4th - 15th February 2011
Five out of ten yoga classes attended.
Every day spent partially in bed.
No pictures taken.
18 films watched;
Revolver, X-Men, Iron Man, Fistful of dollars, Flags of our Fathers, Blow, Capitalism A Love Story, Pirates of the Caribbean Dead Man's Chest and At Worlds End, The Goonies, Rio Bravo, Snakes on a Plane, Alice in Wonderland, Avatar, Control, Little Miss Sunshine, The 40 Year Old Virgin, The Incredible Hulk
Sixty one sitcoms watched;
20 episodes of Coupling, 36 episodes of How I Met Your Mother and 5 episodes of Lie to Me
Seven out of ten days crying.
Nine out of nine days missing my husband and feeling horribly lonely.
One day delayed due to heavy snow fall in Srinigar.
One resolution made;
I will not be holidaying minus Djalma for longer than a couple of days.
As my wife wrote to me: 'As good as it is to have a strong sense of yourself as an individual, it's the sharing of life's experiences that makes most of them so amazing I think.'
I didn't have the most wonderful or enlightening experience in Mysore, I couldn't attend half of my yoga course because I had the runs both ends. I felt so unwell and dizzy in one restaurant that I had to lie down somewhere quiet before I could leave without falling over. I missed my man everyday and longed for new friends but as being in the hospital on the massage course taught me, sometimes it's actually better to be lonely when you're alone than lonely in the company of others, at least when the urge to cry takes over you can crawl onto the bed and cry like a baby without having to explain or hide from others.
Self indulgent pity over, I got up early on the 16th my final day and having prayed a lot that there was no more unmanageable snow fall and that Danila and Djalma's plane could safely take off (and land of course) I got a tuk-tuk to the bus station just in time to get on a bus leaving for Calicut.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Kannur, India
31st January - 4th February 2011
I arrived in one piece and so I began my first day travelling alone. I got a taxi to the bus stand and onto a very rickety bus driven by a man cursed with unusual optimism and faith. Over taking on blind corners, trying to overtake in spite of oncoming traffic before hastily pulling back, over taking vehicles already overtaking someone else and of course driving in the special lane for buses – the middle of the road/the wrong lane. I was sitting behind the driver almost over the engine, holding on for dear life while trying to keep my feet from being roasted in the heat given off by the overworked motor. The bus took me to Calicut train station and from there I got a ticket to Kannur as well some maps and advice from the lady in the tourist information office.
The three hour train ride was fantastic, despite paying for second class seating I managed to get a seat in sleeper class – much more comfortable but the best part was the last hour sitting in the open door watching the masses of coconut palms and rivers rush by. The scenery was gorgeous and going over the bridges I could look out and see nothing between by feet and the water below, incredible.
I arrived after sunset and called to get the address but was told in no uncertain terms that that was impossible and I should wait for someone to collect me. About fifteen minutes later a man walked up and handed me his mobile to confirm that he is the one collecting me, I picked up my bags and we go over to his... motorbike. Marvellous, one very heavy backpack, my camera bag and a plastic bag full of stuff I couldn't fit anywhere else. So having rearranged my bags, I got on and asked him to go slowly and a very painful, strained half an hour later we were at the resort. I think I may have pulled my stomach muscles trying to stay upright with my heavy bag hanging off my shoulders. My thighs and sphincter, for obvious reasons, also got an excellent work out.
There were already three other students at the resort, we were taken there for one night because the other students hadn't yet left the hospital where we were supposed to be staying. We had dinner together outside looking out over the Arabian Sea, the resort was right on a small quiet beach and surrounded by palm trees, it was very tucked away and insanely beautiful. Sabrina and Jacob both Italian were travelling together and there was an older Spanish lady Elenor as well, we spoke about some of our experiences travelling in India and they all seemed really nice. We all went to bed after dinner, nice and early for a change, not. I shared my room with a couple of spiders and a pale green lizard minus its tail, it was eerily quiet but I slept well.
The next day we were collected and taken to the hospital were we had our first lesson and met Dr Poilan. Nice guy, very friendly but an awful teacher, he was replaced after an hour with Dr Sangheeta same thing but younger and female and with a very unusual method of delivery, she would always pause after the word 'the' very odd and more than a little bit annoying. After our introduction to Panchakarma therapy and Ayurveda we had lunch and managed to find rooms, well some of us did. Thus ensued a situation only uptight females can get themselves into, who's sharing a room with who. It turned out after all her talk about loving the Indian way, the talking, the attention and the total lack of personal space that my new room mate Elenor didn't want to help out our fellow students and share our room with two other girls. She said lots of things that left a nasty taste in my mouth and made me quite angry but I just wanted to keep the peace so while I made it clear that I didn't have a problem sharing I wasn't going to force it on her. With that horrible new atmosphere firmly established in our little study group we had our afternoon practical lesson, head massage.
The problem with the rooms sorted itself out and the other two girls Spanish Paola and Brazilian Camilla were fine in the end but they were easily the nicest and friendliest of our little group and they were staying in the resort not the hospital, bugger.
The next day we had our first yoga lesson, bit of a quiet instructor but he was okay and our day continued much as yesterday with the theory in the morning and practical in the afternoon. In our lessons we basically wrote down the theory she told us, all of which was in the textbook we were eventually given, verbatim and in the afternoons we tried to copy the massage therapist who wasn't very talkative. Neither or our teachers really encouraged any questions or discussions, the lessons were boring – we could have read everything from the textbook and the massage guy didn't explain why we were doing what we were or how it helped, it was more like do this for this, now be quiet. I coloured my hair with henna in the evening and while the sloppy mixture was dripping down my face, neck and into my ears the excitement of the previous two days died down I really started to miss my man.
It's a horrible thing feeling lonely and on the verge of tears when you're sharing a room with someone, you haven't got anywhere to go if you want a discreet sob and to feel sorry for yourself, it makes you feel even lonelier than just being by yourself. After a truly abysmal lesson the next morning I decided to leave, I told the manager, my room mate, the practical teacher and then I packed and waited for some of my money to come back. Wishful thinking, after a long conversation punctuated by tears they agreed to take a smaller portion of my money, bastards, which still left me with a big fat hole in my money belt. I left with my backpack around five in the evening, an hour or two before sunset, with no fixed plan – genius Sarah strikes again.
After a bus ride into Kannur and a fruitless hour searching for a yoga centre I started to look for a hotel. Mistake. I spent another hour hauling my increasingly heavy backpack around town, going up flights of stairs to various different hotel receptions – what is wrong with a reception on the ground floor?! - only to be unsympathetically told that they didn't have any availability. I started to cry a little bit after hotel number four, I was weary, smelly, I missed my husband and none of the fat mean receptionists were helping me. I finally got a room at hotel number seven, hugely expensive, for me anyway, it had a lift and the most comfortable bed I had slept in for weeks. A double bed no less. I had a shower and went out to find something to eat and to use the internet.
The next day I got a ticket to Varkala which was a seven hour train ride south following the coast. I ran back to the hotel, packed, had another shower and left to catch my train. Right time, right platform... wrong train. About five hours in a noticed that my train had changed direction and was heading west instead of south (thank you Djalma for my Bear Gryls lessons) but after a lot of crying and a good nights sleep I decided to stay on the train and enjoy the mystery tour. Not long after that my phone beeped a new message 'welcome to Tamil Nadu enjoy uninterrupted calls and messaging with our seamless roaming service', I had left Kerala and was now in a different state. Marvellous. I successfully predicted the next main station, jumped out and called the only yoga place I had details for to find out their next course started in March and so walked round the station to buy another train ticket. No luck, so off to the bus station, after half an hour I got on a bus managed to keep both seats for myself with strategic leg and bag placement and enjoyed the seven hour bus ride to Mysore, a big centre for yoga (after Rishikesh), I was certain that I would find something there.
I arrived at 11.30pm in Mysore, Karnataka, yes three states in one day, a personal best I hope never to better due to a train taking a wrong turn. I walked to the hotel I'd had the foresight to book while at the bus in Coimbatore, Tamil Nadu (I really didn't feel like learning that painful lesson again) and then relaxed until 2am watching several episodes of Coupling.
I arrived in one piece and so I began my first day travelling alone. I got a taxi to the bus stand and onto a very rickety bus driven by a man cursed with unusual optimism and faith. Over taking on blind corners, trying to overtake in spite of oncoming traffic before hastily pulling back, over taking vehicles already overtaking someone else and of course driving in the special lane for buses – the middle of the road/the wrong lane. I was sitting behind the driver almost over the engine, holding on for dear life while trying to keep my feet from being roasted in the heat given off by the overworked motor. The bus took me to Calicut train station and from there I got a ticket to Kannur as well some maps and advice from the lady in the tourist information office.
The three hour train ride was fantastic, despite paying for second class seating I managed to get a seat in sleeper class – much more comfortable but the best part was the last hour sitting in the open door watching the masses of coconut palms and rivers rush by. The scenery was gorgeous and going over the bridges I could look out and see nothing between by feet and the water below, incredible.
I arrived after sunset and called to get the address but was told in no uncertain terms that that was impossible and I should wait for someone to collect me. About fifteen minutes later a man walked up and handed me his mobile to confirm that he is the one collecting me, I picked up my bags and we go over to his... motorbike. Marvellous, one very heavy backpack, my camera bag and a plastic bag full of stuff I couldn't fit anywhere else. So having rearranged my bags, I got on and asked him to go slowly and a very painful, strained half an hour later we were at the resort. I think I may have pulled my stomach muscles trying to stay upright with my heavy bag hanging off my shoulders. My thighs and sphincter, for obvious reasons, also got an excellent work out.
There were already three other students at the resort, we were taken there for one night because the other students hadn't yet left the hospital where we were supposed to be staying. We had dinner together outside looking out over the Arabian Sea, the resort was right on a small quiet beach and surrounded by palm trees, it was very tucked away and insanely beautiful. Sabrina and Jacob both Italian were travelling together and there was an older Spanish lady Elenor as well, we spoke about some of our experiences travelling in India and they all seemed really nice. We all went to bed after dinner, nice and early for a change, not. I shared my room with a couple of spiders and a pale green lizard minus its tail, it was eerily quiet but I slept well.
The next day we were collected and taken to the hospital were we had our first lesson and met Dr Poilan. Nice guy, very friendly but an awful teacher, he was replaced after an hour with Dr Sangheeta same thing but younger and female and with a very unusual method of delivery, she would always pause after the word 'the' very odd and more than a little bit annoying. After our introduction to Panchakarma therapy and Ayurveda we had lunch and managed to find rooms, well some of us did. Thus ensued a situation only uptight females can get themselves into, who's sharing a room with who. It turned out after all her talk about loving the Indian way, the talking, the attention and the total lack of personal space that my new room mate Elenor didn't want to help out our fellow students and share our room with two other girls. She said lots of things that left a nasty taste in my mouth and made me quite angry but I just wanted to keep the peace so while I made it clear that I didn't have a problem sharing I wasn't going to force it on her. With that horrible new atmosphere firmly established in our little study group we had our afternoon practical lesson, head massage.
The problem with the rooms sorted itself out and the other two girls Spanish Paola and Brazilian Camilla were fine in the end but they were easily the nicest and friendliest of our little group and they were staying in the resort not the hospital, bugger.
The next day we had our first yoga lesson, bit of a quiet instructor but he was okay and our day continued much as yesterday with the theory in the morning and practical in the afternoon. In our lessons we basically wrote down the theory she told us, all of which was in the textbook we were eventually given, verbatim and in the afternoons we tried to copy the massage therapist who wasn't very talkative. Neither or our teachers really encouraged any questions or discussions, the lessons were boring – we could have read everything from the textbook and the massage guy didn't explain why we were doing what we were or how it helped, it was more like do this for this, now be quiet. I coloured my hair with henna in the evening and while the sloppy mixture was dripping down my face, neck and into my ears the excitement of the previous two days died down I really started to miss my man.
It's a horrible thing feeling lonely and on the verge of tears when you're sharing a room with someone, you haven't got anywhere to go if you want a discreet sob and to feel sorry for yourself, it makes you feel even lonelier than just being by yourself. After a truly abysmal lesson the next morning I decided to leave, I told the manager, my room mate, the practical teacher and then I packed and waited for some of my money to come back. Wishful thinking, after a long conversation punctuated by tears they agreed to take a smaller portion of my money, bastards, which still left me with a big fat hole in my money belt. I left with my backpack around five in the evening, an hour or two before sunset, with no fixed plan – genius Sarah strikes again.
After a bus ride into Kannur and a fruitless hour searching for a yoga centre I started to look for a hotel. Mistake. I spent another hour hauling my increasingly heavy backpack around town, going up flights of stairs to various different hotel receptions – what is wrong with a reception on the ground floor?! - only to be unsympathetically told that they didn't have any availability. I started to cry a little bit after hotel number four, I was weary, smelly, I missed my husband and none of the fat mean receptionists were helping me. I finally got a room at hotel number seven, hugely expensive, for me anyway, it had a lift and the most comfortable bed I had slept in for weeks. A double bed no less. I had a shower and went out to find something to eat and to use the internet.
The next day I got a ticket to Varkala which was a seven hour train ride south following the coast. I ran back to the hotel, packed, had another shower and left to catch my train. Right time, right platform... wrong train. About five hours in a noticed that my train had changed direction and was heading west instead of south (thank you Djalma for my Bear Gryls lessons) but after a lot of crying and a good nights sleep I decided to stay on the train and enjoy the mystery tour. Not long after that my phone beeped a new message 'welcome to Tamil Nadu enjoy uninterrupted calls and messaging with our seamless roaming service', I had left Kerala and was now in a different state. Marvellous. I successfully predicted the next main station, jumped out and called the only yoga place I had details for to find out their next course started in March and so walked round the station to buy another train ticket. No luck, so off to the bus station, after half an hour I got on a bus managed to keep both seats for myself with strategic leg and bag placement and enjoyed the seven hour bus ride to Mysore, a big centre for yoga (after Rishikesh), I was certain that I would find something there.
I arrived at 11.30pm in Mysore, Karnataka, yes three states in one day, a personal best I hope never to better due to a train taking a wrong turn. I walked to the hotel I'd had the foresight to book while at the bus in Coimbatore, Tamil Nadu (I really didn't feel like learning that painful lesson again) and then relaxed until 2am watching several episodes of Coupling.
Delhi, India
29th - 31st January 2011
Arriving mid afternoon we walked a short way from the station into the crowded streets of Delhi and started scouring the grotty accommodation on offer within our limited price range. We settled on a flaky room on the 5th floor, it had a big, not-too-lumpy bed, a child-proofed television so we couldn't adjust the volume or change the channel, and a slightly whiffy bathroom, heaven compared to the other smaller, grottier, smellier holes we'd been considering.
We went out for a beer in a restaurant/bar a lot nicer than the ones we usually patronise and glugged down three big Kingfishers between us in-between munching on finger chips, masala pappads and veg chow mein. A big Dutch guy with a long grey beard and glasses was sitting at the table next to us and wouldn't let the waiter take his bottle away even though it was empty, he held onto it shaking stubborn drops into his glass while the waiter was there and even then refused to give it away. We watched slightly disbelieving, of course we make sure the bottle is as empty as we can make it before surrendering the vessel it came in but, this was something special. I misheard Djalma at this point, I thought he said 'he's so weird I don't want to talk to him' backed up because he then turned to face me completely to resume our slightly drunken conversation. A few minutes later he turned round and asked the guy where he's from, we got an annoyingly enigmatic answer along the lines of, I'm from no-where, where's anybody from... and I sat there thinking if Djalma didn't didn't want to speak to this guy he's not doing a very good job.
It turned out this guy was into anarchism and different religions although it seemed that he wanted more of a way of life and a good solid moral set of conducts rather than any particular god. Fair enough. We then had a long and intense discussion about religion, the government and other topics much too serious for me to properly enjoy the light headed, light hearted effect of the beer.
We said goodbye and wandered around the streets looking for some more food, we couldn't afford to feed Djalma's demanding tummy in the bar only on the street, we found a veg chow mein vendor and he filled up there (what a pig!) and I of course lent a helping stomach. We waddled back to the hotel, up all those flights of stairs and went soundly to sleep.
We spent the next morning wandering the markets buying necessities like toothbrushes, henna, thermal pants and yoga pants, not very interesting really.
Our final day together for more than two weeks we spent huddled up in our hotel room, talking and thinking and telling each other how much we love the other, and so on before the time came to haul our already lovesick bodies (mine was anyway) out of the hotel. We got dinner together and then walked to the station to say our goodbyes. I left him outside the metro and then went to wait for my bus to the airport which almost drove right passed me.
After getting my e-ticket printed off I spent the next ten hours sitting in the airport trying to use the wifi to call Mum and Nan, trying to sleep while looking like I was reading (and so not get kicked out of Costa Coffee) and speaking to Mum who called just as I'd dropped off. I went to my gate early and napped on one of the loungers in the waiting area, got on the plane only for it to sit there for four hours before eventually taking off. I had just enough time to get my connecting flight in Bangalore and grab a bland sandwich (how can Indian food be bland?!). On the second and final leg of my flight I prayed very long and very hard that I would arrive in one piece along with everyone else, the small plane for the 90 minute flight was bouncing around in the sky rather alarmingly. Needless to say I arrived in one piece.
Arriving mid afternoon we walked a short way from the station into the crowded streets of Delhi and started scouring the grotty accommodation on offer within our limited price range. We settled on a flaky room on the 5th floor, it had a big, not-too-lumpy bed, a child-proofed television so we couldn't adjust the volume or change the channel, and a slightly whiffy bathroom, heaven compared to the other smaller, grottier, smellier holes we'd been considering.
We went out for a beer in a restaurant/bar a lot nicer than the ones we usually patronise and glugged down three big Kingfishers between us in-between munching on finger chips, masala pappads and veg chow mein. A big Dutch guy with a long grey beard and glasses was sitting at the table next to us and wouldn't let the waiter take his bottle away even though it was empty, he held onto it shaking stubborn drops into his glass while the waiter was there and even then refused to give it away. We watched slightly disbelieving, of course we make sure the bottle is as empty as we can make it before surrendering the vessel it came in but, this was something special. I misheard Djalma at this point, I thought he said 'he's so weird I don't want to talk to him' backed up because he then turned to face me completely to resume our slightly drunken conversation. A few minutes later he turned round and asked the guy where he's from, we got an annoyingly enigmatic answer along the lines of, I'm from no-where, where's anybody from... and I sat there thinking if Djalma didn't didn't want to speak to this guy he's not doing a very good job.
It turned out this guy was into anarchism and different religions although it seemed that he wanted more of a way of life and a good solid moral set of conducts rather than any particular god. Fair enough. We then had a long and intense discussion about religion, the government and other topics much too serious for me to properly enjoy the light headed, light hearted effect of the beer.
We said goodbye and wandered around the streets looking for some more food, we couldn't afford to feed Djalma's demanding tummy in the bar only on the street, we found a veg chow mein vendor and he filled up there (what a pig!) and I of course lent a helping stomach. We waddled back to the hotel, up all those flights of stairs and went soundly to sleep.
We spent the next morning wandering the markets buying necessities like toothbrushes, henna, thermal pants and yoga pants, not very interesting really.
Our final day together for more than two weeks we spent huddled up in our hotel room, talking and thinking and telling each other how much we love the other, and so on before the time came to haul our already lovesick bodies (mine was anyway) out of the hotel. We got dinner together and then walked to the station to say our goodbyes. I left him outside the metro and then went to wait for my bus to the airport which almost drove right passed me.
After getting my e-ticket printed off I spent the next ten hours sitting in the airport trying to use the wifi to call Mum and Nan, trying to sleep while looking like I was reading (and so not get kicked out of Costa Coffee) and speaking to Mum who called just as I'd dropped off. I went to my gate early and napped on one of the loungers in the waiting area, got on the plane only for it to sit there for four hours before eventually taking off. I had just enough time to get my connecting flight in Bangalore and grab a bland sandwich (how can Indian food be bland?!). On the second and final leg of my flight I prayed very long and very hard that I would arrive in one piece along with everyone else, the small plane for the 90 minute flight was bouncing around in the sky rather alarmingly. Needless to say I arrived in one piece.
Fatehpur and Agra, India
26th - 29th January 2011
Arriving in Agra early in the morning we went straight to the bus station to go to a nearby town. While waiting for one of the two buses to leave we met an English guy who was cycling down from Agra to the southern most tip of India, he was about 60 years old and impressed us a fair bit, right now neither of us could take on a cycle trip lasting longer than a morning. We got on the bus which left first,of course it only left first so that it would get our fares and just moved to another part of the station where the driver inspected the clapped out engine and the door fell off. We left soon after despite some apprehension about the general safety and capability of the bus to get us to our destination without breaking down and a lot of smiles about the door.
The rest of the trip went without a hitch and we rattled our way to Fatehpur, a small town whose main and only attraction is a fortified old palace. After checking into a hotel and locating a non deep fried breakfast – disappointingly difficult – we headed to the palace the hard way, along the back streets.
We got there to be greeted by a mass of touts of all ages the most persistent were the young children selling postcards or asking for our tickets once we came out (one boy offered Djalma 20Rs and a free pack of postcards for our old tickets). We climbed the many steps along with the colourfully clad Indian women up to the Mosque (many parts of India have strong Muslim traditions) which was beautiful. In the middle of the open courtyard was a tomb of a Sufi saint who predicted the future heir to the Emperor at the time the latter of which then moved his capital to this small town from Agra and built three palaces for each of his favourite wives, one Muslim, one Hindu and one Christian – as my Nan says “variety is the spice of life”.
Leaving the Mosque behind we headed for the palace complex the shell of which is well preserved sandstone, unfortunately no sparkly things in the Treasury, I was naturally most upset.
The buildings were pretty and there was a nice courtyard where we relaxed before my stomach started making it's emptiness known and I grumbled about imminent starvation until Djalma finally relented and we left the peaceful enclosure to face the children selling postcards, the men selling jewellery and the women begging to find some dinner. We headed back to the same stall we had our omelette at in the morning, the Indian's make an excellent omelette making a nice alternative to curry for breakfast, to sample some of the Indian/Chinese vegetable chow mein, our new fail-safe when our palates or our tummies aren't up to curry. They were delicious and we polished off a couple of plates each not leaving a scrap of food for the dogs, cows or goats sniffing around the bins and of course the bin area (the whole street) for leftovers.
We found an internet café and Djalma sent some CS requests while I tried to call my Nan, to no avail.
After another omelette for breakfast and yet another bucket shower we set off down the road and out of town to get the bus back to Agra and the most famed of buildings, the Taj Mahal.
We arrived around midday, found a hotel ridiculously close to the Taj but not tall enough for a view, so we walked down to the Mausoleum and tried to go along the back by a river/lake but were stopped by some extremely annoying yet polite policemen who told us that it was a security issue to walk near the fence, what we translated as “you can't see it for free, go buy an expensive ticket for the pleasure”. We poked about a bit not really willing to listen because it sounded like of load of ripe manure but I didn't really want the hassle so we found a good café with a lovely view of the Taj Mahal from the rooftop and sat there for a good hour reading and enjoying the view.
Monkeys, as in plenty of other towns and cities in India, were all over the place running around with stolen chapattis in their mouths and fighting with each other. We chilled out the rest of the evening planning to get an early night for a very early start the next morning.
Up at 5.30am, delightful. We walked briskly through the dark streets to wait outside the ticket office for an hour when it opened. Because we hadn't checked the time we were some of the first people in line so we managed to get our ludicrously expensive tickets very soon and join the next queue outside the gates. I keep on going on about ticket prices, sorry about that, it's a pet hate that I occasionally talk myself out of. Indian's generally make far far less than the money Western tourists go to India with on holiday, so it stands to reason that they shouldn't pay the same price as us. However there seems to be no correlation between the prices Indians pay and those which tourists are obliged to say. Instead of saying tourists pay 10x the amount Indians do (which seems to be the rough rule in most places) it seems as though some greedy bastards have got together and worked out a number as close to the maximum amounts they think tourists will pay, and what annoys me most is that we do.
Anyway, once we were through the security checks I was so excited I practically legged it down the path and through the archway where we saw our first glimpse of the Taj Mahal from the ground. It was flipping cold and there was a thick mist rolling off the lake cloaking everything in ground level clouds, it was quite mysteriously and magically beautiful in the morning light and cold.
We approached down through the manicured gardens which were far too subtle for my taste (not nearly enough flowers), stopping to take pictures behind all the other tourists with exactly the same photo in mind. Usually when you are out and about in a town with other tourists and you see someone stop to take a picture you politely wait until they wave you on or they take it, not so here, it was digital dog eat dog warfare and as many people got in the way of my composition as I did in others. Not the most peaceful or harmonious experience.
We decided to walk round the side and see round the back near where we had tried to go the other day, the mist was so thick the ground was invisible after a few metres and figures appeared from no-where the further we walked.
Naturally on our big tourism days we got more than a little annoyed with each other and so while visiting this monument to love we laughably spent a while arguing and not talking to each other, now that is love. Luckily for us Djalma tried not to be quite so annoying and I tried not to be so uptight about my camera, with varying degrees of success) and we wandered back round the front on sort of speaking terms. Taking off our shoes we walked inside the marble behemoth to see the fake tombs of the favourite wife of the bonkers and far-too-rich Emperor Shah Jahan (the afore mentioned spouse died after squeezing out her FOURTEENTH child, ouch). The real tombs are sealed somewhere below the building and no-one is allowed in. It was very simply decorated, the walls were inlaid in floral pattern and there were carved marble screens, we weren't allowed to take pictures inside but while phones and small digital cameras were largely discreet my bigger Canon was not. The marble held the heat quite well and so the stone wasn't too cold but we did get our shoes back on sharpish once we were allowed.
The sun was coming up and the light was changing colouring the marble. The most impressive aspect of the building was the marble, the design is quite similar to many mosques we'd seen travelling through the Middle East but the white marble had a special ethereal quality in soft morning and evening light a little bit like a glow.
We walked back through the grounds stopping to take the obligatory and slightly unimaginative tourist shots – yes I pinched the top of the Taj Mahal, yawn and Djalma managed to kiss it (slightly less realistically given the changes in light...). After an hour of traipsing around one building, having argued and made up, I'd had enough and was more than ready for breakfast so we left and got some omelettes and tea at a nearby small café
Our checkout was at 10am so we packed up our things, got a cycle rickshaw to the train station, and a train to Delhi our final stop before Djalma headed North and I headed South.
Arriving in Agra early in the morning we went straight to the bus station to go to a nearby town. While waiting for one of the two buses to leave we met an English guy who was cycling down from Agra to the southern most tip of India, he was about 60 years old and impressed us a fair bit, right now neither of us could take on a cycle trip lasting longer than a morning. We got on the bus which left first,of course it only left first so that it would get our fares and just moved to another part of the station where the driver inspected the clapped out engine and the door fell off. We left soon after despite some apprehension about the general safety and capability of the bus to get us to our destination without breaking down and a lot of smiles about the door.
 |
| From Fatehpur, India |
The rest of the trip went without a hitch and we rattled our way to Fatehpur, a small town whose main and only attraction is a fortified old palace. After checking into a hotel and locating a non deep fried breakfast – disappointingly difficult – we headed to the palace the hard way, along the back streets.
 |
| From Fatehpur, India |
We got there to be greeted by a mass of touts of all ages the most persistent were the young children selling postcards or asking for our tickets once we came out (one boy offered Djalma 20Rs and a free pack of postcards for our old tickets). We climbed the many steps along with the colourfully clad Indian women up to the Mosque (many parts of India have strong Muslim traditions) which was beautiful. In the middle of the open courtyard was a tomb of a Sufi saint who predicted the future heir to the Emperor at the time the latter of which then moved his capital to this small town from Agra and built three palaces for each of his favourite wives, one Muslim, one Hindu and one Christian – as my Nan says “variety is the spice of life”.
 |
| From Fatehpur, India |
Leaving the Mosque behind we headed for the palace complex the shell of which is well preserved sandstone, unfortunately no sparkly things in the Treasury, I was naturally most upset.
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| From Fatehpur, India |
The buildings were pretty and there was a nice courtyard where we relaxed before my stomach started making it's emptiness known and I grumbled about imminent starvation until Djalma finally relented and we left the peaceful enclosure to face the children selling postcards, the men selling jewellery and the women begging to find some dinner. We headed back to the same stall we had our omelette at in the morning, the Indian's make an excellent omelette making a nice alternative to curry for breakfast, to sample some of the Indian/Chinese vegetable chow mein, our new fail-safe when our palates or our tummies aren't up to curry. They were delicious and we polished off a couple of plates each not leaving a scrap of food for the dogs, cows or goats sniffing around the bins and of course the bin area (the whole street) for leftovers.
We found an internet café and Djalma sent some CS requests while I tried to call my Nan, to no avail.
After another omelette for breakfast and yet another bucket shower we set off down the road and out of town to get the bus back to Agra and the most famed of buildings, the Taj Mahal.
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| From The Taj Mahal, Agra, India |
We arrived around midday, found a hotel ridiculously close to the Taj but not tall enough for a view, so we walked down to the Mausoleum and tried to go along the back by a river/lake but were stopped by some extremely annoying yet polite policemen who told us that it was a security issue to walk near the fence, what we translated as “you can't see it for free, go buy an expensive ticket for the pleasure”. We poked about a bit not really willing to listen because it sounded like of load of ripe manure but I didn't really want the hassle so we found a good café with a lovely view of the Taj Mahal from the rooftop and sat there for a good hour reading and enjoying the view.
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| From The Taj Mahal, Agra, India |
Monkeys, as in plenty of other towns and cities in India, were all over the place running around with stolen chapattis in their mouths and fighting with each other. We chilled out the rest of the evening planning to get an early night for a very early start the next morning.
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| From The Taj Mahal, Agra, India |
Up at 5.30am, delightful. We walked briskly through the dark streets to wait outside the ticket office for an hour when it opened. Because we hadn't checked the time we were some of the first people in line so we managed to get our ludicrously expensive tickets very soon and join the next queue outside the gates. I keep on going on about ticket prices, sorry about that, it's a pet hate that I occasionally talk myself out of. Indian's generally make far far less than the money Western tourists go to India with on holiday, so it stands to reason that they shouldn't pay the same price as us. However there seems to be no correlation between the prices Indians pay and those which tourists are obliged to say. Instead of saying tourists pay 10x the amount Indians do (which seems to be the rough rule in most places) it seems as though some greedy bastards have got together and worked out a number as close to the maximum amounts they think tourists will pay, and what annoys me most is that we do.
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| From The Taj Mahal, Agra, India |
Anyway, once we were through the security checks I was so excited I practically legged it down the path and through the archway where we saw our first glimpse of the Taj Mahal from the ground. It was flipping cold and there was a thick mist rolling off the lake cloaking everything in ground level clouds, it was quite mysteriously and magically beautiful in the morning light and cold.
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| From The Taj Mahal, Agra, India |
We approached down through the manicured gardens which were far too subtle for my taste (not nearly enough flowers), stopping to take pictures behind all the other tourists with exactly the same photo in mind. Usually when you are out and about in a town with other tourists and you see someone stop to take a picture you politely wait until they wave you on or they take it, not so here, it was digital dog eat dog warfare and as many people got in the way of my composition as I did in others. Not the most peaceful or harmonious experience.
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| From The Taj Mahal, Agra, India |
We decided to walk round the side and see round the back near where we had tried to go the other day, the mist was so thick the ground was invisible after a few metres and figures appeared from no-where the further we walked.
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| From The Taj Mahal, Agra, India |
Naturally on our big tourism days we got more than a little annoyed with each other and so while visiting this monument to love we laughably spent a while arguing and not talking to each other, now that is love. Luckily for us Djalma tried not to be quite so annoying and I tried not to be so uptight about my camera, with varying degrees of success) and we wandered back round the front on sort of speaking terms. Taking off our shoes we walked inside the marble behemoth to see the fake tombs of the favourite wife of the bonkers and far-too-rich Emperor Shah Jahan (the afore mentioned spouse died after squeezing out her FOURTEENTH child, ouch). The real tombs are sealed somewhere below the building and no-one is allowed in. It was very simply decorated, the walls were inlaid in floral pattern and there were carved marble screens, we weren't allowed to take pictures inside but while phones and small digital cameras were largely discreet my bigger Canon was not. The marble held the heat quite well and so the stone wasn't too cold but we did get our shoes back on sharpish once we were allowed.
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| From The Taj Mahal, Agra, India |
The sun was coming up and the light was changing colouring the marble. The most impressive aspect of the building was the marble, the design is quite similar to many mosques we'd seen travelling through the Middle East but the white marble had a special ethereal quality in soft morning and evening light a little bit like a glow.
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| From The Taj Mahal, Agra, India |
We walked back through the grounds stopping to take the obligatory and slightly unimaginative tourist shots – yes I pinched the top of the Taj Mahal, yawn and Djalma managed to kiss it (slightly less realistically given the changes in light...). After an hour of traipsing around one building, having argued and made up, I'd had enough and was more than ready for breakfast so we left and got some omelettes and tea at a nearby small café
Our checkout was at 10am so we packed up our things, got a cycle rickshaw to the train station, and a train to Delhi our final stop before Djalma headed North and I headed South.
Varanasi, India
24th - 26th January 2011
Arriving about midday at Varanasi Junction we booked our onwards tickets before leaving the station on a rickshaw. After bargaining the fare down from 50 to 40 rupees we wedged our big bouncy butts into the back-seat and watched the poor guy sweat his way to our destination, we ended paying him the original 50 deciding half way through that anything less than his original asking price would be plain cruel. Jumping out into the melee are bottoms resumed their natural shape and we jumped into the maze made up of the backstreets of this religious city. Getting very lost and very hassled we eventually found our way to Shanti guest house, our home for the next couple of nights. We had lunch on the rooftop restaurant which was the first mediocre meal we've had since arriving, previously I'd come to the conclusion that it was impossible for the Indians to cook a bad meal, and left to walk along the ghats.
I'd left my camera behind to enjoy the walk unencumbered but hogged Djalma's little Panasonic to take pictures of the little puppies we saw along the way. It took us quite a while to find our way to the Ganges because the back streets were like rabbit mazes but when we eventually found our way to the main and most touristy ghat, Dasaswamedh, which was crawling with boat tour touts, the wait was worth it. Our first view of the Ganges, the mother of India, was impressive just like seeing the Nile in Egypt. The ghats (steps down to a river/water and the area immediately around) were dotted with people bathing, washing clothes, swimming, talking, praying, flying kites and walking. We turned and walked right along the river passing through lots of different ghats, I think there are around 80 all joined to each other on the west bank of the Ganga, there was nothing but the flood plains on the east bank which was impressive in itself.
We sat and watched puppies follow their skinny mother trying to get milk in-between her wandering off and twisting round to scratch her fleas, then we joined a group of people watching a small game of cricket (played with a tennis ball like most small games, a cricket ball flying into the crowds would have done considerably more damage) and eventually got back into the maze to try and find some dinner which turned out to be snack-a-thon rather than a proper sit down meal.
The next day we slept in, forgoing the sunrise boat trip to recuperate after the sleepless night on the train. When we did decide to get up it was because our stomachs were calling, a quick cold shower and a change to a cheaper room and we set out with direction to a repair shop for Djalma's trimmer and to the ghats. We had masala dosas for breakfast and the best sweet lassie I've had since arriving in India and found a gentlemen's hairdresser who undertook the repair and cut Djalma's gorgeous locks into a very smart tidy crop.
We wandered through the streets where it was shady and cool, stopping to buy some very bright very green bangles which I was so happy to get to go along with my new set of anklets and my grey woollen shawl both bought the previous evening. We got Djalma some warm long Johns for Kashmir and then walked along the ghats having turned left.
I cannot overstate how beautiful, chaotic, dirty, colourful and wonderful the place is, the more the walked the quieter it got and the less we had to fend off the boat touts, we stopped to sit in the shade several times along the way, it was a very peaceful (until small children came running up to ask for rupees/chocolate/fudge/my watch) and enjoyable way to spend the day.
We wandered back to our hotel to join the free sunset boat tour which was really nice although the sky was so hazy and the sun set behind the city so we couldn't really see it from the river.
We walked back through the streets which were becoming slightly more familiar and stopped at a restaurant which had free live classical Indian music ever night. The food, veg chow mein (of course) and veg fried rice were delicious but nature shouted in a very loud, persistent and slightly alarming way so we rushed back through the streets struggling to find our hotel (funny how you can find your way when there's no rush but how nothing looks familiar when you're trying to get back in a hurry).
We spent the evening reading and working on pictures talking about our lovely day and how much we like this place and India in general, the more I see of it the more I love it and with different options for eating I find I don't mind having curry for two out of three meals.
We killed the next morning at the hotel, emailing and working on pictures and went out in the afternoon to send some flower garlands down the Ganges for our friends and family. We got a rickshaw back to the train station and were soon on our way to Agra, home to the Taj Mahal.
Arriving about midday at Varanasi Junction we booked our onwards tickets before leaving the station on a rickshaw. After bargaining the fare down from 50 to 40 rupees we wedged our big bouncy butts into the back-seat and watched the poor guy sweat his way to our destination, we ended paying him the original 50 deciding half way through that anything less than his original asking price would be plain cruel. Jumping out into the melee are bottoms resumed their natural shape and we jumped into the maze made up of the backstreets of this religious city. Getting very lost and very hassled we eventually found our way to Shanti guest house, our home for the next couple of nights. We had lunch on the rooftop restaurant which was the first mediocre meal we've had since arriving, previously I'd come to the conclusion that it was impossible for the Indians to cook a bad meal, and left to walk along the ghats.
I'd left my camera behind to enjoy the walk unencumbered but hogged Djalma's little Panasonic to take pictures of the little puppies we saw along the way. It took us quite a while to find our way to the Ganges because the back streets were like rabbit mazes but when we eventually found our way to the main and most touristy ghat, Dasaswamedh, which was crawling with boat tour touts, the wait was worth it. Our first view of the Ganges, the mother of India, was impressive just like seeing the Nile in Egypt. The ghats (steps down to a river/water and the area immediately around) were dotted with people bathing, washing clothes, swimming, talking, praying, flying kites and walking. We turned and walked right along the river passing through lots of different ghats, I think there are around 80 all joined to each other on the west bank of the Ganga, there was nothing but the flood plains on the east bank which was impressive in itself.
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| From Varanasi, India |
We sat and watched puppies follow their skinny mother trying to get milk in-between her wandering off and twisting round to scratch her fleas, then we joined a group of people watching a small game of cricket (played with a tennis ball like most small games, a cricket ball flying into the crowds would have done considerably more damage) and eventually got back into the maze to try and find some dinner which turned out to be snack-a-thon rather than a proper sit down meal.
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| From Varanasi, India |
The next day we slept in, forgoing the sunrise boat trip to recuperate after the sleepless night on the train. When we did decide to get up it was because our stomachs were calling, a quick cold shower and a change to a cheaper room and we set out with direction to a repair shop for Djalma's trimmer and to the ghats. We had masala dosas for breakfast and the best sweet lassie I've had since arriving in India and found a gentlemen's hairdresser who undertook the repair and cut Djalma's gorgeous locks into a very smart tidy crop.
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| From Varanasi, India |
We wandered through the streets where it was shady and cool, stopping to buy some very bright very green bangles which I was so happy to get to go along with my new set of anklets and my grey woollen shawl both bought the previous evening. We got Djalma some warm long Johns for Kashmir and then walked along the ghats having turned left.
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| From Varanasi, India |
I cannot overstate how beautiful, chaotic, dirty, colourful and wonderful the place is, the more the walked the quieter it got and the less we had to fend off the boat touts, we stopped to sit in the shade several times along the way, it was a very peaceful (until small children came running up to ask for rupees/chocolate/fudge/my watch) and enjoyable way to spend the day.
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| From Varanasi, India |
We wandered back to our hotel to join the free sunset boat tour which was really nice although the sky was so hazy and the sun set behind the city so we couldn't really see it from the river.
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| From Varanasi, India |
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| From Varanasi, India |
We walked back through the streets which were becoming slightly more familiar and stopped at a restaurant which had free live classical Indian music ever night. The food, veg chow mein (of course) and veg fried rice were delicious but nature shouted in a very loud, persistent and slightly alarming way so we rushed back through the streets struggling to find our hotel (funny how you can find your way when there's no rush but how nothing looks familiar when you're trying to get back in a hurry).
We spent the evening reading and working on pictures talking about our lovely day and how much we like this place and India in general, the more I see of it the more I love it and with different options for eating I find I don't mind having curry for two out of three meals.
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| From Varanasi, India |
We killed the next morning at the hotel, emailing and working on pictures and went out in the afternoon to send some flower garlands down the Ganges for our friends and family. We got a rickshaw back to the train station and were soon on our way to Agra, home to the Taj Mahal.
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| From Varanasi, India |
Khajuraho, India
22nd - 24th January 2011
We arrived in town and went straight to a cheap hotel that Djalma had booked, the other couple came with us and stayed in the same hotel. We had noodles for dinner that night and had a walk round town which was wasn't the most restorative of strolls, it was a bit like a mini Luxor and after being cooped up in vehicles with a little hangover all day wasn't in the mood to be polite.
After a good nights sleep and breakfast we headed to the Western Temples which were the most intricate and the best preserved of all the different sections. For those of you who aren't aware, Khajuraho's prime and probably only tourist attraction are these very old sandstone temples carved with;
lascivious ladies,
frolicking foursomes,
plenty of bouncing bosoms
and the odd perky penis... or two
There were about seven or eight temples in the Western section and we visited them all, gawking at the improbable poses (serious yoga, props and other people were required for some of the sex acts) and laughing at the blushing “helpers” there was even a carved man showing his appreciation for the equine race, lovely (second man in from the left).
It took about an hour to see them all and by then I'd had enough of the sun, the heat and the sex so we left for lunch. I went back to lie down at the hotel and Djalma rented a bicycle for a couple of hours and went of to see some other temples, which were much the same. He did see a blessed dog on the way there though.
We left that night and got an auto rickshaw to the train station for a long night train to Varanasi. We shared a coupé with a bunch of French guys (I feel obliged to add that one was Belgian) one of whom turned out to be the dancing white man at the party in Pachmarhi.
After a healthful and tasteful, as they say in India, train breakfast of samosas and masala chai, we arrived in the holy city of Varanasi mid morning.
We arrived in town and went straight to a cheap hotel that Djalma had booked, the other couple came with us and stayed in the same hotel. We had noodles for dinner that night and had a walk round town which was wasn't the most restorative of strolls, it was a bit like a mini Luxor and after being cooped up in vehicles with a little hangover all day wasn't in the mood to be polite.
After a good nights sleep and breakfast we headed to the Western Temples which were the most intricate and the best preserved of all the different sections. For those of you who aren't aware, Khajuraho's prime and probably only tourist attraction are these very old sandstone temples carved with;
lascivious ladies,
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| From Khajuraho, India |
frolicking foursomes,
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| From Khajuraho, India |
plenty of bouncing bosoms
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| From Khajuraho, India |
and the odd perky penis... or two
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| From Khajuraho, India |
There were about seven or eight temples in the Western section and we visited them all, gawking at the improbable poses (serious yoga, props and other people were required for some of the sex acts) and laughing at the blushing “helpers” there was even a carved man showing his appreciation for the equine race, lovely (second man in from the left).
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| From Khajuraho, India |
It took about an hour to see them all and by then I'd had enough of the sun, the heat and the sex so we left for lunch. I went back to lie down at the hotel and Djalma rented a bicycle for a couple of hours and went of to see some other temples, which were much the same. He did see a blessed dog on the way there though.
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| From Khajuraho, India |
We left that night and got an auto rickshaw to the train station for a long night train to Varanasi. We shared a coupé with a bunch of French guys (I feel obliged to add that one was Belgian) one of whom turned out to be the dancing white man at the party in Pachmarhi.
After a healthful and tasteful, as they say in India, train breakfast of samosas and masala chai, we arrived in the holy city of Varanasi mid morning.
Bandhavgarh National Park, India
18th - 22nd January 2011
We arrived in the tiny little town,Tala, positioned right outside the main gate for the National Park. We went straight to the LP recommended budget option and checked into a small one room semi-detached house which was well insulated against any kind of heat. No glass in the windows and concrete metres thick, it was cold enough during the day but at night it was almost unbearable.
The Argentinian couple we bumped into at Ajanta said that they had turned up early in the morning joined another Jeep, so that was what we planned to do as well. We spent the afternoon wandering about and talking to another traveller, Chris. The next morning before 6am the three of us headed out to start working the queuing Jeeps, after fifteen minutes Chris gave up and we joined him not long after. The people who didn't mind if we joined were part of lodge tours and the paperwork was almost impossible to arrange last minute and the others either didn't want us, didn't have enough room in the Jeep or were photographers and needed all the space they had. We left feeling more than a little dejected and a bit cheesed off that the couple hadn't hinted that it might be difficult, so we made our way back to the hotel full of biscuits that we'd optimistically bought thinking we wouldn't be eating until mid-morning.
Later that morning two older American ladies showed up looking for other people to fill out a Jeep, so we put all our details together and planned to book a private Jeep if we got on the list. The system is complicated and annoying, the park is big and has several entry points into different zones, the best place to see tigers is from the main gate in zone one which has a long waiting list because the numbers of Jeeps allowed inside the park are limited. While we were talking about the system and what we'd tried another guy arrived, Flor from Holland, and he joined up with us and we went down to the entry gate to see if there had been any cancellations and beg for a place. Luckily for us, one of the American ladies took charge and went to talk to the man in charge with Djalma, between them they wangled us a place for the following morning, ecstatic, we walked back to relax and enjoy the rest of the afternoon and eat lunch. By the time we got back an English couple had checked in Dave and Genna and so we sat out talking and drinking a couple of beers into the evening before rolling into bed early for our guaranteed early start the next day.
Up at 5.30am brimming with excitement we didn't need to put our clothes on, it was so cold at night we slept in them. The American ladies turned up early with the Jeep to pick us up so we could beat the queues. The guys guarding the gate came round to check our group leaders papers and at 6.30 sharp the gates were opened and we and thirty odd other Jeeps drove in full of anticipation although a tiger sighting was guaranteed of course. It was just starting to get light when we went through the gates, still too dark for pictures but the park was beautiful, we saw loads of monkeys the funniest ones were on our way out and were sitting by the road like old men scratching their furry rear ends.
We saw plenty of spotted deer which we didn't know to take as a good sign or a bad sign – would the tigers be close to dinner or where they here because it was safe, after a few stops to take pictures we were soon racing past them to find other animals.
It was the first time I had seen green pigeons, we only saw them because a Jeep had stopped below and some keen amateur photographers with massive lenses were frantically snapping away at the little green specks.
Carrying on we saw a huge eagle but our guides English wasn't good enough to translate the actual species,either that or he didn't actually know.
Our special spotting was a black sloth bear which was rummaging around behind some bamboo he was completely unaware of us until seven other Jeeps showed up and the poor beast ran off. We were all taken by how cute it was but we didn't realise how rare (or dangerous) they were until one of the professional photographers said how lucky we were to see it and how he would prefer his chances with a tiger rather than a bear.
So we drove on trying to convince ourselves that we were happy having seen what we'd seen and partially succeeding, it was a gorgeous morning and the chill in the air was letting up so our fingers clamped round our cameras were beginning to defrost, half way round the reserve we stopped for hot masala tea, to stretch our legs and if we were really desperate, and I was, use the open urinals.
After our fifteen minute break was over we were keen to jump back in the car and carry on hoping for a sighting of the mother and her two cubs which had been reported. It didn't happen. We passed another car got some information and headed off in a completely different direction. After half an hour we came to a long queue where people were sitting quietly and waiting in their cars after five or ten minutes a hush descended and people started pointing to something moving in the thicket of bamboo.
A TIGER! I was worried that we were so far at the end of the queue that we wouldn't see it but she came right out by OUR Jeep and walked behind it, crossing the road to disappear into the bamboo the other side. Djalma filmed, I photographed and everyone was excited beyond belief. It was an incredible feeling to see a beautiful creature so powerful that close, my knees were shaking rather hard and I sat down as soon as the tiger disappeared. All of us started speaking about how exciting it was, how shaky we were (maybe it was just me) and how cool it was that we'd seen a tiger on our first trip.
We were all thrilled but the excitement got too much for poor Flor who was in the front seat trying not to give into the awful urge of public excrement that diarrhoea incites, the poor guy had managed to hold on all morning and now that we had seen the tiger he was done in. Our driver left the two ladies, who'd gone on an elephant ride and unbeknown to us were busy tracking it and having the time of their lives, and drove us crazily fast to the exit which thankfully wasn't too far away.
We waited by the Jeep for the ladies to arrive, which they eventually did breathless with the thrill of the chase, and we walked back to the little town together. It was an unbelievable morning and we needed to some food to take the shakes off, so we had lunch and then made plans for beers and a bonfire that night.
We sat out most of the afternoon, all evening and into the morning talking and drinking, it was one of the best nights I've had so far not least because of the Indian whisky with 'thumbs up' cola to round it off.
At around 2am we gave up trying to train the mongrel dogs who were starved of affection and went to bed.
Djalma and I left the next morning, we had managed to negotiate a decently priced three hour car ride into a big town where we could get a bus the rest of the way to Varanasi, we shared it with another Latin American couple who were also headed the same way.
We arrived in the tiny little town,Tala, positioned right outside the main gate for the National Park. We went straight to the LP recommended budget option and checked into a small one room semi-detached house which was well insulated against any kind of heat. No glass in the windows and concrete metres thick, it was cold enough during the day but at night it was almost unbearable.
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| From Bandhavgarh, India |
The Argentinian couple we bumped into at Ajanta said that they had turned up early in the morning joined another Jeep, so that was what we planned to do as well. We spent the afternoon wandering about and talking to another traveller, Chris. The next morning before 6am the three of us headed out to start working the queuing Jeeps, after fifteen minutes Chris gave up and we joined him not long after. The people who didn't mind if we joined were part of lodge tours and the paperwork was almost impossible to arrange last minute and the others either didn't want us, didn't have enough room in the Jeep or were photographers and needed all the space they had. We left feeling more than a little dejected and a bit cheesed off that the couple hadn't hinted that it might be difficult, so we made our way back to the hotel full of biscuits that we'd optimistically bought thinking we wouldn't be eating until mid-morning.
Later that morning two older American ladies showed up looking for other people to fill out a Jeep, so we put all our details together and planned to book a private Jeep if we got on the list. The system is complicated and annoying, the park is big and has several entry points into different zones, the best place to see tigers is from the main gate in zone one which has a long waiting list because the numbers of Jeeps allowed inside the park are limited. While we were talking about the system and what we'd tried another guy arrived, Flor from Holland, and he joined up with us and we went down to the entry gate to see if there had been any cancellations and beg for a place. Luckily for us, one of the American ladies took charge and went to talk to the man in charge with Djalma, between them they wangled us a place for the following morning, ecstatic, we walked back to relax and enjoy the rest of the afternoon and eat lunch. By the time we got back an English couple had checked in Dave and Genna and so we sat out talking and drinking a couple of beers into the evening before rolling into bed early for our guaranteed early start the next day.
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| From Bandhavgarh, India |
Up at 5.30am brimming with excitement we didn't need to put our clothes on, it was so cold at night we slept in them. The American ladies turned up early with the Jeep to pick us up so we could beat the queues. The guys guarding the gate came round to check our group leaders papers and at 6.30 sharp the gates were opened and we and thirty odd other Jeeps drove in full of anticipation although a tiger sighting was guaranteed of course. It was just starting to get light when we went through the gates, still too dark for pictures but the park was beautiful, we saw loads of monkeys the funniest ones were on our way out and were sitting by the road like old men scratching their furry rear ends.
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| From Bandhavgarh, India |
We saw plenty of spotted deer which we didn't know to take as a good sign or a bad sign – would the tigers be close to dinner or where they here because it was safe, after a few stops to take pictures we were soon racing past them to find other animals.
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| From Bandhavgarh, India |
It was the first time I had seen green pigeons, we only saw them because a Jeep had stopped below and some keen amateur photographers with massive lenses were frantically snapping away at the little green specks.
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| From Bandhavgarh, India |
Carrying on we saw a huge eagle but our guides English wasn't good enough to translate the actual species,either that or he didn't actually know.
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| From Bandhavgarh, India |
Our special spotting was a black sloth bear which was rummaging around behind some bamboo he was completely unaware of us until seven other Jeeps showed up and the poor beast ran off. We were all taken by how cute it was but we didn't realise how rare (or dangerous) they were until one of the professional photographers said how lucky we were to see it and how he would prefer his chances with a tiger rather than a bear.
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| From Bandhavgarh, India |
So we drove on trying to convince ourselves that we were happy having seen what we'd seen and partially succeeding, it was a gorgeous morning and the chill in the air was letting up so our fingers clamped round our cameras were beginning to defrost, half way round the reserve we stopped for hot masala tea, to stretch our legs and if we were really desperate, and I was, use the open urinals.
After our fifteen minute break was over we were keen to jump back in the car and carry on hoping for a sighting of the mother and her two cubs which had been reported. It didn't happen. We passed another car got some information and headed off in a completely different direction. After half an hour we came to a long queue where people were sitting quietly and waiting in their cars after five or ten minutes a hush descended and people started pointing to something moving in the thicket of bamboo.
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| From Bandhavgarh, India |
A TIGER! I was worried that we were so far at the end of the queue that we wouldn't see it but she came right out by OUR Jeep and walked behind it, crossing the road to disappear into the bamboo the other side. Djalma filmed, I photographed and everyone was excited beyond belief. It was an incredible feeling to see a beautiful creature so powerful that close, my knees were shaking rather hard and I sat down as soon as the tiger disappeared. All of us started speaking about how exciting it was, how shaky we were (maybe it was just me) and how cool it was that we'd seen a tiger on our first trip.
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| From Bandhavgarh, India |
We were all thrilled but the excitement got too much for poor Flor who was in the front seat trying not to give into the awful urge of public excrement that diarrhoea incites, the poor guy had managed to hold on all morning and now that we had seen the tiger he was done in. Our driver left the two ladies, who'd gone on an elephant ride and unbeknown to us were busy tracking it and having the time of their lives, and drove us crazily fast to the exit which thankfully wasn't too far away.
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| From Bandhavgarh, India |
We waited by the Jeep for the ladies to arrive, which they eventually did breathless with the thrill of the chase, and we walked back to the little town together. It was an unbelievable morning and we needed to some food to take the shakes off, so we had lunch and then made plans for beers and a bonfire that night.
We sat out most of the afternoon, all evening and into the morning talking and drinking, it was one of the best nights I've had so far not least because of the Indian whisky with 'thumbs up' cola to round it off.
At around 2am we gave up trying to train the mongrel dogs who were starved of affection and went to bed.
Djalma and I left the next morning, we had managed to negotiate a decently priced three hour car ride into a big town where we could get a bus the rest of the way to Varanasi, we shared it with another Latin American couple who were also headed the same way.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Pachmarhi, India
14th - 18th January 2011
We arrived at Pipariya after a lovely night on the train and from there we got the first bus up to Pachmarhi. We wound our way, honking instead of braking, up through some of the greenest and most beautiful woodland I have seen. We passed by monkeys, cows and the odd peacock to arrive 1067 metres above sea level at our first hill station. After a fair bit of looking we found and affordable hotel and headed out to have a look round.
Walking down the street we came across a game of Kabadee Kabadee Kabadee, which we stopped to watch. The school was outside cheering on the two teams who seemed to be rather unfairly matched with tiny little boys against strapping teenagers. After Djalma figured out the rules (ask him not me) we stated to leave but were stopped by one of the referees who insisted we stay and meet the players, so they lined them all up and we went and shook hands with all the boys and wished them luck, we were then sat down in pride of place behind a table to watch the next several games. We said thank you and goodbye marvelling at the welcome, I highly doubted any visitors to the U.K or to N.Z would be greeted and included like that and it made me feel humbled and a little ashamed of my own culture.
We decided to visit one of the small shrines which involved a short but steep climb up the side of a hill which I managed with a fair bit of effort but not too much swearing. When we got to the top we were rewarded with a piddly little shrine which was most certainly not worth the effort so while I waited Djalma made the most of the climbing opportunities and scrambled up (using vines) to have a look and see what was further up. He was gone long enough for me to start worrying and watching him climb back down had me wondering if he would love long enough to give me any children, but he made it and we wandered on.
Not feeling too bad (despite continued diarrhoea) we continued on further away from the town and down to a much more impressive shrine or group of them. The place was full of chipmunks, the single most surprising thing about India is all the chipmunks, most of them fat from food from Indian tourists. The shrine was dedicated to a very feminine looking man who apparently liked snakes and pitchforks, there were rather a lot of them.
The rocks were carved with his image and his wife as well (Djalma and I both thought they were women) and there were paintings as well. We walked down a wooden staircase into a natural chasm where some religious dudes where burning incense creating a scented smoky fog in the hollow. We walked further down into the hollow and saw the reason for the location of the shrine, natural lingam. Basically they were worshipping and paying respect to earth willies, lovely.
Lingam is basically a word for penis and you find loads of them in various shapes and forms everywhere (not real willies obviously), anything that sticks out or up is worth a flower/coconut/candle/money offering and a prayer. That shrine was pretty cool I had to control myself from getting shutter happy with all the bright orange pitchforks and chipmunks around. We wandered back to our hotel to rest and relax after the days exertions before getting our first of many vegetable chow meins.
The next day I rested up and started on new medication to get rid of the squits, we ventured out for a walk in the afternoon with the, by now, usual attention and requests for photos. I really wasn't in the mood to sidled off while Djalma enjoyed the limelight with our new five minute friends. While we were wandering the streets a big wedding party passed by banging out some serious party music, we thought it was a big street party because we couldn't see the newly married couple only the huge speakers and the dancing crowd following them. Right in the middle was one white guy dancing around and being encouraged to carry on every time he flagged (it was a very warm afternoon in the sun), we met him and his other French friends days later on the way to Varanasi and it was then we found out it was an Indian reception.
I'd had enough and headed back to the hotel to get some more rest and continue reading Shantaram, an absolute must read if you travel to India especially Mumbai.
We decided to try and make the most of our last day in Pachmarhi by visiting the National Park, we rented out bicycles and peddled our way out to the park lodge to pay the entrance fee and then onto the park. It was bloody hot and the heat nearly undid me, as did trying to cycle on the slightest gradient on a wobbly bike without gears, but we made it despite going into a couple of ditches when trying to brake or turn corners.
We left our bikes with the entry guards and walked into the park, it was too steep and too rough for anything but four wheel drive or feet. We walked slowly through the trees to a small river and waterfall where we sat down and chilled out because I couldn't manage much else.
There were plenty of other things to see but I was so weak from being ill I couldn't manage it so after photographing more chipmunks, plenty of dragonflies and Djalma taking his water dips, we headed slowly back with lots of rest stops.
Getting back on the bike was great, we went downhill most of the way and stopped off at some old Buddhist caves surrounded by some gorgeous rose gardens and got a couple of mango dollies (cheap yet surprisingly delicious and restorative) to lick while we walked round the gardens.
We climbed to the top of the caves and looked out over the hills and trees below, it was beautiful but annoyingly not all that photogenic. We cycle back into town and having sort of mastered the wobble and the dodgy brakes managed to get back into town without many incidents.
I gratefully handed my bike back over to the rental shop and headed back upstairs to lay in bed and read some more.
We headed out the next day getting a morning bus for our early afternoon train which we booked before leaving Pipariya. We got a train to Jabalpur and from there several cramped and crowded buses to Bandhavgarh, the best place to see tigers in the wild and yet no-one seemed to have heard of it.
We arrived at Pipariya after a lovely night on the train and from there we got the first bus up to Pachmarhi. We wound our way, honking instead of braking, up through some of the greenest and most beautiful woodland I have seen. We passed by monkeys, cows and the odd peacock to arrive 1067 metres above sea level at our first hill station. After a fair bit of looking we found and affordable hotel and headed out to have a look round.
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
Walking down the street we came across a game of Kabadee Kabadee Kabadee, which we stopped to watch. The school was outside cheering on the two teams who seemed to be rather unfairly matched with tiny little boys against strapping teenagers. After Djalma figured out the rules (ask him not me) we stated to leave but were stopped by one of the referees who insisted we stay and meet the players, so they lined them all up and we went and shook hands with all the boys and wished them luck, we were then sat down in pride of place behind a table to watch the next several games. We said thank you and goodbye marvelling at the welcome, I highly doubted any visitors to the U.K or to N.Z would be greeted and included like that and it made me feel humbled and a little ashamed of my own culture.
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
We decided to visit one of the small shrines which involved a short but steep climb up the side of a hill which I managed with a fair bit of effort but not too much swearing. When we got to the top we were rewarded with a piddly little shrine which was most certainly not worth the effort so while I waited Djalma made the most of the climbing opportunities and scrambled up (using vines) to have a look and see what was further up. He was gone long enough for me to start worrying and watching him climb back down had me wondering if he would love long enough to give me any children, but he made it and we wandered on.
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
Not feeling too bad (despite continued diarrhoea) we continued on further away from the town and down to a much more impressive shrine or group of them. The place was full of chipmunks, the single most surprising thing about India is all the chipmunks, most of them fat from food from Indian tourists. The shrine was dedicated to a very feminine looking man who apparently liked snakes and pitchforks, there were rather a lot of them.
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
The rocks were carved with his image and his wife as well (Djalma and I both thought they were women) and there were paintings as well. We walked down a wooden staircase into a natural chasm where some religious dudes where burning incense creating a scented smoky fog in the hollow. We walked further down into the hollow and saw the reason for the location of the shrine, natural lingam. Basically they were worshipping and paying respect to earth willies, lovely.
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
Lingam is basically a word for penis and you find loads of them in various shapes and forms everywhere (not real willies obviously), anything that sticks out or up is worth a flower/coconut/candle/money offering and a prayer. That shrine was pretty cool I had to control myself from getting shutter happy with all the bright orange pitchforks and chipmunks around. We wandered back to our hotel to rest and relax after the days exertions before getting our first of many vegetable chow meins.
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
The next day I rested up and started on new medication to get rid of the squits, we ventured out for a walk in the afternoon with the, by now, usual attention and requests for photos. I really wasn't in the mood to sidled off while Djalma enjoyed the limelight with our new five minute friends. While we were wandering the streets a big wedding party passed by banging out some serious party music, we thought it was a big street party because we couldn't see the newly married couple only the huge speakers and the dancing crowd following them. Right in the middle was one white guy dancing around and being encouraged to carry on every time he flagged (it was a very warm afternoon in the sun), we met him and his other French friends days later on the way to Varanasi and it was then we found out it was an Indian reception.
I'd had enough and headed back to the hotel to get some more rest and continue reading Shantaram, an absolute must read if you travel to India especially Mumbai.
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
We decided to try and make the most of our last day in Pachmarhi by visiting the National Park, we rented out bicycles and peddled our way out to the park lodge to pay the entrance fee and then onto the park. It was bloody hot and the heat nearly undid me, as did trying to cycle on the slightest gradient on a wobbly bike without gears, but we made it despite going into a couple of ditches when trying to brake or turn corners.
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
We left our bikes with the entry guards and walked into the park, it was too steep and too rough for anything but four wheel drive or feet. We walked slowly through the trees to a small river and waterfall where we sat down and chilled out because I couldn't manage much else.
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
There were plenty of other things to see but I was so weak from being ill I couldn't manage it so after photographing more chipmunks, plenty of dragonflies and Djalma taking his water dips, we headed slowly back with lots of rest stops.
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
Getting back on the bike was great, we went downhill most of the way and stopped off at some old Buddhist caves surrounded by some gorgeous rose gardens and got a couple of mango dollies (cheap yet surprisingly delicious and restorative) to lick while we walked round the gardens.
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
We climbed to the top of the caves and looked out over the hills and trees below, it was beautiful but annoyingly not all that photogenic. We cycle back into town and having sort of mastered the wobble and the dodgy brakes managed to get back into town without many incidents.
 |
| From Pachmarhi, India |
I gratefully handed my bike back over to the rental shop and headed back upstairs to lay in bed and read some more.
We headed out the next day getting a morning bus for our early afternoon train which we booked before leaving Pipariya. We got a train to Jabalpur and from there several cramped and crowded buses to Bandhavgarh, the best place to see tigers in the wild and yet no-one seemed to have heard of it.
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