Don't you hate it when you write an e-mail and the computer blanks out, or something else happens, and what was a particularly witty and clever message disappears into the ether, never to return, not even if you try hitting Control + Z, swearing at the computer, or crying a little bit?
That happened to me the last time it came to writing a blog entry, and it's taken me two days to calm down about it. The last blog entry was a belter, this'll be rubbish by comparison. The last blog entry will be forever like the really clever and cutting remark I never made when I had an argument, because I was too busy frothing at the mouth and stomping up and down shouting. You sit there after the argument and say to yourself "I shoulda said that".
So I moved out of McLeod Ganj - it was getting to be really noisy, and not helping with my aim of relaxing for my last two weeks in India. Yes, even in the middle of the mountains, McLeod Ganj is far too busy. Signs weren't good for staying there. One night I heard what I think was every single dog in the town barking all at once. It started with one solitary dog barking to itself, but the barking echoed off the hillsides, and I think that got the dog excited. The human equivalent would have been someone shouting something, and then shouting "Woo! Echo! Ech-cho! Eeeeechooooo!". So this one reverb effect dog bark multiplied to a hundred or more when every dog in the town got in on the act.
It wasn't just dogs that drove me out of McLeod Ganj. At the weekend, Holi was happening, and the streets were choked (quite literally, exhaust fumes everywhere) by weekending Punjabis in unfeasibly large 4x4s, blocking up the narrow, crumbling streets of McLeod Ganj and honking horns furiously at each other, despite the fact that no-one could move. It is well documented that Indians use their horns for many purposes - greeting, warning, rebuke, indication, and musical instrument - for many horns are very musical, with a range of horns sounding like the old ones on souped-up Ford Capris in the late seventies and early eighties (the ones that went "na na na na na na na na na na na na"). It's not just the horns that are musical, even the reversing noises are - while British cars and trucks just go "beep beep" monotonously when reversing, many Indian cars and trucks make a noise like a musical greetings card wired into a rubbish sound system with the volume turned up to 11. Nick lent me Jeremy Clarkson's Motorworld before I left for India - a TV-series tie-in book about the motoring habits of the world. In the chapter on India, Clarkson described a typical Indian road scenario as being something like a car overtaking a bus, overtaking a truck, overtaking a rickshaw, overtaking a cow, on a blind bend, at night. It's all true. Not wanting to generalise of course, it doesn't apply to all people here, but Indian driving would be hilarious if it often weren't so blood-curdlingly terrifying. Excessive use of the horn is only one problem; there are vehicles that are so overloaded with hay or vegetables they look like a well-stacked Pizza Hut salad bowl on wheels, overtaking and near-collisions that are almost enough to convince me of divine intervention, and the preoccupation with going as fast as possible at all times, regardless of vehicle, road conditions, presence of pedestrians or anything else. It's as if you got all the Nova-driving boy racers in the car park of a carpet shop in Ipswich, and gave them unlimited space and a variety of vehicles to operate. Except that many of these vehicles are, well, just so pretty. Trucks and rickshaws particularly look like giant exotic birds, their tinsel tassels flapping in the wind and their sides, tops and fronts covered with Hindu symbols and seemingly useless bits of chrome, and the ubiquitous "Use Horn" instruction.
Now, then, I'm in Bhagsu, a small village further up into the hills from McLeod Ganj, which is itself a long way up into the hills from Dharamsala. Bhagsu is beautiful, the houses surrounded by terraced fields and trees, and snow-capped mountains peek over the foothills that rise up around the village. I'm staying in Sky Pie guest house, so named as it served the very best banoffee pie I've ever eaten. I was told about this a month ago by Micky and Jane, a couple I met in Hampi, so it was great to get here and not just find the pie was fantastic, but Micky and Jane were here too. This is a perfect place to read, walk in the hills, do nothing at all, put the world to rights, plug my MP3 player into the guest house speakers and listen to top tunes all day, eat dahl and rice, and get insensible on cheap Indian vodka. Micky's even taught me how to play backgammon. An occasional expedition into the throbbing metropolis of McLeod Ganj has been taken - yesterday, to see the Tibet Museum, which chronicles the invasion of Tibet by the Chinese, the escape of the Dalai Lama and many other Tibetan refugees to India, and the treatment of Tibetans still in China. I may even get to see the Dalai Lama at one of the lectures he is presenting at the moment.
Until it's time to leave for Delhi and my flight to Hong Kong, this is a great place to be.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Friday, March 25, 2005
McLeod Ganj
After a near-solid three days of travel from Jaisalmer, I'm in McLeod Ganj, the home of the Dalai Lama and Tibetan government in exile, way up in Himachal Pradesh. For the first time since I came to India, it's been raining, cold, and cloudy. It's great, after the furnace of Rajasthan, where the mid-afternoon air was like constantly opening an oven door in your face!
I left Jaisalmer in a hurry, sprinting to catch the bus on the back of a scooter, after a mix-up with bus times. After a brief stay in Bikaner, there was just enough time for a quick trip to the Karni Mata temple at Deshnok, the famous temple where the souls of the dead are supposed to come back as rats. The rats are everywhere, some dead, some scraggy looking, all very well fed with prasad (sacred food from the shrine) and milk. Because it's a temple, however, you have to go in bare feet - so after coming out, you have feet encrusted with dried rats pee and food - thank goodness for Wet Wipes. Quite apart from the rats, one of the most impressive sights was huge vats of food being prepared for devotees (and the rats) in the temple. See the photo album for some pics from Deshnok.
After leaving Bikaner and Deshnok, I got the train up to Kalka, and had about half-an-hour spare to get a chai (served in a terracotta cup which you then smash on the ground - more environmentally friendly than plastic), and catch the Viceroy's Toy Train from Kalka to Shimla. The fare is an absurdly cheap Rs.20 (about 25p) - not bad for the best train ride I've ever taken! The train wound its way up through the foothills of the Himalayas to Shimla, wrapping itself around the sides of hills, chugging over bridges, leaning over huge drops and passing through so many tunnels I lost count, all the while teetering on a narrow-gauge track. As we got higher, the views got more impressive, until you gave up expressing yourself properly and just said "whhooooaaaaaa...." all the time.
It was a fun journey, as a procession of holidaying Indians in the carriage came up for chats, and I was entertained by a young girl on holiday with her grandfather. She spoke no English, I spoke no Hindi (and the Hindi for "I do not speak English" is 'Mein nahin Hindi bol sakta hun'!), but she still gave me some of her biscuits and tried to teach me to whistle with my fingers. I can't, so just kept making farting, spluttering noises that had her in stitches. I'm a class act with the ladies, me.
I don't know what I expected from Shimla - I suppose a quaint town untouched by modernisation, with some old English charm, seeing as this is where the British used to come for summer when the rest of India got too hot. There was a very English looking church, some timber-framed houses that wouldn't have looked out of place in Lavenham or York, and a wide street where people spend the evenings walking. The rest of Shimla however is modern India crowbarred in and added on - Chinese and Indian restaurants, ATM machines, a chaotic, filthy bus stand, Dominos Pizza and a Starbucks-like coffee shop, Barista. This being a hill town, however, everything looked like it was perching, struggling to hold on to the firm bit of ground it had got, for fear of disappearing into the trees rolling hundreds of feet down the hills.
The bus journey from Shimla to Dharamsala is ten hours long, and frankly it's too late in the day, and I'd spent enough time on buses, to I decided to cheat and get a taxi. Roughly thirty-five quid buys you a comfortable, marginally quicker taxi ride from Shimla all the way to McLeod Ganj. Unfortunately, the standard rules of Indian driving still apply here in Himachal Pradesh, even though most of the roads through the mountains have a 300-foot drop off one side, and there are more corners than straight bits of road - so some of the ride was hairy. This was despite one of my two (yes, two) drivers assuring me that we were going slow and safe. Before my mum freaks out about taking dangerous forms of transport, it's worth adding that on the way to Dharamsala, we saw no crashed taxis, and two crashed buses.
So finally, after a very steep climb in the taxi from Dharamsala to McLeod Ganj, I'm here, at my final destination in India, for my last two weeks. My guest house room has a stupefying view out over the mountains. There are masses of massive hills to walk, a pilgrimage to the nearby village of Bhagsu to get a banoffee pie I've been told is the best there is, and lots of Tibetan history to absorb. There are more Tibetans here than Indians, changing the feel of the place, as well as Buddhist monks everywhere in bergundy robes, and a fair amount of Westerners. It seems, above all, chilled out.
Today is the first day of Holi, a Hindu festival marked by the throwing of water and coloured powder. People all over town are running around with bags of powder paint, giggling and panting like kids that have eaten too much sugar, covered from head to foot in a crust of muddy colour. I just managed to get to the Internet cafe a new shade of green, red and pink, after getting a few facefulls.
I've uploaded some more pics to the photo album, more to come...
I left Jaisalmer in a hurry, sprinting to catch the bus on the back of a scooter, after a mix-up with bus times. After a brief stay in Bikaner, there was just enough time for a quick trip to the Karni Mata temple at Deshnok, the famous temple where the souls of the dead are supposed to come back as rats. The rats are everywhere, some dead, some scraggy looking, all very well fed with prasad (sacred food from the shrine) and milk. Because it's a temple, however, you have to go in bare feet - so after coming out, you have feet encrusted with dried rats pee and food - thank goodness for Wet Wipes. Quite apart from the rats, one of the most impressive sights was huge vats of food being prepared for devotees (and the rats) in the temple. See the photo album for some pics from Deshnok.
After leaving Bikaner and Deshnok, I got the train up to Kalka, and had about half-an-hour spare to get a chai (served in a terracotta cup which you then smash on the ground - more environmentally friendly than plastic), and catch the Viceroy's Toy Train from Kalka to Shimla. The fare is an absurdly cheap Rs.20 (about 25p) - not bad for the best train ride I've ever taken! The train wound its way up through the foothills of the Himalayas to Shimla, wrapping itself around the sides of hills, chugging over bridges, leaning over huge drops and passing through so many tunnels I lost count, all the while teetering on a narrow-gauge track. As we got higher, the views got more impressive, until you gave up expressing yourself properly and just said "whhooooaaaaaa...." all the time.
It was a fun journey, as a procession of holidaying Indians in the carriage came up for chats, and I was entertained by a young girl on holiday with her grandfather. She spoke no English, I spoke no Hindi (and the Hindi for "I do not speak English" is 'Mein nahin Hindi bol sakta hun'!), but she still gave me some of her biscuits and tried to teach me to whistle with my fingers. I can't, so just kept making farting, spluttering noises that had her in stitches. I'm a class act with the ladies, me.
I don't know what I expected from Shimla - I suppose a quaint town untouched by modernisation, with some old English charm, seeing as this is where the British used to come for summer when the rest of India got too hot. There was a very English looking church, some timber-framed houses that wouldn't have looked out of place in Lavenham or York, and a wide street where people spend the evenings walking. The rest of Shimla however is modern India crowbarred in and added on - Chinese and Indian restaurants, ATM machines, a chaotic, filthy bus stand, Dominos Pizza and a Starbucks-like coffee shop, Barista. This being a hill town, however, everything looked like it was perching, struggling to hold on to the firm bit of ground it had got, for fear of disappearing into the trees rolling hundreds of feet down the hills.
The bus journey from Shimla to Dharamsala is ten hours long, and frankly it's too late in the day, and I'd spent enough time on buses, to I decided to cheat and get a taxi. Roughly thirty-five quid buys you a comfortable, marginally quicker taxi ride from Shimla all the way to McLeod Ganj. Unfortunately, the standard rules of Indian driving still apply here in Himachal Pradesh, even though most of the roads through the mountains have a 300-foot drop off one side, and there are more corners than straight bits of road - so some of the ride was hairy. This was despite one of my two (yes, two) drivers assuring me that we were going slow and safe. Before my mum freaks out about taking dangerous forms of transport, it's worth adding that on the way to Dharamsala, we saw no crashed taxis, and two crashed buses.
So finally, after a very steep climb in the taxi from Dharamsala to McLeod Ganj, I'm here, at my final destination in India, for my last two weeks. My guest house room has a stupefying view out over the mountains. There are masses of massive hills to walk, a pilgrimage to the nearby village of Bhagsu to get a banoffee pie I've been told is the best there is, and lots of Tibetan history to absorb. There are more Tibetans here than Indians, changing the feel of the place, as well as Buddhist monks everywhere in bergundy robes, and a fair amount of Westerners. It seems, above all, chilled out.
Today is the first day of Holi, a Hindu festival marked by the throwing of water and coloured powder. People all over town are running around with bags of powder paint, giggling and panting like kids that have eaten too much sugar, covered from head to foot in a crust of muddy colour. I just managed to get to the Internet cafe a new shade of green, red and pink, after getting a few facefulls.
I've uploaded some more pics to the photo album, more to come...
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Jaisalmer - big desert, big humps
After the debacle that was my visit to the Taj Mahal, Jaisalmer, the honey-coloured city in the Thar Desert region on Western Rajasthan, has been a pleasure to spend time in.
Some people will say, and have said, that Jaisalmer is touristy - and there's a reason - it's beautiful, and all the most attractive stuff is wrapped up in a conveniently walkable, compact packet - a bit like York. The Fort rises out of the desert town to stupendous heights, all of the buildings are in the same golden sandstone, and the intricacy of the carving for something as simple as a windowledge is impressive.
Jaisalmer is in danger of corrosion and damage to the fort because of the build-up of the tourist trade here (www.jaisalmer-in-jeopardy.org), but it hasn't seemed too crowded over the last few days - probably because it's getting towards the end of the tourist season, and temperatures in the summer get as high as 40 degrees centigrade. The locals can hardly handle the heat, tourists would be flaking out all over the place.
I've been here a few days now, the highlight of this time being a two-day camel safari into the Thar. After some getting used to each other, my camel (Simon, 9 years old) and I developed something of a rapport I like to think, and got along just fine. I sat on him admiring the scenery and concentrated on not falling off, he took a leisurely pace through sand, over rocks, and occasionally through spiky bushes (with me fighting to stay on board and digging thorns out of my arms). The safari was taken with a small group of good people, including Andrew and Randi, who I'd met in Aurangabad. By the end, the heat was starting to have an effect on people, but it was a great two days. One weird moment was stopping in a remote desert village, to be introduced to an exotic looking woman with dark eyes and an assortment of jewellery on her head... holding bottles of Coca Cola for sale.
The highlight was sleeping in the dunes at the outermost point of our trek - we sat round a camp fire, and then set up beds wherever we liked in the sand. The moon was out when we went to bed, and was bright enough to hide most of the stars, but then I woke up during the night, and the moon had set. I have never seen so many stars in my life.
The camels were interesting creatures - on a long lunch break, sheltering from the midday heat, or at night, when we all got ready for bed in the dunes, they'd sit chewing the cud. Chew, chew, chew, the jaws moving alternately right and left in a bovine masticating action. Then there would be a large gulp as they swallowed. Next, a pause, and then a gurgling, bubbling noise as they regurgitated another load of food to chew on. This would be punctuated occasionally by the loudest farts I have ever heard. When the sun went down, you'd see some of them silhouetted against the horizon, just standing there, chewing, or doing nothing - like the numerous cows that stand around all over India, chewing, doing nothing. I have the greatest admiration for cows and camels - they can stand and chew, unbothered in the slightest by the flies buzzing around their eyes, ears and nose. I can't sit and eat lunch without twitching every second to keep the flies off me, for fear that if I don't, they'll swarm me completely, but the cows and the camels don't let the flies get to them, their huge, dark eyes just projecting some zen-like calm. They also bear with great stoicism the abuse of shopkeepers if they wonder too close to their produce, and traffic careering past them at breakneck speeds.
Only the one photo for the mo, more to come. Next, I'm catching a bus to Bikaner, 300km north, and then a train to Kalka in Himachal Pradesh, where I'll follow in Michael Palin's recent footsteps by taking the Toy Train up to Shimla, the hill station and old summer home of the Raj.
Some people will say, and have said, that Jaisalmer is touristy - and there's a reason - it's beautiful, and all the most attractive stuff is wrapped up in a conveniently walkable, compact packet - a bit like York. The Fort rises out of the desert town to stupendous heights, all of the buildings are in the same golden sandstone, and the intricacy of the carving for something as simple as a windowledge is impressive.
Jaisalmer is in danger of corrosion and damage to the fort because of the build-up of the tourist trade here (www.jaisalmer-in-jeopardy.org), but it hasn't seemed too crowded over the last few days - probably because it's getting towards the end of the tourist season, and temperatures in the summer get as high as 40 degrees centigrade. The locals can hardly handle the heat, tourists would be flaking out all over the place.
I've been here a few days now, the highlight of this time being a two-day camel safari into the Thar. After some getting used to each other, my camel (Simon, 9 years old) and I developed something of a rapport I like to think, and got along just fine. I sat on him admiring the scenery and concentrated on not falling off, he took a leisurely pace through sand, over rocks, and occasionally through spiky bushes (with me fighting to stay on board and digging thorns out of my arms). The safari was taken with a small group of good people, including Andrew and Randi, who I'd met in Aurangabad. By the end, the heat was starting to have an effect on people, but it was a great two days. One weird moment was stopping in a remote desert village, to be introduced to an exotic looking woman with dark eyes and an assortment of jewellery on her head... holding bottles of Coca Cola for sale.
The highlight was sleeping in the dunes at the outermost point of our trek - we sat round a camp fire, and then set up beds wherever we liked in the sand. The moon was out when we went to bed, and was bright enough to hide most of the stars, but then I woke up during the night, and the moon had set. I have never seen so many stars in my life.
The camels were interesting creatures - on a long lunch break, sheltering from the midday heat, or at night, when we all got ready for bed in the dunes, they'd sit chewing the cud. Chew, chew, chew, the jaws moving alternately right and left in a bovine masticating action. Then there would be a large gulp as they swallowed. Next, a pause, and then a gurgling, bubbling noise as they regurgitated another load of food to chew on. This would be punctuated occasionally by the loudest farts I have ever heard. When the sun went down, you'd see some of them silhouetted against the horizon, just standing there, chewing, or doing nothing - like the numerous cows that stand around all over India, chewing, doing nothing. I have the greatest admiration for cows and camels - they can stand and chew, unbothered in the slightest by the flies buzzing around their eyes, ears and nose. I can't sit and eat lunch without twitching every second to keep the flies off me, for fear that if I don't, they'll swarm me completely, but the cows and the camels don't let the flies get to them, their huge, dark eyes just projecting some zen-like calm. They also bear with great stoicism the abuse of shopkeepers if they wonder too close to their produce, and traffic careering past them at breakneck speeds.
Only the one photo for the mo, more to come. Next, I'm catching a bus to Bikaner, 300km north, and then a train to Kalka in Himachal Pradesh, where I'll follow in Michael Palin's recent footsteps by taking the Toy Train up to Shimla, the hill station and old summer home of the Raj.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Taj Mahal
Well, the viewers' vote came in, thanks to everyone that basically said "What?! It's the Taj Mahal! You've got to go!". I went.
OK, it was very beautiful, and I'm glad I saw it, but the journey there possibly made for the worst day I've had in India so far! For some reason I decided to take a day trip from Jaipur to go to Agra - a day trip from Jaipur to Agra means about six hours on the bus - each way - all for about an hour at the Taj Mahal. This whole experience gets more frustrating when a) souvenir-selling, begging and requests for baksheesh go through the roof, b) the rickshaw drivers make the ones everywhere else I've been look easy-going and honest, and c) Indians who don't know the meaning of the word 'QUEUE' shove in front of you when you're waiting to get into the Taj. Much like when Andrew, Randy and I were pestered by souvenir sellers at Ajanta, I felt like I was starting to get 'stabby'.
It was tiring in the extreme, and there's me with that old image of Lady Diana sitting on the bench at dawn looking wistfully over her shoulder at the Taj Mahal... I'm not in a position to dispense much advice yet from my travels, but one bit would be to NEVER do a day trip to Agra, and to get to the Taj first thing in the morning before heat and crowds conspire to ruin a beautiful place. And it was beautiful, its cleverest trick being to be so impressive as to make all the crowds buzzing around it insignificant.
OK, it was very beautiful, and I'm glad I saw it, but the journey there possibly made for the worst day I've had in India so far! For some reason I decided to take a day trip from Jaipur to go to Agra - a day trip from Jaipur to Agra means about six hours on the bus - each way - all for about an hour at the Taj Mahal. This whole experience gets more frustrating when a) souvenir-selling, begging and requests for baksheesh go through the roof, b) the rickshaw drivers make the ones everywhere else I've been look easy-going and honest, and c) Indians who don't know the meaning of the word 'QUEUE' shove in front of you when you're waiting to get into the Taj. Much like when Andrew, Randy and I were pestered by souvenir sellers at Ajanta, I felt like I was starting to get 'stabby'.
It was tiring in the extreme, and there's me with that old image of Lady Diana sitting on the bench at dawn looking wistfully over her shoulder at the Taj Mahal... I'm not in a position to dispense much advice yet from my travels, but one bit would be to NEVER do a day trip to Agra, and to get to the Taj first thing in the morning before heat and crowds conspire to ruin a beautiful place. And it was beautiful, its cleverest trick being to be so impressive as to make all the crowds buzzing around it insignificant.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Jaipur burn-out
I got to Jaipur yesterday afternoon, and after walking to the guest house from the station (and telling about fifty rickshaw-wallahs to bugger off on the way), I crashed out, and went to sleep for pretty much the rest of the day. Then slept all night. Then had a lie-in (well, as much as you can do when the muezzin at the local mosque is singing adulation of Allah around the neighbourhood at 5:30 in the morning). I am, in short, knackered.
The train from Mumbai up to Jaipur, a 2 tier AC sleeper, was really comfortable - I shared my berth with an elderly Hindu gentleman who insisted I share his dosas, a middle-aged Muslim gentleman with a voice like an angry cat being dragged through gravel that went straight though me, and another gentleman of indeterminate nationality who seems to have been travelling most of his life. All in all they were an easy bunch to get on with - every so often I'd get a pat on the knee from the old Hindu chap, I think he wanted to look after me. He reminded me of several people I've encountered so far in India - on numerous occasions I've bashed my head good and proper on low doorways, as obviously India isn't designed for the taller man (or maybe just the clumsier one) - as I've been standing there with stars in my eyes, people have rushed up and started frantically rubbing my head for me, often a tag team of two at a time. Before I had a short haircut I did it a few times, and by the time they'd finished rubbing my head I looked like Edward Scissorhands, hair all over the place.
I started exploring Jaipur today then, what with all the sleeping, quite late in the day. The other reason for this was that the heat is quite oppressive now, and it seems like you need a while to psyche yourself up before going out into it. I went for a coffee at an Indian Coffee House - sort of like Starbucks in that they're in every town, but nowhere like Starbucks in that they're mainly frequented by locals, the paint on the walls is chipping, there's a separate 'Women and Family' room, and the coffee is a fraction of the price of Starbucks - ten rupees for the 'Special' Coffee, a very pleasant, smooth brew. So the Starbucks comparison was useless then, but I'm investigating product placement for this blog and I'm wondering if they'll pay me money. Starbucks Starbucks Starbucks. That'll do it.
After the Indian Coffee House, I took a stroll through the Pink City - the main reason Jaipur is famous. It's laid out according to ancient Hindu town planning laws, sort of like a smaller version of Milton Keynes, without the roundabouts, and with dung instead of concrete. And real cows. It's a great place to get lost in, and yet again, you find whole streets dedicated to particular trades - one street of electronics, one street of jewellers, one street of textiles, and so on. This is yet more proof of how completely Hinduism is a part of everything here - streets are dedicated to trades partly because people's sub-castes, or jatis, put them in the same place as well as dictating their trade. Mind you, Tottenham Court Road is like that as well.
I also got to try out some Hindi, and people seemed to be impressed as they grabbed me and shook my hand when I used it on them - probably to say "well you butchered my language there mate, but thanks for trying".
So, my conversations today went pretty much along the these lines:
The train from Mumbai up to Jaipur, a 2 tier AC sleeper, was really comfortable - I shared my berth with an elderly Hindu gentleman who insisted I share his dosas, a middle-aged Muslim gentleman with a voice like an angry cat being dragged through gravel that went straight though me, and another gentleman of indeterminate nationality who seems to have been travelling most of his life. All in all they were an easy bunch to get on with - every so often I'd get a pat on the knee from the old Hindu chap, I think he wanted to look after me. He reminded me of several people I've encountered so far in India - on numerous occasions I've bashed my head good and proper on low doorways, as obviously India isn't designed for the taller man (or maybe just the clumsier one) - as I've been standing there with stars in my eyes, people have rushed up and started frantically rubbing my head for me, often a tag team of two at a time. Before I had a short haircut I did it a few times, and by the time they'd finished rubbing my head I looked like Edward Scissorhands, hair all over the place.
I started exploring Jaipur today then, what with all the sleeping, quite late in the day. The other reason for this was that the heat is quite oppressive now, and it seems like you need a while to psyche yourself up before going out into it. I went for a coffee at an Indian Coffee House - sort of like Starbucks in that they're in every town, but nowhere like Starbucks in that they're mainly frequented by locals, the paint on the walls is chipping, there's a separate 'Women and Family' room, and the coffee is a fraction of the price of Starbucks - ten rupees for the 'Special' Coffee, a very pleasant, smooth brew. So the Starbucks comparison was useless then, but I'm investigating product placement for this blog and I'm wondering if they'll pay me money. Starbucks Starbucks Starbucks. That'll do it.
After the Indian Coffee House, I took a stroll through the Pink City - the main reason Jaipur is famous. It's laid out according to ancient Hindu town planning laws, sort of like a smaller version of Milton Keynes, without the roundabouts, and with dung instead of concrete. And real cows. It's a great place to get lost in, and yet again, you find whole streets dedicated to particular trades - one street of electronics, one street of jewellers, one street of textiles, and so on. This is yet more proof of how completely Hinduism is a part of everything here - streets are dedicated to trades partly because people's sub-castes, or jatis, put them in the same place as well as dictating their trade. Mind you, Tottenham Court Road is like that as well.
I also got to try out some Hindi, and people seemed to be impressed as they grabbed me and shook my hand when I used it on them - probably to say "well you butchered my language there mate, but thanks for trying".
So, my conversations today went pretty much along the these lines:
- "Namaste, Jantar Mantar kahaan hai?" = "Hello, where is the Royal Observatory?"
- Answer comes in high-speed Hindi. I haven't got the foggiest what the guy is saying, but fortunately he's doing a lot of gesticulating and pointing, so I assume it means:
"Royal Observatory? No worries mate. Down there until you get to the end, then take a right at that big cow, then a left, and you're right there. By the way, nice Om T-shirt you're wearing there - did you buy that in Goa? Thought so - bet you paid too much. My brother has a shop just nearby, he will do you good price." - "Shukriya" = "Cheers mate!"
So with these useful directions, I eventually managed to find the Royal Observatory, the largest set of astronomical, and astrological, equipment built by Sawai Jai Singh II - including a huge sundial (when I say huge I mean a hundred feet tall). All very impressive, pictures follow soon. Now I've seen some of the sights of Jaipur, and the to-do list for India is getting smaller, which is a good job. I've got the overpowering urge to go and hide in the mountains until it's time to go to Hong Kong.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Ellora and Ajanta
Well, a quick two-day trip up to Aurangabad, and I'm back in Mumbai. I've just been up to see the rock-cut caves of Ellora and the carvings and paintings of Ajanta - all very impressive indeed, though hard work in the afternoon sun, and the souvenir sellers at Ajanta were persistent enough to merit a minor loss of sense of humour on my part. When will these people realise that saying no fifteen times does not mean I'll say yes the sixteenth time?
Anyhoo, it was my very great pleasure to meet a cool couple from New York, Andrew and Randy (hi guys). We hung out together for our time in Aurangabad, and wandered Aurangabad one evening looking for a beer, which we found in the rather surreal Food Lovers restaurant - this place was part beach cafe, part store room, part aquarium shop, and all weird.
I've uploaded a few more pics onto Flickr, but more will have to wait yet again as the Internet's a bit slow in this place.
Next stop - Jaipur in Rajasthan, I leave tomorrow evening. Time to go camel trekking before seeking some peace and quiet in the Himalayas... where is the time going?!
Oh and it's viewer vote time - should I bother going to the Taj Mahal?!
Anyhoo, it was my very great pleasure to meet a cool couple from New York, Andrew and Randy (hi guys). We hung out together for our time in Aurangabad, and wandered Aurangabad one evening looking for a beer, which we found in the rather surreal Food Lovers restaurant - this place was part beach cafe, part store room, part aquarium shop, and all weird.
I've uploaded a few more pics onto Flickr, but more will have to wait yet again as the Internet's a bit slow in this place.
Next stop - Jaipur in Rajasthan, I leave tomorrow evening. Time to go camel trekking before seeking some peace and quiet in the Himalayas... where is the time going?!
Oh and it's viewer vote time - should I bother going to the Taj Mahal?!
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Bombay's away
I'm in Mumbai - well at least until tonight. After a tragically short stay in the very pleasant Panjim, I flew up here yesterday. Panjim was an example of how it is a good idea to a) research your destinations first and b) to get out of a place straight away if you're not crazy about it. I had a day in Panjim that I enjoyed and met a few good people, and wanted three days - and three days in Palolem where I was mostly bored out of my tiny little mind, when one day would have done it. In Panjim I stayed at the very friendly though pricy Afonso Guest House - run by a lovely lady who booked my taxi to the airport, and even made sure I got on it, even though it was six in the morning. I think maybe she was just worried that I wouldn't shut her front door properly on the way out.
I got to Mumbai yesterday, and had a taxi ride in from the airport that was nearly enough to trigger another bout of culture shock like the one I had in Trivandrum, when I first arrived in India. The journey into the center of Mumbai from the airport is not down some tree-lined A-road or suburban area - it's just non-stop people. The slums and ramshackle housing go on, and on, and on, and on. And on. It seems impossible that so many people can live on top of each other like that, but they obviously are - all the time. The closest comparison I can make is that if you imagined taking a taxi ride from Heathrow around the M25 in to the center of London via the A3, it would be slums and shanty towns immediately from Heathrow, all the way until you got to Vauxhall, maybe further. People live on the sides of the roads, with cars buzzing past them as they brush their teeth, and drying their clothes on the concrete bollards dividing the roads into lanes. People have stalls on the sides of the road with about three bananas and a strip of sachets of shampoo for sale. People sit around drinking chai, and somehow not choking at the exhaust fumes billowing up in their faces. I wasn't unaware that Mumbai was like this - but it's still a flabbergasting sight. There was so much dirt in everything - the people, the buildings, the road, the cars, the windows, the clothes, the water - if you took all the dirt away everything would fall apart.
So in Mumbai I'm in the less pleasant but at least less expensive Sea Shore Hotel - a fourth floor hotel with airless and windowless cells, which is the perfect resting place for budget travellers, Indian businessmen with poor budgets for their overnight stays, and axe-murderers. That said, they do a mean boiled egg and toast and masala tea all for about forty rupees. I've had the chance to explore some of the Colaba district of Mumbai, including the... well, palatial hardly seems enough - how about the stupefying Taj Mahal Intercontinental Hotel. This place is just by the Gateway of India, the large monument marking the spot where the last British colonials left India at the onset of Indian independence. The Taj Mahal costs around GBP300 a night, or around 25,000 rupees - that is, around about a whole year's earnings for someone on the poverty line here. The place is massive - with a cavernous reception, shopping mall, restaurants, waterfall in enclosed leafy yard, and plush furniture and impeccably turned-out staff. But this is India, so literally cross the road and you're asked if you can buy milk for some girl's young baby, whether you want to buy Charas (cannabis), and you have to watch your step for the urine and rubbish on the pavement.
I found a great place to eat here in Coloba - Leopoldo's - a fairly hip and overpriced eatery a block away from the Taj Mahal and the seafront. It attracts a lot of Westerners as well as Indians, so isn't the authentic Indian experience (compared to eating a Thali in Tuticorin maybe). The best place about it though is the people-watching. I've been in there twice now and managed to get the same seat in the corner near the kitchen - I spent most of yesterday afternoon reading (I've never read as much in my life as I have since I came away) and watching the world go by. It could have been anywhere, but it also makes a welcome respite from the streets. Walk down the street from Leopoldo's and you're constantly having your hand grabbed by children after money, being offered wooden toy snakes, being beckoned into shops or to look at stalls, or offered a bindi and a string bracelet for 200 rupees (a rip-off).
While in Leopoldo's a Dutch guy came up to chat to me - he and his girlfriend were leaving India for Thailand, and he wanted to ask if I wanted his Lonely Planet. I told him no thanks as I had my Rough Guide (and will someone tell me which is actually better?). He told me they were glad to get out of India after five weeks - and I sympathised. There are some respects in which India works incredibly well - there is always a person to serve this, do that, clean up the other; the trains put the ones in the UK to shame; every corner sports a corner shop like a Tardis, packed to the rafters with every thing you could possibly ask for. That said, India will surely drive anyone mad after a while - the inequalities are glaring everywhere you look; the noise is constant and never-ending; the dirt is ubiquitous; the traffic is insane; and worst of all, after a while, you get to start feeling like you can't trust anyone. India mostly feels very safe - let's get that straight - but walking along virtually any street, sitting in many cafes or restaurants, or just minding your own business anywhere, the questions and approaches become incessant. You're aware walking down the street that you're saying 'NO' like a mantra (I've already remarked on saying no), and you actually feel driven along just to escape shopkeepers, beggars, children, and women with babies. If, sitting in a quiet place, you start a conversation with someone, you start to wander if they're going to introduce three blind brothers and a child with a hole in their heart into the conversation, fishing for a 'donation' from a guilt-ridden rich westerner (this happened to Matt and I at Hampi). I don't want to sound callous here, and I'd hope that I'm known as a conscientious and charitable sort - but India is almost enough to turn you round 180 degrees - I've got to the stage where I'm often reluctant to engage in conversation with people, for fear that they've got a 'line'.
Next stop Aurangabad, to see the caves at Ellora and Ajanta - I've also added some new pics to Flickr.
I got to Mumbai yesterday, and had a taxi ride in from the airport that was nearly enough to trigger another bout of culture shock like the one I had in Trivandrum, when I first arrived in India. The journey into the center of Mumbai from the airport is not down some tree-lined A-road or suburban area - it's just non-stop people. The slums and ramshackle housing go on, and on, and on, and on. And on. It seems impossible that so many people can live on top of each other like that, but they obviously are - all the time. The closest comparison I can make is that if you imagined taking a taxi ride from Heathrow around the M25 in to the center of London via the A3, it would be slums and shanty towns immediately from Heathrow, all the way until you got to Vauxhall, maybe further. People live on the sides of the roads, with cars buzzing past them as they brush their teeth, and drying their clothes on the concrete bollards dividing the roads into lanes. People have stalls on the sides of the road with about three bananas and a strip of sachets of shampoo for sale. People sit around drinking chai, and somehow not choking at the exhaust fumes billowing up in their faces. I wasn't unaware that Mumbai was like this - but it's still a flabbergasting sight. There was so much dirt in everything - the people, the buildings, the road, the cars, the windows, the clothes, the water - if you took all the dirt away everything would fall apart.
So in Mumbai I'm in the less pleasant but at least less expensive Sea Shore Hotel - a fourth floor hotel with airless and windowless cells, which is the perfect resting place for budget travellers, Indian businessmen with poor budgets for their overnight stays, and axe-murderers. That said, they do a mean boiled egg and toast and masala tea all for about forty rupees. I've had the chance to explore some of the Colaba district of Mumbai, including the... well, palatial hardly seems enough - how about the stupefying Taj Mahal Intercontinental Hotel. This place is just by the Gateway of India, the large monument marking the spot where the last British colonials left India at the onset of Indian independence. The Taj Mahal costs around GBP300 a night, or around 25,000 rupees - that is, around about a whole year's earnings for someone on the poverty line here. The place is massive - with a cavernous reception, shopping mall, restaurants, waterfall in enclosed leafy yard, and plush furniture and impeccably turned-out staff. But this is India, so literally cross the road and you're asked if you can buy milk for some girl's young baby, whether you want to buy Charas (cannabis), and you have to watch your step for the urine and rubbish on the pavement.
I found a great place to eat here in Coloba - Leopoldo's - a fairly hip and overpriced eatery a block away from the Taj Mahal and the seafront. It attracts a lot of Westerners as well as Indians, so isn't the authentic Indian experience (compared to eating a Thali in Tuticorin maybe). The best place about it though is the people-watching. I've been in there twice now and managed to get the same seat in the corner near the kitchen - I spent most of yesterday afternoon reading (I've never read as much in my life as I have since I came away) and watching the world go by. It could have been anywhere, but it also makes a welcome respite from the streets. Walk down the street from Leopoldo's and you're constantly having your hand grabbed by children after money, being offered wooden toy snakes, being beckoned into shops or to look at stalls, or offered a bindi and a string bracelet for 200 rupees (a rip-off).
While in Leopoldo's a Dutch guy came up to chat to me - he and his girlfriend were leaving India for Thailand, and he wanted to ask if I wanted his Lonely Planet. I told him no thanks as I had my Rough Guide (and will someone tell me which is actually better?). He told me they were glad to get out of India after five weeks - and I sympathised. There are some respects in which India works incredibly well - there is always a person to serve this, do that, clean up the other; the trains put the ones in the UK to shame; every corner sports a corner shop like a Tardis, packed to the rafters with every thing you could possibly ask for. That said, India will surely drive anyone mad after a while - the inequalities are glaring everywhere you look; the noise is constant and never-ending; the dirt is ubiquitous; the traffic is insane; and worst of all, after a while, you get to start feeling like you can't trust anyone. India mostly feels very safe - let's get that straight - but walking along virtually any street, sitting in many cafes or restaurants, or just minding your own business anywhere, the questions and approaches become incessant. You're aware walking down the street that you're saying 'NO' like a mantra (I've already remarked on saying no), and you actually feel driven along just to escape shopkeepers, beggars, children, and women with babies. If, sitting in a quiet place, you start a conversation with someone, you start to wander if they're going to introduce three blind brothers and a child with a hole in their heart into the conversation, fishing for a 'donation' from a guilt-ridden rich westerner (this happened to Matt and I at Hampi). I don't want to sound callous here, and I'd hope that I'm known as a conscientious and charitable sort - but India is almost enough to turn you round 180 degrees - I've got to the stage where I'm often reluctant to engage in conversation with people, for fear that they've got a 'line'.
Next stop Aurangabad, to see the caves at Ellora and Ajanta - I've also added some new pics to Flickr.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Is she a Goa? Eh? Nudge nudge?
Sorry, that was my worst blog title yet.
I'm in Palolem, Goa, after having had a few separate recommendations to come here - and for the first couple of days I've hated it. It seems that there is nothing for you to do here unless you're on honeymoon, with a mate, want nothing more than to toast your skin under the sun and buy beads, or stand on the beach in the morning doing silly yoga exercises. I got into a little hut on the northern end of the beach at Cozy Nook - a nice little chilled-out place - and seem to have been in a foul mood since, even though kittens gambol merrily about you as you eat your breakfast and the sea is just a stone's throw away.
I thought this was because Palolem was useless - and it isn't, not really. The beach is stunning - a curve of white sand, shallow warm waters and gentle waves, fringed by swaying palm trees and capped at either end by rocky promontories, at one end a forested hill which allows for an incredible view over the sea. I had expected, rather naively maybe, that this would be a chilled-out haunt for weary travellers, with many a friendly face eager to share a cool Kingfisher beer and discuss the joys and pains of life on the road. Nah. It's not like that, not that I've seen. Maybe if I got for a yoga course and stand on the beach like a tit waving my arms about that would help? Well I tell ya, it ain't gonna happen.
Having been a miserable old git here for two days, and those closest to me will know just how this manifests itself, I told myself off this morning. I'm new to travelling - I don't want to labour the point but I haven't ever really been anywhere, and certainly not entirely under my own steam. I suppose I'm learning that in order to enjoy myself, see more, meet people, take more interesting photos, get more exercise and generally be more satisfied, I have to actually go and find things to do. "Well duh! Nice one Sherlock!" I hear you mutter. Well it's fair enough - I do expect far too much to be presented to me on a silver platter. So this I suppose is part of the learning curve - that travelling is not just about getting to the next place and then sitting there, it's also about arranging your own itinerary when you get there. It's either that or go on package tours. Well I tell ya, that ain't gonna happen.
Anyway, Internet speeds in Palolem are about as quick as it takes to get served a meal in the evening - i.e. not that quick. Therefore I'm hoping to find a fast Internet cafe in Mumbai, my next stop, to upload a load of pics I've taken in Karnataka and Goa.
I'm in Palolem, Goa, after having had a few separate recommendations to come here - and for the first couple of days I've hated it. It seems that there is nothing for you to do here unless you're on honeymoon, with a mate, want nothing more than to toast your skin under the sun and buy beads, or stand on the beach in the morning doing silly yoga exercises. I got into a little hut on the northern end of the beach at Cozy Nook - a nice little chilled-out place - and seem to have been in a foul mood since, even though kittens gambol merrily about you as you eat your breakfast and the sea is just a stone's throw away.
I thought this was because Palolem was useless - and it isn't, not really. The beach is stunning - a curve of white sand, shallow warm waters and gentle waves, fringed by swaying palm trees and capped at either end by rocky promontories, at one end a forested hill which allows for an incredible view over the sea. I had expected, rather naively maybe, that this would be a chilled-out haunt for weary travellers, with many a friendly face eager to share a cool Kingfisher beer and discuss the joys and pains of life on the road. Nah. It's not like that, not that I've seen. Maybe if I got for a yoga course and stand on the beach like a tit waving my arms about that would help? Well I tell ya, it ain't gonna happen.
Having been a miserable old git here for two days, and those closest to me will know just how this manifests itself, I told myself off this morning. I'm new to travelling - I don't want to labour the point but I haven't ever really been anywhere, and certainly not entirely under my own steam. I suppose I'm learning that in order to enjoy myself, see more, meet people, take more interesting photos, get more exercise and generally be more satisfied, I have to actually go and find things to do. "Well duh! Nice one Sherlock!" I hear you mutter. Well it's fair enough - I do expect far too much to be presented to me on a silver platter. So this I suppose is part of the learning curve - that travelling is not just about getting to the next place and then sitting there, it's also about arranging your own itinerary when you get there. It's either that or go on package tours. Well I tell ya, that ain't gonna happen.
Anyway, Internet speeds in Palolem are about as quick as it takes to get served a meal in the evening - i.e. not that quick. Therefore I'm hoping to find a fast Internet cafe in Mumbai, my next stop, to upload a load of pics I've taken in Karnataka and Goa.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Leaving Hampi
I'm off to Goa tonight after five (or was it six) great days in Hampi - Hampi is a fantastic place. It's a bit like India with the sound turned down, and the landscape, temples and shrines are amazing.
The Mango Tree wins the award for the best view from a restaurant ever - a really cool, relaxed place with terraced platforms overlooking paddy fields and a river. While at the Mango Tree the other day I did however get a huge shock when what I thought was a tree branch fell on my head - I then looked at the tree branch to find it staring back at me - it was a lizard, sixteen inches from head to tail, which must have taken a clumsy step in the mango tree above me, and fell twenty-five feet onto me. Rather than showing any gratitude to me for breaking its fall, it looked at me as if to say "what the hell are you doing there?".
So it's Goa next - and we'll see about the all-night raving...
The Mango Tree wins the award for the best view from a restaurant ever - a really cool, relaxed place with terraced platforms overlooking paddy fields and a river. While at the Mango Tree the other day I did however get a huge shock when what I thought was a tree branch fell on my head - I then looked at the tree branch to find it staring back at me - it was a lizard, sixteen inches from head to tail, which must have taken a clumsy step in the mango tree above me, and fell twenty-five feet onto me. Rather than showing any gratitude to me for breaking its fall, it looked at me as if to say "what the hell are you doing there?".
So it's Goa next - and we'll see about the all-night raving...
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