the sand to keep the platform tight. The girl works the tourists in front of her with many handing over notes for her efforts.
Despite using sun cream and it being very cloudy, when we get back to the hotel I realise I'm super burnt making a mental note to slather more on tomorrow. We crash out for a few hours and then meet for our farewell dinner.
We arrive at Brittos, a stunning restaurant, lit with candles, soft lighting and spilling gently onto Baga beach. I share some red wine with Johannes & Claus and decide to try some of the local speciality fish which comes bathed in garlic. It's a gorgeous place to savour our last night together and we spend the evening recounting our favourite places and stories from the trip. I'm sad to say goodbye as have made some lifelong friends.
After dinner we head for drinks at a nearby club where we have a few last dances and Ricky demonstrates that Bhangra style dancing can indeed be used to dance to any genre of music to (including the song Tudthumping by Chumbawumba. We say our first sad goodbyes to Johannes & Claus, who are flying home tomorrow at 4am, and the rest of the group leave me, Erin, Ricky and his cousin, Arj, partying.
We have an insightful chat with Arj discussing how western women are viewed in India and why he thinks arranged marriages are so successful. He tells us that the most important part of selecting a bride for their son is the woman's horoscope. If a woman has a bad horoscope she is almost destined to be a spinster (cats optional). Otherwise provided the horoscope predicts a good life and family AND that they belong to the same caste (if marrying outside of their caste and into a 'love marriage' the majority of Indian families disown their kids) they are good to go. Further selection criteria would be that she comes from a reputable family with good values and there is no dishonour. Looks, education and other traits valued in the west are not even mentioned.
I ask him what would happen if his family selected someone that he bore no physical attraction to and he simply says that he trusts his parents to choose someone suitable and he is looking for a life partner, a good wife and someone to love him. The attraction grows from here. He also goes into quite some detail about the importance of sex in marriage. If an Indian man is unable to satisfy his wife this brings great shame on him. Suddenly the Kama Sutra all makes sense!
We talk about Hinduism, souls, energy, karma, Islam and Buddhism. It's an intellectual and spiritual feast (especially after the rum!).
Ricky and Erin are succumbing to lack of sleep and the kamikaze shots being administered by Arj. Despite this they remain keen to party. After a few more dances I make our excuses and we say goodbye to Arj to head back to the hotel.
Something tells me we've left a very disappointed Arj behind at the club keen to demonstrate his tantric prowess on someone...
Thursday 1 November 2012
Ladies who Lunch (breakfast)...
Rekha and her husband collect me from my hotel just before 9am in their chauffeur driven car - it's a taste of luxury in comparison to what I've been experiencing over the last few days. Rekha is originally from India and her husband is German - they have recently relocated back here after a long stint in Europe. Rekha and I know each other from working at MasterCard together and it's lovely to see her and tell her all about my travels in Incredible India so far.
I'm beyond excited when we go to Starbucks (the first to open here) and I have Chai tea and pastries for breakfast. We're quickly joined by Rekha's friend and after some coffee she's very kindly commanded her driver to give me a mini tour of Mumbai where I get to see The Gateway to India, Chowpatty Beach, Marine Drive and The Taj hotel which was also at the centre of the terror attacks.
Dropping me outside my hotel, I say my farewells and meet the group to head to the airport. I'm not sure how I feel about Mumbai - to me it feels like a city trying to claw it's way to being a modern first world destination but it's busting under the pressure. The stark contrast between the super wealthy and poor is most evident here with whole skyscrapers being constructed as one person's house overlooking slums.
Michael is now super sick and has apparently spent most of the night being ill. A doctor has had to be called for an injection to be administered. Seems we're slowly dropping like flies! I'm feeling better and a day off the medicine seems to have helped.
We eventually get to the airport to catch the Indigo air flight and after some bumpy turbulence touch down in the wet, humid and peaceful green terrain of Goa.
It's straight to the town after dinner and before I know it I'm in a club sipping Sex on the Beach cocktails and drinking Kingfisher beer at 2 for 70 Rupees. It's not long before we hit the dance floor and I meet some guys from Manchester who are trying to shake away their Russian conquests from the night before.
Yes - it's official. We have arrived in the party capital of India and I'm on the last official few days of the tour before I head down to Kochin and Kerala.
I'm beyond excited when we go to Starbucks (the first to open here) and I have Chai tea and pastries for breakfast. We're quickly joined by Rekha's friend and after some coffee she's very kindly commanded her driver to give me a mini tour of Mumbai where I get to see The Gateway to India, Chowpatty Beach, Marine Drive and The Taj hotel which was also at the centre of the terror attacks.
Dropping me outside my hotel, I say my farewells and meet the group to head to the airport. I'm not sure how I feel about Mumbai - to me it feels like a city trying to claw it's way to being a modern first world destination but it's busting under the pressure. The stark contrast between the super wealthy and poor is most evident here with whole skyscrapers being constructed as one person's house overlooking slums.
Michael is now super sick and has apparently spent most of the night being ill. A doctor has had to be called for an injection to be administered. Seems we're slowly dropping like flies! I'm feeling better and a day off the medicine seems to have helped.
We eventually get to the airport to catch the Indigo air flight and after some bumpy turbulence touch down in the wet, humid and peaceful green terrain of Goa.
It's straight to the town after dinner and before I know it I'm in a club sipping Sex on the Beach cocktails and drinking Kingfisher beer at 2 for 70 Rupees. It's not long before we hit the dance floor and I meet some guys from Manchester who are trying to shake away their Russian conquests from the night before.
Yes - it's official. We have arrived in the party capital of India and I'm on the last official few days of the tour before I head down to Kochin and Kerala.
Bombay dreaming...
We wake up on the train and it seems the others (sharing one carriage) have had an interesting night. Erin was found sleeping with her tongue touching the seat (not recommended here) and everyone else was rudely awakened by a local guy stretching and farting his way to start the day. I have slept soundly, pretty much the whole way, cradling my passport & valuables.
As we pull into Mumbai we pass some of the infamous slums, where Slumdog Millionaire was set, and watch kids playing alongside the railway lines, people taking a wash in a bucket and others going to the toilet. The slums are said to export over $600M worth of goods yearly and many people who hold blue collar jobs still live there.
We head into a couple of retro looking taxis and arrive at the worst hotel of the trip so far, the optimistically named Royal Castle. The rooms stink of cigarette smoke and our bathroom is 20 degrees hotter than the bedroom due to the hot water boiler. Like most places we've stayed, there is no toilet paper - a simple hand held shower nozzle by the pan replaces the need and reduces the paper going into the city's already groaning sewage system.
The rooms aren't quite ready so we head for brunch (again at the optimistically named Cafe Ideal) where I go for a cheese & pineapple toastie.
Michael, Laura and I head to find a mall to buy some semi decent clothes as Ricky tells us we'll be going to a nice restaurant tonight. I find a Mango and buy myself a couple of dresses (the curry, naan and cheese toasties has most definitely taken their toll - I'm thinking forward to the bikini situation in Goa - eek!).
I head back to the hotel and crash for the afternoon as I'm still not 100%. A few of the others head out for a Slum & Laundry tour before we meet up for our evening out.
All glammed up we head out onto the streets of Bombay and to 'Leopold's'. Upon arrival I'm not sure the new dress was entirely necessary as it has more of a cafe feel. We're led upstairs to the air con part of the establishment which turns out being an Indian style Smokey Joes (minus the pole and decent (yes) toilets). Neon bar signs buzz on the walls, a DJ playing Brian Adams, Bonnie Tyler, Dire Straits and the Ghostbusters theme tune operates from the corner. I learn that this bar is where part of the eleven coordinated Mumbai terror attacks occurred.
The food is pretty bad and I'm not drinking so it's a tame night for me.
I head to bed Bombay dreaming and looking forward to a reunion with my friend Rekha tomorrow morning.
As we pull into Mumbai we pass some of the infamous slums, where Slumdog Millionaire was set, and watch kids playing alongside the railway lines, people taking a wash in a bucket and others going to the toilet. The slums are said to export over $600M worth of goods yearly and many people who hold blue collar jobs still live there.
We head into a couple of retro looking taxis and arrive at the worst hotel of the trip so far, the optimistically named Royal Castle. The rooms stink of cigarette smoke and our bathroom is 20 degrees hotter than the bedroom due to the hot water boiler. Like most places we've stayed, there is no toilet paper - a simple hand held shower nozzle by the pan replaces the need and reduces the paper going into the city's already groaning sewage system.
The rooms aren't quite ready so we head for brunch (again at the optimistically named Cafe Ideal) where I go for a cheese & pineapple toastie.
Michael, Laura and I head to find a mall to buy some semi decent clothes as Ricky tells us we'll be going to a nice restaurant tonight. I find a Mango and buy myself a couple of dresses (the curry, naan and cheese toasties has most definitely taken their toll - I'm thinking forward to the bikini situation in Goa - eek!).
I head back to the hotel and crash for the afternoon as I'm still not 100%. A few of the others head out for a Slum & Laundry tour before we meet up for our evening out.
All glammed up we head out onto the streets of Bombay and to 'Leopold's'. Upon arrival I'm not sure the new dress was entirely necessary as it has more of a cafe feel. We're led upstairs to the air con part of the establishment which turns out being an Indian style Smokey Joes (minus the pole and decent (yes) toilets). Neon bar signs buzz on the walls, a DJ playing Brian Adams, Bonnie Tyler, Dire Straits and the Ghostbusters theme tune operates from the corner. I learn that this bar is where part of the eleven coordinated Mumbai terror attacks occurred.
The food is pretty bad and I'm not drinking so it's a tame night for me.
I head to bed Bombay dreaming and looking forward to a reunion with my friend Rekha tomorrow morning.
Temples, Panthers, Puppies & Puke
I wake up feeling hungover and sick. Not sure how much is alcohol related and how much is the flu/cold. Heading to breakfast Ricky tells us that a panther killed a wild boar next to the pool last night and we all glance at each other nervously - super glad we didn't set up camp to sleep there after all! Erin even more so than the rest of us!
One of the hotel's dogs has had puppies that are 10 days old. We're taken to where she has hidden them, in a den, safely away from reach of the panthers made from sticks that crack as you get close and they are buried into the side of a hill. We have cuddles with one of them - they are adorable!
I'm not the only one who is ill. Johannes and Claus are also not feeling good. Michael, Ricky and Laura seem to be OK now but think the pace and lack of basic food hygiene is taking it's toll on our bodies - certainly mine. We take the jeep to Ranakpur temple, driving past monkeys, over a bridge adorned with stone elephants and eventually arrive at the Jain place of worship, seemingly in the middle of nowhere with a subtle likeness to Angkor Wat. Jainism is a strain of Hinduism and some worshippers prefer to practice entirely naked. The temple is 600 years old and contains 144 uniquely carved pillars depicting various gods and deities. We are shown around by one of the priests who takes us to the highlights of the temple including the 'tree of life' which appears to have a form of the elephant god Ganesh within it. Upon leaving the temple I'm told to cast a wish - I hold my eyes tight and send my wish forwards to the shrine and upwards to the sky.
When we leave we come across a stray puppy and then realise there are a further three awkwardly frolicking in the dust - still gangly and a few weeks old. They try and nibble our trousers, play with Michael's camera strap and these ones look like they shouldn't be petted. They seem to be attracting more attention than the temple.
Johannes has been quickly going down hill and doesn't make it into the temple opting to sit in the shade instead. He's slowly turning 50 Shades of Green (and yes today the blog was nearly titled this). On our drive back we have to pull the jeep over and a scene worthy of the exorcist unfolds before us. Poor Johannes is super sick.
Returning back to Aranyawas we pack up, I order a packed lunch (a dubious looking cheese sandwich) and head to the jeep to pick up our train to Mumbai.
We wait at the platform in Falna for an hour and eventually a long blue train pulls sleepily into the station. We fight with our bags onto the correct carriage and Ricky points us to our beds. Mine is lying parallel to a window and consists of a basic blue plastic bench bed. There are six other beds in the compartment with no doors. Two women sit in the beds opposite and they stare unashamedly at me. After some initial luggage chaos I relax down making myself a pillow using my sealed dirty laundry bag and put on my fleece. When I take out my face wipes they look bemused and stare at me as if I am performing a strange western ritual. Eventually we are given a pillow and blanket. I'm still not feeling too good so I bed down for the 13.5hr journey ahead. I fall asleep quickly, gently being rocked to sleep by the soothing movement of the train.
One of the hotel's dogs has had puppies that are 10 days old. We're taken to where she has hidden them, in a den, safely away from reach of the panthers made from sticks that crack as you get close and they are buried into the side of a hill. We have cuddles with one of them - they are adorable!
I'm not the only one who is ill. Johannes and Claus are also not feeling good. Michael, Ricky and Laura seem to be OK now but think the pace and lack of basic food hygiene is taking it's toll on our bodies - certainly mine. We take the jeep to Ranakpur temple, driving past monkeys, over a bridge adorned with stone elephants and eventually arrive at the Jain place of worship, seemingly in the middle of nowhere with a subtle likeness to Angkor Wat. Jainism is a strain of Hinduism and some worshippers prefer to practice entirely naked. The temple is 600 years old and contains 144 uniquely carved pillars depicting various gods and deities. We are shown around by one of the priests who takes us to the highlights of the temple including the 'tree of life' which appears to have a form of the elephant god Ganesh within it. Upon leaving the temple I'm told to cast a wish - I hold my eyes tight and send my wish forwards to the shrine and upwards to the sky.
When we leave we come across a stray puppy and then realise there are a further three awkwardly frolicking in the dust - still gangly and a few weeks old. They try and nibble our trousers, play with Michael's camera strap and these ones look like they shouldn't be petted. They seem to be attracting more attention than the temple.
Johannes has been quickly going down hill and doesn't make it into the temple opting to sit in the shade instead. He's slowly turning 50 Shades of Green (and yes today the blog was nearly titled this). On our drive back we have to pull the jeep over and a scene worthy of the exorcist unfolds before us. Poor Johannes is super sick.
Returning back to Aranyawas we pack up, I order a packed lunch (a dubious looking cheese sandwich) and head to the jeep to pick up our train to Mumbai.
We wait at the platform in Falna for an hour and eventually a long blue train pulls sleepily into the station. We fight with our bags onto the correct carriage and Ricky points us to our beds. Mine is lying parallel to a window and consists of a basic blue plastic bench bed. There are six other beds in the compartment with no doors. Two women sit in the beds opposite and they stare unashamedly at me. After some initial luggage chaos I relax down making myself a pillow using my sealed dirty laundry bag and put on my fleece. When I take out my face wipes they look bemused and stare at me as if I am performing a strange western ritual. Eventually we are given a pillow and blanket. I'm still not feeling too good so I bed down for the 13.5hr journey ahead. I fall asleep quickly, gently being rocked to sleep by the soothing movement of the train.
Wednesday 31 October 2012
The million dollar pen...
I've managed to pick up an ear infection (guessing from our pool antics) so I wake up and head straight to the chemist where I buy antibiotic drops over the counter for 50p. I also have a mouth ulcer, I'm starting to feel like I have a cold coming and the Imodium has sent me a little too far in the opposite direction! Staying healthy in India is proving a challenge!!! I am craving fruit, vegetables and anything non spicy! Apart from all of the above I'm still having an awesome time (and as Bron would say - at least I still have my ears, a mouth and digestive system).
Erin, Ricky, Geoff and Laura all get up at 7am this morning for an Ashtanga yoga class on the roof (I bow out graciously) and we meet for breakfast before loading up our jeep which will take us to Ranakpur.
Before we leave we try and stop at the Ray Ban shop however in the space of 10 minutes we have hit a car (the jeep had no scratch however the car was not so lucky). We are expecting to spend the next 30mins completing paperwork however just drive off with the other driver being slightly miffed. We then get caught in honking traffic while some people try and tame an angry bull - so it's a typical start to the day in India.
I know we are nearby so I try and find the 'Danny De Vito' lookalike I met yesterday selling textiles. I achieve this by showing other shop owners his photo and they all point me in the right direction. I find it amazing that despite Udaipur having a population of 400,000, everyone knows one another and the sense of community is ever strong.
We leave Udaipur and head out onto a rural track road. Our 2.5hr journey finds us in the middle of nowhere and a forest where we are staying at a place called Aranyawas. The resort is made up of a series of grey stone cottages that overlook a beautiful freshwater stream and green valley. It reminds me of a B&B in Howick, South Africa. I love it here and wish we were staying for longer than one night. The change of pace is wonderful.
Apparently there were two panthers and their cubs playing in the stream a few weeks back and I'm super jealous that I missed it. The panthers cause big problems for the owners here and they have killed two of their own pet dogs recently. I don't think George would last long! Sat on our balconies Laura, Michael and I scout the surrounds in the hope of seeing something and Laura manages to spot a mongoose whilst I only manage some chipmunks and a variety of beautiful birds. Sitting in the sun on the balcony overlooking the valley, with the water softly trickling in front is one of my highlights of the whole trip. It's hard to believe that I'm still in the same country as Delhi!
At 3pm Johannes, Laura, Ricky and I head out further into the forest on a horse safari. My horse is called Kulyani. At first she's rather feisty but after a while I am holding the reins tightly and keeping her under control (with the help of a guide). Ricky is totally at ease on horseback. He has told us many stories about when he used to run horseback tours near his home and he still actively plays polo (Prince Harry is due to play his team sometime soon).
We trot past rural homes, made of basic materials mostly sticks and mud. Goats are herded by small kids into the family small holdings with women cooking over wood fires in cauldrons. We pass buffalo, parrots in the trees and peacocks. The children and adults come running out to say hello and "bye bye" to us.
There is a small group of children, immaculately dressed in uniform, walking home from school and they are totally mesmerised by us. Ricky explains that they will very rarely see Western people so they must have followed us for miles! Eventually the boy in the group plucks up the courage to get my attention, point at his text book and make a sign for a pen. I say that I'm so sorry I don't have one and shake my head. He looks disappointed but he still follows us smiling and doesn't ask for money. Eventually we stop for a water break and I open my bag. Underneath the tissues, water bottle, money purse and camera I can see a MasterCard Priceless London pen lurking at the bottom. I ask Ricky if I can give it to him (taking into account what he'd said about encouraging begging and I'm so glad he said this is different as it's for school and education). I call the boy over and hand over the pen.
His reaction gives me a lump in my throat and I am, again, humbled that something I take for granted is so appreciated here. He stares at it, turning and twisting it in his fingers , admiring it, trying to read the writing and then excitedly opens his text book to check it's working. When the black ink scores into the paper I've never seen such a genuine look of wonder and gratitude on someone's face. It really was like I'd just given him a million dollars.
Ricky tells me that the boy will go into school and tell everyone that a foreign lady gave him the pen and no one will believe him. He said that his school friends will ask the guys who own the horses to confirm that he's telling the truth. I really wish I'd taken more pens.
We're out on the horses for 2.5hrs and watch the sun set. It's an 11km jeep ride back to our base where we chill out for a while and then head to dinner. This is an upmarket resort and they stock Indian red and white wine. Michael and I hit the red and are pleasantly surprised with the quality! After a buffet dinner we start another campfire listening to beautiful chill out music and chat animatedly together. The pet dogs come and sit with us and enjoy getting lots of fuss. We're eventually joined by an elderly Indian man who lives in Ilford and is here on holiday. With him he has his friend of 20years and an older plumper lady called Lolita. We offer them some rum and he asks lots of questions about our trip. He says he's so pleased to meet some English people willing and interested in learning about India and it's people. He tells us he hates wrongly being called a "Paki" back home and how badly educated most people are about Indian culture. Just as I'm saying what a lovely man he is, Lolita gets up and walks off. The elderly chap and his friend say their goodbyes and leave shortly after wishing us all well. Ricky explains that Lolita is in fact a prostitute and he'd asked for her to be locked in his room which raises some laughs and disbelief from the group!! He must have been at least 85...
After three bottles of red wine, shared with Michael & Erin, plus the obligatory rum / vodka I am definitely ready for my bed. Erin suggests we all sleep by the pool under the stars but I'm already pretty chilly (12 degrees at night here) so I say my good nights and head back to the cottage feeling a little worse for wear now on a number of levels...
Erin, Ricky, Geoff and Laura all get up at 7am this morning for an Ashtanga yoga class on the roof (I bow out graciously) and we meet for breakfast before loading up our jeep which will take us to Ranakpur.
Before we leave we try and stop at the Ray Ban shop however in the space of 10 minutes we have hit a car (the jeep had no scratch however the car was not so lucky). We are expecting to spend the next 30mins completing paperwork however just drive off with the other driver being slightly miffed. We then get caught in honking traffic while some people try and tame an angry bull - so it's a typical start to the day in India.
I know we are nearby so I try and find the 'Danny De Vito' lookalike I met yesterday selling textiles. I achieve this by showing other shop owners his photo and they all point me in the right direction. I find it amazing that despite Udaipur having a population of 400,000, everyone knows one another and the sense of community is ever strong.
We leave Udaipur and head out onto a rural track road. Our 2.5hr journey finds us in the middle of nowhere and a forest where we are staying at a place called Aranyawas. The resort is made up of a series of grey stone cottages that overlook a beautiful freshwater stream and green valley. It reminds me of a B&B in Howick, South Africa. I love it here and wish we were staying for longer than one night. The change of pace is wonderful.
Apparently there were two panthers and their cubs playing in the stream a few weeks back and I'm super jealous that I missed it. The panthers cause big problems for the owners here and they have killed two of their own pet dogs recently. I don't think George would last long! Sat on our balconies Laura, Michael and I scout the surrounds in the hope of seeing something and Laura manages to spot a mongoose whilst I only manage some chipmunks and a variety of beautiful birds. Sitting in the sun on the balcony overlooking the valley, with the water softly trickling in front is one of my highlights of the whole trip. It's hard to believe that I'm still in the same country as Delhi!
At 3pm Johannes, Laura, Ricky and I head out further into the forest on a horse safari. My horse is called Kulyani. At first she's rather feisty but after a while I am holding the reins tightly and keeping her under control (with the help of a guide). Ricky is totally at ease on horseback. He has told us many stories about when he used to run horseback tours near his home and he still actively plays polo (Prince Harry is due to play his team sometime soon).
We trot past rural homes, made of basic materials mostly sticks and mud. Goats are herded by small kids into the family small holdings with women cooking over wood fires in cauldrons. We pass buffalo, parrots in the trees and peacocks. The children and adults come running out to say hello and "bye bye" to us.
There is a small group of children, immaculately dressed in uniform, walking home from school and they are totally mesmerised by us. Ricky explains that they will very rarely see Western people so they must have followed us for miles! Eventually the boy in the group plucks up the courage to get my attention, point at his text book and make a sign for a pen. I say that I'm so sorry I don't have one and shake my head. He looks disappointed but he still follows us smiling and doesn't ask for money. Eventually we stop for a water break and I open my bag. Underneath the tissues, water bottle, money purse and camera I can see a MasterCard Priceless London pen lurking at the bottom. I ask Ricky if I can give it to him (taking into account what he'd said about encouraging begging and I'm so glad he said this is different as it's for school and education). I call the boy over and hand over the pen.
His reaction gives me a lump in my throat and I am, again, humbled that something I take for granted is so appreciated here. He stares at it, turning and twisting it in his fingers , admiring it, trying to read the writing and then excitedly opens his text book to check it's working. When the black ink scores into the paper I've never seen such a genuine look of wonder and gratitude on someone's face. It really was like I'd just given him a million dollars.
Ricky tells me that the boy will go into school and tell everyone that a foreign lady gave him the pen and no one will believe him. He said that his school friends will ask the guys who own the horses to confirm that he's telling the truth. I really wish I'd taken more pens.
We're out on the horses for 2.5hrs and watch the sun set. It's an 11km jeep ride back to our base where we chill out for a while and then head to dinner. This is an upmarket resort and they stock Indian red and white wine. Michael and I hit the red and are pleasantly surprised with the quality! After a buffet dinner we start another campfire listening to beautiful chill out music and chat animatedly together. The pet dogs come and sit with us and enjoy getting lots of fuss. We're eventually joined by an elderly Indian man who lives in Ilford and is here on holiday. With him he has his friend of 20years and an older plumper lady called Lolita. We offer them some rum and he asks lots of questions about our trip. He says he's so pleased to meet some English people willing and interested in learning about India and it's people. He tells us he hates wrongly being called a "Paki" back home and how badly educated most people are about Indian culture. Just as I'm saying what a lovely man he is, Lolita gets up and walks off. The elderly chap and his friend say their goodbyes and leave shortly after wishing us all well. Ricky explains that Lolita is in fact a prostitute and he'd asked for her to be locked in his room which raises some laughs and disbelief from the group!! He must have been at least 85...
After three bottles of red wine, shared with Michael & Erin, plus the obligatory rum / vodka I am definitely ready for my bed. Erin suggests we all sleep by the pool under the stars but I'm already pretty chilly (12 degrees at night here) so I say my good nights and head back to the cottage feeling a little worse for wear now on a number of levels...
Tuesday 30 October 2012
No colour in your life...
It's a lazy start to today after last night's poolside escapades. I get out of bed at 11:30am with a killer Indian hangover. Erin and I grab a tuk tuk into town and stroll over one of the pretty Venetian-esque bridges to a restaurant overlooking the water called The Prince's Garden. We sit watching women bathe, scrubbing their clothes and children swimming. A fresh pineapple juice, fruit salad and the best pizza I've ever tasted fixes me up and I'm ready to enjoy the rest of the day.
We collect my dress (which needs some alterations) and head back to the art shop for henna. The owner of the art shop, a man of 40 who could easily star in a Pantene advert, has taken a shine to me. He tells me he's missed me and instead of getting someone else to do it - he tells me he'd like to paint me himself. Erin stays with me and watches as he takes my hand and starts. He tells me that I'll need to tell him when to stop as he could henna me all day. Erin asks him about how he came to own the shop and he tells us of his struggle to fulfil his vision of creating a place for artists to come and operate independently. Ricky has recommended him as he does not believe / participate in the commission system and his strong belief in karma drives him to treat everyone fairly and to create opportunity for those less fortunate. He tells us that he has left India only once to visit Switzerland. He is one of the few Indians we have met on our travels who has been able to afford to leave. Ricky dreams of going to Venice sometime and I hope this comes true for him.
When asked what he thought of Europe he doesn't say what I was expecting. How wealthy people are, that he is envious of our lifestyle, how clean and tidy everything is - he simply tells us that he feels sorry for us...as we have no colour in our lives. I give him a hug goodbye and head back to the hotel with my decorated left arm and hand, a little richer from meeting him.
In the evening five of us head out for a food safari (a term coined by Erin). We arrive at an area fringing the lake, covered with stalls selling street food and it's clear this is where all the locals come. We stalk from stall to stall sharing & devouring freshly cooked toasted sandwiches, moo moos, Indian burgers and plates of interesting flavours & spices all rounded off, of course, with some chai tea.
We head back to the hotel, stuffed, satisfied and ready for bed...
No medicine required...
We collect my dress (which needs some alterations) and head back to the art shop for henna. The owner of the art shop, a man of 40 who could easily star in a Pantene advert, has taken a shine to me. He tells me he's missed me and instead of getting someone else to do it - he tells me he'd like to paint me himself. Erin stays with me and watches as he takes my hand and starts. He tells me that I'll need to tell him when to stop as he could henna me all day. Erin asks him about how he came to own the shop and he tells us of his struggle to fulfil his vision of creating a place for artists to come and operate independently. Ricky has recommended him as he does not believe / participate in the commission system and his strong belief in karma drives him to treat everyone fairly and to create opportunity for those less fortunate. He tells us that he has left India only once to visit Switzerland. He is one of the few Indians we have met on our travels who has been able to afford to leave. Ricky dreams of going to Venice sometime and I hope this comes true for him.
When asked what he thought of Europe he doesn't say what I was expecting. How wealthy people are, that he is envious of our lifestyle, how clean and tidy everything is - he simply tells us that he feels sorry for us...as we have no colour in our lives. I give him a hug goodbye and head back to the hotel with my decorated left arm and hand, a little richer from meeting him.
In the evening five of us head out for a food safari (a term coined by Erin). We arrive at an area fringing the lake, covered with stalls selling street food and it's clear this is where all the locals come. We stalk from stall to stall sharing & devouring freshly cooked toasted sandwiches, moo moos, Indian burgers and plates of interesting flavours & spices all rounded off, of course, with some chai tea.
We head back to the hotel, stuffed, satisfied and ready for bed...
No medicine required...
Patience is a virtue...
My first whole day in Udaipur begins with breakfast joined by Erin & Ricky at Cafe Edelweiss - a cafe run by a German guy who we hear has three wives. Ricky tells us he doesn't understand how he can do this as he thinks keeping one wife happy will be hard enough (he is due to marry in February). I enjoy some toast and jam plus some delicious banana bread. A mouse scurries under one of the tables (I have got used to eating with my feet off the floor) and a broom is used to shoo it away.
Ricky points us in the direction of a boat trip across the lake. We are asked to put on life jackets, the first piece of Indian health & safety I have encountered, and we head out across the glassy water. It's absolutely beautiful...
We stop at one of the islands which is Jagmandir Palace, another beautiful white marble and stone structure, flanked by a row of marble elephants, and one of the most expensive places in India to get married. Ricky tells us it would cost upwards of £300k (which is a lot of rupees) and it's design inspired some of the Taj Mahal's architecture.
After a spot of shopping back on dry land, Erin and I find a silk shop and have a dress made for 500 rupees each - approx £6. Our measurements are taken (eating curry every day is def taking a negative toll - I may need to start licking the bottom of my flip flops). I continue my mission to find Mum her requested black & silver sofa throw. It seems every textile shop in Rajasthan has every colour and pattern but so my hunt continues...
My afternoon is spent back at the art shop where I take a miniature painting class. This type of art is a hallmark of the region and the skill is passed from father to son. My tutor is called Pinky who asks me what I want to create. He draws me the beautiful outline of an elephant (symbol of good luck) in 20 seconds and hands to me to copy. I spend the next 10 minutes doing my best to copy. Next comes the outline in orange, while I shake my paintbrush unsteadily around my pencil outline I begin to have a new found appreciation for the patience & talent these guys possess. They seem to go into an almost meditative state when they paint.
I am told that the paint's colour is made from local plants and the bright yellow is made from cows urine. Slowly but surely my elephant takes shape with me copying carefully and very slowly as we go. It takes me 2hrs to finish but I am beyond happy with the result. Seems like I had an excellent teacher.
The artists paint my finger nails with beautiful intricate designs, Erin pops in and also has hers done. The rest of the group arrive and we head up the steps of the art school for a cookery lesson on the roof. The view is stunning overlooking the palace and the colourful mismatched patchwork of rooftops.
We learn how to make samosas, potato & spinach paneer, chicken masala, raita, marinated rice and chai tea. After our two hour cooking fest, frantically scribbling notes to keep up, we sit down to enjoy our meal together with festival fireworks lighting up the palace in the background.
Giving Ricky 500 rupees each he heads out for some more 'medicine' which we transport back to the hotel pool. I teach everyone how to play 'Eat my Box' (thanks Bron it translates so well) where you have to pick up a box off the floor with your mouth not using hands and only feet on the floor. I quickly find myself in hysterics as a few nearly end up in the pool after losing their balance. Glasses are taken off and stretches start to take place as people get serious and wait their turn. As the box gets lower more people bow out leaving only the super competitive left (including Ricky who changes out of his jeans and into some loose shorts). The music is pumping, and drinks are flowing freely (in generous servings) and I am quickly drunk on my orange vodka and Mirinda (a fanta equivalent that leaves Laura and my tongues orange coloured!). Eventually Johannes & Ricky triumph, both able to pick up a tiny flat piece of the box from the floor.
The evening continues with Bollywood / Bhangra dancing, ceroc and a very drunk group! I am the first to voluntarily jump in the pool quickly followed by Geoff, Johannes, Michael and Claus. Erin eventually succumbs and joins us in the cold water. Ricky is dragged in and spends the rest of the night wrapped in a towel, resembling E.T, shivering.
A great group bonding night and wonderful day.
Ricky points us in the direction of a boat trip across the lake. We are asked to put on life jackets, the first piece of Indian health & safety I have encountered, and we head out across the glassy water. It's absolutely beautiful...
We stop at one of the islands which is Jagmandir Palace, another beautiful white marble and stone structure, flanked by a row of marble elephants, and one of the most expensive places in India to get married. Ricky tells us it would cost upwards of £300k (which is a lot of rupees) and it's design inspired some of the Taj Mahal's architecture.
After a spot of shopping back on dry land, Erin and I find a silk shop and have a dress made for 500 rupees each - approx £6. Our measurements are taken (eating curry every day is def taking a negative toll - I may need to start licking the bottom of my flip flops). I continue my mission to find Mum her requested black & silver sofa throw. It seems every textile shop in Rajasthan has every colour and pattern but so my hunt continues...
My afternoon is spent back at the art shop where I take a miniature painting class. This type of art is a hallmark of the region and the skill is passed from father to son. My tutor is called Pinky who asks me what I want to create. He draws me the beautiful outline of an elephant (symbol of good luck) in 20 seconds and hands to me to copy. I spend the next 10 minutes doing my best to copy. Next comes the outline in orange, while I shake my paintbrush unsteadily around my pencil outline I begin to have a new found appreciation for the patience & talent these guys possess. They seem to go into an almost meditative state when they paint.
I am told that the paint's colour is made from local plants and the bright yellow is made from cows urine. Slowly but surely my elephant takes shape with me copying carefully and very slowly as we go. It takes me 2hrs to finish but I am beyond happy with the result. Seems like I had an excellent teacher.
The artists paint my finger nails with beautiful intricate designs, Erin pops in and also has hers done. The rest of the group arrive and we head up the steps of the art school for a cookery lesson on the roof. The view is stunning overlooking the palace and the colourful mismatched patchwork of rooftops.
We learn how to make samosas, potato & spinach paneer, chicken masala, raita, marinated rice and chai tea. After our two hour cooking fest, frantically scribbling notes to keep up, we sit down to enjoy our meal together with festival fireworks lighting up the palace in the background.
Giving Ricky 500 rupees each he heads out for some more 'medicine' which we transport back to the hotel pool. I teach everyone how to play 'Eat my Box' (thanks Bron it translates so well) where you have to pick up a box off the floor with your mouth not using hands and only feet on the floor. I quickly find myself in hysterics as a few nearly end up in the pool after losing their balance. Glasses are taken off and stretches start to take place as people get serious and wait their turn. As the box gets lower more people bow out leaving only the super competitive left (including Ricky who changes out of his jeans and into some loose shorts). The music is pumping, and drinks are flowing freely (in generous servings) and I am quickly drunk on my orange vodka and Mirinda (a fanta equivalent that leaves Laura and my tongues orange coloured!). Eventually Johannes & Ricky triumph, both able to pick up a tiny flat piece of the box from the floor.
The evening continues with Bollywood / Bhangra dancing, ceroc and a very drunk group! I am the first to voluntarily jump in the pool quickly followed by Geoff, Johannes, Michael and Claus. Erin eventually succumbs and joins us in the cold water. Ricky is dragged in and spends the rest of the night wrapped in a towel, resembling E.T, shivering.
A great group bonding night and wonderful day.
Sunday 28 October 2012
Nothing is impossible...
We say our sad goodbyes to Pushkar and board the train in general class heading to Udaipur. No fabric cushioned seats with breakfast service this time! Sitting among the locals, the ceiling of the carriage is covered with fans and there are no doors. The hard bench seats are covered in blue plastic and at every station stop, hawkers selling samosas, chai tea and snacks complete their transactions through the steel bars of the window. A child sweeps the floor on his hands & knees passing from car to car and I spend the next 4hrs people watching and writing.
We arrive into Udaipur and our base for the next three nights, Hotel Vishnupriya. The thought of not having to pack / unpack my backpack for three whole days makes me extremely happy as well as the hotel being relatively luxurious in comparison to the other accommodation so far. It's a good start for Udaipur!
After a quick chill out by the pool and an interesting (!) Ayervedic massage I meet up with the group and head out for a city orientation walk with Ricky. He is slowly but surely becoming one of my favourite people and proving to be an amazing guide, always taking us to hidden gems with the best views, food, service and giving great advice for how to operate / function Indian style.
As we walk through the narrow streets of the city we are back into traffic chaos where the horns provide the background music and if you're not careful you are skimmed by passing motorcycles, tuk tuks, cows or cars. Claus has to find this out the hard way and his shoulder has an unfortunate and abrupt argument with a tuk tuk. The narrow streets snake to form the old city and they are home to various shops mainly selling the region's famous miniature art, textiles and tailoring services.
Ricky explains that we have arrived in the most romantic city in India. So far it's not clear why it has earned the right to this title. And then we reach Lake Pichola sitting right in the middle of the city...
The lake is 4km long and 3km wide and forms a beautiful backdrop to the huge City Palace (Rajasthan's largest) which sits on the east side of the water. Sitting out in the middle of the lake are a couple of islands and also the Lake Palace, a white intricately built structure that casts a beautiful reflection of light on the still water. The city reminds me of India's version of Venice (just dirtier, shabbier and with motor vehicles). I now completely understand how it's earned it's reputation.
We climb some steps and enjoy dinner on a rooftop restaurant with amazing views over the huge palace. My food is washed down with a Kingfisher beer (which I've developed a taste for in the absence of wine) and before long we find ourselves in a tuk tuk again making a stop for supplies. The driver's nine year old son, with the cheekiest grin I've ever seen, watches us in fascination. It's like we're a pack of rare and endangered animals caged in his Dad's vehicle. The Dad explains that he is teaching the boy English who then proudly declares his name and his age in a perfectly crafted sentence. The father tells us that he tells his son every day that nothing is impossible and he can achieve anything he wants. This humbles and inspires me. If I ever have kids I will try and tell them this every day.
We make it back to the hotel and we round off the day with a bottle of rum on the roof. Ricky tells us that he has had to promise his Mum he will only drink alcohol on one night on his tour. Drinking seems to be frowned upon by the more traditional community. Demonstrating typical Indian ingenuity he finds a loophole in this by declaring the rum, for the rest of the week, as medicine for his sore throat.
I love India.
We arrive into Udaipur and our base for the next three nights, Hotel Vishnupriya. The thought of not having to pack / unpack my backpack for three whole days makes me extremely happy as well as the hotel being relatively luxurious in comparison to the other accommodation so far. It's a good start for Udaipur!
After a quick chill out by the pool and an interesting (!) Ayervedic massage I meet up with the group and head out for a city orientation walk with Ricky. He is slowly but surely becoming one of my favourite people and proving to be an amazing guide, always taking us to hidden gems with the best views, food, service and giving great advice for how to operate / function Indian style.
As we walk through the narrow streets of the city we are back into traffic chaos where the horns provide the background music and if you're not careful you are skimmed by passing motorcycles, tuk tuks, cows or cars. Claus has to find this out the hard way and his shoulder has an unfortunate and abrupt argument with a tuk tuk. The narrow streets snake to form the old city and they are home to various shops mainly selling the region's famous miniature art, textiles and tailoring services.
Ricky explains that we have arrived in the most romantic city in India. So far it's not clear why it has earned the right to this title. And then we reach Lake Pichola sitting right in the middle of the city...
The lake is 4km long and 3km wide and forms a beautiful backdrop to the huge City Palace (Rajasthan's largest) which sits on the east side of the water. Sitting out in the middle of the lake are a couple of islands and also the Lake Palace, a white intricately built structure that casts a beautiful reflection of light on the still water. The city reminds me of India's version of Venice (just dirtier, shabbier and with motor vehicles). I now completely understand how it's earned it's reputation.
We climb some steps and enjoy dinner on a rooftop restaurant with amazing views over the huge palace. My food is washed down with a Kingfisher beer (which I've developed a taste for in the absence of wine) and before long we find ourselves in a tuk tuk again making a stop for supplies. The driver's nine year old son, with the cheekiest grin I've ever seen, watches us in fascination. It's like we're a pack of rare and endangered animals caged in his Dad's vehicle. The Dad explains that he is teaching the boy English who then proudly declares his name and his age in a perfectly crafted sentence. The father tells us that he tells his son every day that nothing is impossible and he can achieve anything he wants. This humbles and inspires me. If I ever have kids I will try and tell them this every day.
We make it back to the hotel and we round off the day with a bottle of rum on the roof. Ricky tells us that he has had to promise his Mum he will only drink alcohol on one night on his tour. Drinking seems to be frowned upon by the more traditional community. Demonstrating typical Indian ingenuity he finds a loophole in this by declaring the rum, for the rest of the week, as medicine for his sore throat.
I love India.
Thursday 25 October 2012
A little piece of heaven...
The alarm goes off at 4:30am today ready for our hike up to Savitri temple which sits on a hill overlooking the sacred lake. It takes just over an hour to make our way to the top. It's a steep rocky climb up the steps and being the only unfit one of the group I'm at the back! There are locals making their way to the top, including some old ladies who must have been 70/80 years old. I am infinitely impressed with how they scale the hike to reach the top and the temple and turn up the effort so I don't get overtaken!
Claus & Johannes race each other up with Michael & Laura not far behind them. When I get there (15minutes later) I ask "where is the German flag?" which raises some laughs. Geoff follows with "did you put the beach towels down already"which I find hilarious and so do they. I'm in a group of people who all have amazing an sense of humour and we are all enjoying the healthy banter :)
When I turn around on myself and look back the view makes the early rise and sweat all worthwhile! It's breathtaking with the reds and yellows of Sunrise giving Pushkar an even greater special glow.
We sit and watch the monkeys playing, being hand fed biscuits, see the day break whilst sipping chai tea and I'm in my own little peace of heaven.
After a siesta back at the hotel, Erin
and I take the 15 minute walk back into town for a spot of shopping. Once we get in to the centre we go our separate ways so Erin can grab some breakfast. I wander through the markets attracting seemingly more attention as a solo traveller. A group of teenage girls, hardened to their environment, approach me, telling me I have pretty eyes and ask me to follow them to their shop for drinks telling me about their friend "Peter" who lives in England. Ricky had warned us that there is an underworld drugging problem in Pushkar where tourists are targeted & scammed due to the relatively high volume passing through and my instincts tell me these girls are bad news. I make my excuses and one of them grabs my hand trying to push henna on it. I snatch it away making it very clear I am leaving. Shortly after this a group of leering boys say hello hello pretty lady - I smile politely and one shouts "I remember you from sex last night". It seems, despite covering myself with shapeless baggy clothes here, when travelling on your own as a western woman you are sometimes still viewed as an easy and a loose westerner (hush). These encounters are the only negative ones I have had so far. The majority of people have been unbelievably friendly and are delighted that you have chosen to visit their country with many smiles and "Welcome to India" remarks. People believe here that your actions in this life will affect your next one (karma) so knowing right & wrong, being kind, courteous and honest are all hallmarks of the average Indian and traits I wish more people possessed.
Our evening begins getting dressed in traditional clothes (the boys have turbans wrapped) and we meet our transport for the evening - eight camels. Mine is called Johnson and we bond immediately apparently (he sticks his tongue out, bears his teeth and gets a tad excited - ahem). We take the camels on a two hour trek out into rural Pushkar, riding past cane houses, antelope, more cows and acacia trees. The landscape could be the African plains. People come out of their cane & mud houses and scruffy kids wearing t-shirts and no bottoms, run and wave to say hello.
We reach our destination a field with a square concrete structure and some modest tables set up in the field. The priest from yesterday greets us and quickly has his staff running around to look after us. Priests are the highest point of the caste system here. We spend the night being serenaded by traditional musicians and dancers. We all dance together and eat a traditional meal cooked in cauldrons. Ricky busts out some serious Bhangra moves and lots of fun is had by all.
Again the day is rounded off nicely by a campfire on the roof of our hotel. It seems days are fuller, longer and richer here.
Claus & Johannes race each other up with Michael & Laura not far behind them. When I get there (15minutes later) I ask "where is the German flag?" which raises some laughs. Geoff follows with "did you put the beach towels down already"which I find hilarious and so do they. I'm in a group of people who all have amazing an sense of humour and we are all enjoying the healthy banter :)
When I turn around on myself and look back the view makes the early rise and sweat all worthwhile! It's breathtaking with the reds and yellows of Sunrise giving Pushkar an even greater special glow.
We sit and watch the monkeys playing, being hand fed biscuits, see the day break whilst sipping chai tea and I'm in my own little peace of heaven.
After a siesta back at the hotel, Erin
and I take the 15 minute walk back into town for a spot of shopping. Once we get in to the centre we go our separate ways so Erin can grab some breakfast. I wander through the markets attracting seemingly more attention as a solo traveller. A group of teenage girls, hardened to their environment, approach me, telling me I have pretty eyes and ask me to follow them to their shop for drinks telling me about their friend "Peter" who lives in England. Ricky had warned us that there is an underworld drugging problem in Pushkar where tourists are targeted & scammed due to the relatively high volume passing through and my instincts tell me these girls are bad news. I make my excuses and one of them grabs my hand trying to push henna on it. I snatch it away making it very clear I am leaving. Shortly after this a group of leering boys say hello hello pretty lady - I smile politely and one shouts "I remember you from sex last night". It seems, despite covering myself with shapeless baggy clothes here, when travelling on your own as a western woman you are sometimes still viewed as an easy and a loose westerner (hush). These encounters are the only negative ones I have had so far. The majority of people have been unbelievably friendly and are delighted that you have chosen to visit their country with many smiles and "Welcome to India" remarks. People believe here that your actions in this life will affect your next one (karma) so knowing right & wrong, being kind, courteous and honest are all hallmarks of the average Indian and traits I wish more people possessed.
Our evening begins getting dressed in traditional clothes (the boys have turbans wrapped) and we meet our transport for the evening - eight camels. Mine is called Johnson and we bond immediately apparently (he sticks his tongue out, bears his teeth and gets a tad excited - ahem). We take the camels on a two hour trek out into rural Pushkar, riding past cane houses, antelope, more cows and acacia trees. The landscape could be the African plains. People come out of their cane & mud houses and scruffy kids wearing t-shirts and no bottoms, run and wave to say hello.
We reach our destination a field with a square concrete structure and some modest tables set up in the field. The priest from yesterday greets us and quickly has his staff running around to look after us. Priests are the highest point of the caste system here. We spend the night being serenaded by traditional musicians and dancers. We all dance together and eat a traditional meal cooked in cauldrons. Ricky busts out some serious Bhangra moves and lots of fun is had by all.
Again the day is rounded off nicely by a campfire on the roof of our hotel. It seems days are fuller, longer and richer here.
Tickled by a bull...
So the Delhi belly has finally struck - it's not tooooooo bad but my tummy seems to definitely be in mild protest of the third world food hygiene!
I have a slice of toast for breakfast and throw the backpack into the bus taking us to Pushkar. On first impressions it seems that we have a crazy driver but after we reach the next stop he calms down marginally and I spend the next 4.5hrs listening to the sounds of Finley Quaye and The Civil Wars watching rural India pass by the window. On the bus there is a young English couple who are both film makers, backpacking here for 6 months who we introduce ourselves to and hear their stories of travels so far including how he had been attacked by a monkey.
Arriving in Pushkar and it immediately feels different to the other places we have visited in India so far. The constant honking of horns has gone (still the occasional one), it's less crowded with wide open spaces and the luscious green scenery is beautiful with little pollution. There seem to be more cows (sacred) and less litter. Pushkar is one of the five holiest places in the whole of India and somewhere Hindus make pilgrimages to. Brahma was said to have dropped a lotus flower on earth and Pushkar appeared. As well as having one of the only Brahma temples in the world there is a sacred lake where people come to spread the ashes of their loved ones, wash and get blessed. Due to the sanctity of this place there is no booze, meat, eggs or kissing and you must remove shoes from 30ft away from the lake. We are also here at one of the most special times of the year - during a festival called Dussehra Mela when Hindus commemorate when Rama slayed Ravana (a Demon King).
After a quick swim at the hotel we head into the town and straight to see the lake. It is so calm and tranquil. Holy men in orange / white robes wash, read newspapers and sit bare legged dotted around. The milky white wash temples and stone buildings surround the water and steps lead to the waters edge which has remnants of today's colourful offerings floating on top.
There is a sizeable western community here and it's a big hippy destination so also dotted around the lake, next to local women in saris washing in the ghats, western folk sit bare foot and cross legged meditating. No doubt we're in a very special place.
Foreigners are welcomed to take part in the rituals and tune into the spirituality of the place (whatever your religion) and Ricky organises for a priest to come and meet us for our very puja own (prayer). We sit solemnly in a line repeating his mantras, offering holy rice, holy sugar, holy yellow colour and red colour with flowers to the gods asking for good karma to be given to us and our families. The priest blesses us and we are given the familiar red paint dot on our foreheads and a red ribbon around our wrists which we are told must not be broken until it falls off. It was such a special ceremony and performed as the sun was setting - I can see why people find comfort in these rituals and flock here.
We head straight from the blessing to the festival site where we meet the film making backpackers along the way who come along for the ride. It is a huge open space with thousands of people gathered, some in stands sat on concrete bleachers and some stood up near a stage where various dressed up people sit on thrones and senior temple officials tell the story over the sound system. There is a 20ft effigy symbolising the demon king and kids run around everywhere. We nestle in amongst the locals and I sit down next to a man with his son (9) and daughter (5). They say Namaste and before long I am in a tickle competition with the little girl. Fireworks begin to go off nearby - super close to the crowd. I can't believe how close the kids are getting as a guy sets one off after the other. One falls sideways and narrowly misses the nearby watchers. There is no regulation, anyone can purchase and set off which makes me a tad nervous especially as another one goes off and the sparks fall and a boy runs off clutching his face!! I keep a safe distance and watch is amazement (again appreciative of health & safety regs in Europe!!). Before not too long the large effigy is being set alight and fireworks crack from it's sides. It ignites and the shell underneath the decorated paper facade crumbles quickly prompting festival goers to run and collect pieces of the ash as keep sakes.
Dinner is a delicious Indian style pizza amongst fairy lights on a traditional table sat on the floor. We head back to the hotel on a tuk tuk and make a stop for snacks / drinks ready for our hike tomorrow. As I'm stood paying for my water and dry biscuits a large bull appears and adamantly nudges me out of the way of his path. Ricky grabs it by the horns and corrects its path! It was quite a forceful hit so I say thanks to Ricky for saving me to which he replies "Don't be silly he only tickled you" :)
Another perfect end to the day is spent having an Indian drink, chatting on the roof by a campfire with Ricky's music playing.
I have a slice of toast for breakfast and throw the backpack into the bus taking us to Pushkar. On first impressions it seems that we have a crazy driver but after we reach the next stop he calms down marginally and I spend the next 4.5hrs listening to the sounds of Finley Quaye and The Civil Wars watching rural India pass by the window. On the bus there is a young English couple who are both film makers, backpacking here for 6 months who we introduce ourselves to and hear their stories of travels so far including how he had been attacked by a monkey.
Arriving in Pushkar and it immediately feels different to the other places we have visited in India so far. The constant honking of horns has gone (still the occasional one), it's less crowded with wide open spaces and the luscious green scenery is beautiful with little pollution. There seem to be more cows (sacred) and less litter. Pushkar is one of the five holiest places in the whole of India and somewhere Hindus make pilgrimages to. Brahma was said to have dropped a lotus flower on earth and Pushkar appeared. As well as having one of the only Brahma temples in the world there is a sacred lake where people come to spread the ashes of their loved ones, wash and get blessed. Due to the sanctity of this place there is no booze, meat, eggs or kissing and you must remove shoes from 30ft away from the lake. We are also here at one of the most special times of the year - during a festival called Dussehra Mela when Hindus commemorate when Rama slayed Ravana (a Demon King).
After a quick swim at the hotel we head into the town and straight to see the lake. It is so calm and tranquil. Holy men in orange / white robes wash, read newspapers and sit bare legged dotted around. The milky white wash temples and stone buildings surround the water and steps lead to the waters edge which has remnants of today's colourful offerings floating on top.
There is a sizeable western community here and it's a big hippy destination so also dotted around the lake, next to local women in saris washing in the ghats, western folk sit bare foot and cross legged meditating. No doubt we're in a very special place.
Foreigners are welcomed to take part in the rituals and tune into the spirituality of the place (whatever your religion) and Ricky organises for a priest to come and meet us for our very puja own (prayer). We sit solemnly in a line repeating his mantras, offering holy rice, holy sugar, holy yellow colour and red colour with flowers to the gods asking for good karma to be given to us and our families. The priest blesses us and we are given the familiar red paint dot on our foreheads and a red ribbon around our wrists which we are told must not be broken until it falls off. It was such a special ceremony and performed as the sun was setting - I can see why people find comfort in these rituals and flock here.
We head straight from the blessing to the festival site where we meet the film making backpackers along the way who come along for the ride. It is a huge open space with thousands of people gathered, some in stands sat on concrete bleachers and some stood up near a stage where various dressed up people sit on thrones and senior temple officials tell the story over the sound system. There is a 20ft effigy symbolising the demon king and kids run around everywhere. We nestle in amongst the locals and I sit down next to a man with his son (9) and daughter (5). They say Namaste and before long I am in a tickle competition with the little girl. Fireworks begin to go off nearby - super close to the crowd. I can't believe how close the kids are getting as a guy sets one off after the other. One falls sideways and narrowly misses the nearby watchers. There is no regulation, anyone can purchase and set off which makes me a tad nervous especially as another one goes off and the sparks fall and a boy runs off clutching his face!! I keep a safe distance and watch is amazement (again appreciative of health & safety regs in Europe!!). Before not too long the large effigy is being set alight and fireworks crack from it's sides. It ignites and the shell underneath the decorated paper facade crumbles quickly prompting festival goers to run and collect pieces of the ash as keep sakes.
Dinner is a delicious Indian style pizza amongst fairy lights on a traditional table sat on the floor. We head back to the hotel on a tuk tuk and make a stop for snacks / drinks ready for our hike tomorrow. As I'm stood paying for my water and dry biscuits a large bull appears and adamantly nudges me out of the way of his path. Ricky grabs it by the horns and corrects its path! It was quite a forceful hit so I say thanks to Ricky for saving me to which he replies "Don't be silly he only tickled you" :)
Another perfect end to the day is spent having an Indian drink, chatting on the roof by a campfire with Ricky's music playing.
Tuesday 23 October 2012
It's all Bollywood & mice...
So today we were up at 7am - no rest for the wicked / backpacker...
The Lonely Planet guide describes this city as having eye watering pollution and my eyes are already struggling in the blinding glare and smog whilst having breakfast on the roof terrace. I'm grateful that there is no curry in sight this morning and instead enjoy some toast & marmalade.
We are a man down (Michael) who has come down with some form of flu / virus so we have had to leave him behind and head out to explore the gateway to Rajasthan, Jaipur.
Our guide for today is called Rumi - jumping into yet another tuk tuk we make a quick stop for photos at Hawa Mahal. This is a large sandstone honeycomb building built for the ladies in the royal household to watch the city hustle & bustle in modesty.
As we drive out of the main city a huge defence wall, not too dissimilar to the Great Wall of China in architecture, appears in the hills and it's scale is phenomenal. We had no idea this was here. Perched high sits our destination - the old city & fort.
As we get closer, an Indian elephant stands on the side of the river with it's owner. She's beautiful and in apparent very good condition. She's a happy elephant as Laura & Michael would say (they only pet & ride happy elephants and rightly so). We stop for photos and as we do a snake charmer spies the action and rolls up trying to get his 10 rupees worth by revealing his music and black cobra. At this point Geoff nearly has a heart attack (he had to have hypnotherapy before starting his backpacking trip to cure his phobia and this is his first real test). Despite jumping like a girl and doing nothing for his masculinity (by his own admission) he tells us that this is real progress in terms of being able to stand within a few feet. Throughout the day he encounters a few more charmers and apart from nearly falling off a curb he does really well! I explained I'd be exactly the same if it were sharks, mice or rats.
It's festival time and Hindu devotees flock to the old city alongside us. They come as a family, wear bright saris, have the traditional red blessing marks on their foreheads and wear vivid orange holy necklaces made entirely from flowers.
The climb up to the top is gruelling, especially in the heat and coverings we are wearing. A man stands, falls down into a press up and caterpillars himself up the steep vertical path. Rumi explains that this is common practice and he is giving thanks to the gods for them making his prayer come true. Apparently devotees can start this activity from as far as over 2km away as a ritual of appreciation.
The old city fort has many beautiful buildings within it of various states and purposes. The place is buzzing with worshippers and Indian music blares from the speakers reverberating around the amber & sandstone walls.
After taking secret passages around the site and learning where court was held, we head back down the path, past the tens of beggars, some with terrible deformities, women with babies who already know how to hold their hands out and a girl covered entirely in purple coloured chalk, standing on one leg and recreating a position of one of the gods for money. We have been told to ignore the children as wider society doesn't want to encourage and a promote a generation of beggars. We are told we can give to the disabled should we wish as they are shunned from communities and unable to work. It's the children though - the pooling brown eyes, covered in mess, dirty faces and noses tapping you gently on the arm as you walk past asking "please lady please. 10 rupees...please". They continue for a while and ignoring them is a real test. I've found some stats on the poverty and it is thought that 220 million are living below the poverty line and a third of the world's global poor live in India. Despite knowing the government are trying to tackle this huge problem proactively and supporting begging is not best for them in the long term it's incredibly hard to explain / justify to myself in the short term and ignore them. I will be haunted by many desperate faces long after I leave here.
We head onto Jantar Mantar an observatory built in 1728 by the city's founder Jai Singh (Pur means city). The initial impression on arrival is that you've arrived at an outdoor modern art exhibition however the eighteen bizarre structures all the serve the purpose of telling the time and predicting horoscopes all using the sun. The accuracy is amazingly precise down to seconds.
Another part of today was spent admiring the floating palace sat majestically in the middle of a lake and where the Jaipur royal family (each state have their own Royal family) used to spend their summer holiday. Asking Rumi if it's still used today he replies yes - by Mosquitos, rats and other animals. While we are stood there a couple of children approach us - they say something in Hindi to Rumi who tells us they are magicians and want to show us a magic trick. We are told that given they are doing something it is acceptable to say yes.
Having been given the nod, one of the boys steps up into our circle, the other clearly assuming the role of manager hangs back. The little lad, no more than 7 or 8 performs a series of tricks that cause us all to whoop & cheer. He's a genuine mini Indian Dynamo! We hand over some cash and they run to the next bunch of tourists.
I am so impressed with their talent but more so by their ingenuity to make a living.
City Palace is also ticked off the list where my highlights include seeing Pitam Niwas Chowk a series of four gates representing spring, summer, autumn and winter. The winter gate is adorned with peacocks, the colours are vivid and it's beautiful.
Laura and I head out to the local markets where I pick up a beautifully embroidered purple & gold sari for 250 rupees (£3) and some bindis.
At 5:30pm we all meet downstairs to head to see a Bollywood movie called Student of the Year. The Bollywood film industry churns out 900 films a year here and is said to reach 1/6 of the population with tickets costing 150 rupees (£1.75).
Erin braves wearing her Sari for the occasion and all male attention shifts to a more respectful affair with locals very pleased to see a westerner in such clothes. I have created an Indian style outfit from a dress, linen trousers, my scarf and my recently purchased bindi. The cinema is an opulent structure in the heart of the city. They sell popcorn, drinks, samosas to film goers and we get involved.
The film starts and as the trailers roll, people start cheering and whooping as various Bollywood stars faces appear on the screen. Going to the cinema here is an interactive panto like experience and the next 2hrs is a seat bopping, toe tapping, laugh a minute party. Despite being in Hindi we all manage to keep up with the plot and leave with huge smiles on our faces. A definite highlight of the trip so far.
The day is rounded of at dinner at a nearby fine cuisine restaurant. It's not long before the beers are ordered and we are talking animatedly about our day when Geoff & Laura's legs jump suddenly up and they tell us a mouse has just ran by them by their feet. I spend the remainder of the meal with my legs either up vertically in front of me or tucked behind me. Just as I'm saying how glad I am that it wasn't my foot Geoff jumps and nearly flips the table up. Laura has accidentally brushed his leg which sends us all into hysterics, including Ricky, for the rest of the dinner.
I wonder if there is already a Bollywood version of 'Of Mice and Men?'...
The Lonely Planet guide describes this city as having eye watering pollution and my eyes are already struggling in the blinding glare and smog whilst having breakfast on the roof terrace. I'm grateful that there is no curry in sight this morning and instead enjoy some toast & marmalade.
We are a man down (Michael) who has come down with some form of flu / virus so we have had to leave him behind and head out to explore the gateway to Rajasthan, Jaipur.
Our guide for today is called Rumi - jumping into yet another tuk tuk we make a quick stop for photos at Hawa Mahal. This is a large sandstone honeycomb building built for the ladies in the royal household to watch the city hustle & bustle in modesty.
As we drive out of the main city a huge defence wall, not too dissimilar to the Great Wall of China in architecture, appears in the hills and it's scale is phenomenal. We had no idea this was here. Perched high sits our destination - the old city & fort.
As we get closer, an Indian elephant stands on the side of the river with it's owner. She's beautiful and in apparent very good condition. She's a happy elephant as Laura & Michael would say (they only pet & ride happy elephants and rightly so). We stop for photos and as we do a snake charmer spies the action and rolls up trying to get his 10 rupees worth by revealing his music and black cobra. At this point Geoff nearly has a heart attack (he had to have hypnotherapy before starting his backpacking trip to cure his phobia and this is his first real test). Despite jumping like a girl and doing nothing for his masculinity (by his own admission) he tells us that this is real progress in terms of being able to stand within a few feet. Throughout the day he encounters a few more charmers and apart from nearly falling off a curb he does really well! I explained I'd be exactly the same if it were sharks, mice or rats.
It's festival time and Hindu devotees flock to the old city alongside us. They come as a family, wear bright saris, have the traditional red blessing marks on their foreheads and wear vivid orange holy necklaces made entirely from flowers.
The climb up to the top is gruelling, especially in the heat and coverings we are wearing. A man stands, falls down into a press up and caterpillars himself up the steep vertical path. Rumi explains that this is common practice and he is giving thanks to the gods for them making his prayer come true. Apparently devotees can start this activity from as far as over 2km away as a ritual of appreciation.
The old city fort has many beautiful buildings within it of various states and purposes. The place is buzzing with worshippers and Indian music blares from the speakers reverberating around the amber & sandstone walls.
After taking secret passages around the site and learning where court was held, we head back down the path, past the tens of beggars, some with terrible deformities, women with babies who already know how to hold their hands out and a girl covered entirely in purple coloured chalk, standing on one leg and recreating a position of one of the gods for money. We have been told to ignore the children as wider society doesn't want to encourage and a promote a generation of beggars. We are told we can give to the disabled should we wish as they are shunned from communities and unable to work. It's the children though - the pooling brown eyes, covered in mess, dirty faces and noses tapping you gently on the arm as you walk past asking "please lady please. 10 rupees...please". They continue for a while and ignoring them is a real test. I've found some stats on the poverty and it is thought that 220 million are living below the poverty line and a third of the world's global poor live in India. Despite knowing the government are trying to tackle this huge problem proactively and supporting begging is not best for them in the long term it's incredibly hard to explain / justify to myself in the short term and ignore them. I will be haunted by many desperate faces long after I leave here.
We head onto Jantar Mantar an observatory built in 1728 by the city's founder Jai Singh (Pur means city). The initial impression on arrival is that you've arrived at an outdoor modern art exhibition however the eighteen bizarre structures all the serve the purpose of telling the time and predicting horoscopes all using the sun. The accuracy is amazingly precise down to seconds.
Another part of today was spent admiring the floating palace sat majestically in the middle of a lake and where the Jaipur royal family (each state have their own Royal family) used to spend their summer holiday. Asking Rumi if it's still used today he replies yes - by Mosquitos, rats and other animals. While we are stood there a couple of children approach us - they say something in Hindi to Rumi who tells us they are magicians and want to show us a magic trick. We are told that given they are doing something it is acceptable to say yes.
Having been given the nod, one of the boys steps up into our circle, the other clearly assuming the role of manager hangs back. The little lad, no more than 7 or 8 performs a series of tricks that cause us all to whoop & cheer. He's a genuine mini Indian Dynamo! We hand over some cash and they run to the next bunch of tourists.
I am so impressed with their talent but more so by their ingenuity to make a living.
City Palace is also ticked off the list where my highlights include seeing Pitam Niwas Chowk a series of four gates representing spring, summer, autumn and winter. The winter gate is adorned with peacocks, the colours are vivid and it's beautiful.
Laura and I head out to the local markets where I pick up a beautifully embroidered purple & gold sari for 250 rupees (£3) and some bindis.
At 5:30pm we all meet downstairs to head to see a Bollywood movie called Student of the Year. The Bollywood film industry churns out 900 films a year here and is said to reach 1/6 of the population with tickets costing 150 rupees (£1.75).
Erin braves wearing her Sari for the occasion and all male attention shifts to a more respectful affair with locals very pleased to see a westerner in such clothes. I have created an Indian style outfit from a dress, linen trousers, my scarf and my recently purchased bindi. The cinema is an opulent structure in the heart of the city. They sell popcorn, drinks, samosas to film goers and we get involved.
The film starts and as the trailers roll, people start cheering and whooping as various Bollywood stars faces appear on the screen. Going to the cinema here is an interactive panto like experience and the next 2hrs is a seat bopping, toe tapping, laugh a minute party. Despite being in Hindi we all manage to keep up with the plot and leave with huge smiles on our faces. A definite highlight of the trip so far.
The day is rounded of at dinner at a nearby fine cuisine restaurant. It's not long before the beers are ordered and we are talking animatedly about our day when Geoff & Laura's legs jump suddenly up and they tell us a mouse has just ran by them by their feet. I spend the remainder of the meal with my legs either up vertically in front of me or tucked behind me. Just as I'm saying how glad I am that it wasn't my foot Geoff jumps and nearly flips the table up. Laura has accidentally brushed his leg which sends us all into hysterics, including Ricky, for the rest of the dinner.
I wonder if there is already a Bollywood version of 'Of Mice and Men?'...
Monday 22 October 2012
Thongs, Deet and a Rajasthani Welcome...
Our day started at 7am today - departing our Agra hotel and jumping into rickshaws to head to the bus station. We arrive, buy snacks & water, load our backpacks into the hold and board the coach to Jaipur along with a whole raft of other foreign tourists and a handful of locals.
I'm not entirely sure this coach would pass an MOT and I'm not sure it would have passed in 1953 either. The seats are ripped, oily & dirty from pollution and it also seems to be home to a decent size family of Mosquitos. There are mounted fans, out of order, dangling precariously off the sides of the bus and the windows look like they haven't been washed since 1953 either. After digging out the super strength Deet I kick back and make the most of the 5.5hr journey ahead.
I quickly fall asleep and get woken up thinking I'm being catapulted into the ether. Turns out we've gone over a traffic slowing hump at 60mph and I'm on the back seat making for an interesting ride. The journey continued like this for the rest of the drive. I will never moan about UK potholes again - the things here could rival a quarry! After a few non scheduled stops, one was to fix something broken and the others I'm sure were to pick up the drivers friends, we make it into Jaipur and the Jaipur Inn.
This inn is a guest house run by a local family - it's very pretty and clean. After a quick shower and lunch I head up to the roof terrace to check out the view and enjoy some time away from the others with my book. It's a welcome break after a full on 48hrs!
At 5:30pm we head out for an orientation Rickshaw ride and stop at the main square where Ricky takes us to the top of a building giving us a birds eye view of the action. The square reminds me of Marrakech - a hubbub of people, traffic, shops, spice traders, stray dogs, cars honking (naturally) just that this square has a modest fountain in the middle and slightly fewer food stalls. On the platform we're on, there are three monkeys including another baby. I am again transfixed by them but Ricky tells us not to go too near them as they are very aggressive. He tells us this is only if they are directly approached so I snap away two metres from them. We head back down, past a Hindu temple saying Namaste & bowing our head to the priest who is dressed in orange (holy). Erin & Karen buy a sari where we meet the best salesman in the world before heading onto The Bissau Palace.
The building sits in what is now Jaipur's red light district however was used during British colonial rule. As we approach the palace (a grand mansion house with a wrap around veranda) the noises from the street disappear and an air of calm & tranquility descends. The chairs on the veranda are highlighted by the candles and the soft lighting welcomes us to come in via the fountain and bowls filled with floating rose petals. As we get inside the walls are covered in floral rich wallpaper of golds and reds, there are plush sofas, shelves of books in glass cases, antique weaponry on display, a piano in the corner, old black & white photos, Indian military art and a mounted tigers head hanging. It feels very sumptuous in comparison to our recent surroundings are we are led into a lounge area for cocktails where I am transported back to the era of British rule.
After drinks we head up to the rooftop terrace for our meal. It's a stunning setting and we are serenaded by a sitar player and drummer. After many laughs over the dinner table, including me telling everyone how Erin had earlier asked me what it was like wearing thongs outside especially with the breeze (I replied saying it doesn't bother me and I wear a mixture of French knickers & thongs) to which she replied quickly saying that she was talking about my flip flops. Oops. Ozzie translator required next time!
Erin has become a great travel companion. I've been enjoying learning about her green tea business back in Oz and she's made me feel inspired again. She's super switched on yet keen to learn and discover.
So off to bed I go....to the sound of fire crackers (festival time), drumming and of course.....the obligatory tooting.
I'm not entirely sure this coach would pass an MOT and I'm not sure it would have passed in 1953 either. The seats are ripped, oily & dirty from pollution and it also seems to be home to a decent size family of Mosquitos. There are mounted fans, out of order, dangling precariously off the sides of the bus and the windows look like they haven't been washed since 1953 either. After digging out the super strength Deet I kick back and make the most of the 5.5hr journey ahead.
I quickly fall asleep and get woken up thinking I'm being catapulted into the ether. Turns out we've gone over a traffic slowing hump at 60mph and I'm on the back seat making for an interesting ride. The journey continued like this for the rest of the drive. I will never moan about UK potholes again - the things here could rival a quarry! After a few non scheduled stops, one was to fix something broken and the others I'm sure were to pick up the drivers friends, we make it into Jaipur and the Jaipur Inn.
This inn is a guest house run by a local family - it's very pretty and clean. After a quick shower and lunch I head up to the roof terrace to check out the view and enjoy some time away from the others with my book. It's a welcome break after a full on 48hrs!
At 5:30pm we head out for an orientation Rickshaw ride and stop at the main square where Ricky takes us to the top of a building giving us a birds eye view of the action. The square reminds me of Marrakech - a hubbub of people, traffic, shops, spice traders, stray dogs, cars honking (naturally) just that this square has a modest fountain in the middle and slightly fewer food stalls. On the platform we're on, there are three monkeys including another baby. I am again transfixed by them but Ricky tells us not to go too near them as they are very aggressive. He tells us this is only if they are directly approached so I snap away two metres from them. We head back down, past a Hindu temple saying Namaste & bowing our head to the priest who is dressed in orange (holy). Erin & Karen buy a sari where we meet the best salesman in the world before heading onto The Bissau Palace.
The building sits in what is now Jaipur's red light district however was used during British colonial rule. As we approach the palace (a grand mansion house with a wrap around veranda) the noises from the street disappear and an air of calm & tranquility descends. The chairs on the veranda are highlighted by the candles and the soft lighting welcomes us to come in via the fountain and bowls filled with floating rose petals. As we get inside the walls are covered in floral rich wallpaper of golds and reds, there are plush sofas, shelves of books in glass cases, antique weaponry on display, a piano in the corner, old black & white photos, Indian military art and a mounted tigers head hanging. It feels very sumptuous in comparison to our recent surroundings are we are led into a lounge area for cocktails where I am transported back to the era of British rule.
After drinks we head up to the rooftop terrace for our meal. It's a stunning setting and we are serenaded by a sitar player and drummer. After many laughs over the dinner table, including me telling everyone how Erin had earlier asked me what it was like wearing thongs outside especially with the breeze (I replied saying it doesn't bother me and I wear a mixture of French knickers & thongs) to which she replied quickly saying that she was talking about my flip flops. Oops. Ozzie translator required next time!
Erin has become a great travel companion. I've been enjoying learning about her green tea business back in Oz and she's made me feel inspired again. She's super switched on yet keen to learn and discover.
So off to bed I go....to the sound of fire crackers (festival time), drumming and of course.....the obligatory tooting.
Sunday 21 October 2012
A tear drop on the cheek of eternity
So today began in Delhi at 4:45am as we headed via taxi to the train station to catch the Agra bound Taj Express. This is a city of 17 million people and I was surprised to see how many of them are up at this ungodly hour, hustling & bustling buying their fresh produce for the day.
Arriving at the station we stepped around the locals living & sleeping in the main entrance to head through security and board the train in Standard Class C. The train carriage is basic but comfortable and we are served an interesting curry for breakfast with some tea and dry Marie biscuits.
As we head out of Delhi we go through a Slumdog Millionaire style shanty town built beside a rubbish tip and I wonder how many little Latika's are waiting for a Danny Boyle ticket out of there. The poverty in this country is something we are continually confronted with, it's on every street. There are 1 billion people here and a huge majority are living in terrible conditions. I normally count myself very lucky but this trip is already highlighting everything I have and take for granted. I am so grateful for the opportunities and choices I have and so very glad I wasn't born as a street child here. If reincarnation is true, as Hindus believe, I'd really like to not come back as one either....
We eventually get into luscious green countryside, passing grazing cattle and people working in the fields. As we pull into Agra 2.5hrs later we are greeted at the station by the familiar chaos of kids begging and touts trying to get the latest westerners onto their tuk tuk, Rickshaw, tour etc
We have our own ready and waiting tuk tuk driver who we have hired for 600 rupees for the whole day shared between three of us. We drop our bags at the hotel and head to a local fruit market where I try a coconut like tasting fruit. It was small and could easily pass as a bright green Chinese dumpling or pastry at first glance. It's just Erin & I at the fruit market and we quickly become conscious that we are being stared at by over 100 men all wondering if we got lost on our way to the Taj and what we are doing in their part of town.
Sightseeing this morning consisted of The Agra Fort & "Baby Taj". The buildings are beautifully ornate and we are loaded with facts and figures about these 16th century UNESCO monuments, including being shown into the Harem Court in the fort where the emperor housed his 300 mistresses (he had to give them numbers as he couldn't remember their names). It is near here that we catch our first glimse of The Taj in the distant smog. It looks magical set against the foreground of the river Yamuna.
We head to lunch for some Southern Indian fare and are all starting to get twitchy and excited about our next stop and the reason we are all here.
After another chaotic tuk tuk ride we arrive with no sign of the actual monument. I get distracted by a family of monkeys on the road side who are leisurely watching the crowds, eating fruit and dipping in and out of the greenery. A baby monkey, only a few months old, sits on it's mothers lap, grabs her face and kisses her on the lips. It was such a tender moment and one too quick for my camera to catch. Geoff, the other Brit, is also watching the monkeys avidly so we both manage to lose track of the group. We eventually find them and snake our way through the kids selling post cards and Taj Mahal snow globes. The entry process involves us passing through the foreigner "high value ticket holder" gates, past the hoards of domestic tourists staring and eventually into the grounds.
We walk in and are greeted by a huge red sandstone gate - as we get closer and closer we can slowly start to see the intricate white marble structure peaking through the gap and at this point a wave of excitement washes over me and before long I am gawping at one of the wonders of the world.
Completed in 1653 by Emperor Shah Jahan in memory of his beloved wife Mumtaz, the building is said to be a tear drop on the cheek of eternity. Mumtaz died giving birth to their fourteenth child and Shah Jahan was so heartbroken he had The Taj Mahal constructed as a symbol of his everlasting love and a place for her to be buried. The detailed carving, the precious jewels and Arabic script on the stone all sit within the building's perfect symmetry.
I have my photo taken on the same bench Princess Diana sat and there is a crowd of people all waiting to do the same, western & Indian faces alike.
After taking lots more photos we go in to see the replica grave, fast tracked past the locals who are queuing for up to 3 hrs (again) to get into this inner part. This makes me feel very guilty but as we walk past the lines everyone wants to say hello, shake our hand and take photos. Mumtaz's real grave has been closed to the public and only opens for 3 days a year when 95,000 people visit per day (normally 20,000 people visit The Taj daily).
We head back to a white platform in the centre to sit down and watch the light change over the building for sunset. It really was breathtaking.
After sunset we say our goodbyes to the place and head to dinner which is at a rooftop restaurant. We dine al fresco among the trees, on powder blue tablecloths with elephants on them, there are candles, fairy lights and large fruit bats flying around. I try my first Indian Kingfisher beer. It was the perfect setting to the end of an amazing day.....
Or so I thought....
When we get back - a group of Indian school kids have arrived at our hotel (this place is also one with more dirty / oily bed sheets). The kids quickly make their presence known by running around the corridors and banging on doors. After a stakeout at the peep hole I eventually caught one of the offenders red handed who I think had a little bit of a nasty shock when a white western woman opened the door just as she was about to knock it and run.....
And despite this.....
I drifted off to sleep, chaos outside continuing, with a big smile on my face. I'm in India, I saw The Taj Mahal today. I'm so lucky and I'm so happy....
Arriving at the station we stepped around the locals living & sleeping in the main entrance to head through security and board the train in Standard Class C. The train carriage is basic but comfortable and we are served an interesting curry for breakfast with some tea and dry Marie biscuits.
As we head out of Delhi we go through a Slumdog Millionaire style shanty town built beside a rubbish tip and I wonder how many little Latika's are waiting for a Danny Boyle ticket out of there. The poverty in this country is something we are continually confronted with, it's on every street. There are 1 billion people here and a huge majority are living in terrible conditions. I normally count myself very lucky but this trip is already highlighting everything I have and take for granted. I am so grateful for the opportunities and choices I have and so very glad I wasn't born as a street child here. If reincarnation is true, as Hindus believe, I'd really like to not come back as one either....
We eventually get into luscious green countryside, passing grazing cattle and people working in the fields. As we pull into Agra 2.5hrs later we are greeted at the station by the familiar chaos of kids begging and touts trying to get the latest westerners onto their tuk tuk, Rickshaw, tour etc
We have our own ready and waiting tuk tuk driver who we have hired for 600 rupees for the whole day shared between three of us. We drop our bags at the hotel and head to a local fruit market where I try a coconut like tasting fruit. It was small and could easily pass as a bright green Chinese dumpling or pastry at first glance. It's just Erin & I at the fruit market and we quickly become conscious that we are being stared at by over 100 men all wondering if we got lost on our way to the Taj and what we are doing in their part of town.
Sightseeing this morning consisted of The Agra Fort & "Baby Taj". The buildings are beautifully ornate and we are loaded with facts and figures about these 16th century UNESCO monuments, including being shown into the Harem Court in the fort where the emperor housed his 300 mistresses (he had to give them numbers as he couldn't remember their names). It is near here that we catch our first glimse of The Taj in the distant smog. It looks magical set against the foreground of the river Yamuna.
We head to lunch for some Southern Indian fare and are all starting to get twitchy and excited about our next stop and the reason we are all here.
After another chaotic tuk tuk ride we arrive with no sign of the actual monument. I get distracted by a family of monkeys on the road side who are leisurely watching the crowds, eating fruit and dipping in and out of the greenery. A baby monkey, only a few months old, sits on it's mothers lap, grabs her face and kisses her on the lips. It was such a tender moment and one too quick for my camera to catch. Geoff, the other Brit, is also watching the monkeys avidly so we both manage to lose track of the group. We eventually find them and snake our way through the kids selling post cards and Taj Mahal snow globes. The entry process involves us passing through the foreigner "high value ticket holder" gates, past the hoards of domestic tourists staring and eventually into the grounds.
We walk in and are greeted by a huge red sandstone gate - as we get closer and closer we can slowly start to see the intricate white marble structure peaking through the gap and at this point a wave of excitement washes over me and before long I am gawping at one of the wonders of the world.
Completed in 1653 by Emperor Shah Jahan in memory of his beloved wife Mumtaz, the building is said to be a tear drop on the cheek of eternity. Mumtaz died giving birth to their fourteenth child and Shah Jahan was so heartbroken he had The Taj Mahal constructed as a symbol of his everlasting love and a place for her to be buried. The detailed carving, the precious jewels and Arabic script on the stone all sit within the building's perfect symmetry.
I have my photo taken on the same bench Princess Diana sat and there is a crowd of people all waiting to do the same, western & Indian faces alike.
After taking lots more photos we go in to see the replica grave, fast tracked past the locals who are queuing for up to 3 hrs (again) to get into this inner part. This makes me feel very guilty but as we walk past the lines everyone wants to say hello, shake our hand and take photos. Mumtaz's real grave has been closed to the public and only opens for 3 days a year when 95,000 people visit per day (normally 20,000 people visit The Taj daily).
We head back to a white platform in the centre to sit down and watch the light change over the building for sunset. It really was breathtaking.
After sunset we say our goodbyes to the place and head to dinner which is at a rooftop restaurant. We dine al fresco among the trees, on powder blue tablecloths with elephants on them, there are candles, fairy lights and large fruit bats flying around. I try my first Indian Kingfisher beer. It was the perfect setting to the end of an amazing day.....
Or so I thought....
When we get back - a group of Indian school kids have arrived at our hotel (this place is also one with more dirty / oily bed sheets). The kids quickly make their presence known by running around the corridors and banging on doors. After a stakeout at the peep hole I eventually caught one of the offenders red handed who I think had a little bit of a nasty shock when a white western woman opened the door just as she was about to knock it and run.....
And despite this.....
I drifted off to sleep, chaos outside continuing, with a big smile on my face. I'm in India, I saw The Taj Mahal today. I'm so lucky and I'm so happy....
Saturday 20 October 2012
Namaste from Delhi
Research, watching films, reading Lonely Planet and yet nothing could have fully prepared me for Delhi.
I was expecting chaos. I was expecting pandemonium. And oh boy did I get it.
All the cliches come out for this amazing city for it truly is a total and unashamed assault on the senses.
My journey from the airport alone saw me meet Lalit my driver (his name meaning Lotus) who spun me through the streets, skimming rickshaws, dodging tuk tuks and narrowly avoiding animals & pedestrians as they walked casually among the motorised & peddle power traffic. Through the constant honking of horns, heat, dust and pollution we eventually found my hotel - a slightly more modern version of The Best Exotic Marigold.
I'm sharing a room with Erin from Australia and in her I found myself a city buddy to explore with. Walking through the streets and being a minority turned out to be both an unnerving and flattering experience all at the same time. People stare, really stare and throughout the course of the day many stopped to ask if they could take their picture with us. I've never felt so western, white and a woman (Angela W - I understand now!). I also had a taste for how famous people must feel. I'm not sure how many redheads and blue eyed blondes these people see on a regular basis but I'm guessing not many!
We took the metro - an experience in itself based on getting a token to ride. Despite joining the ladies queue we had to fight elbow to elbow to get to the ticket officer. The trains themselves were exceptionally clean though and a strict bomb screening process is in place before you enter. If passengers are found to be causing obstruction to the doors on the trains they can face a jail sentence and 5000 Rupee fine. I think my commute in London could be much improved with these same principles!
We visited The Red Fort - an amazing red sandstone complex from the Mughal era and took our own Rickshaw which is being noted as one of my favourite ever travel experiences. I have seen a baboon, sacrificial goats being carried on rickshaws, hundreds of cooking oil cans piled 8ft high on bicycles, people living on street dividers, men selling fruit I've never seen before, beggars and a rat. Yes the first rat. On return to the hotel we met our tour CEO Ricky. Ricky made it painstakingly clear that his job title is very important and stands for Chief Experience Officer. A local he gave us all a thorough briefing of dos and don'ts (many of which I'd managed to do that afternoon) and then took us out for our first Indian dinner & welcome meal.
Others on the tour are Claus & Johannes two brothers from Germany, Erin, Michael & Laura a couple also from Germany and a backpacker called Geoff. So I believe the seven of us are all in for an epic adventure if the last 24hrs are anything to go by....
Tomorrow we head to Agra and my bucket list item - Taj Mahal...
I was expecting chaos. I was expecting pandemonium. And oh boy did I get it.
All the cliches come out for this amazing city for it truly is a total and unashamed assault on the senses.
My journey from the airport alone saw me meet Lalit my driver (his name meaning Lotus) who spun me through the streets, skimming rickshaws, dodging tuk tuks and narrowly avoiding animals & pedestrians as they walked casually among the motorised & peddle power traffic. Through the constant honking of horns, heat, dust and pollution we eventually found my hotel - a slightly more modern version of The Best Exotic Marigold.
I'm sharing a room with Erin from Australia and in her I found myself a city buddy to explore with. Walking through the streets and being a minority turned out to be both an unnerving and flattering experience all at the same time. People stare, really stare and throughout the course of the day many stopped to ask if they could take their picture with us. I've never felt so western, white and a woman (Angela W - I understand now!). I also had a taste for how famous people must feel. I'm not sure how many redheads and blue eyed blondes these people see on a regular basis but I'm guessing not many!
We took the metro - an experience in itself based on getting a token to ride. Despite joining the ladies queue we had to fight elbow to elbow to get to the ticket officer. The trains themselves were exceptionally clean though and a strict bomb screening process is in place before you enter. If passengers are found to be causing obstruction to the doors on the trains they can face a jail sentence and 5000 Rupee fine. I think my commute in London could be much improved with these same principles!
We visited The Red Fort - an amazing red sandstone complex from the Mughal era and took our own Rickshaw which is being noted as one of my favourite ever travel experiences. I have seen a baboon, sacrificial goats being carried on rickshaws, hundreds of cooking oil cans piled 8ft high on bicycles, people living on street dividers, men selling fruit I've never seen before, beggars and a rat. Yes the first rat. On return to the hotel we met our tour CEO Ricky. Ricky made it painstakingly clear that his job title is very important and stands for Chief Experience Officer. A local he gave us all a thorough briefing of dos and don'ts (many of which I'd managed to do that afternoon) and then took us out for our first Indian dinner & welcome meal.
Others on the tour are Claus & Johannes two brothers from Germany, Erin, Michael & Laura a couple also from Germany and a backpacker called Geoff. So I believe the seven of us are all in for an epic adventure if the last 24hrs are anything to go by....
Tomorrow we head to Agra and my bucket list item - Taj Mahal...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)