When my partner and I were considering our honeymoon, we knew it had to be special. It's a one-off opportunity, and probably / hopefully the last holiday in 20 years that won't involve children!
We thought initially that we were going to travel through France and stay in luxury chateaux along the way. Al has not really been to rural France and I remember those holidays as a child as some of my favourites ever! The idea of visiting the Loire and taking him to the Dordgone and sitting in a courtyard restaurant in a lovely french village just seemed wonderfully romantic and relaxing.
But then we realised that we will be able to do that any time (perhaps without the luxury of the chateaux) even with children.
So we got thinking and realised that what we had both always wanted to do was to go to India. We had both had Indian housemates in the past who had cooked us delicious curries and introduced us to a world of spices and cooking techniques - Indian was our favourite cuisine.
We practically lived in India, having bought a flat in Tooting with an Indian majority population, and with a plethora of shops oozing with all kinds of Indian fruit and vegetables, sweets and breads, sarees and shoes and gold jewellery.
We felt a connection to India in a way that we didn't feel for any other country and we knew that we had to go there.
So we went to sit with a lovely girl in Trailfinders who guided us as to what we could expect from India and what would be the best way for us to see it all.
I think that whilst discussing it, we realised that the conventional idea of a relaxing and luxurious honeymoon was quite clearly out of the window, and that if we really wanted to experience such culture and diversity, that we would really have to forfeit our cocktails on the beach and fruit baskets.
But that seemed fine to us. The couple on the table next to us were booking their honeymoon in the Maldives and as wonderful as it sounds, it can't begin to fill me with the excitement that India had to offer. The thought of sitting on a secluded beach and being served champagne by your personal waiter and not having to leave the hotel at all, would be very enticing if it were just for one day, but two weeks of that would leave me restless and bored.
Our trip advisor suggested we join a tour to get the most out of our trip. We knew we could only afford a two week trip so knew that we had to try and fit in all the best bits if possible. So we started going through all of the options. And we stumbled upon the most wonderful trip - really once we saw it, there was no looking elsewhere, it was perfect for us!!
We set off on our Food Lovers' India trip a week after the wedding. We'd had a lovely week of visiting family and uploading wedding photos to share with friends, and dishing out left-over wedding cake, and eating the remainders of our buffet as a mediterranean mezze each day, and we were just about ready to leave the wedding behind and embark on our Indian adventure.
We packed our backpacks several times, each time omitting more unneccessaries until our bags weighed a mere 15 kilos each. I'd been shopping the week before, unsatisfied with all that my summer wardrobe had to offer and knowing that out of all of our holiday albums, this would be the one to show the kids in years to come. I had to try and look half-decent!
Anyway, a lot of that got left behind in favour of kaftans and shorts.
We hauled our bags onto our backs and set off on our adventure.
25 metres later, at the end of our road, we spotted a taxi, and after a bit of negotiating we got him to drop us off at the station!!
Settling onto the plane as the only white Brits onboard and with a whole row to ourselves, we exchanged excited glances and got out our India book, wondering where we could go for our first honeymoon meal on the first night. There was too much choice and we put the book away and went to sleep at 10pm local time, and woke up 7am Indian time for breakfast.
DelhiOur first sight of Delhi was chaotic! We came through Arrivals and were greeted with hoards of plaques with small, handwritten, very faint names written on them. With a huge crowd behind us and a sea of boards, we decided to each look on a different side to identify our transfer.
Spotted, the tansfer guy shook our hands and led us out through a dark tunnel which is where a lot of my sensible British traveller worries started taking hold and I wondered who this guy was and where he was taking us. My worries turned into suspicions as he led us to a clapped out banger of a car, with a wire coat hanger as his ariel, in the middle of what cannot be called a carpark - it looked more like a scrap heap. For reasons unbeknownst to myself, I got into the car, despite the fact that the guy couldn't squeeze our bags into his tiny boot and we had to have them on our knees. I wondered how he could possibly be our transfer and be so completely unprepared for luggage.
And then my fears really started manifesting when the transfer man and his friend started hotwiring the car!
For some reason, having Al holding my hand was security enough and I just went with it.
Joining the main road was like unexpectedly finding yourself on a themepark ride, knowing that you can't get off, you just have to hang on.... and scream! I was completely unprepared for the rollercoaster ride that would last 30 minutes and would be filled with the sound of beeping. In England, a near-miss would usually be when one mistakes a gap in the traffic or approaches a roundabout with a little too much gusto. In India a near-miss is coming bumper to bumper with a car (or cow) coming the opposite direction on a dual carriageway or roundabout and honking the horn furiously, followed by a courteous wiggle of the head.
Motorbikes packed with people and boxes cut us up, brushing against the side of the car and speeding off to rub shoulders with the next car; pedestrians jumped into the road, dodging traffic and making eye contact with the distracted drivers in an effort to get to the other side; tuk tuks swerved through the speeding cars to drive on the pavement; cows (the least fearful of all) lolled about in the road as six lanes of traffic wedged into the three marked lanes. Traffic lights were merely a greeting, an attempt at some civilisation, a thing to ignore on a frantic commute. Traffic entering a roundabout appeared to have priority over those already on it. People sleeping on the pavement, lined the way, accompanying packs of dogs and pigs. And if and when you ever did come to a stop, even for a second, in a particularly bad traffic jam, or if, unimaginable as it sounds, someone actually stopped at a traffic light, the stopped car would suddenly be an invitation to all beggars to come and make hungry gestures to the brand new tourists in the back seat.
I have to say, had I not been to Thailand last year, and done a similar, if not quite as shocking journey in Bangkok, I probably would have hated Delhi right there and then. But there was something about India that made it so much more charming than Bangkok. I had a different feeling altogether and even began to settle into my seat and just observe.
There was certainly no awful smell like I had experienced in Bangkok. It's true that I was surrounded by slums and there was litter everywhere you looked, and a lot of the people looked unwashed and slept on the streets, but I don't think I ever was appalled by the smell like I was in Thailand. Perhaps it was the dreadful pollution in Delhi that overcame any bad smells - I don't know - but I was very relieved that my fear of feeling ill with the stench was short-lived and completely unfounded.
When we arrived at our hotel, we had a meeting where we met the rest of our group. Several of the group members were already sat at the joined up tables and several documents had been handed out. When all of the group had assembled, we all swapped names and introduced ourselves and met our tour leader, Panchum, a lovely, exciteable and very knowledgeable Indian guy.
The group was not as we had expected at all. For some reason we just assumed that we would be travelling with 5 other couples like us, possibly another couple on honeymoon as who else would ever be having such an extravagant holiday! In fact, there was only one other couple on the tour - Melody and Tony - and from the very beginning we liked them! They were an Australian couple and it was hard to put an age on them. We guessed Melody to be in her late thirties and Tony to be in his fourties but as we got to know the group we discovered that Tony had retired and had some fairly grown up kids. Anyway, they were very young at heart and quick to share their advice and experiences, and we knew that they would provide a lot of humour, entertainment and support on the trip.
The two sisters, Ilene and Lisa were from New York - or at least, usually lived there - and also seemed a lot of fun. Ilene was obviously really intelligent and successful and had a lot of travelling knowledge. Lisa was very cultured and interested in the arts and perhaps knew the most about India and it's heritage. The two were very easy-going and very adventurous and we soon realised that they were very independent, often braving the frightening world of India to go out and explore on their own!!
Margharita, we assumed initially to be the daughter of Tony and Melody, their having taken her under their wings the day before and all gone out together to explore the city. In fact, Margharita was an independent traveller who had already been to Handi and Bangalore. She instantly reminded me of one of my best friend's, Serena, with a lovely personality and very friendly. She was originally from Cyprus but now lived in Britain, and had just left uni and fitted in this adventure before starting her new job as a social worker. I hoped we'd get on really well as it seeemed we had several things in common.
Debra was sat at the end of the table and was also travelling on her own. She came from Michigan and was quite young. At first, she didnt seem to me to be the type to be travelling on her own, but as we got to know her I realised that she was just so laid-back, she wouldn't mind if she was on her own, in a group, with a best friend, with family, with anyone - she would always just enjoy a holiday and get the same experiences from it.
Next to me sat Beatrice, a swiss lady with a really good, hearty laugh! She laughed at herself a lot and seemed completely at home with the group. She was very accustomed to travelling on her own, and throughout the trip told us all about her experiences around the world. She was very self-assured and confident and on meeting her that first time, I knew that she would be unphased by all the shocks that India had in store for us, and that it would not be such a bad thing if some of her independence rubbed off on me.
And opposite me sat the friendly face of Rosemary. I watched her as she looked around the group and it grabbed me that she was similar to me in that she liked to observe people and places and surroundings and just to take them in. I instantly liked her. She seemed really wise and well-travelled. She was quite quiet in the sense that she only really spoke when she had something that was worth saying - not like the countless people I know who feel the need to drown every silence with chatter. She seemed really peaceful and she came to be someone that I loved to listen to talking about things I didn't know.
Anyway, introductions over, Panchum announced that we would all be going out for our first meal that night, courtesy of Intrepid. Well, that put our plans to rest of a nice honeymoon meal on our own - we were both relieved. Seeing what the traffic and mayhem was like outside, Al and I were worried that we would never be able to venture out on our own.
Panchum took us to a lovely restaurant just around the corner. As was the theme of the holiday, we entered the tatty, unappealing restaurant that looked dark and a bit dirty, a restaurant that Al and I would always walk by without a second glance, and we had the most wonderful meal. That was one thing we really were thankful to Panchum for. One of the many things we would never have experienced had we been on our own.
That night, our first experience of Delhi, India, proper Indian food, was marvellous!! Each dish that came out we all swapped, and we all swooned. It was like nothing that any of us had ever tasted before and I realised then that we had never had a proper Indian meal before, had never properly cooked a curry despite our having boasted that we make a 'mean' curry and had been taught by our Indian friends. The food we had had, had never tasted like this before.
Getting back from the restaurant was a bit of a feat. Being a pedestrian in Delhi was much worse than being a driver or passenger. It was every man for himself. Just walking along the pavement was an experience, dodging potholes, jumping over vertical paving slabs, tripping over dogs, jumping out of the way of rats, changing course to avoid a huge cow in the path. The gutter was a river of litter and waste, a trough for the pigs and piglets. There were cowpats everywhere!
When the pavement ended, and we had to walk on the road, we were constantly honked out of the way by speeding, battered cars, cars so destroyed they didn't care what they hit any more.
Stationary cycle rickshaws housed sleeping drivers for the night, fully clothed and assuming an uncomfortable position between the handlebars, bike seat and back seat.
It was a real sight and one we had never experienced before in our lives.
Glad to be back and safe in our comfortable hotel room, we slept as soon as our heads hit the pillow.
Delhi is just manic. There are more people than I have ever seen in my life. Far too many people for the space they have. Every mother you see has children hanging on to every limb. Children carrying children. Every road has men lining the pavement, sleeping, selling something, chatting, smoking, spitting.
Every shop has a hundred men behind the counter. Every market stall is manned by 5 people. Where do they all live?
In the time I spent in India, I never did answer that question. You see hundreds and hundreds of slums, you se
e all kinds of corrugated iron makeshift huts, you even see mud huts and bamboo huts in the rural places. You see buildings with more layers than were initially planned, housing many many families, rooms split into more rooms, shops with beds in the back. But still, there are just so many people - where can they all possibly fit?
And more to the point, where will they live? Where will they live in 20 years when all of these buildings have finally fallen down out of neglect and pollution and over-use?
We did a group walk through the spice markets - a cluttered cluster of roads and passageways with all manner of stalls and carts, and tables, and cloths displaying sacks and bowls and jars of spices. Colours and smells hit our senses and we stopped several times to inspect strange products that we'd never come across.
It hit me then that despite their pestering and selling and desperate pleas for business, the Indian people on the whole, were just so friendly. You only had to look at someone and they smiled at you. They wanted to show you their spices, they wanted you try them, they often wanted you to take a photo of them.
Our walk ended with us getting a bus along the road. The bus hardly stopped long enough for us all to get on, and having let the ladies go first, Al and Tony both had to jog along with the bus and jump on whilst the bus was in motion.
The bus was tiny and with many many little handles hanging from the roof - way more handles than would be allowed in England - we all clung on as the bus swerved, dodging the same obstacles we had encountered frequently.
And then we had to get off! Argh! The bus did slow down - I do give it that. But it didn't stop. In England I would have been terrified, never mind in a busy Delhi street, with traffic coming from all directions (the bus doesn't even pull in to the nearside lane and remains right in the middle of the road), bikes, cows, rikshaws, not to mention the cracks and paving slabs in the road ready to gollop you up!
Well, obviously Tony and Panchum made the jump, but the rest of us hung on, maybe sticking our foot out the door and then bringing it swiftly back in again when a car zipped past. Sticking our foot back out, and then bringing it back in again. Having a sneaky peak and then quickly ducking back inside. The rest of the bus started getting confused and the bus driver was turning to see what all the commotion was about. In the end, we managed to convey to the driver that there was no way we were making a jump for it and he begrudgingly slowed down a little.
Surprisingly to me, we never saw many tourists at all in the whole of India - Goa included. Perhaps they were all hiding. We were definitely a novelty. And for the most part, the Indians just welcomed us so much.
This was made really apparent that night when we were taken to a family home for dinner. We were packed into a fleet of white Ambassadors, something we found wonderful, and arrived at an apartment block on the other side of Delhi.
We were greeted by a jolly, excited, hearty guy who took us upstairs to introduce us to his home and his family. We were all greeted with a smile and handshake and were given a red thumbprint on our foreheads. Al and I beamed at each other, satisfied that we would get some great pics of us!!
We were all given a cup of chai massala - something I learnt to really dislike - and we sat down whilst the family told us about themselves. They told us that guests were treated like Gods and that's how we would be treated in their house. Indeed, they never stopped fussing over us making sure we were all comfortable with enough to drink.
We were shown round their small apartment, shown into their childrens' bedroom where the brother and sister share a bed, and shown into the bare master bedroom with enthusiasm and pride. All we could do was 'ooh' and 'aah' suitably, aware that we were invading their private space and wondering how we could best compliment their lack of furniture and decoration. Luckily, after having viewed 50 houses earlier that year, Al and I were quite accustomed to making suitable noises on such an occassion and we exclaimed how much space there was, and good storage, and good ceiling height, all of which was greeted with a happy smile and beaming pride.
The kitchen was really tiny and they left it til last to show us, introducing it like it was a masterpiece. It had a tiny work space - about the size of our draining board at home - and an oven. I don't remember too much else apart from open shelves showing their pots and metal plates. Someone in the background remarked that they didn't have a dishwasher!
And we were shown their shrine to their chosen God which was brightly coloured and standing as the centre-piece in the open living area.
The lady of the house took me and Margarita into her bedroom and opened her wardrobe door
to us. We felt very humbled as she asked us which sarees we would like to try on and then proceeded to wrap us in the lovely, decorated textiles. More great photos!
And then we were all shown how to make chappatis!
The God in the shrine was first given his dinner and then we were treated to a feast of a meal with all kinds of pots laid out on the table for us to help ourselves. We had to try everything - if there was anything missed, it was was soon lumped on your plate by the man of the house, keen to show off his wife's cooking abilities! And as we sat down, the food was brought round continuously, with pot after pot being offered to us, a 'yes please' being greeted with a huge dollop of loveliness, a 'no thanks' not being heard at all. The family never ate at all whilst this was going on. When they weren't offering us more food, and bring out more chappatis, they sat and watched us eat lovingly, before noticing that someone was running low on dahl and fetching the pan back.
It took one really brave person to finally say 'no, really, I can't eat any more' before we all started teetering out and being let off the hook. Our plates were cleared and dessert was brought out and the game started again!
Next stop - Agra!
AgraWe took the train first thing in the morning from Delhi. That was a little adventure in itself as the taxis pulled up at Delhi Central station.
We crossed the carpark of usual pandemonium with the addition of suitcases strewn across the paths, and huge carts carrying boxes and cargo blocking the pavements.
We entered the forecourt and swam through the sea of bodies on the floor. It was hard to say how long the sleeping people had been there. Was this their home or were they just waiting for their train? Anyway, I have never seen such a mass sleepathon. I felt like I was intruding on someone's massive bed, standing on their imaginary pillows, giving them a good whiff of my sandals, apologising as I brushed past them and disturbed their dreams, literally jumping over them as they slept shoulder-to-shoulder, toe-to-toe on the hard floor.
We had been told that in India time runs on a different clock system altogether. This is a get-out clause for the fact that nothing runs on time, whether the train actually decides to leave 20 minutes early or whether the train actually decides to come at all. We were told just to adopt a typically Indian sense of humour when dealing with such situations. Said our guide with his character massive grin brimming with excitement!
We were lucky, the train came as it was meant to, and as we were going in the opposite direction in the commutor rush, our carriage was empty.
Oh what a carriage. It was completely made with metal, with no upholstery, no glass, no plastic. Just metal. Even the w
indows were just open apertures with a metal grill over the top.
The doors to the carriages don't close, allowing people to jump on or off as they please, ensuring they reach the most efficient place in their journey. Everyday, on average a dozen people are killed on railways just in Mumbai due to trespassing, never mind the others who fall off the train or jump off even. And then there are seperate stats which tell of those passengers who, rather than face the crowds, sit on the roof of the trains and get electrocuted.
Apparently 86% of train delays are caused by deaths.
We were told to have all of our things ready well in advance of our stop, as like the bus experience, the driver doesn't stop for long and doesn't wait for anyone!
Our first stop was the Red Fort with wonderful photo opportunities of the Taj Mahal over the river, with ornate windows as beautiful frames. We hired a guide who led us through room after room which had belonged to different wives and concubines of the Taj, all ornately decorated and using gold and other stones and gems to colour them.
I must admit, the Taj Mahal has never been my greatest ambition when considering things to see and do before you die. In fact, even when thinking about just going to India, it never appeared on my list of exciting things to see and do. But the rest of the group were really looking forward to it so I couldn't help but go along with their excitement.
We crossed a courtyard and stood within a large arch, and there before us stood the Taj Mahal.
At this point I feel I have to apologise to anyone who has ever been to the Taj Mahal or anyone who's dream it is to go there. This is purely my opinion and I know that I am in the minority.
But I wasn't impressed.
At the end of the day, everyone said how amazing it had been and how they hadn't expected to be so in awe, and how they didn't think anything else on the trip could compare, but I couldn't share in their delight.
To me it was just a white, marble monument. I knew the history same as everyone else and of course, it's shape is wonderful, but it is just a building and it doesn't compare to some of the absolutely stunning french chateaux that I know and love.
I think it is so hyped up and you see pictures of it everywhere. I knew what to expect.
It was smaller than I'd imagined, and those little lakes running up to it just weren't blue like the postcards. Sorry but they weren't.
I couldn't get it out of my head either that to get to that wondrous place, we had come across so much poverty. Even outside the entrance there were beggars. And yet, India had so so so many palaces and forts and temples, all decorated to this standard adorned with jewels and gold and built with marble. It was a juxtoposition I couldn't get used to.
Still, I thought the gardens were lovely and it was very peaceful to sit under a tree with the Taj Mahal as your backdrop with all the parakeets and chipmunks in the branches above you. And I have to say, I did revel in the amazement felt by the rest of the group.
PerharsarPerharsar is a small village in rural Rajhastan. There is an old haveli in the centre which I imagine is a good source of income for the village as it is now a hotel and the base for all visitors. The villagers themselves all live in make-shift houses made from bamboo, mud, corregated iron, the more ambitious of them have been made with bricks and thatched roofing. They share their space with goats, camels, cows, buffalo and monkeys.
The first thing that I saw was a group of children come charging after the bus, screaming and waving and calling their friends to come and join them. They were all there to greet us when the bus stopped, all shouting 'hello' and 'photo, photo'.
Such beautiful faces with black, shiny eyes and big wide smiles, filled with tiny pearly white teeth. Their complexions were enviable and their hair was sleek and in really good condition. Their clothes were tatty but they dressed them up with little bangles and hair bobbles and flowers.
We dumped our bags in the haveli and then went for a walk around the tiny village, people coming out to look at us, men on the pavement smoking together and smiling up. A group of elders sharing a hookah outside a small house were completely indifferent to us and I wondered if they felt a bit exploited by us. But mostly we were greeted with the most friendly faces and 'hello' and 'namaste' and we loved it.
It's easy to feel sad when you see the conditions they are living in compared to our own, but if you look past the basics, you see how rich their lives are. I think their lives will always be a struggle but not in the way that we know it. Their houses are clean, they do lots of cooking and eat three meals a day. The ingredients they use are so cheap and so accessible. They all live together in family groups and everyone in the village helps each other out. We saw as they all bathed in a local well and washed each other, little girls washing the hair of their sisters and taking turns to bathe the babies. They all just seemed so so happy, regardless of whether we were there or not.
And they live in the most beautiful place in amongst the hills, in wonderful forests with such magical scenery. I felt, as I stood there, that perhaps I was the one that might be missing out.
Jaipur
It was in Jaipur
that we were treated to a Bollywood movie!
The Raj Mandir stands off the MI road running through the centre of Jaipur. From the outside it looks like any other cinema or bingo hall in England. But when you step inside, it's like another world!
If you have seen the Disney version of the Little Mermaid and can imagine the inside of the underwater palace, you're nearly there. Tony described it as a wedding cake before realising he may have offended me. I wondered what his own wedding cake had looked like! But he was right, it was all pastel tackiness with icing peaks of powder blue and creamy swirls of baby pink. Each entrance to the vast auditorium was named after a precious jem: diamond, emeral, ruby and sapphire. However, no matter how much they tried to dress it up, it was just a cinema and it smelt of popcorn.
We took our seats and watched the trailers, including a very long tourism ad for Rajhastan as a whole, featuring Indians with western features and pale skin, eating in fancy restaurants, and watching a cultural show, and driving a luxury car etc. We wondered who it would appeal to seeing as we were already in Rajhastan.
My goodness - have you ever seen a Bollywood movie? All the way through?
Our guide was sat next to me. He did a good job of translating the main points of the story but he needn't have bothered, it didn't make it any better. The story was ridiculous! It was a complete fantasy and reminded me of the kind of film made in the 80s appealing to those that wished for a more exciting life.
It started with a big fight on top of a high building, and as you thought the guy was about to die through falling off the top, out pops a parachute which he mananges to steer through the high-rise apartments, eventually managing to spot the bad guys and land on their jet ski. Then a helicopter appears with the 'girl' in it screaming for help, so the jet ski goes up a ramp which was just in the middle of the lake, and goes flying through the air. Just as you think the guy is about to let go of the jet ski and hang on to the bottom of the helicopter James Bond style, the jet ski actually lands inside of the helicopter. It doesn't even skid through the other side - it stops dead inside the helicopter! The audience applauses!
So you wonder what can possibly happen next. Well, it moves on from that scene somehow and I don't think there was ever any more reference to it through the rest of the film.
We see how the main character is a bit of a clumsy oaf and gets into all kinds of scrapes. The audience howls as you see him running through a crowded passageway, knocking over pots, sending chickens flurrying, getting tanlged in washing lines - all the obvious things from a Lethal Weapon film. When I say the audience are howling, I mean they are crying their eyes out, wetting themselves with laughter. I don't care what the translation was - it wasn't that funny!
So, the villagers all get together and decide, between dance moves at the Egyptian pyramids, that he must leave and go to Australia. So he is shipped off.
When he gets there he sees a gorgeous woman and falls for her. And then somehow gets made the King of the mafia. And he has to help a woman whose daughter is coming to stay and she has to pretend that she is rich and successful. So the king orders his mafia friends to be her staff and for her to live in his house. And of course the daughter turns out to be the gorgeous girl, accompanied by her fiance, who of course is boring and demanding. So she falls in love with the main guy and they all live happily ever after.
This goes on for 4 hours!!!! There is an intermission inbetween because it is so long.
Jaipur is where we saw our first close-up elephant. We'd been down the MI and we'd just spotted this silver shop. It looked empty and there were no signs of loads of demanding staff so we thought we'd pop in for a look round. Through our travels so far through India, we'd been so put off shops by the men hanging outside trying to force us in, so seeing an empty shop was all we needed to go in!
As we went in to the dark room, a man appeared at the back door. 'Uh oh' we thought, 'here comes the hassling'. But we were wrong. He just flicked the lights on and then went about doing some book keeping, leaving us to peruse the shop on our own. His complacency worked and we actually let ourselves explore the shop and all it's products.
And the products on sale were just beautiful. Everything was made from silver and it was all really beautiful. We got looking at some really gorgeous wine goblets made from the silver and inlaid with different coloured patterns. We immediately thought of my dad and aunty's birthdays and knew that we had to have them.
The guy noticed that we had been lingering in the corner for a while and eventually came over and asked if he could help.
We shrugged and then asked how much the glasses were. He told us £15 each in rupees. They were worth it! We whistled in disbelief and I said to Al, 'oh well' and then went to look elsewhere in the shop.
This caught the guy and he said 'oh, how much would you like to pay?'
We'd been playing this game all week and thought we had it sussed. I said that in London I would probably pay the equivalent of £5 for them. He started to say that he exports to London to which I interupted and said 'exactly, I knew I could get them there. I'll probably wait til I get home.'
He said he couldn't do them for £5 but could do them for £12. We shook our heads. 'They're ok but they're not exactly what we were after really. It's ok, we're just looking really.'
'Ok, how much will you pay?'
We pretended to study them. The guy then started to tell us how they were all made by hand in the back of his shop, inlaid with semi precious stones and had all been coated in some kind of special metal meaning they could actually be used without tainting the liquid or the silver.
We were impressed.
'No, it's not really what we're after. We'd only pay £5 each'
'No,' the guy exclaimed, 'they are worth £15, how about £10?'
We went to walk out, apologising for wasting his time and saying we'll think about it, a sure fire way of getting them to worry, we'd discovered.
His friend appeared in the shop and started selling them to us again. They told us how the shop had been in the family for years and how it had been established under the British empire and they showed us photos of how the shop used to look in the clean street. I asked if I could look round the back at his workshop but he said that as it was Ramadam, none of his workers were in. I did believe him.
'£10' he said one last time.
'Ok' I said, '£20 for three' and then followed it up with 'That's a good price and you know it' and a cheeky smile, ''£20 for three, you can't get better than that.'
He thought about it. 'Ok, £20'
'And £2 for these bottle openers'
He laughed 'ok'.
Al and walked out of the shop and high-fived each other. We had got a real bargain because we absolutely loved those goblets and just couldn't wait to give them to my dad and aunty.
Oh, anyway, then we strolled through the busy street, turned left into a little passage and found ourselves in an empty square. In one corner, coming from a side-street, suddenly emerged a massive elephant. It was painted brightly and carried a seat and avertising board on it's back
. It saw us and then just reached up to a tree and started eating leaves off it. The owner waited on the ground patiently and then brought some water from the well for it.
Al scooted off to take some close-up pics. I must admit, I'm a bit afraid of elephants. I know they are lovely and gentle but I'm scared of them accidentally crushing you or even doing it on purpose. I stood well back, and when it passed, I gingerly pinned myself to the wall, and then ran over to Al.
It was amazing - it was huge, just going about it's business like it belonged there. And it seemed so peaceful and placid in its environment, well loved and well repsected.
Bijaipur
The coach trip was long, and hot and uncomfortable with traffic jams and faulty air conditioning. As the coach pulled off the main road and into a small road signed Bidaipur Castle, we all heaved a sigh of relief. And then we saw what was to come.
The road turned into a very long, windy, narrow lane or dirt track, with a sheer drop on one side and with loose gravel on the floor. You couldn't help but think of all the news stories you'd heard in the past about Indian coach disasters.
Of course, here I am writing this so obviously I survived unscathed, but it was hairy for a while and not something I wish to do ever ever again.
We all mentioned at some point that the journey better be worth it.
The dirt track eventually opened out into a wide, flat road with wonderful coutryside on either side. The air was drier and the landscape more arrid. We passed several tiny sites where tribes had set up mud huts and shacks and children waved at the passing westerners.
The castle was half an hour down the road and stood elegantly dominating the village of Bijaipur. It instantly reminded me of Hotel California.
We were greeted with floral garlands and red thumbprints on our foreheads. The grounds boasted lovely gardens and a lit pool surrounded by trees and an old swing and a small pagoda, big enough for a dinner for two. Several other tables surrounded the pool, prepared for dinner that night.
We felt like we had finally landed. We were only disappointed that we would only be staying for one night.
We spent the rest of the day languishing by the pool, feeling like after all this time on the road, we deserved a bit of luxury. And we really did appreciate it!
We were invited to join the chefs in the kitchen that night and watch them preparing our dinner. Feeling a bit queasy I stood at the back of the hot kitchen, trying to find a little fresh air. But as the stove really got going, I knew that I was going to be sick.
I grabbed Al and rushed out of the room, searching for a good spot, desperate to find a toilet so that I could feel dignified.
I made it to the toilets on the edge of the pool, unlit and home to ghekkos and mosquitoes and spiders and allsorts.
I don't recall ever having been sick before without the help of alcohol so we were both quite surprised and shocked. Had I been sick more than once, pregnancy may have occurred to me, but I only needed to be ill once, and then was left with a weak, ill feeling and stomach cramps for the next week. When I got home I found out it was probably salmonella poisening and was relieved I hadn't known then as I'm sure it would have prevented me from enjoying myself for the rest of the holiday.
We went for a village safari early the next morning in a couple of jeeps. It was 7am and the sun was already really warm and the sky really clear. It was a great day for a safari with fantastic visibility over the fields and amazing scenery.
As we drove through the dusty roads, children came out to wave at us and run after us, and we watched as the farmers took their goats to feed and started their daily work. We stopped to visit the tribe's burial ground where the ashes only were buried.
The guide explained that in the past this tribe had been associated with theiving and that they were working on educating people to eradicate these beliefs. The government was trying to intergrate tribes people and had offered to move them all to places like this where there was plenty of food and opportunities to own your own land and build a house. They moved them as a whole tribe to give them a familiar community in the hope that they would learn to live in a more civilised society.
And then he told us to watch our bags!
We drove past a field full of early morning workers. The jeeps stopped and the guide called over one of the women. She explained that they were harvesting peanuts and brought over a bundle. They were delicious!
Our safari ended at a reservoir. We climbed to the top of the wall and looked out across the beautiful landscape. Our guide produced a little box and then served us all tea in little china cups and a plate of biscuits. We'd never experienced anything like it!
We asked our guide if we could delay our departure by a couple of hours, and with his agreement, we wallowed in the pool for a bit longer.
Udaipur
Udaipur was unquestionably the prettiest and most romatic place we visited, set around an impressive lake and floating palaces. It was unfortunate that the place I admired the most was also described as the most popular place amongst travellers. Still, we hardly saw any tourists at all.
Our hotel was on the opposite side of the river to the main town centre and overlooked the floating palaces. Cows and buffalo and donkeys stood on the banks of the river whilst the tide was out, and dogs swam in the green algae. The bridge across to the main area was a gauntlet of cows dozing in the sunshine, not minding the passers-by stepping around them.
This is where we saw our second elephant ambling along the roads. This was a bit more scary for me as the roads were so narrow and the elephant had to pass us within touching distance. I was fine to view from afar bu
t up close I had to close my eyes and wait for him to slowly pass. And then he walked off in the distance, merging with the traffic on the busy road.
The area was famous for it's miniature paintings and there were many art shops and galleries to choose from, as well as a road dedicated to souvenir and craft shops. They were much more approachable than we were used to, and we all spent time shopping.
Al and I were after a photo album for the holiday photos and went into a shop which displayed all kinds of handmade, embroidered notebooks and diaries and albums. They were stunning.
As usual we acted like we could take them or leave them, and when the guy asked what sort of colour we'd like, we idly mentioned we might like a nice, rich, dark red one, acting like we'd never thought about it before and like rich, dark red hadn't been on our mind since before the holiday even.
The guy then proceeded to get out all of his red albums and lay them on the floor before us. Despite choosing one we really liked and secretly settling on it, he kept pulling more out, persevering desperately to please us.
Again, shrugging at the price and saying that we'd think about it, we got the album for a third of the original price!
'Pashmina?' the guy asked.
I looked round and all I saw were albums and diaries.
'No, we're ok thanks,' we said.
We actually had wanted to look at pashminas with the hope of getting a few for my mum and sister and gran.
'Real good pashminas,' the guy pleaded, 'best quality, you won't find better quality.'
We shrugged again passively and allowed him to take us on his diversion to the shop opposite. He introduced us to his friend - the one who would give him his commission - and left.
The new guy was all over us asking us all sorts of questions about the quality we were after and telling us that we could have any quality in any pattern and in any colour we liked.
We said we'd like to look at the very best quality which was 90% cashmere or something. He rubbed his hands together noticeably and pulled out some fine garments.
'Any pattern, any colour,' he reiterated. 'Good quality. You like?'
We did like. We shrugged.
When he established that we liked the patterned ones the best and that we wanted a creamy one for mum, a pink one for my sister and a reddish one for my gran, he set about decorating the floor with literally hundreds of pasminas, pulling them out of the wrappers frantically and throwing them at us wildly. Bemused and overhwelmed, we sat there letting him do our job, knowing full well that we had already decided on the three we quite liked, and even when we showed a special interest them, he continued pulling more off the shelves.
Eventually we got to the price, and after him exclaiming that the price was too low and the quality was the very best you could get, we got up and left.
A few steps later, the guy runs out after us. 'Ok ok, three for £25. Best price. Best quality pashminas.'
We went back with him and left, very happy tourists indeed!
Al and I walked back to the hotel and made a fuss of the cows on the bridge, posing with them for photos and seeing how close we could get to them without getting scared! When we left the bridge we were greeted with the fantastic sight of an elephant right before us. He had a guy on his back and the elephant was stood under a freshly trimmed tree. With instructions from his owner, he took the thick branches from the floor, wrapped his trunk round them strategicall
y several times, and then clenched the huge muscle, snapping the branch into pieces. Then he would pass the individual pieces over his head to the guy, who would either take them off him or would shout an instruction to cut it into smaller pieces. It was fascinating! The man and elephant were comepletely at one with each other, to the point that the elephant even seemed to get the huff when the guy demanded the branches be snapped more. There was a mutual respect which was lovely to see.
I edged past the beast and with many photos under our belts, we continued happily to our hotel.
We had a romantic honeymoon meal finally planned at one of the floating palaces. Later in the evening, we walked back through the town and took an empty boat over the lake to the romatically lit, serene palace.
We were greeted and shown to a bench which overlooked the water and the view beyond, and we ordered glasses of sparkling wine. We then chose a candlelit table next to the pool in the centre of the huge courtyard, the only people to be sat out there, everyone else choosing to sit inside. We sat in front of a lovely fountain and besides some well-lit garden features. It was really special.
The food was delicious and we actually ordered a very nice Indian chardonnay called Chantilli.
At the end of the meal we were offered the hookah menu. We had both been intrigued by this and I wondered if it contained any nicotine, tobacco or drugs of any sort. It didn't and we were given a list of all the different flavours we could choose from. We chose a Jasmine flavour and the large hookah was brought out to us to our amusement.
I didn't really understand the point of it really. It was very funny but I just didn't get it. But we were glad we did it and we later went and bought a smaller one for my brother.
On our return to the hotel we came across a huge gathering in the main square. We didn't know at the time but we had stumbled upon 'Dandia-Ras', a dance between all the local youths using sticks. A circle of people filled the whole square, with men on the outside and women facing them on the inside. As the music played, they all danced, hitting their sticks together in a routine, moving round the circle so that every man met every woman. We stood on the outside watching in fascination this social and colourful event which involved more than 500 people.
Then, from out of nowhere I was called over. I hesitated long enough for the man to realise I could be persuaded and soon enough, the only white girl in the village had joined in the throbbing crowd, dancing with all the nervous and excited boys. When each one saw me coming towards them their faces lit up and they grinned widely. All asked where I was from and all looked like they couldn't believe their luck when I told them. I thoroughly enjoyed myself!
At the end of the dance a group formed around me as all the boys wanted to talk to me, and suddenly a camera and microphone were thrust in my face and I was part of an interview for the Rajasthan state news!
Al and I walked back to the hotel ecstatic - we'd had such an amazing night!
Ahmedebad
There's not really a whole lot to say about Ahmedebad I am very sorry to say. For us it was kind of a stopping off point between Udaipur and Mumbai.
We went to Muhatma Gandhi's home and museum which was in time for his birthday, but that kind of thing isn't really up my street. If it had been Muhatmja Gandhi himself, I'd obviously have been overwhelmed, but visiting people's birth places and seeing the pots and pans they used doesnt really do anything for me.
We went for a Gujarati thali which was on the rooftop of a lovely restaurant, and we were fanned with wafts of incense, probably because the street outside smelt so much.
But the thali wasn't really to my taste and everything was very very sweet and sickly.
Sorry Ahmedebad.
Mumbai
We arrived at Mumbai airport and after negotiating with a host of taxi drivers and leaving several looking rejected and desperate, we were whisked off in another fleet of ambassadors. We watched as all the other taxis drove off with their boots open with our friends' luggage hanging out, knowing that ours was in the same boat.
Driving in Mumbai was much the same as we had already experienced. It was a long drive and at one point the driver stopped to pick up some 'beetel' from a street vendor. I couldn't help keeping one eye on the back window in case it was a set-up to grab our bags from the open boot.
Next we were stopped by a police officer but when he asked for the drivers' documents and the driver quite clearly didn't own any, he waved over to us Western tourists in the back of his cab and he was allowed to continue.
Looking forward to the beach for the last 2 weeks, we all dumped our things and enthusiastically set off for Chowpatty Beach. Most of us had read Shantaram so Mumbai was to be the pilgrimage of the trip. We were anxious to see all of Linbaba's haunts and experience all that he had when had first arrived.
I have to say, the disappointment at Chowpatty beach was felt by all as we watched the locals paddling happily in the sea, knowing that we couldn't join them. All along the edge of the water floated a metre of rubbish.
We hung around to watch the sun go down and then went to look for some food from the street sellers.
The beach came alive with families, and children played with light-up balls and glowing frisbees. I bought a light-up ball for Jack, knowing how much he loved lights!
A few boys approached us with rolled up mats, and after shooing them away believing them to be posing as masseurs, we realised that their intention was to act as runners for us and deliver all the food we wanted. We took them up on it and sat down on their laid mats in a big circle on the sand. We later noticed that we were sat 25 metres from an overflowing dustbin and that the hugest rats were forraging in the hedges behind us.
The boys brought menus and we ordered a few different things and waited for them to come back.
When they did come back, they brought with them all sorts of unwelcome attention including a family of children who started begging. I found it impossible to eat my food with the lot of them circling us and pointing to our plates. The babies were crying and the little girls who were barely bigger than their tiny siblings, held them and cooed to them and beckoned to us to feed them.
I was later told that Melody had seen the older girls slapping the younger children to make them cry for us. I took comfort in that and then just as quickly, didn't.
Whilst others ordered more food, I sat with a half-eaten plate, half wishing I could go and help the kids and half wishing they would go away and leave us alone. When we eventually finished and stood to leave, the kids pounced on our left-overs and in a blink of an eye, the whole party had vanished into thin air and there was no sign that we had ever been there! I was delighted that they had got the food in the end.
A few of us then decided to find Leopold's, a mecca for all of us that loved Shantaram.
I was in awe of the place, completely beside myself that I was sat in the place I had read so much about, and where the legend Linbaba had been, I couldn't believe the place was still here!
We chatted to the staff asking cheekily where Karla and Vikram were. They were unphased and replied that they come in from time to time. Spurred on we asked where Linbaba was, and again they replied that he still visits and then went on to produce a recent photo of him. Wow! I was made up and from then on, in both Mumbai and Goa, I kept my eyes peeled.
We had an overnight train to our next destination, something Al and I had looked forward to immensly after having watched 'The Darjeeling Limited'. Hmmmm.. had we known that the Darjeeling Limited was actually filmed in a first class luxury train we may have thought otherwise and even paid extra to upgrade or even to fly.
Walking along the platform we felt lucky that we were going to be travelling in the sleeper carriages. We passed seated carriages on the way and already they were packed with 5 people to the 3-person seats, and then more people standing in the aisles. We were in for a 10 hour journey. (Little did we know that due to rain, we were actually in for a 12 hour journey.)
Our carriage was a corridor, lined either side with beds, seperated from passers-by with a flimsy blue curtain. We were all mortified when we saw our beds and cramped conditions. How the heck were we supposed to sleep?
The train filled up and it soon became apparent that some of the seats/beds were double-booked.
With his amused, cheeky smile, Panchum explained that in order to make sure that the train is filled, they double book all of the seats so that if there are cancellations or no-shows, at least the seats are filled! We were lucky that our second passengers hadn't turned up. But other members of our group did have to share and I don't think they got much sleep!
We, on the other hand, did actually fall asleep straight away and slept right through til the early morning when we were awoken by the sound of 'chai, massala chai,' ringing through the train.
Goa
From the beginning of the holiday we had looked forward to our final destination. When we had seen the holiday itinerary at the time of booking we had been relieved that we might actually get a little bit of a more conventional honeymoon experience on our last few days. After all, Goa was a huge beach destination, seen as a luxury in Britain. We couldn't wait to end our travels in our bikins and swimming trunks!
So we opted out of the group activities on that last day and decided to get a taxi to the most touristy place in the state, knowing that we would get some good restaurants and enjoy a bit of tourism.
We looked in our book and told the taxi to take us to Sinquerim beach. We drove through the usual mud huts and shacks, through little villages, expecting to eventually see the white hotels and the lovely seafood restaurants. They never materialised and we were dropped off in the usual dumping ground of a carpark and left to fend for ourselves. We walked through the calls of 'tuk tuk, tuk tuk, taxi, rikshaw, good price, where do you want to go?' heading for something a little more tranquil.
When we found the beach and realised that it really wasn't up to much, we decided that the taxi driver had dropped us off at the wrong beach so we walked back through the carpark and took up one of the drivers call of 'taxi, taxi, cheap price.'
We told him we wanted to go to the most touristy, commercial beach in the whole of Goa (which, might I say, was a surprise hearing it ourselves - we've never looked for such a thing in our lives!) and he drove us the 20 minutes to the next beach - Calangute.
The beach was a surprise indeed! We were greeted by a sea of Indians all stood - stood - by the very entrance to the beach, fully clothed, just looking at the water. Well, some had braved the water but on close inspection it was apparent that they were all fully clothed in jeans, shirts and sarees.
Assuming that the Indians prefer not to find a quiet spot of their own, we set off down the beach in search for like-minded Brits, undressed and basking in the sun. It was a long walk!
In the end, a young guy came up to us and said that if we go and sit on his sun loungers, we would not get hassled and we would feel less conspicuous. Knowing full well that this was part of his sales pitch, we gave in and plonked ourselves on the chairs, realising that yet again, we were the only tourists for miles around.
We did get into our beach gear and got our books out to avoid seeing everyone taking photos of us strange naked Westerners. We were adamant that we were going stay there and enjoy ourselves, and even ventured into the water a few times. I had my photo taken countless times. I must have been passed round numerous classrooms and workplaces by now. I don't care!
I can't understand where all the tourists were. Double-checking our travel guides, we made sure that the beach we were on was the most popular. I just couldn't imagine the average Brit enjoying this kind of holiday when it has been made out to be such a dream, exotic holiday destination.
We got back to our group later that day and learned that they too had been to that particular beach on the advice of Panchum. They had not known what to do with themselves so sat in a beach-side bar to watch the spectacle of these fully-clad Indians swimming and strolling along the sand.
We were ready to go home at the end of the holiday. It's always a good feeling to be glad to be back. Nothing worse than not being ready.
We gave thanks that we had had the opportunity to go somewhere that we had wanted to go forever, but I think we both decided that we would not be rushing back any day soon. And on the plane home, over an onboard curry, we discussed with excitement our plans to go to France next year.
As we crossed England, I saw how organised and structured and gorgeous our country is, with it's lush fields seperated by lovely tidy fences. Little cottages in the middle of a field that has good sanitation and a bin lorry to collect the rubbish each week; tiny hamlets all set around the local parish church; cities organised into grids and rows of symmetrical houses. It was a sight for sore eyes.
Glad to be back, we grabbed our luggage and looked forward to our own bed in our quiet and safe close, and then we paid a week's Indian spending money to get home in a taxi.
