From what Ive learned so far, a first visit to India can be an overwhelming experience for a person from the “west” and on their own so I orginally thought I might go on an organised Tour just to get the feel of the place but I’ve changed my mind - its too easy to make ones life predictable and safe. So I have booked my flights there and back 5 weeks later, and the first two nights in a Hotel in Delhi and bought a copy of the Lonely Planet Guide to India....
The alleys and streets that extend back from the ghats in Varanasi are the narrowest ones I’ve ever wandered through – in places you could simultaneously touch both sides .I was invited to come in for a haircut when I wandered past a tiny barber shop and decided it was about time .These streets were relatively cool and quiet because Tuktuks couldn’t fit through, but still the occasional motorbike with lots of tooting would squeeze by Eventually this old part of Varanasi merges with newer parts where streets are a bit wider but the same dusty congestion prevails and of course all manner of vehicle, making it noisy and horrible. But I did find a nice place for some local food on a main street not far away.
Getting my haircut
On Friday morning after my last wander along the ghats I cleaned up and repacked and headed for the airport. My tour of India was coming to an end and I could hardly believe it. I was glad I had visited Varanasi at the end because after that place everything else would have been almost an anticlimax – it really was a fascinating experience and extraordinary spectacle.
On the bus from the DelhiAirport into the city, I caught myself marveling at how clean and tidy and orderly everything seemed – and yet when I had first been driven along these very same streets a month ago, when I first arrived, I had thought they were shockingly chaotic and filthy! The other thing that I noticed was how few cows there were, and there were no monkeys or camels. And I missed them.
I spent Saturday wandering a market called Chandi Chowk. I also inspected the site of an industrial accident where, 100 yards from my hotel, the sides of a huge hole being dug for an underground carpark collapsed, taking with it the ramshackle shops along its edge, the footpath and a few vehicles and people. I had seen this on TV just before I left the hotel, not realizing it was just across the road! In the evening I had dinner in a lovely Chinese restaurant on Connaught Place, which is the hub of the city as far as tourists are concerned – there are posh shops selling all the famous brands, smart hotels and quality local shops as well. I went there to meet a woman who was related to one of my friends in Australia, and to give her the present from him that I had been carrying everywhere. Today, Sunday I didnt have to check out till 12 noon, and as my plane to Berlin doesnt leave till midnight I had an extra late breakfast and an extra long shower before repacking everything and heading to Paharganj, the part of Delhi that I first came to, to check email and do some last minute shopping. Once again I am shocked to recall how I thought this place looked chaotic and filthy when I first got here! Now after seeing a bit more of India I realise this street is not really like the real India at all - the real India is much more chaotic and crowded and dusty and filthy and congested and overrun with animals and people and kids and beggars and holymen and touts and carts and stalls and did I mention the cows? I will probably make another posting to the Blog from Germany, maybe just reflecting on my Trip, but right now I do feel quite sad and a bit upset to be leaving this absolutely amazing and unforgettable place. I have had the most incredible time.
I visited the Burning ghats twice and it wasn’t what I was expecting. What I was expecting was more of what I had already observed - but perhaps more elaborate and solemn - ritual , more incense and offerings and candles, more holy men and priests, perhaps a real feeling of awe and religious reality ,and perhaps open expression of emotion and grief, perhaps a feeling that I shouldn’t be there intruding on so sad and personal a moment in the life of the family. I imagined this would be why photos were strictly forbidden. I felt nervous at the prospect of seeing dead people and bodies being burned.
A little Shiva Temple
In fact what I found was quite shocking but in a completely different way – the place was as filthy as anywhere else in the city, there was ash and mud coating everything, the edges of the Holy River were knee deep in floating rubbish , there was virtually no religious ceremony taking place, no incense other than the acrid clouds of smoke from the pyres, and the few mourners hanging around after the fire took hold were men. There were no priests, no chanting, no bells, only the merest of rituals and no emotion. Cows wandered through as they would anywhere, and tough wiry and utterly filthy men unloading barges bringing the timber for the fires struggled past the fires with huge loads, to and from the barges in single file as if the fires were just rubbish burning.
The corpses were brought down to the ghat strapped onto a sort of bamboo stretcher and were wrapped in cheap tinsel looking shiny and glittery cloth. The whole stretcher was taken to the edge of the river and the body immersed completely for a couple of seconds then the stretcher was left unattended on the steps to drain while the pyre was prepared. Eventually the string holding it all together was broken and the tinsel cloth ripped off and chucked onto the rubbish pile to one side and the body wrapped now in a white sheet was placed on the pyre. A few more logs were placed on top and after walking round it all in single file 5 times and chanting a few prayers and sprinking a few offerings onto the pyre, it was lit with a bunch of dry rushes, and pretty quickly, especially if the family could afford the best wood, the whole thing was ablaze. Blackened limbs and the shoulders and head could be see burning – a macabre scene to be sure but for me the shocking part of it all was the pragmatic and unemotional way the whole process functioned – it really seemed as if they were just burning rubbish.
Dogs harassing a saddhu
To me this all fits with the Hindu preoccupation with self and an indifference to “the other” something which was illustrated in even more shocking fashion on my last morning in Varanasi when I went for my last morning walk along the ghats. There is a place where a sort of footbridge about 50 yards long links one ghat to the next but you can walk along under it as well, which is what I did. It was obviously a favourite place for men to piss, such was the stink.
Halfway along a low pile of rags turned out to be an old woman lying across the path, almost naked, with a large gash on her abdomen, flies crawling over her face and half shut eyes, limbs feebly moving, she was almost dead. I stood before her feeling helpless, there was nothing I or anyone could have done for her, but why was she here dying all alone a few metres from where thousands of pilgrims were coming to perform acts of piety at one of the holiest places in India? I moved on, and looking back saw several people walk past without a glance at her. I spent all the rest of the day thinking about what this all meant.
Each morning in Varanasi - I had three - from my balcony I watched the sun come up over the far side of the Ganga., and at the same time as it rose rowing boats full of pilgrims and tourists began to appear,one at a time at first and then it became a rush hour as the yellow morning light gradually illuminated the unfolding activity on the ghats. Soon a flood of boats crept upstream close to the bank and then drifted back down in the middle of the river, some carrying 30 or more pilgrims and others just one or two. I took a boat like that on my second morning and though it was good I think the boat trips are a bit over rated, having spent two other mornings down on the ghats themselves - for me the problem with being on a boat is you cant stop and just observe, the boatman keeps you moving along, and also, as I had already noticed each boat with tourists on atracts hawkers in their own boats wanting to sell you stuff so instead of watching the shore youre distracted fending off the hawkers, or buying stuff which you could easily do on shore.
The Morning Ritual
In my case I was alone on the boat only for a short while, a hawker stepping onboard just after we first set off - but what an intriquing hawker this one was! She was a really sweet little girl aboutr 10 years old and she had a little handbag full of stuff she wanted me to buy, mostly postcards but also a sort of temporary tatoo set with coloured dyes and Bindis which I think are the dots Indian people have on their foreheads but these ones are elaborate little stick-ons . The thing about this girl, whose name was Nyna - or something- was that after a while of getting nowhere with me - she would suddenly revert to being a happy go lucky kid and start chatting and laughing and mucking around - maybe it was a sort of good cop/bad cop routine because then after 15 minutes or so she would reach into her bag and find something else she wanted me to buy, and I would get the hard sell again. When I found a little fish in the bilges she instantly said I should pay 200 rupees and it would be set free and I would receive good karma - like the owls the night before - but when she eventually realised I wasnt going to fork out she flipped it over the side anyway!
My Boat
Nyna
She took over rowing the boat for a while and never stopped chattering away to the guy supposed to be doing the work, and smiling and laughing. She made rowing look easy so I had a go and couldnt believe how heavy and clumsy the oars were, so she must have been a really tough little thing.When I pulled my book of NZ pictures out of my bag she pored over every single one and chatted and laughed about it nonstop with the skipper - she seemed a really inquisitive and intelligent girl, but she said she didnt go to school because she had to earn money.
But what we were supposed to be observing was the morning rituals along the Ganga, basically men - the very occasional old woman - sitting on the steps doing funny liittle stretching exercises then stripping down to baggy underpants and soaping themslves down and getting into the river to clean off, usually by holding thier noses and doing a series of three or four ducks under the water. I observed a group of men talking together with great animation as they did all this , they burst ino a chant at one point, they offered prayers and after getting all cleaned up disappeared back up into the city. There were also pilgrims, lighting little fires, setting flowers and candles adrift, offering prayers and immersing themselves in the river.
Probably checking the Stockmarket
I watched a sadhu - or perhaps a sadhu pretender - spend absolutely for ever getting himself all cleaned up, oiled and massaged and then redressed in his white clothes and orange turban, taking a few steps this way and that and looking over his shoulder to see how the pleats on his clothes fell, and then finally picking up his little pail and his stick and heading off in time to catch the rush hour of toursists flooding down onto the ghats. I watched another definite fake sadhu with lots of face paint and white lines on his arms pose with his lame leg curled around a sort of crutch, collect a good bit of cash for the photos taken by a german tour group horde, and then, once they were safely out of sight he uncurled his leg and sauntered off quite casually and without the slightest hint of any disability in the opposite direction. You just have to love it! There were of course many little altars at which sat - well I suuppose they were priests , and earnest pilgrims would undergo with them the rituals of Puja, paying respect and obtaining the blessing of the Holy Waters - like I did in Pushkar.
My balcony is in the yellow bit left of the three small arches 3/4 of the way up
So, at about lunch time, I finally arrived in Varanasi and I found a room I liked at the fourth place I went to - a small clean concrete sort of room with a balcony that was directly above the ghat - about 60 feet I would say - and the Ganges - but first I had to evict the mongoose. Then I had a sleep for a couple of hours.
There are basically four things every visitor does here - the first is wander along the ghats that line the river for a couple of miles and observe what goes on at various times of the day, the second is to visit the so-called "burning ghats" which is where dead people are cremated 24 hours a day, the third thing is to go for a boat ride on the ganges and lastly you can wander the really narrow maze of streets in the old town and do some shopping. There are also a few temples and what-have-you to visit if you're so inclined - which I wasn't really but I did wander into the Golden Temple by mistake one day. A sign says nonHindus may not enter this sacred place but on the other hand if you buy a "passport" you may! I see now how wonderfully Hindu this practice is whereas before I might have been tempted to dark cynicism about money and religion.
Sun rising over the Ganga
The first thing I did was go down to the ghats and wander along just after sunset. I was just in time to catch the nightly performance that attracts hundreds of indian Hindu visitors who crowd the steps like fans at a footy match and cram themselves into 20 or 30 boats which line up several deep in front of the platform on which an amazing ceremony takes place. Basically in front of a small temple wreathed in incense and flowers and candles and garlands and flags and all sorts of little offerings there are 5 guys all dressed up and each on his own mini stage with a sort of flaming torch/candelholder device that is moved about in synchrony with each other and the fantastic loud music, with another person clanging a cymbal and a third working a small drum, so its crowded, hot noisy and totally engrossing as clouds of smoke and incense drift across everything and the hindu devotees spend heaps on offerings and the like from men moving through the crowds. Naturally there are lots of foreigners there as well and we become legitimate targets for the usual hawkers of postcards and trinkets, balloons, snacks, DVD's, boat rides and personal guides.Many are children and I watched for 15 or 20 minutes one tot who was working the crowd brilliantly at the age of about 4. One guy approached me with several small wire cages and in each one was a most beautiful little owl - he explained that for 200rupees I could set the owl free and this would be good Karma for me. The music was mesmerizing, drumming in that wonderful indian way (tabla), an accordion like sound (Harmonium) and someone, a male, singing like an angel. I thought it was a recording it was so pure and faultless and effortless but I squeesed through the crowd and discovered there were two musicians sitting on the ground before microphones, one with the drum, the other playing the accordion thing and doing the singing at the same time. The guy singing had a completely paralyzed and withered right arm so to work the bellows on the harmonium he had to drape the arm over it and move his shoulder back and forth to make the arm move - incredibly awkward but he was extraordinary.To me he was the star of the show so I went to see and hear him again the following night but on the third night a different singer turned up and he wasn't a patch on this guy. When it was all over and he stood up he had the most wonderfully happy look on his face. No-one seemed to pay him any attention, they were all struggling to get bits of blessed chopped up vegetable, or to wave their hands in the smoke from the flaming torches and get themselves a blessing. Every day I understand and see it illustrated more and more clearly that the essential fact about Hindu religion is that it is about obtaining blessing and Karma and reward for ones self. The extreme form,The Holy Men have renounced everything the world has to offer to concentrate wholly and utterly on themselves and their path. It is not about "the other"
I slept well that first night, but the second was interrupted by a pack of dogs barking and baying and yelping on the ghat below my room. These dogs are real pests and they add absolutely nothing to the romance of India unlike virtually every other animal and thing you might come across. There are dogs everywhere, universally mangy and flea bitten, constantly scratching themselves, coats patchy and skin broken from fighting each other, they harass people and frighten children and have to be warded off with stones or sticks. Eventually I got so fed up with the racket that I decided I had to do something so I got up and after refilling my water bottle, I flung it out across the ghat where it crashed and split open in front of the startled dogs who took off in all directions. The following day I saw kids lighting firecrackers so bought a few for myself, looking forward to dropping them on those damn dogs if they should return but, to my dismay they didn't. But it felt so good to win one!
When the sun eventually came up I couldn’t tell if I hadslept or not, but the lower bunk had been vacated along the way so I folded mine down and sat by the open window and a cool breeze and watched the countryside roll past. It was flat and completely covered in a patchwork of crops in various states of growth fromjust planted to just harvested and of various kinds as well as vegetable patches and watercourses, and rows of trees and little villages. I saw one tractor but everywhere else the ploughing and weeding and harvesting was done with the help of animals and by hand , mostly womens hands as far as I could tell, and there they would sit, on their haunches with a short sickle weeding or cutting down the wheat or soy or whatever it was. I realized this was a way of life that was virtually untouched by modern civilization, and though hard would surely be preferable to life in the city, except for the fact that in the city there was always that faint hope that somehow your luck might change and you could break free. I think its a fundamental of human nature that prefers the uncertainty of a wretched life with hope, to a certain but hard life with none.
The Station
And then finally we arrived at Varanasi. The Stations are amazing places, always frantically busy and crowded, as are the trains, but waiting in the station is an experience all of its own, something which only the Disorganized Traveler would ever get much of a chance to experience. But I have sat in and wandered these places for 10 or 12 hours in the last few days, albeit involuntarily. Outside there is always a massively overcrowded and rowdy taxi and bus area with associated smoky food stalls and other assorted hawkers, and from here touts penetrate all parts looking for custom. You step off the train into a posse of them, all after you, and some are incredibly persistent and right in your face. I try to ignore them at first and move away so I can gather my bearings and try to remember the name of the Hotel or wherever it is I am supposed to be going. The station platform itself will be crowded with people waiting for trains,and stacks of freight weighting to be loaded as well, much of it packaged into cartons the size of say a washing machine and quite neatly wrapped in white cloth, with felt-tip pen lettering. Many of the people must be planning a very long wait because they spread a ragged sheet out on the concrete just about anywhere and lie down to sleep.
Sometimes all you see is something like a corpse wrapped in a sheet, sleeping on the grubby concrete, but often it is clearly whole families all lined up asleep late at night, small children and babies included and a wall of baggage.There are free drinking water taps - best left alone by foreigners - and waiting rooms for Ladies and for High Class Gentlemen that have a squat toilet - dont ask- and there are kiosks that sell magazines, books, snacks and what-have you. Outside, between the station and the road at Agra there were scores of people sleeping like this outside, alongside the dust and filth and spit and animal shit and rubbish and the stink of urine everywhere, probably many were beggars and impoverished little families rather than travelers, all asleep by 10.30 at night but with dogs and cows and touts and taxis milling all round them. Even on the platform itself dont be surprised to see the odd cow wander by, and dogs, and there are always beggars and if you look down at the railway line itself, between the tracks is a massive collection of rubbish and scurrying everywhere hundreds of rats, plump frisky things that barely change what theyre doing if someone jumps down near them to cross to the other platform. Unbelievable…
I suppose you could say that if you're not on an organised tour, you're on an unorganized or even perhaps in my case a disorganized tour. Some who know me well would understand that concept! But really this is the challenge of independent travel in a place like this, the challenge is to go headlong into the unpredictable chaos and see if you can get through it....which is a roundabout way of saying I missed the train! What happened was that when I booked my train from Agra to Varanasi 48 hrs before, the train was full but they have a waiting list system - which I knew something of, having discussed it once with some guys who said they got on no problem and they were something like 34th and 35th on the list. So I asked where would I be in the queue and the woman in the Station Ticket Office said 7th so I said "No problem" , bought the WL Ticket and thought no more about it, duly turning up at 7pm Sunday to be allocated my seat - but the guy said I would have to see the conductor on the train when it arrived at 9.30, which I did and there were no seats! What an absolute bloody pain! So then I went and got a refund and made some more desperate inquiries and was told to try again at 8am. So by now its 10.30 and I have to find a hotel, and you feel totally vulnerable to the scammers and touts but by then I was really cranky so I used all my tricks on the pack waiting outside to eventually get a tuktuk guy to take me to about 4 different places, for 50 Rupees - they started off wanting 150 - before I finally got a room.
TukTuks etc outside Station
And what a room! A scruffy pink door with green and brown painted squares , ghastly dirty mauve curtains with a damp frill, green walls with orange trim, grayish stained and frayed sheets, stinky bathroom - and they wanted 2490 rupees for it. The guy at the front desk made a huge display of getting out his calculator and offering me a special discount and brought it down to 2100 rupees and I said no way, he said "OK How much ?" I said 1500 - well it had aircon and TV, and I was exhausted - he said sorry no possible so I walked out.to the street again, its nearly midnight in some backstreet of Agra and I ask the TukTuk guy to take me somewhere else but then the Front Desk guy appears saying OK OK 1800, last price, I shake my head, the Tuk Tuk guy starts his motor and the Front Desk guy says OK 1500 and I'm in! And theres one more thing - I cant bring myself to have a shower in his stinky room but turn off the aircon as its cool by now and turn off the light to at last go to sleep on the dubious bed and hear a loud irritating regular bang which turns out to be water dripping from the Air-con on the floor above dropping onto the air-con outside my window. But the window cant be opened - so I got my nail file and undid a couple of screws holding it shut and took one of the dodgy brown vinyl cushions off the dilapidated settee, stuffed it through the tiny window and sat it on top of the air-con outside where the drops were hitting - no more noise! And in the morning I pulled it back in and rescrewed the window. A small victory to cheer me up.
Shady Grass you can lie down on at the Red Fort
The Taj and a Kite from the Red Fort
I was starting to feel a bit desperate fearing I was going to be trapped in Agra, which after having seen the Taj and the Red Fort - which was worth it for more Taj views and a nice bit of grass to lie on - has not much else going for it, being so polluted and crowded and dusty - but I headed back to the station, was first in the queue because I got there so early, so started to feel better - maybe my luck had changed - and then at a minute to eight realized I hadn't picked up a little form you have to fill in so I went and got one and went to the back of the bloody queue. And I hadnt had breakfast. I was starting to curse everything.
Anyhow, when I finally got back to the window again and after a lot of frowning and wrinkling his face, which made me think I was doomed to stay in Agra for ever, the guy found me a non AC Sleeper berth on a train leaving at 1130 that night, which was a huge relief but now I had a day to kill in Agra. I put my luggage into Storage - at the "Cloakroom" on the station - and paid the government tourist guy 1000 rupees to take me in a flash aircon Taxi to Fatephur Sikri for the day, with a stop off at a restaurant on the way for breakfast. I just paid it all and couldnt be bothered trying to get a better price and all that - it was only 25 bucks! Just get me out of here! Fatephur Sikri, 40km away is another palace/Fort/Temple set up that had been on my original "to do " list but I had cancelled it after seeing a few other forts.
Fatephur Sikri - Temple area
Restful gardens at F-S - reminded me of Alhambra
The most interesting thing that happened was that while having my "breakfast" - it was nearly 12 by now - the "Guide" came and started chatting, the usual questions - are you married, how many children what is your job....so I asked him about his and he told me he had a wife and two children. He said what a nice man I was and he patted my hand a few times and then told me he also had a boyfriend! So I inquired a little further and he confided in me, as I was a foreigner and going away, that he had a long term gay lover but it had always to be secret and hidden from everyone else. I explained as clearly as I could that in my country if you were "like that" he didnt use the word gay or anything - you could be open about it and not get married to a woman to try to hide it. And I wasnt travelling without a wife because I was gay! But thanks...
So I spent the day impatiently killing time, telling anyone who approached to push off and leave me alone, and eventually got back to the station about 9pm, got my bags and at last when the train arrived I crept into my little slot - the middle bunk this time - and try as I might and despite my exhaustion slept hardly at all as the slow multistops train ground its way to Varanasi over the next 14 hours.
I should have stayed longer in Bundi - I had a fantastic room in a really nice hotel a, the hotel guy was really nice and the town was interesting and quiet and almost hassle free - however I wanted to see the Taj and I want to see Varanasi so I checked out and took a local bus to Kota which is where the trains go from and only an hour or two from Bundi. I tried to phone the guys I had met on the train from Udaipur but couldnt get a reply, so had to amuse myself for the afternoon while waiting to get the overnight train to Agra, departing at 9pm.I went to the Chambal Gardens where boat trips on the river were listed as a possibility but the boats werent operating and in any case the river was wide and boring with massive factories and chimneys filling the sky with smoke on either side.Finding a seat in the shade wasnt easy as most were already occupied with love struck couples holding hands and leaning on each other limply,. The other activity involved these couples but also families on outings being stalked by a band of freelance photographers with a printer and laminator under various other trees, encouraging them to pose for their pic in front of a fountain. I read my book and observed, then took a taxi to the most expensive restaurant in town - at a massive Hotel set in vast gardens, but the restaurant didnt open to 7.30 so I stayed in their Bar and had beer and snacks instead.
Sleeper Berths
The ride on the train was less eventful than the previous one because I was on a "Sleeper" this time and occupied the top bunk (of 3). All I had to do was heave my luggage up onto this lightly padded platform about 2 feet from the roof of the train, crawl up beside it and sleep until the train got to Agra at 6.30. There were three fans going flat out right beside me and kids on the upper bunk on the other side of the grille partition and the guy opposite had to shout to be heard on his mobile phone, and the chiai wallahs went up and down at intervals and after I had been fitfully sleeping for what seemd only a short time, it was dawn , much to my surpise and relief. We were clanking through the outer suburbs of Agra, a heavily polluted industrial town with a huge population of homeless people living in horrendous squalor along the side of the rail line. I had phoned a Hotel from Kota but again, coulnt get through so just turned up hoping it would have space but it didn’t. I was tired and hungry and worn out so accepted the next thing they suggested which was another hotel nearby and ended up paying too much for the crappiest room of the trip so far, no windows, no AC, stink fromn the drains , mosquitoes ,no soap no toilet paper no towel – but I just wanted to lie down and sleep, and it also had a quite lovley view of the Taj. So I had a sleep and afterwards wandered round the street a bit feeling rotten, eventually deciding that I was hungry so I went and had some vegetable fried rice and another stuffed tomato. I also decided that in a weeks time, after Varanasi I was going to return to Delhi by plane not train, and also, as I had a few days up my sleeve I would go and visit my sister. In Berlin.
This morning though, I felt much better despite the crappy room and packing up early, went to the Taj. I think the problem with the Taj is overexposure - lets face it we all know exactly what it looks like, and how old it is and all that, and we've all heard time and again its one of the loveliest buildings ever created - so where is the possibility for surprise and for wonder and awe? Its a bit like a movie thats overpromoted -you can either have your expectations fulfilled or be disappointed.No Surprises.
The things that I hadnt expected were the massive crowds even at 8.15 on a Sunday morning - and the ghastly state of the air, such that the fabled Sunrise and Sunset views are completely smothered, the sun having to be 20 or more degrees above the horizon before its rays can penetrate the thick smoky gloom that covers everything. In many photos it looks like a romantic mist in the background but its not. Apparently the resultant acid rain is damaging and eroding the marble.But it is very beautiful, majestic but simple and the gardens are lovely and cool. How ironic that Indias most famous sight is a muslim tomb.
I arrived in Bundi about on the Marwar Express from Udaipur. I hadnt booked a seat, just paid for a general class ticket when i got to the station, and it was less than 2 dollars. This entitled me to a seat in the crammed non AC non sleeper carriages so I squeezed on board expecting a pretty hard trip but it ended up lots of fun because a group of 6 young men immediately insisted i sit with them and we had a great time, the 10 or 12 of us altogether crammed packed into that cubicle.
First of course they all insisted on having their photo taken with my hat on, and then they wanted to scroll through all the pics in the camera, then they wanted to look at my little book of NZ photos and then they wanted to know all about me and my wife and children - which I will have to confess was, as it always is over here a somewhat simplified - shall we say- version of the truth. (apologies to various relatives and the like)And we talked cricket and one of then rang his brother at intervals to get the ODI Score - India was playing Australia and did very well but was beaten by an even more impressive India , so the carriage was very thrilled about that. We even tried arm wrestling, and at a couple of stops bought fresh cooked food and chai through the train window from hawkers walking up and down outside. The trip had gone quickly but the seat was hard and my backside ached. Towards the end I started to get a bit worried about them as they were planning to get off at Bundi with me and share my hotel room and make sure I had a good time, but in the end they shoved me off at the right place as they carried on to Kota, which is where i will go tomorrow, and perhaps meet up with one or two of them before I get the night train to Agra.Yes, Agra and the mighty Taj Mahal just around the corner. I had enjoyed my stay at Udaipur.
The view from my room, Kasera heritage, Bundi
From Bundi station I took an autorickshaw to Kisera Paradise Haveli, who were expecting me. I had a minor issue with the driver who wanted 80Rupees once we got there, having agreed to 50 at the station when the competitive pressure of the cluster of drivers wanting my fare led to his bid getting my custom. I always clearly state and repeat the agreed price and the agreed place before getting in. He wouldnt takethe 50 from me so I said "Ok if you dont want it...." and I walked off, but a few steps up the road he relented and came and got it. ....well it was and I was worn out, and as I said to him "A deals a deal..." The stupid thing is that 30 rupees is about 80 cents so you might ask well whats the point of getting shitty?and its a good question - I remember once watching a tourist carefully picking over some bananas and eventually picking two or three and then when the guy wanted 10 rupees more that she reckoned she should pay, she walked off - no bananas! And all that for 25cents....so sometimes its clearly dumb to go without the bananas for a trivial amount. I still regret not paying a tiny amount more that a guy wanted for a wooden statue of the Buddha in Bali many years ago so I have learned that lesson I think. But what happens after a while as a tourist here is that you develop an appreciation for what things are worth here, in this place to these people, and you start to resent the guy who quotes a priceperhaps three times what you know everyone agrees is a fair one, you start to recognise which guys are for real and which ones are having you on. Usually I laugh a lot and joke with these guys but sometimes I get sick of the hassling and I dont feel like laughing.
A Temple on the Bundi Hillside
So today I woke to almost complete silence for a change, and pushing open the shutters looked out and up at the fort high above and down at the street below which slowly filled with traffic but it was never heavy or terribly noisy. I read the Times of India and had my breakfast in my room because I couldn't stand listening to the two unfriendly american women at the rooftop restaurant who were loudly gossiping about their friends back home ..." and I'm like wow, I mean I'd rather work atStarbucks than do nothing like she is" said one! I try to be friendly to other travellers - me being all alone and everything - but most dont even return a smile - mind you because of the hat I'm wearing they probably think I'm an Australian.Actually I had a long chat one time to an Aussie woman travelling alone who has had enough and is heading back home - she complained to the guards on a train about a guy who wouldnt stop bugging her - nothing too serious but it needed to stop - and when the train arrived, "Cops" were there to take the guy away and a few days later someone showed her his photo and an article in the paper about what happened to her....and then a few days after that the Australian Embassy called her on her mobile and were most concerned and offered all sorts of support.
The Way up to the Palace
A Step Well and one monkey
Crumbling ruins of former glory
After breakfast - "milk coffee" fresh juice and a banana pancake - I walked up to the City Place and the fort towering over this town. It was drenchingly hot, and for once I took a guide to show me the palace, a really nice excitable old chap - said he was 65. This palace and fort are different from the others Ive seen because this one is empty and not being preserved - its just crumbling away, and some parts are too dangerous to visit but much is still intact, including many murals and painted ceilings and doorways. My guide would have taken the shortcut from the entrance to the exit if I had let him, but whenever I asked him something he responded with all sorts of interesting stuff.
I asked him to tell me the story about this crumbling mural and he explained how it showed Krishna - who is always depicted playing a flute and in the company of lovely women - hes the blue guy - demonstrating how powerful he is holding up the world by the very tip of his little finger and standing on only one leg! (You might need to click on the image to expand it to a decent size to see the detail) Above the world are various other Gods such as Shiva - who is usually depicted wearing not much and draped by snakes - which denote his virilty as the Creator - and also Hanuman the monkey-god - mostly showering stars and flowers and blessings on Krishna, but the guy on the seven trunked elephant - whose name I forget - is the god of rain and is trying to spoil things and whip up a giant storm. At the bottom you see him off the elephant and bowing to Krishna, having seen the mighty ease which all his efforts were defeated by him.The guide really told a great story - could have stayed there for hours except for the heat. Eventually he went back down from the palace and i trudged up much higher to the fort.
At the top I came across several massive "step wells" called baoris. They are huge water storage constructions with extraordinary stairways going down to the water. These ones of course are abandoned but still collect water. At one I spent ages watching dozens of monkeys drinking and even diving in from quite a height and swimming around - they disappeared when I first arrived but gradually crept back.
I didnt see a single human being up there as I walked through rusting gates and up and down crumbling stairways and along silent halls and battlements - it was quite eerie.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Royal Enfield "Bullit" 350cc Single cylinder
The motorbike ride was really good though a bit scary at the start as I tried to find my way out of the crazy city streets and alleys. There are maps of course but the concept of a map hasn’t fully expressed itself here, the maps being a bit more like lines showing which towns area connected to which but not accurately displaying every road or exactly where turnoffs are and so on. Thus it was a bit hit and miss, the first challenge being to find the petrol station before the tiny amount of petrol the last hirer left in the tank ran out. After that I headed for the hills my usually good sense of direction being less than reliable because the sun is in the wrong place in the Northern Hemisphere. Effectively I had no idea where I was most of the day but I turned up interesting side roads and often was bumping along really rough village tracks past rough little homes and poor villages. Several times I stopped and had communication of a sort with kids and grown ups who came by, and I bought food and drink at roadside stalls. Ive worked out I ended up about 40km from the city and I made it back just before dark.
Nice lakes, nobody there
Classic Rajasthani look
Poor kid probably has to lug water like this every day
Camel train going by
Time to slow down
Today I havent done much but arranged my travel from here tomorrow and my accomodation to Bundi, a much smaller place, a place the LP says is the ideal place to stay and write that novel - however I wont be doing that this time. Ive been reading a really interesting Penguin book called "Being Indian" It gives great insight into the mind of the average Hindu and the way their religion interacts with their lifestyle. The authors view is that the Hindu religion in practise, somewhat ironically is thoroughly materialistic and indeed encourages the quest for worldy wealth and pleasure, this being "artha" one of the four purusharthas, the four fundamental goals of life. The others are Dharma, Karma and Moksha. His view is that religion is practised not so much for ethical and spiritual values but for worldly ones. He paints quite a ruthless picture of the average Hindu.
Reading the Times of India is really interesting as well, for the Indian view of the world and for whats happening and being reported in India. Gruesome rapes and murders and even honour type killings are frequently reported, and named defendents are always described as "alleged" which is italicized for emphasis. Lately there has been lots of reporting about illegal mines and the completely irresponsible way in which the hills are being mined and left in ruins.Theres lots of editorialising about corruption, and there are always funny quirks of expression that make me laugh - like talking about someone being at the ":fag end" of their appointment, and referring often to "cops" There are several pages of sports, lots of ads but not a great deal of detail about international happenings, though in todays paper there were two seperate mentions of the worlds largest cake having been made the other day in New Zealand.
The other thing I wanted to comment on is the noise. Its incessant and unbelievable - there seem always to be religious things going on with trumpets and drums and stuff, and also massive bangs from huge crackers you can buy everywhere, plus chantng and loudspeaker broadcast religious music, then of course all the hooting horns, and tonight when everything else stopped momentarily I could hear the Octopussy soundtrack from at least two places...speaking of which I managed to watch it last night after dinner, and it was really fun, and streets scenes and the palaces of Udaipur are easily identified.
