Back in the game - my trip to Rajasthan November 2019

Rajasthan trip November 2019

It's six years since I put anything on here, and it feels like I've just fallen out of the wardrobe from Narnia. Much has happened in the intervening years. I'll catch up a little as we gone on.

Forward

I’d always wanted to go to India. Over the years I’ve discovered that my Paternal Grandfathers family are from India. Hyderabad in fact. They had travelled across Northern India and taken passage to Mauritius from Mumbai. They were Indentured Indian Labour, recruited to work the plantations after the end of slavery in 1833, actually it was 1835 in Mauritius.

India also represented all that was good, and all that was bad about the Empire. I wanted to steep myself in its history, its culture, and smell the smells. I also wanted to see the countryside, the wildlife and most of all the Taj Mahal. This tour, run by KE Tours, fit the bill precisely. I booked it with Andy, but he had to pull out when he was called to the ‘Bar’.

November 17^th - Day1 – Have you got your visa?

It’s 00.37 and I’m wide awake. 5 1/2 hours ahead of UK time. It’s already been an adventure and I know it’s going to be fun. My room is large, comfortable and clean. Marble floors, white ceiling and walls, and dark wood furniture. The hotel, the Ashok Country Park Hotel, is a faded glory kind of hotel. Big grounds, and a cold outdoor swimming pool. The pool was empty. When I arrived there was an Indian wedding party having tea on the lawn, or so it seemed. Very pukka. Staff all neatly dressed, polite and helpful. I don’t yet know how to tip, so haven’t. Also, I don’t actually have any Indian currency with me, how embarrassing. It’s 84 rupees to the pound. We’re getting cash tomorrow. Meanwhile, its debit card for everything. Lucky, I told the bank I was travelling. £5 for a bottle of beer, a G&T or a (small) glass of house wine. That’s £20 so far for the round.

The day had started early with my flight from Manchester to Muscat (where’s that?), then a smooth exchange to Delhi. On each occasion I’m asked, ‘have you got a Visa?’. ‘Yes, I’ve got a Visa’. ‘On you go then, they won’t let you in without one’. It’s a standard service on Oman Air both legs. No frills. No tomato juice either for Bloody Maries. Total flight time and stop over 12 hours. So far so good. Slip through passport control and bob’s your uncle. 

Only the passport hall is crammed with hundreds (maybe thousands) of people and it’s really not clear which queue to join. I looked hopefully at a short queue, but that was for Indian Nationals. Foreigners - long queue. The advice notice says, ‘please do not jump the queue, and co-operate with the officials’. Of course. 

It turned out there were several queues. So, I joined the shortest long queue and didn’t move for 30 minutes. Both other queues had about four passport officers clearing the line. Mine had one. During this wait so far, many of us had become increasingly exercised by the Visa situation. Having applied for an e-visa, and having been told I didn’t need to print one off, guess what? I hadn’t printed one off. However, it seemed from the queue conversation, that a printed version was required. Of course. 

Some of my, by now, chums, had gone to extraordinary lengths to get a printed copy. “Manchester Airport printed it off for me’. Well they didn’t for me. I couldn’t bare it if I got to the front then had to go back to another queue in another part of the airport to get a printed one. I changed queue.

My adopted queue, starting from the back, was moving much more quickly. I might have just about outrun a snail. However, it involved increasing anxiety about the acceptability of my screen shot saved visa acceptance email. Some sneaky people without an apparent paper copy, pulled one out of their pockets with heavily disguised, but nonetheless discernible smugness. ‘I thought I’d get one just in case’ I overheard them whispering treacherously. People at the head of my first very slow queue seem to all be having their fingerprints scanned. The single officer was having trouble explaining what to do to the plane load of Chinese people ahead of me. 

The faster queue, my new queue, moved along nicely. No one had yet been turned away yet. This was good. But what if I was the first to have to go back to get a printed piece of paper. The shame of it. Not to mention the sheer frustration, annoyance and waste of time. I planned to mutter ‘I thought India was supposed to be at the cutting edge of high tech’ as I was sent to the back of the class. Under my breath of course. 

In the end it was OK. “I’m afraid I left my printed visa in my suitcase’ I began. ‘No problem sir’ the middle-aged Indian official replied, with a very slight head wobble. ‘Do you have a mobile version?’. Thank you, God, thank you.

I produced my screen shot. He looked at it for what was slightly too long for comfort. Then typed something into his computer and leafed through my passport. ‘Please look into the camera’ I smiled into a small box on top of a pole about head high. ‘Enjoy your stay Sir’ and indicated with a tilt of his head to proceed. ‘No fingerprints?’ I unnecessarily and nervously stammered. He didn’t reply. He was already beckoning the next person. My first queue was still edging painfully along. 

I was through.

You’ll be as exhausted by this story as I was. So, to cut the rest of the story short I got into the transfer van. Met a nice lady physiotherapist from Doncaster, called Nicky, on the same trip.  Off we went through the bustling Delhi afternoon traffic to our hotel. No smog we both noticed at the same time as the conversation pause got a bit too awkward. ’Do you do much cycling?’ she asked. ‘Yeah, yeah a bit’, I began. ‘Nothing professional or anything’ I smiled hoping for a similar response. ‘Do you?’ I asked after a longer than necessary pause. 

It turned out she did, but much less since she had started working. 

I lied that mostly I did it in Majorca but did some static bike training in the gym. ‘Majorca?’ she lit up, ‘I haven’t cycled there since I stopped going on training camps. Those hills are amazing, aren’t they?’. Hmmm.

At the hotel the others of our merry band had already been there a while. ‘How was passport control?’ they all wanted to know. ‘You did bring the paper copy, didn’t you?’ and ‘I wonder why they needed our fingerprints’. Time for a beer. My companions are a couple from Essex, Andy and Mary. Andy does most of the talking for them, and Mary nods in agreement. Collette and her husband (name escape me for now). Nicky the Physio and Barbara from Whitehaven. And me. I had to explain why my idiot friend hadn’t been able to come. It turns out Andy from Essex has done a lot of these cycling holidays and had lots of useful hints for us all. ‘I think I’ll go for a G&T this time’ I found myself verbalising. “Well the sun’s gone below the yard arm somewhere’ Andy encouraged. It was nearly 6pm after all. 

Diner, another G&T and a glass of wine later I was knacked. Not much sleep on the plane. Wonderful range of curries. No beef of course. ‘They’re sacred in India’ Andy pointed out. In bed for 8.30pm local time. Which is why I’m now up at 1.40 am, and 8.10 pm where you are. 

I’d asked the others at diner last night what they were all looking forward to most on the trip. Like me, the Taj Mahal was top of the list. Also getting to see ‘the real’ India, the countryside, the tastes and smells and people. And getting to know new people. Andy from Essex says he finds this is the best bit, and he seems to know what he’s talking about.

November 18^th - Day 2 – Delhi traffic 

Don’t start me on mosquitos. Anyway, I didn’t tell you about sorting our bikes out yesterday in preparation for this morning’s adventure. This morning is an early start again to beat the Delhi rush hour. Up and off but 7am. Not even Andy had faced the Delhi rush hour before, and especially not on a bicycle. So last night we had to get the bikes, check they were OK and have a little go on them up and down the path. I’d brought my own peddles. Of course. Cleats to fit a pair of mountain bike boots Andy (other Andy) had passed on to me as cast offs. I am the only one with such gadgets. The mechanic changed the pedals with remarkable ease, which gave me great confidence that he knows what he’s doing. His name in pronounced Pin2. Andy, this one, helpfully explained ’you wanna watch out with those, you can easily fall over’.  

You’ll be pleased know, by the way, I got back to sleep and in fact had a job waking up in time for our pre-breakfast start. There was a little tension in the air. Our first cycling day. Sizing up each other’s kit. Who was going to be the ‘all the gear and no idea’ candidate? ‘Do you think we need masks; the air doesn’t seem too bad’ I offered. I got out my heavy duty one I’d got last minute from Amazon. It looks more like a gas mask. Nicky, the physio, had bought a load of light weight masks which she kindly shared out. ‘I think I’ll try yours first, if you don’t mind’, I said as my glasses steamed up with my own mask. 

‘Right’, said our guide. He’s called Katan (prom. K10), by the way, well that’s how it’s pronounced. ‘Everyone ready? Off we go. There’s a slight hill, well bump, as you leave the hotel on to the main road. Boots clipped into the cleats perfectly. The traffic was already quite heavy on the road leaving the hotel. We stopped on the incline to let the traffic clear, and, oops. I forgot to unclip the cleats with the inevitable consequence. Not a good start. Grazed knee and bruised pride all at once. Everyone was very concerned. ‘You do have to remember to unclip those when you stop’ advised Andy. ‘Thanks’ I replied. He offered an alcohol wipe for my bleeding knee, which was nice. I turned it down haughtily. Later I thought I’d better take his advice and smeared some alcohol hand sanitiser on the graze. It stung.

Cycling through Delhi at rush hour is, how shall I say, ‘exciting’. For by this time it had drifted into rush hour. The noise, for a start, is unnerving for innocent neo-cyclists. Everyone seems to want to toot as loudly as possible to let you know they’re about to cut you up. They drive on the left just as we do. So, turning right, which we did a couple of times, had to be done boldly. No hanging around in the central reservation. Not that there was such a thing. 

I naively believed that if you drive on the left, then everyone should drive on the left. Apparently, it’s optional. Some motor cyclists seemed to be exempt from this rule adding to the unpredictability of our journey. This, the sudden stopping, overtaking through narrow gaps and pulling out without looking behind them, all gave the feeling of chaos and taking one’s life into one’s hands. Still we survived. One person, Collette I think, had a puncture. Pin2, cycling in a tuk-tuk behind us changed the tyre in no time and she finished at the same time as the rest of us. Barbara from Whitehaven has a very rapid cadence and was moving slowly. I suspect she hasn’t quite worked out the gears. I think I’ll leave Andy to point it out. 

November 19^th - Day 3 – The night train to Udaipur

Later is planned to be all day on a coach. Of course. Then a night train to Jaipur. The pink city. Of which more later. 

For now, it’s a coach ride to see the sites of Delhi. In the 12th century, Muslims from the west and North invaded old Delhi. Today we visited Quran Minar a huge minaret erected on the site of Hindu and Jain holy places. It is now a UNESCO World Heritage site. Delhi was, and still is, a major crossroad for people travelling across Northern India. It suffered violence also in the post-war British partition of India. 

Finally, we drove past The Red Fort, lal Quila, made from Red Stand stone. 

In Delhi itself we had a walking tour. The Street walk took in the market. A hot, busy and rambling place. It looked like you could buy all manner of tat. We were invited into the many Sari emporia. I thought this might be a euphemism for something else.  In fact, they sold Saris, lots of them. 

Lunch was at 4.30, of course. Lovely vegetarian stuff. Then on to the station for the night train.

The overnight sleeper from Delhi to Jaipur was neither so terrible, nor as mysterious as either extreme of expectation might have suggested. It was a long train with many carriages. Too many to count. I literally couldn’t see either end of it when it had pulled into the station at twilight. Our coach was A2 class. First class is reserved for dignitaries, politicians and presumably the super-rich. Third class was the largest number of carriages, and unreserved. A2 is air conditioned, which was a good start. Inside the cabins had six bunk beds. Three pairs of upper and lower bunks. If ever you get a choice go for the lower bunks. The beds were already lowered, but you could see that they folded up when not used for sleeping. 

When we arrived at the station and found our platform Katan (as in K Ten) started checking where we were birthed. There was a slight problem in that we were spread out throughout the carriage, but he felt confident we could negotiate moving around so the group were together. In the end I got to share a four birth with Andy and Mary, and an Indian gentleman who kept himself to himself. Katan had organised a delivery of a curry. Although we had just had lunch at 4.30 pm, by the time it was 8pm we tucked in. We also had a little chat time. 

Barbara from Whitehaven, it turns out is a relatively new grandmother. Pictures were displayed and admired accordingly. She’s also a swimming instructor, although in her youth she preferred fell running which may have explained her high cadence cycling technique. I don’t know. In any case she had given up running because of her knee, which is now not able to support such strenuous exertion. Her father, to whom she was close, had died recently and this week was his birthday. She had preferred to get away for his anniversary and had seen this trip, so decided to give it a go.

The man whose name I couldn’t bring to mind is Richard. He works as a photographer for CIS Police, but before that had been with the RAF photographing various things. Nicky’s friend is a test pilot, a group of men Richard highly admires. They are much more skilful than formula one drivers, he asserted. 

By 9.30pm people were started to get into their bunks. The toilets are, unsurprisingly, disgusting. Indian style squatting toilet with a hole to aim for. I am so glad I’m a man. Fortunately, and touch wood, I haven’t had to adopt a swatting position yet. Inevitably there was a bit of toilet talk, but we weren’t yet comfortable enough with each other to go too far. I cleaned my teeth using bottled water. It seemed natural somehow to have two guards at either end on the carriage with Kalashnikov rifles. When the train guard came passed, I didn’t bat an eyelid at the pistol in a hip slung holster.

It is just as well there is no bar. In fact, alcohol is not allowed. It was tricky enough getting up into the bunk, never mind climbing up and down for a wee in the night. We were given two sheets, a thin pillow and a blanket if needed. I used the blanket as an extra pillow. Fortunately, I’d packet my ear phones, settled down and went off to sleep. 

Inevitably I woke at 4am. The lower abdominal sensation indicating that sooner or later I would have to try to get down from the bunk. Three quarters of an hour later I just had to. And here I am penning this journal. In two hours, we’ll be in Jaipur where I anticipate a long warm shower after a leisurely and trouble-free sit down. We’re actually going to do some proper cycling today around the Pink City. I am looking forward to it.

November 20^th - Day 4 – Delhi Belly & the Yogi

Those abdominal aches I thought were telling me I needed a wee were not. They’ve turned to gripes and accompanied by pale loose stools. I slept for long hours last night sustained only by the medicinal properties of tonic diluted appropriately. It’s important to stay hydrated. I returned to water when the G&T didn’t seem to help much. Nicky offered dioralyte. I politely turn it down and went into my frequently repeated disparagement of this form of hydration in relatively well adults. ‘It’s water you need, not electrolytes’ I patronised. Early to bed for an early start heading up into the mountains and villages.

 

So that’s why I’m here in the back of the van while the others are having fun. Stomach cramps. Delhi belly.

The road is bumpy. It’s a single strip and of tarmac with overtaking space on either side a dust path. Fortunately, the traffic becomes increasingly sparse. The cyclist ahead of the support van look as though they’re enjoying themselves.

The countryside consists of rough land and trees. Occasionally fields with early shoots of whatever it is. The land is dry now that the rainy season has passed. Off the road there are occasional dwellings, houses not always in best repair. On the road occasional bullocks and buses obstruct the way. Motorcyclist carry anything from babes in arms to huge loads of branches or other produce. Every now and then we pull over to let oncoming traffic past.

Suddenly one of the cyclists appears to be flagging and Pin2 springs into action. Fortunately, it’s a false alarm. It’s just Nicky wanting to get sun cream.

Fascinating. Just stopped at a Hindu temple. Inside it was a genuine Yogi. I didn’t take any photos out of respect, and it was a bit dark. He never goes outside and just lies about all day. I think someone brings him his food, but I’m not sure where he brushes his teeth and has a shower or toilet.

The various different Eastern religions seem to stem from a similar philosophy. They seem to be based on the impermanence of life, detachment from material or indeed any worldly things. Above all there is a respect for the earth and especially living things. That’s not to say there aren’t contradictions. In particular they seem to value status and grave recognition for philanthropic acts. For instance, we passed a magnificent Jain temple that was still being constructed. Wealthy donors had plaques erected in prominent positions to recognise their generosity. Jainism seems to be an extreme form of Hinduism that particularly strives for a simple life, abstinence, and good works. Sort of halfway to Buddhism it seems to me. It doesn’t seem to stop some of them being extremely wealthy. Anyway, I’m told they all live in peace and harmony, which is the main thing. There is famously a class system, but I didn’t fully understand it. There are four classes. The Brahmins (priestly people); the Kshatriyas (also called Rajanyas); who were rulers, administrators and warriors; the Vaishyas (artisans, merchants, tradesmen and farmers), and Shudras (labouring classes).

Going around the Temples, Andy wondered if we were being too obtrusive. We were assured that we weren’t. 

Once we got to the hotel, after a quick freshen up we went off to see the Rajasthan Fort, photos on request. A magnificent huge stone fortress that is surrounded by a 36km wall. It is second only to the great wall of China in size. It took 15 years to build. The sunset over it’s domes was amazing. 

Afterwards, and after dark K10 & Pin2 took us to a hillside overlooking the fort. There were nuts and crisps, and most excitingly, rum & coca cola. Just as we arrived the fort lit up to provide a glorious back drop to our picnic. The more enhanced by the boys also providing a Bollywood tape. We finished the bottle of rum and back to the hotel. 

I slept well that night. The stomach gripes were improving

November 21^st - Day 5 – The Holy city of Pushkar

We cycled to Gomtichauraha then bus to Mewar for lunch. This is my first real day of cycling. The uphill rides were ok. Just one I’d say was challenging. The countryside is beautiful but the road not so. I now know the value of cars and van hooting. They warn you from a long way off that they’re coming. The bigger the van or bus the louder and more multi tone the horn. They can be a bit alarming when right behind you. And once you’d got used to the cows meandering into you path, animal carcasses decaying in the street and potholes, you’re laughing. India has a huge pedestrian death toll. Who’d have thought?

Here’s an odd thing. You often see women with brushes, crushing a busty path and yet there’s rubbish everywhere.

I wanted to keep up with Katan as feeling still delicate I didn’t want to fall behind. I noticed that Andy was staying at the rear to make sure we all kept together.  Nicky is obviously the best cyclist. She stayed close to Barbara who has been struggling a bit with her knee. Richard stays close to Collette just behind me. Mary is just in front of Andy so he can make sure she’s ok. She’s been feeling a bit sickly, and in fact yesterday spent half the day on the bus with me.

We stopped at a village market with a wonderful array of vegetables. No surprise then that they’re vegetarian. I couldn’t help wondering where they grew all this stuff, as there was no sign of anything growing in the fields.

Then on a bus to lunch. I could only manage toast. Hmmm, lovely.

Next stop Pushkar. The motorway trip is necessary but long. It means we’ll have to miss the second leg of our cycle ride today. The motorway is scary. Huge lorries, carrying huge loads, very fast. Also, cars, motorcycles, cows, hogs and jaunty dogs dodging them all with the confidence of youth. I’ve not seen an old dog yet. Scariest of all people riding with children on motorcycles without helmets. Worst case: father & mother with two small children. 

PUSHKAR - The Holy City of Pushkar has the only Brahman temple in the whole of India. It is a place to be visited at some time in one’s life. It is a place pilgrimage. At the centre of the city is the Holy Lake upon which several holy ceremonies take place. Fortunately, we have avoided the main pilgrim festival week. They come from all around the world. Ominously we have been discouraged from talking to the young men who might try to get money from us by tricking us into accepting ‘gifts’ flowers and then pursuing us for cash. It can get a bit nasty Katan warned.

The Brahma temple in Puskar is no St Peter’s Chapel or the Great Mosques of Islam. It is small, crowded and fairly unkempt. Puskar is where the story begins of Brahma and his second wife. There’s a picture that illustrates the story on one of the walls. It is bare to see, unprotected by guards or protective glass. Brahma is the creator and maker of all things. Alongside Brahma is Shiva the destroyer of evil, and god of rebirth. Vishnu also is there, the god of life energy. This Trinity certainly has resonance with our Christian understanding of God. 

Garnish’s is the Elephant God. He’s very evident around the place. Durga is a female god with many arms. She has several forms including Lashmi.

Then a short walk to the Holy lake itself. By this time it is dark. We need to tread carefully to avoid cow pats and dog shit. During the day locals and pilgrims come to bath in search presumably of cleaning and blessing. Around the lakes are buildings constructed by the various kings the ruled India, for their countrymen to stay in on their pilgrimage. I really don’t fancy it myself. 

We just missed this year’s Camel Fair. Thousands of camels converge for the annual Pushkar Fair. It's a fascinating and peculiar sight, and a popular opportunity to witness an old traditional-style Indian festival. The original intention was to attract local camel and cattle traders to do business during the holy Kartik Purnima festival, held in Pushkar around the full moon in the Hindu lunar month of Kartik. The fair has now also become a major tourist attraction, with the camel trading part being surpassed by a formal program of activities arranged by Rajasthan Tourism. We wandered around what was left of the fair. As there is no Irish Bar, nor any alcohol at all in Puskar it was time to head for the hotel. 

November 22^nd Day 6 – The longest day and the wedding party

The longest ride of the trip. We covered 100km and a bit. Knackered. Really? Yes. On mountain bikes and rough terrain. 

Highlight - we stopped for rest between villages when ahead there seemed to be an approaching commotion. As it got closer it seemed to be a bus, full of revellers. A party bus? In the middle of nowhere? Indeed, it was actually a wedding procession. Music blaring, dancers dancing behind the bus. Several young men appeared on motor bikes. Once our gorping mouths were closed again we started tapping our feet to watch it pass. When they saw us they invited/insisted we join in. Well you know I like a dance. So, it turns out, do the others. Female members were made an especial fuss over. 90% of the revellers were male. This was the Groom’s procession. This last happened just a few months ago at the Old Billingsgate market in London at Shal & Lydia’s wedding. That was great, but so was this. The wedding party seemed to get as much joy out of us joining in as we did.

Richard got chatting to a lad with a posh motorbike. A Royal Enfield. Before we knew it, he was having a go. ‘Anyone with one of those has got to have a bit of cash’. They make them in India now and sell them back to Europe.

Low point - Having not done much long-distance cycling, and definitely not on potholed road my bum felt the brunt of bouncing on the saddle. It was a relief to stop.

Nicky, our very own Victoria Pendleton has taken most photos. It seems she’s good at that too, as well as the best cyclist. She’s obviously had a word with Barbara as the latter is cycling much better today. She is changing gears and keeping up. In fact, she stuck in Katan’s slipstream most of the day, Nicky also went back to make sure a couple of stragglers didn’t get lost. At breaks she was chatting away to everyone. When the wedding party arrived, she was quite the centre of attention. The rest didn’t seem so interested in my own Majorca cycling experiences. For instance, when I’d try to tell them how team Ski train there, she went on to say when how and where they trained. She kept on dropping names like Bradley and Froomey. Yes, altogether a very popular girl our Saint Vicky Bloody Pendleton.

It’s a day off cycling tomorrow. 

Saturday 23^rd    Jaipur – the pink city

JAIPUR. The pink city. Capital of Rajasthan.  The buildings were all painted pink for the visit of Prince Albert and since then the name has stuck. It’s more pale terracotta really.

Jai means victor, as in Jair Ho. Pur means city. There are numerous great buildings apparently paid for by the Royal family past and present. The old city is separated from the new one by a huge wall. The palace is stunning. The Amber Fort. On the way up tourists were being carried up be Elephants. Controversial. Well should they be made to do this sort of thing? But if they don’t work, and don’t make some income for their owners they wont be able to be kept and would probably be left to starve.

Then in through the Singh Pol (Lion Gate). Then Ganesha Pol. Ganesh god of prosperity. Into the third courtyard.

Then off again on after taking in the Water Palace in the middle of the lake. 

Then on to the fabulous Royal Palace in Amer with Jai.  There are camels everywhere. The dromedary, (Camelus Dromedarius) also called the Somali camel, is a large, even-toed ungulate with one hump on its back. It is the tallest of the three species of camel; adult males stand 1.8–2 m at the shoulder, while females are 1.7–1.9 m tall. They are working animals, but these days used to use by tourists to tour the city. Lots of pictures were taken. 

Day? Sunday 24^th – The Villages, the Countryside, & The Bike that nearly got away

We’re getting to be quite a tight little group now. Everyone looking out for each other. Nicky’s photos are by far the best so I’m leaving then to her. Richard is a professional photographer. He’s happy to share his but he’s going to edit them first. Collette and Mary are joining in the mild-mannered male banter, and Barbara chipping in with her Cumbrian brogue and singular style. 

We all have a bit of a laugh over the day’s events, much of which involves my mastery of the art of bartering. See what you think. 

One turban, only slightly small for £6. Four red cashmere wool scarfs with personally embroidered MUFC letters at the bottom. £108. This morning four iPhone size patterned purses (£1), one iPad size bag again for £1. Not bad. Two pink shoulder bags for £5.

Today we covered nearly 80k. My trousers padding doesn’t seem to be working very well. I’ll have to try a different pair tomorrow. 

We had some unexpected excitement at lunchtime. We stopped for lunch at one of the villages. Several had wandered off to look at the shops but as usual we attracted much attention. They must see travellers through but no often. One kind family offered us food cooked outside at the back. Just little tasters. We offered some money, but they refused. As we gradually gathered back again, one likely lad asked Katan if he could borrow his bike. Of course, and off he went. After a while there was sign of him. We could see Katan looking a bit agitated. Then gesticulating, then speaking quickly to some locals. Pin2 jumped on a bike and shot off only to return with no news. The lad was a cousin of the family who had given us food. Somehow Katan got a motorbike off one of the locals and raced off. 

We had lunch. Pin2 got a call. The bike and young boy had been found. Katan had recovered the bike and would meet us a couple of miles down the road. 

What happened, what happened? 

We haven’t got the full story yet. It has involved a phone call to the lads father. A bit of chasing and ultimately all well. We don’t actually know the fate of the boy. Katan comes from a mountain tribe in the Himalayas, similar to the Gurkhas. He thought the boy might have borrowed it for longer than he had expected it was ok. The said. The father would deal with it.

Tomorrow is Tiger hunting day.

Oh. I forgot to tell you. At one stop we met a couple of lads coming the other way. They’d travelled by bike from Spain. Spain! Slept on temple floors and use their facilities. Much respect

November 25^th – Tyger Tyger Burning Bright

"The Tyger" is a poem by English poet William Blake was published in 1794 as part of the Songs of Experience collection. Literary critic Alfred Kazin calls it "the most famous of his poems", and The Cambridge Companion to William Blake says it is "the most anthologised poem in English".

We got up early again this morning, well not too early. Tiger hunting. We piled on the bus still blurry-eyed but exited. It was a short drive to the tiger reserve.

Five jeeps faced us at the entrance, two for us. Approaching us was a tall slim Indian dressed in what might have passed for battle fatigues. 

There was a chill in the air. 

No one spoke. 

I didn’t catch his name, but he said he’d be our guide for the day. That’s pretty much all he said. ‘The reserve is so big’, he said, ‘there are 16 tigers’. Last year a pair of Tiger cubs were killed by another Tiger. That was our introduction. Oh, and we all signed a disclaimer saying we were happy with the arrangements and anything that went wrong would be our own responsibility.

We set off along a dusty track. The breeze making it really quite nippy. ‘Do you want to borrow my wind proof?’ asked Katan. I did. 

Katan explained a bit more. The Tigers are tagged so we know their GPS position. There’s a couple fairly close by. Apart from that we track animals by footprints and warning sounds of other animals. In this case the ‘summer deer’, a favourite Tiger breakfast, let out a loud bark/hoot to warn others if they smell a Tiger. 

As we got deeper into Tiger country the jeep suddenly stopped. Our guide pointed to the dust by the front tyre. A large male Tiger paw print. Perfectly moulded. The size of a large hand. 

Then a bark-hoot not 20-30 meters away. I’d forgotten the cold. Instead the chill went straight down my spine. Silence. The five jeeps had by now gathered. The guides standing on the seats. A man holding a big antenna had appeared on a motorbike. ‘He’s the tracker’ whispered Katan. Everyone was looking in the same direction.

Then suddenly WOW there he is.

A real Tiger in the wild. A male Tiger. He was lying down and slowly, imperiously turned his gaze towards us. I swear his eye met mine and for a minuteness of a moment we had that intimacy of eyes meeting across a crowded room. ‘A spark, electric, in the room’. Then it was gone. As I’m writing this that moment is already fading, but it was there. It was real. It was precious. He looked away again, satisfied we weren’t a threat.

Something rustled ahead, a female had run into the road ahead. The jeeps rushed off in pursuit. The moment had passed.

We didn’t see him again, or any other big cat. There were leopards about apparently. We did see a stag, antelope, wild boar, and loads of differently coloured birds. A kingfisher was the highlight of them. 

It would have been good to see more tigers, but we were lucky to see one at all. The sun was warming now, and it was time to get back and onto our bikes again. Another 45k to do.

Notes to self: Footprint in the dust 

Tracking guy

7.20 

Footprint

Warning sounds from stag

Silence 

7.28

Off again 

Aa 

Then suddenly WOW there he is.

The silence. Waiting 7.44. Waiting 7.56 waiting 

Then on to water hole

Pure lie kingfisher

8.21 silence still no action. Off we go again. 

A ‘summer’ dear Big fellow. 

8.56 time to look for a leopard 

Another water hole blank

Lots of Peahens and monkeys and dear

Wild boar

Crocodile 

Common kingfisher 

Off again

Large female antelope 

November 26^th - The Widow & the Taalwale Hanuman temple

Today’s was the shortest and last of our cycle rides. 45k. I shall miss my old sturdy chariot. It was probably the best ride through the country though. The roads were great, tarmacked and flat. In fact, most of the way we were on levies separating fields. Now I found out where all those fresh vegetables come from that appear in the markets. Each farm looks well-tended and fertile. Irrigation works well. The crops are of mustard, carrots, greens of all sorts, onions and intact everything you see from n the stalls. 

At one resting point an elderly lady stopped to chat. She looked in her sixties but might have been 20 years younger. We know that about 4 years ago her 20yr old son was murdered in the fields. We don’t know why. Katan didn’t want to go out not it, but speculated it was over some land dispute. She’s on her own now. Before we left, she wondered if we’d like to call in her house for breakfast. Freshly made chapattis. She cooks them on a cow dung fire, must better than gas. We declined her kind offer. It was sad to see her left on her own with no one to care for her. 

We entered the neighbouring state of Uttar Pradesh briefly. To me the roads seemed better made, it was cleaner, and the children more smartly dressed. Surprisingly, according to Katan, UP is a poorer state. Anyway, back to Rajasthan.

We stopped at a Hindu temple. It is a famous temple. The Taalwale Hanuman temple. Katan told us that people come from far and wide to visit this temple. He stayed with the bikes while we went in. We took off our shoes. It was busy. It was noisy. The bells were rolling and the music entrancing. In the outer square people were lighting candles and swaying with the rhythm of the chants. We peered into the inner part. Louder and louder. More smells. More swaying. Hypnotising. Enchanting. 

In one corner one woman was rocking backwards and forwards. Then just in front of me a young woman, say late teens/early twenties fell to the ground. She started twisting and gyrating around the floor. I remembered seeing seizures, this was not tonic-clinic movement. ‘Is she ok?’, my fellow travellers asked in hushed voices. Yes, I said, as she pulled her skirt below her knees as it drifted up. She smacked her feet, sole down, on the floor. At one point as she twisted, she supported her back with her hands. All around her were watching, enthralled. What was happening? Was she possessed, or receiving some sort of heavenly healing or power? Her mother was trying to hold her to comfort her, but without apparent success. ‘I think she’s in a trace’ I said. ‘She won’t harm herself’. But the people looked on in awe. The Spirit was clearly in the room.

‘I don’t like it’ said Collette, ‘can we go?’. So, we left. The gyrations were increasing. Another fell to the ground as we were leaving. 

Outside, as we were putting our shoes back on a couple of Indian boys with good English asked us if we’d seen anything like that before. ‘How did it make you feel?’ they asked, ‘does it give you joy?’

No not really.

Further on our ride we went. At one point a line of cow pats were being dried in the sun. At another a woman was assisting a cow deliver a huge turd by holding it as the cow defecated. That’ll come in handy later no doubt.

We entered a village at the end. Down it narrow street bustling with people. Shops of various sorts lined the road. People, donkeys, motorcycles and humble cyclists were going both ways. It reminded me of the reconstructed street in Ephesus, that Paul visited in the early years. That’s what that street must have been like.

‘Look up to the left’ Katan said. There were the imposing Palace gates to Fatehpur Sikri the first city of the Muslim Moguls. It means City of victory. In 1526 they set up their own empire, separate from the Caliphate. Agra was the first capital city. Barbar was the first emperor. He used gun powder and outwitted his opponents. He disobeyed the prevalent rules of battle and defeated the Hindu king of Rajasthan who had a huge army of elephants. Barbar had consulted a fortune teller who foretold that he would lose, so he killed him. If he was a good fortune teller, he should have been able to predict his own death! Later the Capital cities moved to Lahore then Delhi. 

Akbar, grandson of Barbar, was a great emperor, and greatly expanded his Empire. The was also a religious liberal. He married a Muslim, a Hindu Princess, and even a Christian and gave them all their own Palace within the Palace. He could see that all religions had something to say, and even tried to form his own unified religion. Sadly, for human history that didn’t work. Perhaps there are other reasons why we keep our own religions to ourselves.

November 27^th. – The Taj Mahal

Wednesday. 6 am Where is everyone? I’m first down. We meet at dawn. 6.15am. I am a bit early I suppose. The Taj Mahal was built by a Muslim Emperor. I didn’t appreciate that. I assumed it was done by a Hindu. It did always strike me as odd that a religion that eschewed earthly possessions wold create such a wonderful building for this life. Or death. It is after all a mausoleum. We slowly gathered. Camera battery charged. Tick. Easy release shoes. Tick. Warm clothes, its cold at that time in the morning. Tick. Sense of anticipation. In abundance.

Then in the bus and off. Three minutes. We’re pretty much first here. Katan gets tickets and all set. Shah Jahan 5th Mogul Emperor built this wonder of the world. It is the mausoleum for his wife, Mumtaj Mahal, when she died giving birth to her 14th child! It demonstrates the height of architecture of the time. It took 22 years and 22,000 men to build. We enter through Northern gate surrounded by Koranic text. Colourful stone is placed into marble. The façade is the same from each direction.

The Taj Mahal is set on the banks of the River Yamuna. There are gardens on the opposite bank. He wanted to construct Black monument to mirror the white marble, but they were not able to source sufficient stone. He was later imprisoned by his son in Agra Fort for being too extravagant and nearly bankrupting the Empire with his grandiose buildings.

My words are not adequate to describe the slender and beauty of the Taj Mahal. I will have to leave it to pictures. The building, far from being simple white marble, is much more. 

After the visit we went to a place where the same techniques are used today by the same stones mason’s descendants. They showed us the turning wheels and the fine instruments they used to carve the stone. Then the even finer methods of carving coloured stone into shapes a few millimetres wide to make glorious patterns and pictures. I fell in love with a picture of a Peacock and a Peahen. It was expensive, but I had to get it. I’d have regretted not doing so while I had the chance. Some of the stone is translucent. I need it for a special occasion. We were shown how the artisan crafts men and stone masons made the tiny pieces of translucent stone and fixed them into the carved marble.

We then went through on to Agra Fort just down the road. You know, I think I’m forted out. Then it was time to say goodbye. I said my final farewells the Barbara and to Katan. The others had already gone. Safe journey and thanks for everything. 

I’m here for an extra day yet. I’m going to do maximum chill.

28^th November –Gandhi Jee & Akshradham

Last day in Delhi. 18 million people 1.5 sq kilometres. Went into Delhi for an afternoon sight-seeing. First to the Lodi gardens. Then to the government zone and war memorial, and on to India gate and then to the sops

     

Hyderabad House. We had been talking out my ancestry when we came across Hyderabad House, the old home of the Nazim of Hyderabad. 

We spent some time walking around New Delhi shopping area then lunch. Then back on the Metro. Smart, clean and fast.

 

So much for maximum chill. I had asked the hotel if I could do a little sightseeing. Fatima from the desk said I could. In fact, she will take me. We could go to Gandhi’s place, (Rajghat) where he was assassinated. Then we’re off for a light show at Akshradham, a temple to Guru Swaminarayan.

The Gandhi place was of course filled with history and reverence for the great man. We saw his room, where he left on his final walk, and the very spot of his assassination. His belief in non-violence, a simple life and honesty is in everything he said and did. He believed in the fundamental truth of all great religions. A belief I share.

The Akshradham temple was jaw dropping. I have never seen such a splendid temple. All in white marble, the carved columns and especially the dome can only really be appreciated by going there. No pictures allowed, but I have taken some from a book to help remember. After a tour of the history of the place and the teachings and values of Guru Swaminarayan we were entertained by the most spectacular water and light show I have ever seen. It tells a story of children playing who disturbed the various powerful gods. The gods of fire, water, air and sun. Each in turn tries to show their power through destructive acts, and each time they fail to stop the children from playing. Eventually God scolds them all for showing their power in this destructive way. Instead they must learn to work together in harmony with his whole creation. 

If ever you go to Delhi, this visit is a must. 

So back to the hotel for 9pm. There’s a wedding party going on. I think I’ll stay out of the way. Early start tomorrow for the flight back.

Postscript - Did I get all that I’d hoped for? 

You bet. 

I saw the Taj Mahal. 

A male Tiger in his native habitat. 

An astonishing piece of art that will surely become an heirloom.

I’ve seen the countryside and villages, the palaces and fortresses, the cities and the traffic. I touched its poverty, the struggles of its people, and the stench of garbage and rotting flesh. I got Delhi belly and travelled the night train.

I’ve smelled the spices and incense and tasted the culture, the splendour of its history, and religions. I’ve danced at a wedding party and made some special friends. 

I am so pleased I’ve done this. A great guide and great team. And there’s more to see. I’ve only touched it, but I loved it.