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Jodhpur: Diwali at the Blue City
Posted by daveb on December 5th, 2008
Across India, people are celebrating Diwali — the festival of light. Here in Jodhpur, the blue city, I gather that this has been translated over the years to mean that six year-old children let off impossibly loud firecrackers in the impossibly narrow streets; giggling in delight as tourists like me run for cover to lessen the risk of losing a much-needed leg. Or arm. The scallywags kept me up all night with their booms and bangs, some of which were so loud that I thought the roof might fall-in on me. In fairness, my fear was somewhat justified as, whilst sat atop the hotel terrace, the staff had to throw buckets of water over the thatch roof to douse the flames of an incoming stray missile. (Sorry, the photo doesn’t really do the story justice as I only got to my camera after the flames had been put out.) I finally got to sleep at about 3am after the biggest of the booms had moved on.
Until 5am the next day, that is, at which point the morning matinée performance fired-up. Knowing I was beaten, I dragged myself out of bed and back up onto the roof terrace to take in the sunrise as it revealed the fort and the blue-wash walls of the city below. I watched monkeys skillfully parkour across the rooftops in search of tidbits left by the previous night’s diners on the city’s haveli terraces. In a way, I’m grateful to the little firework-wielding mites for getting me out of bed to witness this amazing spectacle.
As a true Brit, I waited until the hottest part of the day to embark upon the twenty minute energy-sapping climb to the fort and take in the fine, blue cityscape. I didn’t venture into the museum for two reasons: (1) museums and temples aren’t really my thing and, (2) I discovered that I needed a ticket. (Cheapskate tip: I mistakenly thought that one only had to pay for the audio-tour and entrance to the museum. I later realised that I had walked through the exit gate and got a free gawp at the views from the fort walls; which was all I wanted really.)
Particularly amusing were the disaffected, traditional musicians who refused to play for tourists unless they were paid in advance. I’ll try to upload a video of them here — notice how their hands go up to a off-screen cameraman who tries to take a photo without first putting his hand in his pocket.
Jodhpur photo gallery:
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Jaipur to Jodhpur: Deluxe bus. Really?
Posted by daveb on December 4th, 2008
Before Squiffy arrives in Jaipur, I’m going west to visit Jodhpur for a little photographic tour. The famous blue city lies in the shadow of Rajasthan’s best preserved mountain fort. I had originally planned to squeeze in a more adventurous trip further west to also include Jaisalmer, an inhabitied desert fort. I decided against this because I’ve only got four days until Squiffy gets here and two towns with over thirty hours travel is probably a bit ambitous at this stage.
Organising train journeys in India is a bit of a pain in the bum as the locals reserve seats well in advance and most services are generally full before us last-minute backpackers formulate our plans. Indeed, part of the fun in backpacking is staying longer, or shorter, at places without being tied-down to transport but I’m not sure that it’s going to get much traction here. I managed to pre-book one of the few remaining places on the train coming back from Jodhpur to Jaipur in a few days, but had to take to the bus to get to Jodhpur in the first place as the train was all booked-out. (Hope that made sense!)
Being my first long-distance bus trip in India, I deliberately and conservatively chose a “deluxe air-con” bus to get me to where I’m going. There was a fairly smart, European-standard Volvo coach in the bay when I bought the ticket, making clear that I wanted to spend my 7-8 hours on a “bus like that”. What arrived, however, was an entirely different proposition! Having said that, being the start of the Diwali festival, there were only a handful of us on the bus and, in fairness, the driver transported us safely and–unexpectedly–at very reasonable speeds too.
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Jaipur: A breath of not-so-fresh air
Posted by daveb on December 4th, 2008
To be honest with you, I got bored with Goa. I thought that I’d spend my fortnight “sans Squiffy” sat on a beach reading books supping Pina Coladas surrounded by girls in grass skirts. In planning this, one thing I forgot is that I’m really not that much of a beach person. Worse, to explore the further reaches of Goa, one really needs to hire a motor-scooter. And nobody wears a helmet here. After meeting more than one holidaymaker who had come-a-cropper on (or should that be off?) his bike, I decided against getting two wheels of my own — if I didn’t kill me, then my mother certainly would.
Instead, I took a flight much further north to Jaipur in Rajasthan, where I’ll be meeting Squiffy in a few days, and will explore the local area a little bit. So here I am already, in the Pink City and I must tell you, that I’m loving it — helped in no small part by the midrange hotel at which I’m staying. Alright, so it’s costing a ridiculous four times more than my room in Goa did but, hey, all the budget places I called were fully booked, ok?
This medium-sized city of 3.7 million people provides an interesting contrast to the sleepy towns of Goa. I’m much more of a city bod than a beach bum, so I’m really pleased to be here and have spent the day with a beaming grin on my face as I wander around the relatively busy streets sucking in the sights, smells and noises of the place. The transport here provides great entertainment: I’m seen buses, cars, autorickshaws, pedal rickshaws, horses, elephants and even cows on the road! The cows are my favourite as they’re sacred in Hindu texts, so woe betide any driver who hits one. The cows of course know this well and mooch around the streets like the religious idols that they are and the traffic filters around them like the smoked-air in an engineer’s wind tunnel channels around a solid object.
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Baga: Swimming is suicide!
Posted by daveb on December 3rd, 2008
The undertow is so strong here on Baga beach, Goa, that I haven’t dared go into the sea for a dip above my ankles. The sign at the entrance to the beach offers a strongly- (and hilariously-) worded warning. That’s not to say that it hasn’t stopped most of the few hundred Indian holidaymakers from taking their chances — and I’m told that very few of them know how to swim. Good luck, you crazy folks!
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Goa: Computer Rage
Posted by daveb on December 3rd, 2008
Dear UK Computer User,
You really don’t know how good you’ve got it. If you don’t believe me, click on these photos to see the computer on which I’m writing to you.
Warm regards, daveb.
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Anjuna: Hippie and fleas
Posted by daveb on December 2nd, 2008
Rather than face falling–helmetless–off a moped, I splashed out to the tune of 350 INR (£4.38) to hire a taxi driver for a few hours to take me to the famed Anjuna flea market in Goa. Anjuna is one of the last surviving hippie resorts in Goa, as I’m told that most have retreated elsewhere following the government’s crackdowns on raves, drugs and nude sunbathing coupled with the influx of “uncoll” package tourists.
Still, the market was alive and well. I’m not big into shopping for tat, so Anthony (my driver) and I spent much of the time sat at the market cafe discussing the demographics of the tourist crowd; nowadays mostly Israeli and Russian.
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Calangute: Food, glorious food!
Posted by daveb on December 1st, 2008
For the past couple of days, something in my head had taken away my appetite and stopped me from eating any more than a few nibbles of food, even when I force myself to eat. At last, I’m pleased to report that I’ve found a rather spiffing “pure veg” restaurant in Calangute and, safe in the knowledge that anything I order will only contain vegetables, I actually managed to finish a meal. Hooray!
Naturally, the meal wasn’t without its challenges. When the plate arrived, I was surprised to be greeted by what can only be described as a edible graduation-style mortar board hat. Sensing that I hadn’t a clue how best to eat my food, the wait staff formed a line in front of my table and looked-on with glee and giggles as I set about the task of eating it with a fork and spoon. It was only after several rounds of back-and-forth broken English, that they were able to communicate to me that I was supposed to break pieces off with my hands and roll it into the sauce.
I record this note here for anyone else that is presented with a Indian mortar-board “dosa” for lunch. Break it, then roll it. Now you know!
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Calangute: Where are the smarter hotels?
Posted by daveb on November 28th, 2008
I didn’t get much sleep last night, the thought of sharing my bed with the bugs kept me awake much of the night. Today, I decided to raise my budget and go in search of better accommodation, with air-conditioning at least. My guidebook paints the next Goan town, Calangute, as the package tourist hotspot and I was expecting to see some ugly, but hopefully clean, large beachside hotels — I needn’t have bothered; there aren’t any. I’ve since been told that there are some nicer ones further inland and along the coast, but they’re way more money. Actually, where I’m staying in Baga appears to be much nicer than anything here (and half the price too). Plus, I’ve really warmed to the staff — for the first time in my life, I’ve got a “room boy” and there’s nothing that’s too much trouble for him. In preparation for night number two with the bugs, he’s burning lemongrass and mosquito coils. My concern is now: will I survive a night in this smoke-filled room?
Before coming to India everyone, but everyone, warned me that getting “Delhi Belly” (i.e. diarrhoea) was a nasty certainty and that Imodium would become my best friend. As such, I’ve developed a deep mistrust of anything going into my mouth and have almost totally lost my appetite. Instead of rushing in as much foodstuffs into my gob as possible, I’ve temporarily turned into a ‘picker’ and prod things around on my plate, forcing myself to nibble a little to get some nutrients. It’s a real shame because Indian food, in the UK, is amongst my favourite and I’m not known to leave anything on my plate. Ever. I really hope that I get over this psychological barrier soon, else by the time Claire joins me I’ll look like a garden rake. Mind you, I might have discovered a way to make my million: the “Xenophobe’s Diet”. Bring a bunch of overweight, xenophobic British tourists to India and let them choose whatever they like off the menu, just so long as it’s not translated. Brilliant, no?
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STOP PRESS: We are not in Mumbai, are safe and well
Posted by daveb on November 27th, 2008
We are safe and well.
You’ll know that Mumbai (Bombay) has been sadly rocked by several terrorist blasts and shootings. To save anyone from worrying about us, I’m queue-jumping the forthcoming posts that will shortly be published on India to let you know that we are currently–on 27th November–in Kolkata (Calcutta), India, the opposite side of this vast country. We are leaving tomorrow for Singapore. (Actually, we should have arrived in Thailand today but Bangkok airport is closed due to political protests and our flight cancelled. We’re postponing our trip to Thailand and the surrounding area as there’s trouble down south near Malaysia and fighting north-east with Cambodia too.)
We also wanted to express our condolences to anyone and everyone involved in both the Mumbai terrorism and the Bangkok protests. Here’s hoping that this part of the world settles down soon and that the needless bloodshed stops.
Love, daveb & Squiffy.
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Baga: Bugs to keep me company
Posted by daveb on November 27th, 2008
I gather that the Western holidaymaker season hasn’t started in Goa yet; December and January are the busy months, by Indian standards. From taking to a few folks here, it also seems that the hippies have mostly moved on too. There are a few hundred Indian tourists, however, mostly down from Mumbai (Bombay) for their jollies. I had a fairly frustrating first day here: tired off the plane, I had the nearly-forgotten nonsense of arranging a reasonably priced taxi ride from the airport and then the hunt for the reasonably priced hotel (of course, the taxi drivers are on commission and take you to wherever pays most first). After thanking him for his services, I went on my way alone and managed to find the best of a questionable bunch for about 400 Rs. (£5) a night. It’s about the cheapest in the area, and arguably the best without tripling the money. Unfortunately, my small room does not have air-conditioning and it’s really hot and humid here. Not a patch on the UAE but, with nowhere to hide, I find myself standing under a cold shower at least three times a day to try and bring down my body temperature.
I had a culture shock moment on the first night and was surprised at how I freaked-out at the various bugs and critters in and around the room. During my walk along the beach, I nearly stepped on a fat snake and came back to the hotel to see my first Inian tiger (see photo). At night, I spent the best part of five minutes chasing a inch-long cockroach around my room. It successfully escaped (those things are fast) and hid somewhere underneath the bed, which meant that I couldn’t get to sleep for fear of retaliation in the night. Frustrated, after not falling asleep by 2am, I decided to shut-off the ceiling fan to see if the noise was responsible for keeping me awake. Cue high-pitched zizzing sounds from a mosquito who, I then realised, had already bitten me four times. Light back on, I tracked it around the room with my shoe until I eventually sandwiched it between the wall and the sole. Success, I thought, and then noticed that the specks of dirt on the wall were actually moving. Little ticks, or something, and lots of then too. So there I was a 2.05am shambolically erecting my ill-fitting mosquito net, knowing full well that these ticks were way smaller than the holes in the mesh of my safety net and so could pass through unhindered.
It seems that I have become rather used to my sister’s luxury apartment in the Middle East. I’m sure that this’ll all pass over me in a few days time, but for now I’m flinching at every flying insect that comes over to say hello.
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