When we last wrote, we’d just spent a couple of days in Jodhpur (the Indian city and not ‘jodhpurs’, tightly fitting tan pants for the horsey inclined person that leave little to the imagination). From Jodhpur we made our way deeper into the Rajasthan region. Our next destination was Jaisalmer, a city in the desert and as close to the Pakistan border as these travels will take us. The region is known for the numerous royal families that controlled each different part of the Rajasthan and these days the major towns and cities all feature fortifications that were once home to the local Maharaja and his family. Jaisalmer’s fort is sandcastle-esque and distinctive in the way it rises out of the desert landscape.
No, she didn't fall asleep in a plate of butter chicken and rice. A little Hindu blessing on the way into Jaisalmer Fort.
On a walk up a small hill to take in the view over Jaisalmer (towards the fortifications), we mused about all the accommodation we’d used thus far on our travels, and how there had not been one night’s accommodation we regretted. At this time, it would have been wise to ‘touch wood’. While our digs in Jaisalmer were clean and spacious, both of us awoke at 3am in a terrible sweat. We each employed different strategies to combat the heat, with Mat taking up residence on the tiled floor to sleep on the slightly cooler surface while Caroline star-fished on the now spacious queen bed.
We each battled the elements until 4am when we both could take no more and headed for the roof of the guesthouse for some fresh air. Once out of the room, we noticed it was notably cooler, and as we made our way through the hotel in varying states of clothedness, it soon became apparent that any place other than our room was a noticeable few degrees cooler. So for just under an hour we sat under the desert sky with all portals to our room open and the fan on full tilt to move the molten hot air that had accumulated out. We returned to our humble abode just before 5am, moved all our valuables to the head of the bed, and proceeded to sleep with the door wide allowing anyone in the guesthouse to pop in and check us out. We don’t have the faintest clue as to why our room took on the characteristics of a Swedish sauna, but have refrained from musing about accommodations since, and will not dare discuss the good stomachs we’ve kept throughout the trip.
We each battled the elements until 4am when we both could take no more and headed for the roof of the guesthouse for some fresh air. Once out of the room, we noticed it was notably cooler, and as we made our way through the hotel in varying states of clothedness, it soon became apparent that any place other than our room was a noticeable few degrees cooler. So for just under an hour we sat under the desert sky with all portals to our room open and the fan on full tilt to move the molten hot air that had accumulated out. We returned to our humble abode just before 5am, moved all our valuables to the head of the bed, and proceeded to sleep with the door wide allowing anyone in the guesthouse to pop in and check us out. We don’t have the faintest clue as to why our room took on the characteristics of a Swedish sauna, but have refrained from musing about accommodations since, and will not dare discuss the good stomachs we’ve kept throughout the trip.
Our time in Jaisalmer happened to coincide with the end of the ‘Rickshaw Run’, a month long rally in which people have to navigate themselves from the base of the Himalayas in Nepal to Jaisalmer by an auto-rickshaw over a 5,000 km self determined route (see www.rickshawrun.theadventurists.com). For those unfamiliar, an auto-rickshaw is essentially a glorified ride-on lawn-mower featuring 3-wheels, a tight turning axis and 150cc of muscle under the hood. So after a month on the road, 60 odd teams of 3 or 4 people were now arriving into Jaisalmer in their rickshaws with some great tales from their time on the road.
Each team had to leave a short note on the finish line re-counting their best story, with one team recalling the afternoon they were commandeered by a policeman to hunt someone who’d killed a cow (a massive no-no in Hindu culture). It seemed like every team had managed to roll their rickshaw once (being three wheeled, this isn’t hard) and most had had narrow escapes with the holy cow at some stage of their travels. An interesting way to see a bit of India, though not the most comfortable way to cover the five thousand kilometres to the Indian desert.
Each team had to leave a short note on the finish line re-counting their best story, with one team recalling the afternoon they were commandeered by a policeman to hunt someone who’d killed a cow (a massive no-no in Hindu culture). It seemed like every team had managed to roll their rickshaw once (being three wheeled, this isn’t hard) and most had had narrow escapes with the holy cow at some stage of their travels. An interesting way to see a bit of India, though not the most comfortable way to cover the five thousand kilometres to the Indian desert.
While in Jaisalmer, we headed into the desert on camels with no names to take in the sunset. Having spent more time than is necessary riding camels in Morocco a couple of years back, the prospect of more crotch numbing fun on the back of a camel did not overly enthuse either of us, though the excitement levels of the two Germans we travelled with more than made up for our hesitation. Thankfully the journey this time was far more pleasant and the sunset from the sand dunes was very rewarding.
It was a little surprising when a man appeared out of nowhere in the sand-dunes selling bottles of coke and beer from a sack he was dragging. Noting that we were sharing the view with Germans and that a number of the Clapham mob were engrossed in the frothy frenzy that is Munich during Oktoberfest, we decided to share an ale. Being India, it was not surprising when the little man who had sold us the beer informed us that he did not have a bottle opener, but that did not prevent us from accessing the lukewarm and slightly off-tasting nectar that he’d made available to us.
Completing the trifecta of Rajasthan cities beginning with the letter ‘J’, we next headed to Jaipur to rendezvous briefly with the Caradai’s (Geoff & Julie) with whom we will be travelling through Southern India and Africa with. The strong advice given to us for our African travels is not to rely on local banking systems and to arrive in Africa with enough cold hard cash to see you through your travels (which for us will be 8 weeks so not a minor amount of cashish). Unfortunately, our initial plan to pick up the cash in Mumbai as we depart India had back-fired completely and thus Geoff & Julie had come to our rescue by smuggling several thousand US dollars with them from London. So the first order of business was to extract the cash from the numerous hiding spots in their packs (thankfully Geoff had felt safe enough that there was no need to stuff it down his Y-fronts). It was quite surreal picking up large bundles of consecutively numbered clean US$20 bills.
Show me the money!
We didn’t get up to a whole lot in Jaipur, and split our time amongst trading Indian travel stories with Geoff & Julie, booking up several flights and accommodation for the plethora of weddings we’re attending in the new year and taking care of some other admin. In the evening however, we headed to the Raj Mandir cinema which is rated as one of the best cinema’s in India in which to take in some Bollywood action. Thus, we forked out £2 for the best seats in the house and took our seats for the 6.30pm screening of ‘Dabangg’.
In Hindu and without subtitles, the scene was set for an awkward couple of hours of cinematic action. The movie however was great and really easy to follow, as an Indian Chuck Norris playing a bad-ass Robin Hood sets about kicking criminal arse, wooing a lady, making peace with his father and brother and ultimately avenging the death of his mother, intermingled with the odd song and dance in good Bollywood tradition. The Matrix inspired fight scenes were a highlight, as was the crowd’s reaction to any of the justice dispensed by the main character or the appearance of a beautiful woman on screen. Definitely check out the trailer (www.youtube.com/watch?v=aO6t9p1HoWI) and keep an eye out for it in next year’s Oscar nominations.
Our next destination was Udaipur, a beautiful city set beside a man-made lake in the south-west of Rajasthan. Our time here was a little more laid back given the three day stay we had at our disposal (you have to be a special place to get three days of our time!). The sights followed a now standard formula – City Palace plus Hindu Temples divided by Holy Cows and a Crumbling City Wall equals a Rajasthan city. The setting by the lake however set Udaipur apart from our other destinations thus far and provided a more serene experience, even though the touts pervaded our every move.
In Hindu and without subtitles, the scene was set for an awkward couple of hours of cinematic action. The movie however was great and really easy to follow, as an Indian Chuck Norris playing a bad-ass Robin Hood sets about kicking criminal arse, wooing a lady, making peace with his father and brother and ultimately avenging the death of his mother, intermingled with the odd song and dance in good Bollywood tradition. The Matrix inspired fight scenes were a highlight, as was the crowd’s reaction to any of the justice dispensed by the main character or the appearance of a beautiful woman on screen. Definitely check out the trailer (www.youtube.com/watch?v=aO6t9p1HoWI) and keep an eye out for it in next year’s Oscar nominations.
Our next destination was Udaipur, a beautiful city set beside a man-made lake in the south-west of Rajasthan. Our time here was a little more laid back given the three day stay we had at our disposal (you have to be a special place to get three days of our time!). The sights followed a now standard formula – City Palace plus Hindu Temples divided by Holy Cows and a Crumbling City Wall equals a Rajasthan city. The setting by the lake however set Udaipur apart from our other destinations thus far and provided a more serene experience, even though the touts pervaded our every move.
Holy cows blocking the only foot-bridge across the lake.
Following a recommendation from Geoff & Julie, we booked in for a cooking class with a burgeoning local legend, Shashi. The lesson is provided within her very modest home which comprises a kitchen and a lounge/bedroom which she shares with her two sons. In the first part of the class we got a great insight into the Indian caste system as Shashi tells the story of how she came to run a cooking class. Widowed 8 years earlier, unable to re-marry and without the financial support of her husband’s family, life was pretty rough as they lived hand to mouth on a pittance of an income washing clothes in the lake.
By chance, one of her son’s brought some Irish tourists home who wanted to learn to cook some Indian food. Impressed with the class she provided (despite Shashi not being able to speak a word of English) word spread as it does between travellers, and the cooking class became a little more regular, with tourists helping Shashi out in return by teaching her some English, typing out the recipes and even setting up a website. Now in 2010, she hosts a class every night, usually booked out in advance, and taught in a reasonable level of English. The class was fantastic, covered everything from chai masala, through chapati, making paneer cheese and a good curry.
By chance, one of her son’s brought some Irish tourists home who wanted to learn to cook some Indian food. Impressed with the class she provided (despite Shashi not being able to speak a word of English) word spread as it does between travellers, and the cooking class became a little more regular, with tourists helping Shashi out in return by teaching her some English, typing out the recipes and even setting up a website. Now in 2010, she hosts a class every night, usually booked out in advance, and taught in a reasonable level of English. The class was fantastic, covered everything from chai masala, through chapati, making paneer cheese and a good curry.
The other notable outing in Udaipur was our visit to the city palace which, on the day we visited, was overrun with film crews. At one end of the palace, a future Bollywood blockbuster starring Akshay Kumar (gauging by the reaction of the ladies, this guy is an Indian Brad Pitt) was being filmed. In another annex, an Episode of Indian ‘Master Chef’ was underway. We got in a little trouble for photographing the contestants, given it has not gone to screen yet, but we think Joe looked a good chance for the title – looked calm, collected and the waistline suggested he’d tasted a fair amount of food in his time.
Escorted by a dozen security guards, this guy is the shiz-nitch in India.
The final destination in the north of India was the nation’s capital, Delhi. Again, based on other people’s Delhian anecdotes, we weren’t too sure that Delhi would be our cup of tea, so we arrived expecting the most vigilant touts, dirty streets and dire traffic. The timing of our arrival in Delhi however meant we got a very different experience – a city locked down and under pressure to prove to 70 other countries that India was a good choice to host the Commonwealth Games.
We arrived on the Saturday (coincidently the Big M’s birthday – Mahatma Gandhi) with the Commonwealth Games to open on the Sunday, so an especially heavy though not menacing military presence. The streets were clean, traffic light and people few and far between, mainly as an outcome of all shops being forced to close for the weekend and new laws in place that restricted access to public spaces that would normally be teeming with activity. Those parts of Delhi that didn’t fit the image to be portrayed were blocked off by road blocks and temporary fencing to advertise the Games. So while we didn’t get a true Delhi experience, the sanitised experience did us just fine.
We kept a lid on the sight-seeing, limiting it to a few landmarks including Humayan's Tomb, the Raj Path (the Indian equivalent of the Strand (London), Jefferson Drive (Washington), the Champs Elyse (Paris) or Market Street (Blenheim)), the spot where Ghandi was cremated and the impressive Jama Masjid mosque. In a bit of a paradox, the one place where access was easy and the military presence light was Jama Masjid mosque where a fortnight earlier a gunman had gunned down a couple of tourists and in a country that a few days earlier had received a court decision about the birth-place of Ram, a hugely important decision in a nation where Muslim and Hindu tension runs strong.
In amongst the sightseeing, we suffered the first major injury of the trip when Mat went over on his ankle in a deep street gutter. While it has been anything but a rare occurrence Mat stumbling in his cheap, one size too big grey flip flops, this time a precipice was crossed and judging by the swelling, ongoing pain and bruising, we think a bone in the foot was broken. Have soldiered on though and sticking with the grey flip flops before they’re retired in Africa. Another notable aspect of our time in Delhi was our recurring visits to Sam’s Cafe, a rooftop restaurant with a very affordable and tasty Indian menu. In what must have been Groundhog Day for the waiting staff, we ate lunch, dinner, lunch, dinner and lunch again at this place. And to really enforce the déjà vu moments on the friendly staff, our order remained exactly the same each time – one butter chicken, one Afghani grilled chicken and three chapatti.
These dishes really hit the spot, and given the other dubious restaurants near our hotel, we decided not to break with a good thing. The good times were such that we even forgave them the cooked maggot we found in the last chapatti on our 5th visit as a statistically insignificant event. When planning our travels, we altered our itinerary slightly once we realised we would be in India around the same time as the Commonwealth Games and thus we spent the first day of competition taking in some women’s hockey and the first swimming finals.
Given all the criticisms leading up to the Games, it was good to get a first-hand experience and now to offer our views on the Games, the views of what Indian newsreaders keep referring to as ‘the common man’. Quite noticeable to all is the lack of spectators. At the hockey we were amongst a crowd of probably 30 people within a stadium with 19,000 capacity. Unfortunately security was such that we weren’t allowed to move from our seating section to another one where there were 2 other Kiwis in attendance who humorously quipped when we bumped into them later that they’d seen us amongst the crowd at the hockey. This made us an easy picking for the TV crews looking for supporters each time New Zealand scored a goal and meant we were able to get an electoral message to the voters of Selwyn aided by a particularly dodgy looking celebratory dance.
These dishes really hit the spot, and given the other dubious restaurants near our hotel, we decided not to break with a good thing. The good times were such that we even forgave them the cooked maggot we found in the last chapatti on our 5th visit as a statistically insignificant event. When planning our travels, we altered our itinerary slightly once we realised we would be in India around the same time as the Commonwealth Games and thus we spent the first day of competition taking in some women’s hockey and the first swimming finals.
Given all the criticisms leading up to the Games, it was good to get a first-hand experience and now to offer our views on the Games, the views of what Indian newsreaders keep referring to as ‘the common man’. Quite noticeable to all is the lack of spectators. At the hockey we were amongst a crowd of probably 30 people within a stadium with 19,000 capacity. Unfortunately security was such that we weren’t allowed to move from our seating section to another one where there were 2 other Kiwis in attendance who humorously quipped when we bumped into them later that they’d seen us amongst the crowd at the hockey. This made us an easy picking for the TV crews looking for supporters each time New Zealand scored a goal and meant we were able to get an electoral message to the voters of Selwyn aided by a particularly dodgy looking celebratory dance.
A snapshot of the TV footage and a electoral notice to the people of Selwyn!
Security was being taken very seriously which you can understand given India’s recent history. This did make things a little annoying though as the closest we could get to either of the venues was about 1.5km away each time. The armed personnel were generally friendly and happy to assist with directions, but the security clearance into the stadia was inefficient, inflexible and a little puzzling at times. Amongst the long list of things you couldn’t take into the stadium was coins, pens, flags and video cameras (try finding a digital camera these days that doesn’t record video).
A commando keeps a close eye on the huge crowd at the hockey.
A military post at an intersection outside one of the venues.
Once inside the venue, you could only access the area for which your ticket applied, so despite Bay 12 of the aquatics arena being 50% empty and it being a cheaper section of the stadium than that which we were ticketed for, we were not allowed to cross the Bay 12 line to take a photo of the medal ceremony. We’re not sure what additional security risk was posed by us entering a different seating section, but the ‘computer said no’ and the man holding the gun was not prepared to break from the inane security briefing he had.
There was obviously a lot of concern in the run up to the start of the Games about venues being ready. While all venues have opened their gates on time, within the venues it is pretty clear not all is ready. At the hockey stadium, we were informed that there would hopefully be food available for purchase ‘tomorrow’, whilst the arrows to the merchandising stand at the swimming led nowhere. Keen to get a piece of memorabilia, the helpful staff gave me an address for the Commonwealth Games headquarters where they should be able to arrange something for us.
One of the good things about our time at the hockey and the swimming was that we met a couple of parents of competitors (parents probably made up 50% of the swimming crowd). At the hockey, we chatted for some time with the father of Blackstick Ella Gunson, whilst at the swimming it was the mother of British swimmer Michael Rock. It was pretty cool to see her at the end of the swimming as her son had moved up from 7th qualifier in the 200m butterfly to grab silver (an event we’d hoped to see Moss Burmeister compete in).
There was obviously a lot of concern in the run up to the start of the Games about venues being ready. While all venues have opened their gates on time, within the venues it is pretty clear not all is ready. At the hockey stadium, we were informed that there would hopefully be food available for purchase ‘tomorrow’, whilst the arrows to the merchandising stand at the swimming led nowhere. Keen to get a piece of memorabilia, the helpful staff gave me an address for the Commonwealth Games headquarters where they should be able to arrange something for us.
One of the good things about our time at the hockey and the swimming was that we met a couple of parents of competitors (parents probably made up 50% of the swimming crowd). At the hockey, we chatted for some time with the father of Blackstick Ella Gunson, whilst at the swimming it was the mother of British swimmer Michael Rock. It was pretty cool to see her at the end of the swimming as her son had moved up from 7th qualifier in the 200m butterfly to grab silver (an event we’d hoped to see Moss Burmeister compete in).
Mens 4 by 100m frestyle relay. Another gold for the Aussies.
No Kiwis on the podium on the first night unfortunately...
Our final note on Delhi is a good one, where 16 days after crossing the border we found an ‘honest’ auto rickshaw driver. To be fair, we’re not suggesting all rickshaw drivers are crims, but by honest we mean one that will put the fare on the meter and not try and take us to some dodgy overpriced silk shop to get a free petrol voucher. So it was with great excitement that we climbed out of Ashish’s rickshaw with a fare that was 80% cheaper than the one we’d negotiated going in the other direction. A generous tip was in order which Ashish hesitantly accepted. That man deserves a DB!
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