Tag Archives: India

A Plan Evolves.

Posted on March 17, 2012 | 11 comments

Well the best laid plans of mice and men…..trouble is that after Goa I hadn’t really made a plan, I thought I would just wing it, and that is what is happening. Although, I did book a train from Jaipur to Mumbai on the 26th in order to catch the Heathrow flight on the 28th while I was at home in Ca. I had this vague notion that I would just spend a couple of weeks nomading around Rajasthan, visiting the famous Cities of legend, Jaipur, Udaipur, Jodhpur and Jaisalmer by whatever means presented themselves, train, bus or whatever.Things went a bit awry with the camera saga, I really miss it and am perpetually frustrated with the inexpensive replacement, dreadful shutter lag. I keep missing shots and the features are just inadequate. Stop whining Tim. Ok. Anyhoo, I really had not planned a stay in New Delhi at all, everywhere I read I was advised to give it a miss, I thought I might just go from Goa straight up to Jaipur, this would have been better, but fate intervened and to Delhi I went. I can’t say I enjoyed it, I found it exhausting, everything was such an effort, nothing was easy, it was horribly polluted, the poverty was appalling, the juxtaposed display of wealth and decadence dire, the hustlers overbearing, wandering the streets and alleys I was constantly overwhelmed with offers of which I know not what, I assumed an unatractive aloofness, it was the only way to survive, horrid and cold tho it sounds. Not me at all. Sorry, just telling it like it is. I’m sure you know there is a temptation to compare, I can’t, I simply can’t think of anywhere that compares, even closely. New York in the 70s before the cleanup when it was so filthy and everyone was so rude, maybe. No, not really. Sorry Delhi. Let’s move on.
The nomading plan came to a crashing, ignoble end when I enquired at the hotel’s travel desk for a train ticket to Jaisalmer, calls where made, no dice buddy. All Jaisalmer trains sold out for ten days, Udaipur and Jodhpur too. Well that certainly changes things. Hmm. I thought I would be smart and double check, tuk tuk trip to train station, where, through the hurly burly I did manage to determine that this was fact, though I could add myself to the wait list. Somewhat disconsolate I sat on a wall at the station reviewing the options, and watched the pretty ladies pass by! I can’t stay here for ten days, I could fly somewhere, though my destinations don’t have airports, so it would have to be somewhere different, Goa again ? Somewhere totally different, like a another country ? No, wait, I have a plan, let’s stick to it, A ROAD TRIP.
Inspired, I tuk tuk’d back to the Haveli, bounded into the travel office, well more shack really, and enquired about the possibility. Oh yes, they beamed, where do you want to go, where do you want to stay ? Fortunately I had done some homework and gave them the list of places I had highlighted in my book during a dull phase somewhere. While I was giving the guy the list there was another behind me, on the Internet, opening browser windows for each hotel and checking availability, smart operators these guys. Finished my list, much debating in Hindi, scribbled notes, a couple of phone calls, another gentleman was summoned, a car drew up outside. Finally head honcho says, write down how much you are willing to pay, I already knew so wrote it down, then he wrote a figure down and we compared. Ha, it was one hundred dollars different, in his favor.ok, I can live with that. Here is your driver, here is your car, when do you want to leave ? ! Whoa people, I only arrived a couple of hours ago from the horrible Best Western, today is Friday, how about Sunday. Sure, fine, no problem. So Sunday it is. To the Great Thar Desert I go. Time to get the Atlases out.
Amusing scenes in the old Haveli last night, I was quietly reading my book when a large bus pulled into the driveway and a motley crew of young persons fell out clutching shopping bags speaking with many tongues. They rapidly disappeared, re appearing minutes later dressed in their newly purchased finery. Wow, said I to one of them, glam night or what. Oh no she replied brightly, we are a group and this is our last night together. Turned out they were a G Group (Go India) with members from all over, Denmark, Sweden, France, Norway, Australia etc. Go India seems to be quite a progressive tour group and interestingly offer LBGT friendly tours. Off they went in a multitude of tuk tuks and peace descended. Dinner was fairly decent and I got to chatting with a couple of Dutch ladies on the next table, they found my new pink scarf worthy of discussion, so it was that and this and eating and a beer. I left before them and took to a chair in the wifi lobby. They joined me and they turned out to be a Mom and daughter, the Mom a goldsmith from Utrecht and she and her two sisters each have Ataliers, how exciting, always wanted to meet someone with an Atalier. I saw her jewelry, on her phone naturally, she saw wedding photos and the daughter went to bed. Turned out that they had been out bar hopping the previous night and had got so paralytic they had to sleep in the bar. Admirable. Then the G Group came back from their dinner and chose to sit with us, nice bunch of kids, about ten of them, but easy to talk to and no one tried to dominate, it was all very, um, harmonious. Everybody left for home this morning at five am. Loudly.

The view from my chair. At the Bissau Palace Hotel, a Haveli in Jaipur.

Car enthusiasts will recognize a Willys 6. The hotel will take guests for rides around the City.

Meeting other guests on a terrace.

A view from the unused Sunset Bar.

Can you see those tiny dots in the sky? No, not splodges on your screen, they are kites. I had read about the Rajasthani affection for kites and tonight at sunset there were lots of them. It’s real, I am here.

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Posted in Jaipur, Rajasthan, solo travel, Travel

Tagged Bikaner, India, Jaipur, Jaisalmer.

The Road to Tiruneli.

Posted on March 7, 2012 | 4 comments

I don’t know what to think, I might be bored. We are now at two hundred and fifty kilometers, and have stopped once in seven hours at a truck stop, transport cafe type place, rather small, in fact very small, seated about twenty. The curry was ok, the bits on the side were better, the customers were exclusively male, lunch for two was six dollars. The drive north has been quite eye opening, a two lane road all the way, there are no passing places, ha, not even any any passing lanes. Overtaking just happens when necessary, blind corner, sure, brow of a hill, go for it, what is most alarming is when we are four wide barreling down a two lane road and a truck appears coming in the opposite direction. Of course the reverse happens too, we round a corner and there are four lanes of traffic coming right at us. Oh it’s a bundle of laughs. Unfortunately the scenery is deadly dull, village after village after village all looking fairly much the same and about a mile apart, all the way.
Ok, now it got dark and it got interesting. The Western Ghats just sprang out of the dull plain, one minute it was flat flat flat, the next we were climbing, through a series of eight hairpins and still we climb. I can look down at the lights on the plain far far below, it is reminiscent of the approach to Masa Verde. Of course people try and overtake on the hairpins resulting in beeping beeping, gears grinding and much hullabaloo. Looking up I see truck or car lights impossibly high up, are we really going all the the way up there. Cars are parked beside the road, people sitting on the walls enjoying the view. We pass through a check point, papers are handed over, not sure why. We are on a high plateau and everything is different, there are spice stalls, tea booths, honey for sale, tasty looking restaurants.
I kept thinking, we must be nearly there, we must be. But no, the driver started showing a lack of confidence also, stopping and asking the way frequently, not very inspiring I thought. The procession of villages started again, more interesting as the populations were out and about, but less navigable due to them spilling into the streets. We continued until finally driver said, would you like beer? Well sure, but no bar in sight. We climbed some dingy stairs and I joined a queue of the local, er, well, I have to say, drunks, to buy two bottles of beer to bring along for dinner. To say it was seedy would be an understatement, I think it was the only liquor outlet for miles around and attracted some pretty rum characters (pardon the pun), I feebly tried to protect my pockets from thieves, looked as if I knew what I was doing and emerged unscathed and triumphant with two bottles of warm beer, total price, one US Dollar. Good I thought, we must be getting close, it was nine pm by now, how close are we, I enquired, only about an hour he says. Despondency and near sense of humor failure. More stops to ask the way, road gets narrower and narrower, until really only a single lane. Funny how those expressions spring to mind, but couldn’t help thinking, if there is a hotel at the end of this road I will eat my hat. There are mile markers and I saw one that said fifteen, ok, if nothing appears after fifteen lets turn back to that Holiday Inn I saw a while back (not). By this point the road had ceased to be a road and become more a boulder strewn, bone shaking track. We came to habitation, not only habitation but a vast three storey building full of marauding children. Incongruous, yep. Apparently a school for the local, tribal children, a boarding school. Oh, then the track ended. Driver turns down what appeared to be a dried up river bed, oh come on, hat eating reconsidered. We bounced down and there was a man, standing by an open gate, he waves us in, we park. He turns out to be a charming young man who runs a “home stay” way the bleep out here, takes bag out of trunk, puts it in room, is that my room, I enquire, oh no, that is your tent. After ten hours driving it looked like a palace. At ten forty five I declined the offered dinner, I felt bad, but that late, curry, I just couldn’t handle it. One beer and I felt a bit better and walked about asking questions and getting acquainted. He has two rice paddies, a field of cabbages and one of carrots. He has a large plot of Capsicum. Roses, Morning Glory and lots of palm trees. I wandered over to the gate and he came scurrying after me, no no, you mustn’t go out, the elephants are coming, maybe tigers too. WHAT ! Any snakes I asked, only cobras, and king cobras, any scorpions, oh no. Well that’s a relief. I considered the second bottle of beer, and drank it.
Slept very soundly until five am when the chanting started, there being a Temple to Vishnu directly up the mountain behind, quite famous I hear. Sara, you would have loved it. A simple flute and a lady who had this knack of harmonizing with the echo of her voice, which came back, reflected off the surrounding mountains so there were two of her voices simultaneously. Not sure about these things but it sounded like she was joined at the important bits by other female chanters. Morning Ragas for real. Quite memorizing. It went on for an hour. Can I tape it and put it on Soundcloud? Well no more sleep for me. Wandered about in the dark, looking where I was going ! The sun came up, warming everything, quite cold at night. The day passed quickly, we had a stroll to the temple, straight up, vertically, for about a mile. No comment. Went to the temple but of course I couldn’t go in, being a heathen and all, but the grounds were pleasant and contained a four hundred year old working viaduct, and Maurice, a tunnel, fifty kilometers long that the locals used to escape the British years ago. It goes right under a mountain and comes out, well, fifty kilometers away. Interesting. It is/was hidden amongst the religious artifacts and was never discovered, or so the story goes, I had to take my shoes off to gaze upon the entrance and was not allowed to take a photograph. (just in case the Brits come back?!). Not much else happened for the rest of the day.
That was it then, a day in Tiruneli, high up in the Western Ghats. Perfect.

The lunch stop.

The dried up river bed approach to the Home Stay.

The four hundred year old aqueduct.

The four thousand year old ritual bathing pool at the Thiruneli Temple.

Back breaking work planting rice.

Sunset’s golden glow.

Peppercorns in the sun.

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Posted in Fort Kochi, Kerala, Travel, Western Ghats

Tagged India, Tiruneli, Western Ghats

The Kerala Backwaters

Posted on March 7, 2012 | 8 comments

Thwack thwack is the background soundtrack to lunch, tied up to the bank of the seemingly endless waterway known as the Backwaters of Kerala. There too is birdsong from many unknown species and screeches of animals further back in the low jungly islands all about. The floating wild Hyacinth, fondly remembered from the Mekong, is prolific, I wonder, do they harvest it ? There is constant bank to bank canoe traffic, visiting, trading, schooling, I have no idea, but the pace of life is very very slow. Children cycle up and down the adjacent path crying out “What is your name? Where are you from?”. Men in the traditional dress, a longi, a kind of skirt, amble about doing apparently nothing, but I do notice they keep their eyes on the water, perhaps judging the fishing potential. The ladies, bright in their saris, thwack thwack thwacking the daily wash on convenient rocks.
The boats, which are everywhere, appear to be low draft barges with intricate bamboo woven roofs and walls built on top. Some are big fifty or sixty feet long with two decks, the upper one being an observation deck and the lower containing sleeping cabins, lounging and dining area, bathrooms, kitchen and crew quarters. My boat is quite small, room at the bows for two deck chairs and a table with four chairs, behind which is the cabin and bathroom with the kitchen at the stern. More than adequate for one, me. I count fourteen boats at this moment and that is just off the port side. Local bus boats speed along taking locals to and from, much faster than ours and creating something of a wash.
South and South we go, I can tell by the position of the sun, deeper and deeper into this vast waterway, I am completely lost. We follow narrow channels maybe three hundred yards across for half a mile or so, emerging into long wide lakes, perhaps one mile wide, two miles long and then on, to another distant channel. As we pass a narrow channel I can look down it, straight and palm lined into the distance, reminding me of the Canal du Midi with its famous Plane trees, are they really going to be cut down ? Wracking my brain to come up with an equivalent of this geographical feature, and failing. Is the Inter Coastal of the eastern US seaboard anything like this ?
We turn into a very narrow channel, too narrow for most of the boats, and we are in a village, on both banks, incongruously there is a pedestrian foot bridge, boys swim, men bathe, more thwacking, there are shops, well kind of, a bus boat rushes the people home, it will be sunset soon. Ferry, let’s call it a ferry. There is a Church, St Mary’s, I hear Mass. There are nuns, and a hospital . We stop, negotiate fish prices for dinner, king prawns it will be, curried presumably. I enquire about beer, a bottle is produced from behind a pile of empty boxes, Kerala seems officially dry. I was told proudly told that there are two liquor stores in all of Kochi, in some of the larger street food booths beer is sold, and consumed, out of tea pots.
We have joined a procession of boats all heading down a narrow channel into the setting sun (this is live narrative folks!) I assume to a place to tie up, or anchor, for the night, tea is served, no snooze, I might miss something. I see my first rice rick, like a hay rick, only rice stalks. I am not sure of the American translation, in fact I don’t think we have hay ricks in America, piles of straw ? Evening approaches and the ladies are fishing off the banks, come on guys, where are you ?
We tied up, strangely, along with many other boats onto a kind of tow path across from which is a house, in fact a whole row of houses, each with a boat tied up across the narrow path. Our front end is almost right in the lady’s wash area, evening ablutions are carried out within inches of the boat, very odd. Walking along the path I found others who also found it a bit odd, Brits, of course, a Polish lady, Daga, a Norwegian lady, Christina and four year old Angelina and none of us could figure it out, why are we here. Oh well, not going to stress about it.
Brilliant dawn and sunrise, will try and post photos as and when. PROBLEM. My camera has stopped working, lens jammed. So to tuk tuk back to Kochi and now at Canon repair center. Motor is blown, too bad, camera only three months old. Hope then to be off to mountains for six days, the Western Ghats. So this might be bye bye until Goa on March 9th. Will have stories to tell and photos to share.