India

Our transportation options from Agra towards Rajastan were really train or car. I actually really enjoy trains, but most of the long distance trips tend to be overnight, and in the yellow-windowed, air-conditioned carriages it’s actually quite hard to see anything of the countryside flying by, so we decided to continue our journey with a hired car and driver. We found a company called Rajastan Four Wheel Drive online, and trialed them with the relatively short trek from Agra to Jaipur. Despite the fact that we hadn’t requested AC in the car, it was quickly found to be broken when we set out, and – although frankly we would have been more than happy to continue the journey sans AC – the car company insisted on sending another car out from Jaipur to meet us along the way. Talk about customer service!!!

The restoration progress made since my last visit just three years ago is staggering. For a little baksheesh, we were able to get past this door to see some conservation work in progress.

After just one day in Jaipur, we were a little antsy to get moving, and we decided to use the same car company for our onward journey through Rajastan and ultimately to Delhi.

On our way to Jaisalmer, and really more to give the driver a break than anything else, we stopped overnight at Jodhpur. We were very glad we did! Mahrangarh Fort turned out to be a must-see of our Indian leg, and in terms of scale and beauty has to be one of the more memorable Indian forts. Taking advantage of a natural bluff that sits more than 100 metres above the surrounding area, the Fort was started by ruler Rao Jodha in 1489, and – in addition to the palaces and courtyards that we viewed - comprises an extremely impressive wall that is more than 20 metres wide and 30 metres tall in places!

Even though we were among the Fort’s first visitors of the day, our stroll up to the red sandstone palaces was accompanied by live local musicians including a young man with an excellent singing voice playing a stringed instrument of sorts. The path into the heart of the fort was laid out in an ‘S’ shape, apparently this was so that charging elephants wouldn’t be able to build momentum when they attacked the fort.

Easily the most impressive fort of our visit. It would have been a tragedy to have driven right by it....

What is notable about this fort versus a number of other sites we have had the good fortune to experience here in India was the quality of the visitor experience. For the first time, we had a high quality, informative and well-produced audio tour, and the fort itself had been very well prepared for visitors and – indeed – was being very well maintained. There were even attractive looking cafes and a high quality museum gift shop! Did we wake up back in the US today? We wondered if improving the Mehrangarh Fort tourist experience had been someone’s MBA project at some point?

Images from our memorable morning at Mehrangarh Fort.

In case the photos don't do the trick, we’d highly recommend a visit to Jodhpur’s Mehrangarh Fort. That said, we don’t think we missed too much by heading straight out of town immediately after our visit, anxious to get to Jaisalmer by mid afternoon. The drive took us through Rajastan’s centres for stone carving and cement before finally we turned off the Tata-intensive road and found a far more peaceful route, ever-more sandy and desolate. The constant need to slow for animals reminded us of our time in Africa, although here we’re dodging camels, herds of sheep and goats and the omni-present cows. Herds of sheep and goats make their way comfortably along the road before our Toyota Innova splits the herd. As we pass, we see red or yellow-turbaned shepherds rush to re-group the herd. There’s no time for a friendly wave at the passing tourists here.

Jaisalmer appears on the horizon and does not disappoint. Similar to Jodhpur, the Fort is situated on a natural bluff, with an impressive wall of 99 bastions surrounding it entirely. However, Jaisalmer is a living Fort which means that about 300 families still make their homes within the Fort walls. We’re excited to have found a hotel within the walls, and – since no ‘outside’ vehicles are permitted – we’re whisked up the Fort’s bumpy roads in a Tuk-Tuk and delivered to the Garh Jaisal hotel. It’s a beautiful setting, undeniably, and our hotel room includes a really cute window seat overlooking the walls and the city. The large roof terrace also offers great views. The room is basic but clean. And yet we will leave the hotel conflicted for reasons we’ll discuss a little later.

So – Jaisalmer! Even older than Jodhpur, having been established in 1156 by Maharaja Jaisal (hence the name!). Establishing his namesake town here, Jaisal fulfilled a prophecy by Lord Krishna that descendents would rule from the flat-topped, slightly inclining rock of Tricuta (which is the rock on which Jaisalmer is built). Just like the founder of Jodphur, Jaisal sought the advice of a mystic for the fort’s location and was not put off by the warning that a fort on Tricuta would be sacked more than once. In fact, the fort’s defences held against several prolonged and vicious attacks, but nonetheless the prophecy became true when – on at least two occasions – the Bhatti clan proclaimed ‘johar’. Johar involved the suicide of all women and children in the fort, usually by fire, before all the men rode out to meet certain death. At least the men were hopped up on opium – the women had to jump into the flames with nothing more than determination! Who says women are the weaker sex? This was considered a more honourable end than defeat.

Happily, Lloyd and I were not besieged here for seven years, but I would say that ‘johar’ might have been an attractive option if we’d had to stay too much longer than three nights – the food here is awful: I dream of fresh oranges and a roast dinner, while Lloyd lusts after chocolate chip cookies and an ice-cold glass of milk. But we’re probably a few months away from those things, still, and we console ourselves with Frommer’s promise of a really good meal in Hanoi on Saturday night.

Food aside, the Fort is unquestionably impressive. We had terrific fun wandering through the labyrinth of Jaisalmer’s streets, dodging alleyway-wide cows, cow pats, traders who try and guilt you into their shops, and dogs practically comatose from the heat. With its quaint narrow streets, cobbles and beautiful stone carvings, Jaisalmer should offer the promise of being a really cute old town to walk around, like York in England, Corfu in Greece, or even Venice sans canals.

But the reality is sadly very far from that. For one thing it stinks like, well, poo. Human, cow, dog or otherwise. Streets and buildings are in various states of disrepair. Even if some buildings have been renovated, the wall of the Fort itself looks in need of investment. Most concerning of all, the Fort – built in the arid desert hundreds and hundreds of years ago – was simply not designed to manage waste water in any quantity. This is an area where a child can grow to be seven years of age without experiencing rainfall, so for most of its life the Fort has been extraordinarily dry. Now, it’s ancient foundations are being required to absorb the quantities of water associated with western style tourism: hot running showers, flush toilets and what have you. The impact on the Fort is visible: the moisture in the walls can be seen rising several feet. And this isn’t hard granite we’re talking about, it’s basically sandstone that will be dissolved away over time. Some areas of wall have already been marked as ‘dangerous’ due to fear of collapse, and the most dramatic estimates suggest that unless something changes the entire Fort could collapse in as little as a couple of decades.

According to our Rajastani driver, the local Government will – at some point – step in and simply move all the families out of the Fort. In the meantime, it seems like companies like Lonely Planet are doing what they can by advising travelers to take hotel rooms and meals outside the Fort (we haven’t checked this, but assume that’s the reason for this sign we found within the Fort walls). Frankly, knowing what we know now, we’d support this boycott wholeheartedly and regret our ill-informed stay within the Fort walls. While we always try to do what we can to minimize the impact of our travels on the environment, it was notable that the hotel made no attempt to advise us on the need to conserve water. With the dramatic growth in tourism in Jaisalmer, the community needs to learn – fast – about sustainable tourism, or there could literally be no Fort to visit here.

After only one night in India, it’s clear (and I confess that I am very surprised to find) that Lloyd shares my passion for the country and I’m already regretting not allowing more time here to explore beyond the Golden Triangle and Rajastan. More than any other place I’ve been to, India isn’t a country to be understood through a list of attractions ‘to do’: I’d take driving around in a tuk-tuk over ticking off the Taj Mahal anyday. We unanimously agree that India is somewhere we need to devote more time to than we have this trip, although that doesn’t really make us feel much better about the accelerated schedule that sees us travelling from Varanasi to Delhi in just nine days.

On Tuesday, we catch a mid-afternoon train from Varanasi to Agra. As we booked the tickets online (an experience by the way – I had to giggle at the quota allocations broken down into tens of categories: there’s probably a special category for divorced, one-legged leprosy sufferers in there somewhere), we stopped by the Foreigners’ ticket office in Varanasi to confirm our seats. It was quite a revelation, and not in the way you think. Now, we recognize that as thirty-something kind-of-backpackers we’re probably in the minority when it comes to global travel, but we hadn’t – in our three months on the road – yet come across the stereo-typical young ‘traveller’. And now, here in Varanasi, we see not one, but a pair of ‘them’.

Unshaven (both male, happily), matted long hair worn in dreadlocks and tied back with a rag, wearing t-shirts that had clearly been deliberately mutilated so they covered not quite enough skin and hung off pathetically scrawny shoulders. Covering their legs, I’m not sure if the clothing would be described as a skirt or trousers, but the ‘uniform’ is required to be brightly coloured, and of course the more dirt the better. The more battered and ripped the backpack the better, but the mistake Lloyd and I are making is restricting ourselves to the one pack. No one told us the uniform requires more individual pieces than you can possibly carry, and that one of the pieces must be in the shape of a guitar. The final requirement is a facial expression that at a minimum shows a lack of interest in anything, but even better suggests several months of substance abuse. One of our two “models” sat for the hour we were in the office with his mouth gaping open, staring with great interest at a mouldy patch on the wall.

Aside from the two ‘authentic’ young travellers and the two oldies (that would be us), the office was filled with maybe half a dozen smartly dressed, young Japanese. I guess there’s a growing trend for Japanese backpackers out there? Anyway, comfortable in our relatively clean clothes and streamlined baggage, we speculate on his boss's reaction if Lloyd were to report back to work in January having been transformed into a ‘real’ traveller…..

But I digress. When the train pulls into Varanasi at 1550, we find our carriage – the highest class of service on this train – marked as 2AC, which means two tier, air-conditioned. It’s unnervingly quiet, and we ask whoever we can find whether we’re in the right carriage. Hell, we don’t even know if we’re on the right train when it pulls out at 1602. Nonetheless, we set about securing our packs so we can try and get some sleep tonight. We later find out from the ticket inspector that the train is expected to fill up when it reaches Lucknow which is roughly halfway between Varanasi and Agra.

After our sleep-starved night fighting incoming rainwater in Varanasi, we are drowsy as soon as dusk falls, and Lloyd is quickly asleep in the bottom bunk. I take the top bunk, with the two backpacks secured to the train’s alarm above my head. If someone tries to move the bags tonight, the entire train will come to a complete halt, which indeed proves to be an effective deterrent.

Our luxurious accommodations for the night. You can just about see how Lloyd secured our bags around the train's alarm!

We do wake as the train fills with chatty Indians in Lucknow around midnight, and then sporadically as the overzealous air-conditioning threatens to freeze us solid (hey, we paid for it, we got it in buckets!). Just as we settle into a nice snooze in the early hours, it’s time to get up and prepare for our arrival into Agra at 6am. The train around us continues to sleep, but there we are – two faux travelers (the real, uniformed guys must be in the three-tiered carriage) – waiting for a station that simply refuses to materialize.

Someone could have told us that the train was running three hours late ;o)

This is very bad news for me because it means that the probability of me avoiding using the train’s toilet has just reduced dramatically. The fact that half of India seems to be taking care of their own morning business right outside my window – on the railway embankment or in fields – isn’t helping. I’ve got so good at avoiding going that I’m probably causing long term damage (just kidding, Mum!). To be fair, I’ve yet to see anything in India that even comes close to China, but I was expecting to be in my clean hotel bathroom several hours ago! I sit, cross-legged, praying for AGRA CANT to be the next station we pull into.

Finally, we do arrive in Agra, stinking of urine which pervaded the blankets that had been essential to our air-conditioning survival overnight. Now, we mentioned before that this trip would include some pockets of decadence, and Agra was one of them. With reservations at the Agra Amarvilas Hotel, we are greeted by a red-turban clad driver who had waited three hours for us. I’m sure we were something of a disappointment: we’ve slept in our clothes. We stink of someone-else’s – hell, half of India’s – urine. And we carry no nice luggage, but two backpacks. Nonetheless, he welcomes us warmly and we climb into the most luxurious car in India for the half hour drive to the hotel.

The view from Room 422. Yours for 29 cents a minute.....

The Amarvilas hotel is located about half a kilometer from the Taj Mahal, and every room offers an uninterrupted view. Don’t get me wrong, the view is almost priceless, but the inflated prices associated with everything else in the hotel means that Lloyd and I could be living on crackers for the next two days. After a long shower, the breakfast buffet is welcome, but frankly disappointing for this level of hotel (and the associated price tag). You can’t fault the service or the location, but we fail to find any semblance of value-for-money in terms of food and beverage or concierge services during our time here.

But of course, we’re only here for one thing: the Taj Mahal. And we do have a splendid view from our room. As the day draws to a close, it looks – for a few minutes – as if the sunset could be glorious, so we rush out of the hotel and into the golf cart that will deliver us to the gates of the Taj Mahal. (I know, apparently Amarvilas residents are physically incapable of the half kilometre walk, although to be fair the cowpats and camel droppings probably make it a little precarious in the dark). By the time we get there, accompanied by our own security guard from the hotel (!), it’s clear that the sunset will be far from spectacular, so we decide invest our 750 rupees (almost $US20!) each tomorrow.

Down by the river at sunset... cheaper than tickets into the Taj

Instead, we are guided by thirteen year old Ashu (who wants to take us to his uncle’s marble shop) down the side of the Taj Mahal walls towards the river. The hotel’s security guard runs after us, and tries to direct us back to the Taj entrance. But within a few minutes, we find ourselves on a boat taking us across the river for an alternative view of the Taj. The light isn’t great, and really we enjoy the interaction with Ashu and the armed police perhaps more than our viewing of the Taj. The boat driver serenades us as he sails back to shore, where he implores us not to disclose how much we paid for the ride. Apparently, the police will expect half of the 200 rupees we paid, so we are asked to fib a little and proclaim we paid only 100 rupees.

Me taking a picture of Lloyd taking a picture of me taking a picture of Lloyd taking a picture of me..... oh yes, and the Taj Mahal

When we get back to the main Taj entrance, it is pitch black and the walk back to the hotel is unappealing, especially the need to run the gauntlet with the tens of young kids attempting to guilt us into visiting their father’s/uncle’s/cousin’s/grandfather’s store. To the security guard’s credit, he had been so concerned about our back-alley detour, that he is ready with the golf cart and a turban-clad driver to whisk us back to the ‘safety’ of our hotel. It occurs to us that many people come to India and allow themselves to be whisked from attraction to attraction and back to their super-luxury hotels, completely failing to experience anything of India at all.

On Thursday, we plan to visit both the Agra Fort and the Taj Mahal. Agra Fort is a massive, red sandstone, walled Fort built in the mid to late sixteenth century. Most of the Fort is still actively used by the Indian military and cannot be visited, but the remainder is a UNESCO Heritage Site. We heard from the hotel driver that serious steps are being taken to reduce pollution in the city of Agra in order to preserve both the Fort and its more famous neighbour, the Taj Mahal. Certainly, it was clear that work was underway to both conserve and renovate the site.

Improvements underway. On top of one of the domes, one young man took the time to wave for the camera!

From the Fort, there's quite a nice view of the Taj. I had a great picture taken from here three years ago with my Dad, so we decide to try and get a good piccie of Lloyd from the same spot. With so many Indians around, the outlook is not hopeful, but we've found on the trip that a little patience is usually enough to get the photo you want.

Crowds of tourists .....

.... plus a little patience .....

... results in a great piccie of Lloyd and the Taj!

And so finally to the Taj! This morning we woke at 0530 to find the Taj completely socked in with fog, making an early morning visit unattractive relative to a few more hours of sleep! Happily, when we visit in the middle of Thursday, it isn’t as busy as I was expecting, and we also benefit from a little blue sky which we really haven’t seen since we left Tibet. The vast majority of visitors are domestic tourists, but we are pleased to find that Indian groups are infinitely more pleasant than Chinese groups. We’re frankly a little lost not having to defend ourselves from the pushing, line-jumping, and spitting that we’ve become so accustomed to. Only smiling faces and brightly coloured saris all around us. Perhaps the most authentic way to experience the Taj isn’t alone at sunrise, but with several hundred Indians!

The wonder of the Taj is the fact that it’s impossible to take a bad picture of the thing, somehow it even seems to make us better looking.... maybe a little bit?

We take our ‘calendar’ picture and then walk the perimeter of the Taj gardens, where we find stone-carving and gardening teams at rest. For a little baksheesh, you can take a picture of anything around here, so I pay my ten rupees to pose with the bull-powered lawn mower!

Yes, those horns HAVE been painted green.......?!

In fact, we should start asking for a little baksheesh ourselves; during our visit, we are photographed maybe a dozen times, often by the ‘official’ photographers carefully posing Indian visitors.

After two nights in Agra, we – and our bank manager – are ready to escape the weird world of super-luxury Indian hotels. We are as unimpressive in our departure as we were in our arrival – we’ve hired a car and driver of course, but it’s a tatty looking Tata Indica that is announced for us, rather than one of the hotel’s gleaming limousines.

You wouldn't know this is an Indian chipmunk unless you heard its accent

The fierce storm that met us as we landed in Varanasi, India, turned out to be a fitting metaphor for my first 24 hours in this country of stark contrasts. While I had seen many pictures and video from Jacquie’s first trip here 3 years ago, I don’t think anything could have prepared me for the dizzyingly hectic pace, the diversity of the population, the array of bright colors, nor the unexpected warm and open human interactions. Certainly India was immediately a storm on my senses, with a completely positive impact.

Varanasi is about the root of the Indian culture. It is a holy city situated on the banks of the Ganga (aka Ganges) river: lifeblood and mother of India. Impossible to sum up her significance simply, she is a place where the people of India come to celebrate life, to seek miracles in her waters, to make pilgrimage and ultimately, for some lucky few, to die and be washed away in her flow. As such an important place, Jacquie put us directly in the middle of it all, selecting a hotel right on the water, between two of the busiest ghats (stairways leading to the water, used for differing ritual acts, like prayer, bathing, cremation) on the riverfront in the Rashmi Hotel.

Our first night treated us to uncharacteristic weather – monsoon like strong gusting winds, and heavy rains. Exiting the plane, Jacquie was hit by a gust so strong, it blew her glasses off her face from the top of the jetway stairs. I made a dash at the bottom to get them, before they were crushed by ground crew, or sucked into the intake! We made our way from the airport by car, then by cycle rickshaw, and finally on foot through a labyrinth of alleyways and cows leading us ultimately to our destination. At once tired yet exhilarated, we were also treated to the celebration of India’s victory over Pakistan in the first World Twenty20 World Cup of Cricket. Storms battering our windows, with a flood of rain seeping through, we were kept awake by the addition of screams of exhalation and fireworks until the early hours. Nothing could dampen Indian spirits – not even unexpected monsoon rains!

Our day in Varanasi left us touched. We awoke early after our short night to take a boat ride up the river to experience the essence of Varanasi: life on the water. Here people pray, bathe, celebrate, sell, beg, buy, worship and, for some, die. It is all the smallest and biggest things in life along a ½ mile stretch of water. Water that, while brown and murky with the debris and detritus of everyday life floating by, it is worshipped, drank straight and bottled for home-bound consumption as medicine for the body and soul. More than life being on the river, life IS the river.

Whether boating or walking along the mud lined banks, it is all here. You pass by a rush of colors, smells, sights and sounds, yet nothing simply passes you by: crows picking at a floating, bloated, hairless dead cow; brown and white goats (big ones!) menacing visitors; pottery washed up and half-buried in mud along the banks; naked men, women and children bathing or doing laundry; yogis in yellow, faces painted or not, smiling, staring, chanting, singing; monkeys swinging wildly, throwing themselves up and down trees, buildings and temple walls; flower sellers peddling yellow and red marigold chains to adorn people’s necks; golden shrouded dead bodies lying on bamboo stretchers angling towards the river along the ghat stairs waiting for their turns on the funeral pyre; smoke announcing another in an endless 24-hour procession of cremations; temples spires accenting the sloping, undulating edgewater skyline; and boats, endless boats of tarred wood or painted metal with oars or diesel inboards bobbing, floating, rowing, motoring, bumping, even sinking, along the water. Always it comes back to the water. Ganga. Life. A never ending steady pulsing flow.

Setting out after our morning, we spent time in the labyrinthine alleyways and the main road just up from our hotel. As we walked, we were swarmed by people, bicycles and rickshaws – both auto and manual – and nothing could stop or move the flow of traffic. Nothing but – you guessed it – holy cows, Batman! The sea of humanity parted, we walked a bit close by one such holy beast, and as Jacquie passed (not quickly enough) by, it reared its holy head and horned her in the back of the thigh! Holy Bad Karma, Batman!

Walking later along the water after our first foray by boat, I passed a sign reading “Yoga Training Centre”. Being the child I am, I sat next to it, struck a very un-Yoga pose and looked for Jacquie to take my picture. Eyes shut for the picture, I opened them to find some Indian ladies passing by. Instead of a reprimand (which I probably deserved due to my antics!), I received a quick incantation lesson from one of them. She coached me on the proper mantra, smiled, and went on their way as sun began to break through the morning clouds. It left us smiling as well, and when we saw them passing on a boat not 10 minutes later, they beckoned to us to join them. Having just completed our own ride, we demurred at first before giving in and joining them. After all, the price was better than out first ride – what could we lose??

Lose we did not, but what we gained was more than we could have hoped – certainly more than just another boat ride. In just 45 minutes on the water, we gained better insight and warmth than we could have hoped on our own. First hand, we got to experience the Ganga and the banks of Varanasi with visiting pilgrims. For no certain reason, other than perhaps our smiles and foreign looks, these ladies invited us to join them on their holy ride. One spoke excellent English and chatted with us about the river and its meaning to them, while the others communicated with us through gestures, smiles and bright eyes. The ride ended, we parted ways with invitations to visit their homes, and genuinely kind words.

It is almost impossible to describe what we got from our ride in that boat, suffice it to say we made our way from the banks of the river with deep appreciation of India’s warmth: her people, her culture and her grand diversity. These ladies shared their time, gave us each a blessing with their holy Ganga water, and somehow imparted on us each a sudden calmness and sense of peace. Noon still some time away, we felt our day complete, our trip to Varanasi richer than we could have hoped, and our start in India magical. India is life at its purest. As soon as you think adrenaline has subsuded, you get another chance to feel the pulse again – and at checkout from our hotel, we got another opportunity to experience one of the iconic modes of Indian transport : the “Tuk-Tuk” or Auto rickshaw!

The auto-rickshaw is many things to many people– transport, taxi, pickup-truck. For those of us from the west, it can be a thrill-ride, a rollercoaster, or an absolute terror, as you sit inches behind a driver steering the single wheel up front of this metal framed passenger cage throught harrowing traffic situations. The tuk-tuk drivers seems trained to know the absolute limits of their vehicles, from the width and height to a millimeter, to the absolute top speeds possible to bob and weave through the ever-presetn flow of vehicular, human and animal traffic, as well as dealing with multiple obstacles and road conditions. Needeless to say, sittin ginthe back of a tuk-tuk is hairy enough, much less doing it with large backpacks on your laps and knees hanging precariously out of the side of these little death-traps. Not our first ride and by no means our last, the tuk-tuk is literally a moving event not to be missed in India. It is perhaps the best way to experience the essence of India and get to the heart of her excitement.

My senses still tingling, we prepare to move onwards to our next stop: the magical white spires of the Taj Mahal in Agra, India!