Saturday 31st May
- island-wide power cuts
- sandy beaches
and
- peace and quiet.
it almost sounds like a holiday.
love, all
edd & philippa
Saturday 31 May 2008
Friday 30 May 2008
Catch-up - photos and full text soon!
Friday 30th May
- internet updating!
now based on the island of Diu, we have found somewhere with good uploading, computers and connections, plus Blogger.com now works 100% again - huzzah! please do keep checking back to see what new things have been updated. thanks for your patience!
take care and please do stay in touch; we are thinking of you lots.
edd & philippa
Hardcore Prawn - photos and full text soon!
Thursday 29th May
- sun, sea and sand
- King Prawn attack!
quiet, relaxing and laid back - what a change from places like Ahmedabad. bits and pieces to follow soon, we can update properly at last, so please do keep checking!
love
edd & philippa
Diu South West - photos and full text soon!
Wednesday 28th May
- a Palitana promise
- the road to Diu
plus
- island is surrounded by sea shocker!
a rearranging of plans brings is to the island of Diu early and low on energy. details as ever soon!
edd & philippa
- a Palitana promise
- the road to Diu
plus
- island is surrounded by sea shocker!
a rearranging of plans brings is to the island of Diu early and low on energy. details as ever soon!
edd & philippa
The Best Laid Plans...
Tuesday 27th May
- hurray, we leave Ahmedabad!
- the road to Palitana
- the best laid plans...
the benefits of having such a rare luxury as air conditioning are obvious in a country that can get as hot as India can, and we felt those benefits on what was our last night - finally! - in Ahmedabad. checking out at 5am involved waking the porter and night receptionist, who were sleeping by the desk. we had asked to check out earlier in the evening, but they had said it would be fine. we were a little crestfallen to discover that it was still stupidly warm for this hour of the morning. unlike all of the other major cities in which we have stayed, the Ahmedabad streets were virtually deserted, its inhabitants choosing not to take advantage of the relatively cooler temperatures, as they do elsewhere. the porter opened the shuttered grill to the entrance and hailed us an auto.
it was a strange experience speeding through the streets in the dawning light past the homeless and the half-disintegrated home we had seen previously propped up by sandbags. at the station, we managed to find our bus without too much difficulty, even though all of the signs were in Gujarati. we were half an hour early, but the bus was already predominantly boarded. a rough and ready collection or 2 and 3 seat groups separated by an aisle, it had the rigid seats and slightly darkened windows common with all state buses. in keeping with the wide variety of sources from which they seem to originate, the door's driver's area and general layout differ from bus to bus as much as the dilapidated state of their interiors and paintwork. Philippa managed to get a window seat as part of a group of 3, with Edd in the middle.
we'd been on state buses before to Deshnok and Kota, but this would be a longer journey and the main problem with Indian transport - for Edd - was again apparent. the leg room on a state bus is actually fairly decent, but it does not accommodate someone of Edd's altitude in anything other than a bolt upright position. Philippa's rucksack was already under her legs, while Edd's was scrunched very unceremoniously into the small overhead racks, necessitating a vast expenditure of sweat. between us, we were a might uncomfortable, to say the least. Edd had a slight and pleasant man in the adjacent seat, but he was not of a size to cause any additional issues of space. the other people on the bus regarded us with mild curiosity, no more. most of them had taken their chances with seat availability and were paying on board. several had the facial contusions or strange skull dents that confuse and fascinate in equal measure - what happens to make that sort of mark? in a country with so many unfortunate amputees, crippled and ill, it seemed a minor issue with which to deal. how lucky we are in the West.
if we had thought Ahmedabad polluted before, we didn't know the half of it. almost an hour passed before we finally passed out of its ungainly sprawl. new roads were being constructed in many places, accompanied by whole communities living on the displaced earth and waiting aggregates, small fires burning by groups of huddled people next to their few possessions or underneath a makeshift awning. the street communities in Ahmedabad were as extensive as the buildings were ugly and the development unchecked. it looked a particular degree of 'bad' in a way few places have to our eyes in India.
and the city was just the start. as soon as we cleared the outskirts, the factories began. facility followed facility, a continuous grey scar on the planet. convoluted twisting metal pipes and giant, rusting, warehouse-style sheds were the foundation for multiple small chimneys or large, dirty white behemoths, all belching our worryingly coloured smoke, more like escaping gas than the results of burning. we've never seen so many such plants in a row, and this went on for half an hour driving past at average speed. there were few if any dwellings here, and the reason for no photo evidence is that the duration of the bus' passing was marked by exercises in supreme breath holding. inhaling was a problem, as the air was strangled, weak and full of chemicals you could taste and feel. one breathe would go in and a headache would form, sharp and stabbing, as the end of its tendrils groped around the back of your skull. it was a truly horrible experience and went some way to explaining why the city's air was so heavy and uncomfortable.
eventually the factories began to thin out, interspersed with ploughed fields and even a few homes, but they were long gone before breathing in was pleasant again.
our bus, featuring a tired Philippa staring from one of the windows.
the journey itself was quite ordinary, in the best possible way. the bus kept good speed despite frequent stops and one long comfort break where Edd finally got to stretch his legs, a very welcome relief. [Edd: India is too short. I have decided.] the other passengers kept themselves very much to themselves in a vaguely British way and paid us little attention, quite unusual in our Indian experience. the bus was occasionally overloaded but not by many people and never for too long. the sun was even on the other side of the vehicle from us. all in all, it was as comfortable as a five hour plus bus journey can be when you are wedged tightly into a chair by your knees.
colourful transport
away from Ahmedabad's factories, the landscape took on a distinctly Rajasthani feel, with dry earth and dust dotted with brittle shrubbery and occasional trees. as we finally neared Palitana, we could see in the distance a high, spiked mountain. Philippa half-joked that it must be Shatrunjaya, our reason for being on the bus at all. sadly she was correct. the spikes turned out to be temples far away in the distance and the 'hill' we had been expecting looked instead exactly like an extinct volcano. it was a mountain and no mistake, with no vegetation or cover. and we were just going to pop up its 3,750 steps in 2 hours in 40C or more heat? even the photographs of the extraordinary city of Jain temples at the summit were barely a match for the common sense practicalities of whether or not we could manage it, as well as whether or not we should even try, considering Edd's recent heat-related ill-health.
Palitana was a one road town covered in Gujarati scribbles and no English script anywhere - plus ca change. we fought off a few excitable auto-rickshaw drivers who all assumed that we were staying at the Hotel Sumeru, where we had originally booked. the temperature was as to be expected at midday - silly. we didn't see the point in getting a rickshaw a few hundred yards and walked back down the road and through a lot of greetings to find the Sumeru. one man from whom we sought directions nodded and thumbed up the road, Indian style. the hotel was, of course, down a side-road behind him.
the large, lifeless reception felt like the entrance way of an abandoned comprehensive school, heightened by the hotel's wide staircases and slotted, backless steps. the slouching manager said that they were pretty much full now that we were day late, although we made sure to mention that his phone didn't work. if he was full, his tenants must be some of the quietest in India, a country not known for its decorous hotel clientele. he showed us two non-AC rooms that retained the dusty, derelict academy feel and were a little reminiscent of the half-arsed approach of Ahmedabad's Hotel Ajanta. unimpressed, we decided to retrace our steps exactly to the Hotel Shavrak, opposite the bus station, where did at least have an AC room booked.
sweaty and highly uncomfortable, we finally reached the Shavrak and they did at least still have our room. regrettably, the hotel was presented in the same fashion as the Sumeru, only by someone who had left that hotelier's course half-way through. the AC was good and the room was huge, but dirty and unkempt, with the provided towels dirty and moth-eaten, a toilet that did not flush and a shower so weak it was like faeries weeing on you, Philippa surmised. R800 a night, robbery of the most overt kind. they really know that options are limited in Palitana, or at least those hotels we knew of at the time.
half way through check in, Edd noticed something was not right. rushing upstairs in some hurry, illness had hit again! still, there was no way he was going to miss his long-cherished trip up to the mountain of temples. [Edd: sadly, I was very much mistaken - I would not leave the hotel again, or even the room, until we left the town altogether.]
Edd took some medicines and almost immediately had problems as it got to work. violent stomach cramps began and continued for a frankly distressing 7 hours, irrespective of the drugs that he took. doubled up in pain and unable to do anything at all, the afternoon was taking on significant and unwelcome deja vu qualities. while Edd busied himself with getting maudlin and depressed, Philippa was very concerned and anxious - should a doctor be called? our Shatrunjaya plans ebbed away with each stabbing pain. this eventually moved, then continued to do so, and it strongly suggested not classic 'Indian sickness' but a bladder infection. this proved to be the case. how had that been contracted? well, somewhere like India, it's not difficult to guess. India is such a dirty country it's sometimes difficult for a Westerner to comprehend how it is often cited here that Westerners have dirty habits.
Philippa spoke up for both of us when she said that there was no way that she was going to let Edd even attempt Shatrunjaya after the last three days. what rotten luck. Edd had hardly been unwell whatsoever for the entire trip to date, whereas Philippa had had a few bouts of illness, but now illness was keeping Edd from visiting - or at least trying to visit - something he was desperate to experience, only just after preventing us from leaving somewhere we were desperate to get away from. Palitana is a nothing, end of the line town. the only reason it exists is as a base for treks for pilgrims and some tourists to Shatrunjaya. it was a long way to get here and now it felt like it had all been for nothing.
Philippa had heard from the hotel receptionist that we could get to Diu on a 7 hour bus or two, or a 4 hour taxi. the latter would, of course, be quite expensive, but the last few days had got to us to the point where we had had just about enough. Philippa asked him to book us one for tomorrow.
[Edd: while she popped out to buy drinks and snacks, I couldn't even move around until around 7pm. if felt a bit like another whole day had been trashed, and with it the one thing I had most wanted to do in Gujarat.] it would probably be a few days before Edd was strong enough to have even been able to attempt a trip up Shatrunjaya, so maybe it was a good thing that we didn't stagnate in Palitana just to find out, but it didn't feel that way at the time. it felt like a failure.
the hours ticked by, helped by TV and old Charlie Chaplin films on one of the cable channels. tomorrow, we leave a town we've barely even seen and without accomplishing the only reason we came here in the first place. we still had no room arranged in Diu, either. feeling a little miserable and self-pitying, Edd consoled himself by knowing deep down that he wasn't nearly fit or healthy enough to attempt the Shatrunjaya climb, while we both stuck by the clichéd maxim that things could only get better.
edd & philippa
- hurray, we leave Ahmedabad!
- the road to Palitana
- the best laid plans...
the benefits of having such a rare luxury as air conditioning are obvious in a country that can get as hot as India can, and we felt those benefits on what was our last night - finally! - in Ahmedabad. checking out at 5am involved waking the porter and night receptionist, who were sleeping by the desk. we had asked to check out earlier in the evening, but they had said it would be fine. we were a little crestfallen to discover that it was still stupidly warm for this hour of the morning. unlike all of the other major cities in which we have stayed, the Ahmedabad streets were virtually deserted, its inhabitants choosing not to take advantage of the relatively cooler temperatures, as they do elsewhere. the porter opened the shuttered grill to the entrance and hailed us an auto.
it was a strange experience speeding through the streets in the dawning light past the homeless and the half-disintegrated home we had seen previously propped up by sandbags. at the station, we managed to find our bus without too much difficulty, even though all of the signs were in Gujarati. we were half an hour early, but the bus was already predominantly boarded. a rough and ready collection or 2 and 3 seat groups separated by an aisle, it had the rigid seats and slightly darkened windows common with all state buses. in keeping with the wide variety of sources from which they seem to originate, the door's driver's area and general layout differ from bus to bus as much as the dilapidated state of their interiors and paintwork. Philippa managed to get a window seat as part of a group of 3, with Edd in the middle.
we'd been on state buses before to Deshnok and Kota, but this would be a longer journey and the main problem with Indian transport - for Edd - was again apparent. the leg room on a state bus is actually fairly decent, but it does not accommodate someone of Edd's altitude in anything other than a bolt upright position. Philippa's rucksack was already under her legs, while Edd's was scrunched very unceremoniously into the small overhead racks, necessitating a vast expenditure of sweat. between us, we were a might uncomfortable, to say the least. Edd had a slight and pleasant man in the adjacent seat, but he was not of a size to cause any additional issues of space. the other people on the bus regarded us with mild curiosity, no more. most of them had taken their chances with seat availability and were paying on board. several had the facial contusions or strange skull dents that confuse and fascinate in equal measure - what happens to make that sort of mark? in a country with so many unfortunate amputees, crippled and ill, it seemed a minor issue with which to deal. how lucky we are in the West.
if we had thought Ahmedabad polluted before, we didn't know the half of it. almost an hour passed before we finally passed out of its ungainly sprawl. new roads were being constructed in many places, accompanied by whole communities living on the displaced earth and waiting aggregates, small fires burning by groups of huddled people next to their few possessions or underneath a makeshift awning. the street communities in Ahmedabad were as extensive as the buildings were ugly and the development unchecked. it looked a particular degree of 'bad' in a way few places have to our eyes in India.
and the city was just the start. as soon as we cleared the outskirts, the factories began. facility followed facility, a continuous grey scar on the planet. convoluted twisting metal pipes and giant, rusting, warehouse-style sheds were the foundation for multiple small chimneys or large, dirty white behemoths, all belching our worryingly coloured smoke, more like escaping gas than the results of burning. we've never seen so many such plants in a row, and this went on for half an hour driving past at average speed. there were few if any dwellings here, and the reason for no photo evidence is that the duration of the bus' passing was marked by exercises in supreme breath holding. inhaling was a problem, as the air was strangled, weak and full of chemicals you could taste and feel. one breathe would go in and a headache would form, sharp and stabbing, as the end of its tendrils groped around the back of your skull. it was a truly horrible experience and went some way to explaining why the city's air was so heavy and uncomfortable.
eventually the factories began to thin out, interspersed with ploughed fields and even a few homes, but they were long gone before breathing in was pleasant again.
our bus, featuring a tired Philippa staring from one of the windows.the journey itself was quite ordinary, in the best possible way. the bus kept good speed despite frequent stops and one long comfort break where Edd finally got to stretch his legs, a very welcome relief. [Edd: India is too short. I have decided.] the other passengers kept themselves very much to themselves in a vaguely British way and paid us little attention, quite unusual in our Indian experience. the bus was occasionally overloaded but not by many people and never for too long. the sun was even on the other side of the vehicle from us. all in all, it was as comfortable as a five hour plus bus journey can be when you are wedged tightly into a chair by your knees.
colourful transportaway from Ahmedabad's factories, the landscape took on a distinctly Rajasthani feel, with dry earth and dust dotted with brittle shrubbery and occasional trees. as we finally neared Palitana, we could see in the distance a high, spiked mountain. Philippa half-joked that it must be Shatrunjaya, our reason for being on the bus at all. sadly she was correct. the spikes turned out to be temples far away in the distance and the 'hill' we had been expecting looked instead exactly like an extinct volcano. it was a mountain and no mistake, with no vegetation or cover. and we were just going to pop up its 3,750 steps in 2 hours in 40C or more heat? even the photographs of the extraordinary city of Jain temples at the summit were barely a match for the common sense practicalities of whether or not we could manage it, as well as whether or not we should even try, considering Edd's recent heat-related ill-health.
Palitana was a one road town covered in Gujarati scribbles and no English script anywhere - plus ca change. we fought off a few excitable auto-rickshaw drivers who all assumed that we were staying at the Hotel Sumeru, where we had originally booked. the temperature was as to be expected at midday - silly. we didn't see the point in getting a rickshaw a few hundred yards and walked back down the road and through a lot of greetings to find the Sumeru. one man from whom we sought directions nodded and thumbed up the road, Indian style. the hotel was, of course, down a side-road behind him.
the large, lifeless reception felt like the entrance way of an abandoned comprehensive school, heightened by the hotel's wide staircases and slotted, backless steps. the slouching manager said that they were pretty much full now that we were day late, although we made sure to mention that his phone didn't work. if he was full, his tenants must be some of the quietest in India, a country not known for its decorous hotel clientele. he showed us two non-AC rooms that retained the dusty, derelict academy feel and were a little reminiscent of the half-arsed approach of Ahmedabad's Hotel Ajanta. unimpressed, we decided to retrace our steps exactly to the Hotel Shavrak, opposite the bus station, where did at least have an AC room booked.
sweaty and highly uncomfortable, we finally reached the Shavrak and they did at least still have our room. regrettably, the hotel was presented in the same fashion as the Sumeru, only by someone who had left that hotelier's course half-way through. the AC was good and the room was huge, but dirty and unkempt, with the provided towels dirty and moth-eaten, a toilet that did not flush and a shower so weak it was like faeries weeing on you, Philippa surmised. R800 a night, robbery of the most overt kind. they really know that options are limited in Palitana, or at least those hotels we knew of at the time.
half way through check in, Edd noticed something was not right. rushing upstairs in some hurry, illness had hit again! still, there was no way he was going to miss his long-cherished trip up to the mountain of temples. [Edd: sadly, I was very much mistaken - I would not leave the hotel again, or even the room, until we left the town altogether.]
Edd took some medicines and almost immediately had problems as it got to work. violent stomach cramps began and continued for a frankly distressing 7 hours, irrespective of the drugs that he took. doubled up in pain and unable to do anything at all, the afternoon was taking on significant and unwelcome deja vu qualities. while Edd busied himself with getting maudlin and depressed, Philippa was very concerned and anxious - should a doctor be called? our Shatrunjaya plans ebbed away with each stabbing pain. this eventually moved, then continued to do so, and it strongly suggested not classic 'Indian sickness' but a bladder infection. this proved to be the case. how had that been contracted? well, somewhere like India, it's not difficult to guess. India is such a dirty country it's sometimes difficult for a Westerner to comprehend how it is often cited here that Westerners have dirty habits.
Philippa spoke up for both of us when she said that there was no way that she was going to let Edd even attempt Shatrunjaya after the last three days. what rotten luck. Edd had hardly been unwell whatsoever for the entire trip to date, whereas Philippa had had a few bouts of illness, but now illness was keeping Edd from visiting - or at least trying to visit - something he was desperate to experience, only just after preventing us from leaving somewhere we were desperate to get away from. Palitana is a nothing, end of the line town. the only reason it exists is as a base for treks for pilgrims and some tourists to Shatrunjaya. it was a long way to get here and now it felt like it had all been for nothing.
Philippa had heard from the hotel receptionist that we could get to Diu on a 7 hour bus or two, or a 4 hour taxi. the latter would, of course, be quite expensive, but the last few days had got to us to the point where we had had just about enough. Philippa asked him to book us one for tomorrow.
[Edd: while she popped out to buy drinks and snacks, I couldn't even move around until around 7pm. if felt a bit like another whole day had been trashed, and with it the one thing I had most wanted to do in Gujarat.] it would probably be a few days before Edd was strong enough to have even been able to attempt a trip up Shatrunjaya, so maybe it was a good thing that we didn't stagnate in Palitana just to find out, but it didn't feel that way at the time. it felt like a failure.
the hours ticked by, helped by TV and old Charlie Chaplin films on one of the cable channels. tomorrow, we leave a town we've barely even seen and without accomplishing the only reason we came here in the first place. we still had no room arranged in Diu, either. feeling a little miserable and self-pitying, Edd consoled himself by knowing deep down that he wasn't nearly fit or healthy enough to attempt the Shatrunjaya climb, while we both stuck by the clichéd maxim that things could only get better.
edd & philippa
Ahm-Edd-a-bad
Monday 26th May
- trapped in Ahmedabad - and ill!
Gujarat's capital city is not one of our favourite places, to be sure, and we were keen to leave as soon as possible. but, regrettably, today was not to be as planned - the chief reason for which was Edd. [Edd: I'd woken at around midnight after finally managing to grab a mere moment's shut eye after hours of restless turning. hot, feverish and delirious, the malaise of the previous afternoon had returned with venom.] despite all of the wet towels, neither of us had got much sleep and Edd's temperature wasn't going down either. Philippa excelled in the Florence Nightingale role despite not inconsiderable anxiety on her part. damp sheets were administered to fevered brows and the towels were soaked again (in the shower!). we gave it a few hours, during which Edd faded in and out of consciousness and flailed around a lot. allegedly. when the just before 5am alarm went off for our departure for the state bus to Palitana, Philippa made the entirely common sense executive decision that we weren't catching any buses today. we'd be stuck in Ahmedabad for at least another day.
since Edd was a limp wreck, we waited a few hours of still hotness before Philippa asked the management if there was an AC room to which we could retreat. taking the fan-only room to save money, in this instance, had proven to be a false economy. fortunately, the hotel was able to oblige, with a replacement just around the corner. although smaller in overall size, it was further away from the road and outside noise and had a truly chilling AC. perversely, after spending so long trying to keep Edd cool, the main problem now was ensuring that that he didn't get too cold! within a few hours, Edd had gone from shower-soaked towels and sheets to being wrapped in a blanket. but it did mean that both is us finally got some sleep.
hours passed.
Edd began to feel a little stronger, as well as hungry! so, we ate a late lunch downstairs, our first food of the day. our desire to leave Ahmedabad was now, of course, stronger than ever, and Edd felt well enough for us to take a rickshaw to the state bus stand and repeat yesterday's paltry transaction, with the seat numbers we were given even being suspiciously identical. this time we had the added bonus of being served by a woman with enough English to tell us the journey's duration (6 hours) and place of departure in the station, so it wasn't quite a Groundhog Day situation. the weather was stuck on repeat, however; stifling, intense heat, untroubled by any breeze and exacerbated by air chewy with pollutants.
Ahmedabad was one of the 10 most polluted cities in the world a few years ago, and we doubt very much that this will have changed. our sometimes inaccurate guidebook states that 60,000 new vehicles squeeze onto its roads every year. at this rate, you won't be able to see from one side of the street to the other for exhaust fumes. Philippa phoned her mum from a nearby STD stand, while at a counterpart, Edd tried to change our Palitana bookings to accommodate the day's delay. the phone number was now out of order and, while something of a change from not being answered, this seems to happen whenever you need to get hold of someone. Palitana seems to be a two hotel town, and we managed to secure a rather expensive (AC) room for tomorrow at Option #2.
once more we pass the house which no longer has any sides to speak of.
today, we feel a strange kindred with it.
the icy arms of the AC encircled us again when we got back to the Hotel Good Night. getting out and about had been a good move despite the discomfort of doing so in the middle of the afternoon. a new ticket meant a new way out of the city, cause enough for celebration. it's difficult to say if we would be less hard on Ahmedabad if Edd had not been so ill, but we think that our viewpoints would not differ that greatly. by the late afternoon, Edd was well enough to nip out on his own and walk the few hundred yards to the internet cafe to do a little blogging and emailing. after a day spent in bed half-watching television, it was important to get out and do something before going completely stir crazy, almost as much as because healthy levels had been restored. this blog is falling far behind, now, after enforced absences from internet cafes and uploading restrictions. it's frustrating and annoying, but we're doing everything that we can - we hope you understand!
our second, final meal in Ahmedabad was taken at the Kalapi. after all of Edd's health woes, he was reduced to eating sweet and sour veg and boiled rice in a country stocked with such exquisite foodstuffs. we repeated our drinks purchase journey of yesterday for another early start, this time pursued by a relentless beggar woman who actually ran after Philippa in a dashed street pursuit before Edd intervened. the locals, clearly no fans of the homeless, joined in and told her to clear off in no uncertain terms. the final result was the opposite of what we would have intended, but the general aim of many beggars here appears to be so vexatious that payment is made to get rid of them, an attitude that can be too much to deal with sometimes.
in a room far more suited to sleep before a journey, we found ourselves watching the sci-fi martial arts mess of a film that is Black Mask II - City of Masks. genetic mutants disguised as professional wrestlers were turning into strange, uncontrollable beasts, and only a rogue genetically engineered enhanced human could save us; provided he could escape the attentions of his counterpart and nemesis sent to kill him by the super-brain that designed them both, as well as avoid turning into a panther. it's worth noting that we checked, and Edd's fever had not returned, nor had Philippa contracted one. nevertheless, it seemed a suitably hallucinogenic end to a feverish and best forgotten day.
it felt a lot like we had lost a whole day of our trip for a stupid hat error. [Edd: Philippa had done a fantastic job of bringing me around and out of the fever.] we crossed all possible appendages and prayed we'd be out of here, finally, tomorrow.
all the best
edd & philippa
- trapped in Ahmedabad - and ill!
Gujarat's capital city is not one of our favourite places, to be sure, and we were keen to leave as soon as possible. but, regrettably, today was not to be as planned - the chief reason for which was Edd. [Edd: I'd woken at around midnight after finally managing to grab a mere moment's shut eye after hours of restless turning. hot, feverish and delirious, the malaise of the previous afternoon had returned with venom.] despite all of the wet towels, neither of us had got much sleep and Edd's temperature wasn't going down either. Philippa excelled in the Florence Nightingale role despite not inconsiderable anxiety on her part. damp sheets were administered to fevered brows and the towels were soaked again (in the shower!). we gave it a few hours, during which Edd faded in and out of consciousness and flailed around a lot. allegedly. when the just before 5am alarm went off for our departure for the state bus to Palitana, Philippa made the entirely common sense executive decision that we weren't catching any buses today. we'd be stuck in Ahmedabad for at least another day.
since Edd was a limp wreck, we waited a few hours of still hotness before Philippa asked the management if there was an AC room to which we could retreat. taking the fan-only room to save money, in this instance, had proven to be a false economy. fortunately, the hotel was able to oblige, with a replacement just around the corner. although smaller in overall size, it was further away from the road and outside noise and had a truly chilling AC. perversely, after spending so long trying to keep Edd cool, the main problem now was ensuring that that he didn't get too cold! within a few hours, Edd had gone from shower-soaked towels and sheets to being wrapped in a blanket. but it did mean that both is us finally got some sleep.
hours passed.
Edd began to feel a little stronger, as well as hungry! so, we ate a late lunch downstairs, our first food of the day. our desire to leave Ahmedabad was now, of course, stronger than ever, and Edd felt well enough for us to take a rickshaw to the state bus stand and repeat yesterday's paltry transaction, with the seat numbers we were given even being suspiciously identical. this time we had the added bonus of being served by a woman with enough English to tell us the journey's duration (6 hours) and place of departure in the station, so it wasn't quite a Groundhog Day situation. the weather was stuck on repeat, however; stifling, intense heat, untroubled by any breeze and exacerbated by air chewy with pollutants.
Ahmedabad was one of the 10 most polluted cities in the world a few years ago, and we doubt very much that this will have changed. our sometimes inaccurate guidebook states that 60,000 new vehicles squeeze onto its roads every year. at this rate, you won't be able to see from one side of the street to the other for exhaust fumes. Philippa phoned her mum from a nearby STD stand, while at a counterpart, Edd tried to change our Palitana bookings to accommodate the day's delay. the phone number was now out of order and, while something of a change from not being answered, this seems to happen whenever you need to get hold of someone. Palitana seems to be a two hotel town, and we managed to secure a rather expensive (AC) room for tomorrow at Option #2.
once more we pass the house which no longer has any sides to speak of.today, we feel a strange kindred with it.
the icy arms of the AC encircled us again when we got back to the Hotel Good Night. getting out and about had been a good move despite the discomfort of doing so in the middle of the afternoon. a new ticket meant a new way out of the city, cause enough for celebration. it's difficult to say if we would be less hard on Ahmedabad if Edd had not been so ill, but we think that our viewpoints would not differ that greatly. by the late afternoon, Edd was well enough to nip out on his own and walk the few hundred yards to the internet cafe to do a little blogging and emailing. after a day spent in bed half-watching television, it was important to get out and do something before going completely stir crazy, almost as much as because healthy levels had been restored. this blog is falling far behind, now, after enforced absences from internet cafes and uploading restrictions. it's frustrating and annoying, but we're doing everything that we can - we hope you understand!
our second, final meal in Ahmedabad was taken at the Kalapi. after all of Edd's health woes, he was reduced to eating sweet and sour veg and boiled rice in a country stocked with such exquisite foodstuffs. we repeated our drinks purchase journey of yesterday for another early start, this time pursued by a relentless beggar woman who actually ran after Philippa in a dashed street pursuit before Edd intervened. the locals, clearly no fans of the homeless, joined in and told her to clear off in no uncertain terms. the final result was the opposite of what we would have intended, but the general aim of many beggars here appears to be so vexatious that payment is made to get rid of them, an attitude that can be too much to deal with sometimes.
in a room far more suited to sleep before a journey, we found ourselves watching the sci-fi martial arts mess of a film that is Black Mask II - City of Masks. genetic mutants disguised as professional wrestlers were turning into strange, uncontrollable beasts, and only a rogue genetically engineered enhanced human could save us; provided he could escape the attentions of his counterpart and nemesis sent to kill him by the super-brain that designed them both, as well as avoid turning into a panther. it's worth noting that we checked, and Edd's fever had not returned, nor had Philippa contracted one. nevertheless, it seemed a suitably hallucinogenic end to a feverish and best forgotten day.
it felt a lot like we had lost a whole day of our trip for a stupid hat error. [Edd: Philippa had done a fantastic job of bringing me around and out of the fever.] we crossed all possible appendages and prayed we'd be out of here, finally, tomorrow.
all the best
edd & philippa
What would Ghandi say?
Sunday 25th May
- the Ghandi Ashram
plus
- Edd regrets a hatless day earlier in the week
fine comfort and great showers are still of little help when your room is uncomfortably hot. Philippa got very little sleep, having to lie on wet towels to even approach a degree of comfort, hardly ideal. the fan helped a bit, of course, but at times it felt like it was only circulating hot air. outside was very much a ramped up version of our room; hot, stifling, quite oppressive. an ATM visit, as ever, provided a physically shocking contrast, as they universally possess the best AC of anywhere in India. it's like stepping into a freezer. the fact that it's also usually the backdrop for people living in the streets is a bitter contrast. it may also explain why so many ATMs have armed security guards, to ensure that those with money are not bothered by having to deal with those that don't.
a rickshaw took us across the river and North to the Sabarmati Ashram, set up by Ghandi in 1917, and now a well organised and free museum. its principles were simple and magnanimous; to strive for the abandonment of possessions and desires, as well as the pursuit of the love of all of one's fellow men, hard work for the benefit of one's immediate community, prayer, meditation and abstinence. what would he have made of the cloistered, pod-world of the guarded ATMs?
a centre in the grounds of the Ashram preaches some worthy ideals,
if challenging for a Western audience.
on reflection, later that day, it was also worth wondering what the champion of Indian values and products over those imported from the West, this extraordinary campaigner for the removal of inequalities and the caste treatment of the so-called 'untouchables,' would have made of our journey to the ashram he set up to further those principles and spread the word. the road was peppered with boutiques, luxury car and van stores, and a McDonald's. on the last main road to the ashram, which is even called Ashram Road, a huge slum area opened up on our left, a dirt road lined with a city of corrugated shacks, their roofs weighed down with broken rubble. there was a clear line where development and money stopped, almost like an invisible barrier, with each of the two sides of the city's community filling right up to it without interaction or acknowledgement. a small child with very apparent diarrhoea squatted at the edge of the road, unnoticed. in many ways, India has gone backwards since independence and from Ghandi's ideals.
the ashram is a modest acreage of grass and trees around dirt paths and a scattered number of single storey buildings with tiled roofs, painted white. it was here that Ghandi entertained world leaders when they visited him. his simple and to-the-point subsistence room is here, set up with his spinning wheel for local Indian khadi cloth, a fine symbol of independence.
it was also here that he set out on his 400km walk to Dandi to collect salt from the sea in defiance of this British tax for the one of the basic necessities of life. consequently, there is a lot to tell of the ashram is Ghandi's life, as well as a fine walk through his entire personal and philosophical history. the museum copes admirably with this weighty task, and is the one other thing that we would encourage people to visit if in Ahmedabad other than the Calico Museum of Textiles (see our blog page for details of our visit). to learn of the unique contribution of this one man to both Indian and world history in more detail is a must, and to be able to do it where it all actually happened is invaluable.
when we arrived at the ashram, early, the grounds were virtually deserted. the only exception was a group of children responding animatedly to some form of class, spread out on a rug to one side of Ghandi's house. the numbers of visitors swelled, being a Sunday, but the grounds and possibly the location kept things quieter than usual (Indian's often make very noisy tourists). did they make any connection between Ghandi's teachings in the museum and the relentless commercials and consumerism on display on their televisions, or the poverty and stark inequalities on display right outside the ashram entrance?
did they also notice the view afforded by the Sabarmati River? although it was hard to believe it in this heat, Gujarat suffered severe floods a few years ago and massive flood defences were being constructed on the currently bone dry bed of the river. on the far side, a huge mini-city of shacks and lean-to's had been cobbled together from metal scraps, stone cast offs and rags. you see this around most major projects, here. the scheme draws in workers and their families just follow and throw together dwellings right next to the construction. behind them, a tall factory chimney spewed out thick black smoke into the sky. it was a far cry from the placid gardens of the ashram on the opposite bank.
Edd hadn't been feeling great all day, so we spent some time sitting in the shade and watching squirrels tear about - we never seem to get tired of their frantic antics. another auto-rickshaw took us home, where Philippa got her camera batteries from the nice man who had opened his shop especially for her, and on time, too. we crossed the road directly and had lunch at the Kalapi restaurant, immediately noticing its cooling AC interior. Edd still felt odd, so he played it safe with South Indian uttapams, rice-based pancakes much like pizza, and a mouth-surprising thick, mixed fruit lassi with cashews.
recharging batteries at the hotel, literally in Philippa's case, Edd found that he could not sleep, write or rest comfortably. overheating, he had a shower to try and cool down. [Edd: my reaction was as unexpected as it was alarming. I started shivering uncontrollably, almost as if I had hypothermia. I thought that I was freezing, but Philippa confirmed that my temperature was feverishly hot. unable to regulate my body temperature, Phillipa took excellent care, with cold flannels or blankets as appropriate.] the memory of Edd's disgruntled and hat-less trek to find an STD phone two days previously came back very clearly. the state that Edd was in gave us both a real shock and any plans that we might have had for the afternoon were immediately thrown out. Edd burned and froze alternately for hours until he began to get control of his temperature again, and it was not until the evening that he felt up for a short walk to somewhere to eat.
we chose the Paramount again; although Edd wasn't entirely sure about his minced chicken steak with pineapple - Indian cuisine?! - the atmosphere, curtained booths, and especially the AC, was as welcoming as before. afterwards, we managed to find a drinks shop to purchase provisions for tomorrow's early start bus journey to Palitana. still at a low ebb, we packed in a day that had started well but had then been rather unpleasant for us both in different ways, due to Edd's probable heatstroke. the ceiling fan worked hard to cool us down, but it was another oppressive night. Philippa's wet towel bed idea of the night before was now in use by us both. it seemed that the curse of the night before travelling with an early start was upon us once more.
[Edd: I felt unwell, miserable and too hot to sleep. I am sure that I would have failed miserably at Ghandi's ashram].
love
edd & philippa
- the Ghandi Ashram
plus
- Edd regrets a hatless day earlier in the week
fine comfort and great showers are still of little help when your room is uncomfortably hot. Philippa got very little sleep, having to lie on wet towels to even approach a degree of comfort, hardly ideal. the fan helped a bit, of course, but at times it felt like it was only circulating hot air. outside was very much a ramped up version of our room; hot, stifling, quite oppressive. an ATM visit, as ever, provided a physically shocking contrast, as they universally possess the best AC of anywhere in India. it's like stepping into a freezer. the fact that it's also usually the backdrop for people living in the streets is a bitter contrast. it may also explain why so many ATMs have armed security guards, to ensure that those with money are not bothered by having to deal with those that don't.
a rickshaw took us across the river and North to the Sabarmati Ashram, set up by Ghandi in 1917, and now a well organised and free museum. its principles were simple and magnanimous; to strive for the abandonment of possessions and desires, as well as the pursuit of the love of all of one's fellow men, hard work for the benefit of one's immediate community, prayer, meditation and abstinence. what would he have made of the cloistered, pod-world of the guarded ATMs?
a centre in the grounds of the Ashram preaches some worthy ideals,if challenging for a Western audience.
on reflection, later that day, it was also worth wondering what the champion of Indian values and products over those imported from the West, this extraordinary campaigner for the removal of inequalities and the caste treatment of the so-called 'untouchables,' would have made of our journey to the ashram he set up to further those principles and spread the word. the road was peppered with boutiques, luxury car and van stores, and a McDonald's. on the last main road to the ashram, which is even called Ashram Road, a huge slum area opened up on our left, a dirt road lined with a city of corrugated shacks, their roofs weighed down with broken rubble. there was a clear line where development and money stopped, almost like an invisible barrier, with each of the two sides of the city's community filling right up to it without interaction or acknowledgement. a small child with very apparent diarrhoea squatted at the edge of the road, unnoticed. in many ways, India has gone backwards since independence and from Ghandi's ideals.
the ashram is a modest acreage of grass and trees around dirt paths and a scattered number of single storey buildings with tiled roofs, painted white. it was here that Ghandi entertained world leaders when they visited him. his simple and to-the-point subsistence room is here, set up with his spinning wheel for local Indian khadi cloth, a fine symbol of independence.
it was also here that he set out on his 400km walk to Dandi to collect salt from the sea in defiance of this British tax for the one of the basic necessities of life. consequently, there is a lot to tell of the ashram is Ghandi's life, as well as a fine walk through his entire personal and philosophical history. the museum copes admirably with this weighty task, and is the one other thing that we would encourage people to visit if in Ahmedabad other than the Calico Museum of Textiles (see our blog page for details of our visit). to learn of the unique contribution of this one man to both Indian and world history in more detail is a must, and to be able to do it where it all actually happened is invaluable.
when we arrived at the ashram, early, the grounds were virtually deserted. the only exception was a group of children responding animatedly to some form of class, spread out on a rug to one side of Ghandi's house. the numbers of visitors swelled, being a Sunday, but the grounds and possibly the location kept things quieter than usual (Indian's often make very noisy tourists). did they make any connection between Ghandi's teachings in the museum and the relentless commercials and consumerism on display on their televisions, or the poverty and stark inequalities on display right outside the ashram entrance?
did they also notice the view afforded by the Sabarmati River? although it was hard to believe it in this heat, Gujarat suffered severe floods a few years ago and massive flood defences were being constructed on the currently bone dry bed of the river. on the far side, a huge mini-city of shacks and lean-to's had been cobbled together from metal scraps, stone cast offs and rags. you see this around most major projects, here. the scheme draws in workers and their families just follow and throw together dwellings right next to the construction. behind them, a tall factory chimney spewed out thick black smoke into the sky. it was a far cry from the placid gardens of the ashram on the opposite bank.
Edd hadn't been feeling great all day, so we spent some time sitting in the shade and watching squirrels tear about - we never seem to get tired of their frantic antics. another auto-rickshaw took us home, where Philippa got her camera batteries from the nice man who had opened his shop especially for her, and on time, too. we crossed the road directly and had lunch at the Kalapi restaurant, immediately noticing its cooling AC interior. Edd still felt odd, so he played it safe with South Indian uttapams, rice-based pancakes much like pizza, and a mouth-surprising thick, mixed fruit lassi with cashews.recharging batteries at the hotel, literally in Philippa's case, Edd found that he could not sleep, write or rest comfortably. overheating, he had a shower to try and cool down. [Edd: my reaction was as unexpected as it was alarming. I started shivering uncontrollably, almost as if I had hypothermia. I thought that I was freezing, but Philippa confirmed that my temperature was feverishly hot. unable to regulate my body temperature, Phillipa took excellent care, with cold flannels or blankets as appropriate.] the memory of Edd's disgruntled and hat-less trek to find an STD phone two days previously came back very clearly. the state that Edd was in gave us both a real shock and any plans that we might have had for the afternoon were immediately thrown out. Edd burned and froze alternately for hours until he began to get control of his temperature again, and it was not until the evening that he felt up for a short walk to somewhere to eat.
we chose the Paramount again; although Edd wasn't entirely sure about his minced chicken steak with pineapple - Indian cuisine?! - the atmosphere, curtained booths, and especially the AC, was as welcoming as before. afterwards, we managed to find a drinks shop to purchase provisions for tomorrow's early start bus journey to Palitana. still at a low ebb, we packed in a day that had started well but had then been rather unpleasant for us both in different ways, due to Edd's probable heatstroke. the ceiling fan worked hard to cool us down, but it was another oppressive night. Philippa's wet towel bed idea of the night before was now in use by us both. it seemed that the curse of the night before travelling with an early start was upon us once more.
[Edd: I felt unwell, miserable and too hot to sleep. I am sure that I would have failed miserably at Ghandi's ashram].
love
edd & philippa
The streets of Ahmedabad
Saturday 24th May
- goodbye and good riddance to Hotel Shonky
- the streets of Ahmedabad
for all of its inadequacies and faults, the Ajanta's powerful AC unit remained its one good feature. 10 hours of solid and overdue sleep were pummelled into us by the unit and we awoke refreshed and determined to have a better day, both mentally and in terms of what we did. this new, better day started by leaving the Ajanta and its miserable, half-arsed organisation.
loaded up with all of our gear, we squeezed down the grubby staircase and through the perpetually open lift-cum-corridor to reception. we had not told the manager that we were leaving, but he did not react or even acknowledge our presence when we hailed him with a 'Namaste' and placed the key on his desk. we've been lucky enough to have some great hoteliers in our time in India, such as Raj in Bundi or Colonel Lamba in Agra. this guy was only playing at running a hotel.
we endured the walk along the heaving Dr Tankaria Road to the Hotel Good Night as it was a walk to freedom and comfort. we checked in with the professional staff and lay down for a while under the ceiling fan, staring at the finished edges, painted walls and occasional nice fitting. it was - ridiculously - actually cheaper than the rent we'd paid for one night at the Ajanta, no AC notwithstanding. it felt like we had splashed out on unfettered luxury.
in an ironic twist to our new contentment, the first time we attempted to leave the room, the lock stopped working, so we had to change up one floor to its duplicate. then we were off and out to explore the area and try to find some of the positives that Ahmedabad must have to offer.
first off was a bit of a yo-yoing trudge up and down the poorly named Relief Road for Philippa as she hunted down a bookshop for some new reading material. to the casual observer, Ahmedabad's appearance is best summed up by the ruined and abandoned carcass of a four story building in a prime spot on the road. on the front is one word: Harrods, a fine example of the gulf between its aspirations and reality.
Mr Al Fayed will see you now.
mind you, this is pretty good, too.
the people were, as usual in Gujarat, friendly and full of greetings. we finally found a bookshop, although its range was predictably limited. from the autoparts district in which the Ajanta was located, we now appeared to be living in an area populated solely by tailors and the largest number of leather belt and sunglass stores in the world.
the chaotic streets of Ahmedabad city
our new hotel had recommended an internet cafe and, although first impressions were hardly positive, the tiny space with its cube farm of 8 or so work stations was the cheapest one we've yet found in India, at R15 an hour, even if we still could not upload any images to the blog (as it was still 'forbidden'). Philippa discovered that one of her best friends may be moving abroad only days after we may be returning home, putting extra pressure on whatever turns out to be our final return date.
The Food Inn - a practical name is nothing else - again served as the venue for our lunch and daily Watch the Customers Eat session for its underused staff. we quickly trotted across the main road again to the STD ('standard trunk dialling'!) stall to ring our parents, all of whom were of course out, as well as to try and book our accommodation on the island of Diu, who told us just to turn up without booking, which did not ring true. the afternoon heat in Ahmedabad is debilitating at this time of year, so we retreated for a later jaunt to our hotel, proud owner of some of the best showers in our Indian adventure so far.
come 5pm and we were ready for a more extensive local tour, even if it was still impressively hot. earlier in the day, Philippa had arranged to specially pick up some camera batteries tomorrow and the shop owner had said that it was 42C. it had been hotter in Jaisalmer, and elsewhere, but Ahmedabad felt a great deal more stifling, possibly due to the effects of its pollution. our tour started by crossing the road to the traffic island, believe it or not the site of Sidi Sayyid's Mosque, a dark, squat structure without minarets. women are not allowed in, but this did not truly matter as the 16th century mosque's defining attributes are clearly visible from outside. it has ten incredible jali (stone lattice work) screens on its upper storey. two in particular are amazing; floral designs and organic patterns in such detail one would assume it was ironwork if it was not so obviously crafted in a reddish stone. the effect was very un-Islamic, and may be a result of Hindu and Jain craftsmen being used in its construction.
we rounded the island and headed off East. as a major Indian city, Ahmedabad has a sizeable population living in poverty, with considerable numbers eking out an existence on the streets in a poor condition the likes of which we had not seen for what seemed like some time. most of them at least called out to the rich Westerners in their midst and, even after yesterday, it was difficult not to feel a tug on the heart strings again.
a large market spilled out across the roads around Bhadra Fort, a small and really rather unimpressive structure after all of those that we had seen in Rajasthan (it's not open to the public).
the market was chock full of stalls and masses of the public, buying mostly tat, it seemed; cheap jewellery, key rings and, of course, cricket bats.
275 not out
the road bent around past some more quite physically attentive beggars to another unusual, dark brown stone, minaret-less mosque. set in attractive and remarkably peaceful gardens, Edd was surprised by the sheer numbers of pillars inside, as well as the degree of ornate carvings. it was a quiet and reflective place, a brief salve to the punishing traffic outside.
our furthest destination was SEWA, one of the bases of the Self-Employed Women's Association, a brave and pioneering organisation set up to offer women low interest loans, bank accounts and insurance, all of which were fairly innovative concepts in India. interested in seeing if we could support them through purchases, we only found one scarf that we had to pick up immediately, but were impressed with their range of block printed and hand-made items, as well as the proactive and professional staff. SEWA has been a success thus far and deserves to continue to thrive.
colour in Ahmedabad's streets
the final step in our local tour was the Victoria Gardens, a small park opposite SEWA and across yet another wide main road. full of tall trees and grassy areas, most of the benches and green spaces were taken up by lolling men. the gardens were filled with more active life, however, with green parakeets and the ever present hyperactive squirrels jostling for attention among the usual plethora of calling birds.
as well as the vermillion blossom that you often see in India, there were trees with broad leaves and white, yellow-centred flowers that emitted a fabulous fragrance, a total contrast to Ahmedabad's general perfume of exhaust. Philippa thought that it might be gardenia.
homeward bound, we slaked our thirst from one of the very few drinks stalls we have seen in the city; we cannot account for their apparent absence. winding our way through the bustling market again, Philippa picked up a new wallet for the trip, as hers had finally died, another victim of the India Effect on possessions. as evening hastened in, we thought we'd try the Green House restaurant just along from our hotel. it was affiliated with the House Mangalda's hotel, home of the R4,000+ per night rooms, but was supposed to be a cheaper offshoot. however, there's nothing cheap about a R65 lime soda or R400 'authentic street snacks'! so we took up option two, the Paramount, requiring a bit of backtracking towards the market and aggressive beggar evasion. the unprepossessing blank door in a plain wall hid a gaudily decorated room and uniformed staff - efforts had been made, here! best of all was another Indian first for us - curtained booth dining areas. for once, Philippa could eat without being stared at, which made a huge difference. the food was fine, too, and noticeably cheaper than The Food Inn. decisions, decisions.
the hotel room was welcoming, but very warm, when we got back. we found it difficult to escape the conclusion that Ahmedabad is not a very nice city, despite fine architectural flourishes here and there. the day had been an immeasurable improvement on yesterday, though, and tomorrow's visit to Ghandi's Ashram should be a fine way to conclude - and then leave - this place. all we needed to do was somehow get to sleep in a room as hot as a sauna.
all our very best
edd & philippa
- goodbye and good riddance to Hotel Shonky
- the streets of Ahmedabad
for all of its inadequacies and faults, the Ajanta's powerful AC unit remained its one good feature. 10 hours of solid and overdue sleep were pummelled into us by the unit and we awoke refreshed and determined to have a better day, both mentally and in terms of what we did. this new, better day started by leaving the Ajanta and its miserable, half-arsed organisation.
loaded up with all of our gear, we squeezed down the grubby staircase and through the perpetually open lift-cum-corridor to reception. we had not told the manager that we were leaving, but he did not react or even acknowledge our presence when we hailed him with a 'Namaste' and placed the key on his desk. we've been lucky enough to have some great hoteliers in our time in India, such as Raj in Bundi or Colonel Lamba in Agra. this guy was only playing at running a hotel.
we endured the walk along the heaving Dr Tankaria Road to the Hotel Good Night as it was a walk to freedom and comfort. we checked in with the professional staff and lay down for a while under the ceiling fan, staring at the finished edges, painted walls and occasional nice fitting. it was - ridiculously - actually cheaper than the rent we'd paid for one night at the Ajanta, no AC notwithstanding. it felt like we had splashed out on unfettered luxury.
in an ironic twist to our new contentment, the first time we attempted to leave the room, the lock stopped working, so we had to change up one floor to its duplicate. then we were off and out to explore the area and try to find some of the positives that Ahmedabad must have to offer.
first off was a bit of a yo-yoing trudge up and down the poorly named Relief Road for Philippa as she hunted down a bookshop for some new reading material. to the casual observer, Ahmedabad's appearance is best summed up by the ruined and abandoned carcass of a four story building in a prime spot on the road. on the front is one word: Harrods, a fine example of the gulf between its aspirations and reality.
Mr Al Fayed will see you now.
mind you, this is pretty good, too.the people were, as usual in Gujarat, friendly and full of greetings. we finally found a bookshop, although its range was predictably limited. from the autoparts district in which the Ajanta was located, we now appeared to be living in an area populated solely by tailors and the largest number of leather belt and sunglass stores in the world.
the chaotic streets of Ahmedabad city our new hotel had recommended an internet cafe and, although first impressions were hardly positive, the tiny space with its cube farm of 8 or so work stations was the cheapest one we've yet found in India, at R15 an hour, even if we still could not upload any images to the blog (as it was still 'forbidden'). Philippa discovered that one of her best friends may be moving abroad only days after we may be returning home, putting extra pressure on whatever turns out to be our final return date.
The Food Inn - a practical name is nothing else - again served as the venue for our lunch and daily Watch the Customers Eat session for its underused staff. we quickly trotted across the main road again to the STD ('standard trunk dialling'!) stall to ring our parents, all of whom were of course out, as well as to try and book our accommodation on the island of Diu, who told us just to turn up without booking, which did not ring true. the afternoon heat in Ahmedabad is debilitating at this time of year, so we retreated for a later jaunt to our hotel, proud owner of some of the best showers in our Indian adventure so far.
come 5pm and we were ready for a more extensive local tour, even if it was still impressively hot. earlier in the day, Philippa had arranged to specially pick up some camera batteries tomorrow and the shop owner had said that it was 42C. it had been hotter in Jaisalmer, and elsewhere, but Ahmedabad felt a great deal more stifling, possibly due to the effects of its pollution. our tour started by crossing the road to the traffic island, believe it or not the site of Sidi Sayyid's Mosque, a dark, squat structure without minarets. women are not allowed in, but this did not truly matter as the 16th century mosque's defining attributes are clearly visible from outside. it has ten incredible jali (stone lattice work) screens on its upper storey. two in particular are amazing; floral designs and organic patterns in such detail one would assume it was ironwork if it was not so obviously crafted in a reddish stone. the effect was very un-Islamic, and may be a result of Hindu and Jain craftsmen being used in its construction.
we rounded the island and headed off East. as a major Indian city, Ahmedabad has a sizeable population living in poverty, with considerable numbers eking out an existence on the streets in a poor condition the likes of which we had not seen for what seemed like some time. most of them at least called out to the rich Westerners in their midst and, even after yesterday, it was difficult not to feel a tug on the heart strings again.
a large market spilled out across the roads around Bhadra Fort, a small and really rather unimpressive structure after all of those that we had seen in Rajasthan (it's not open to the public).
the market was chock full of stalls and masses of the public, buying mostly tat, it seemed; cheap jewellery, key rings and, of course, cricket bats.
275 not outthe road bent around past some more quite physically attentive beggars to another unusual, dark brown stone, minaret-less mosque. set in attractive and remarkably peaceful gardens, Edd was surprised by the sheer numbers of pillars inside, as well as the degree of ornate carvings. it was a quiet and reflective place, a brief salve to the punishing traffic outside.
our furthest destination was SEWA, one of the bases of the Self-Employed Women's Association, a brave and pioneering organisation set up to offer women low interest loans, bank accounts and insurance, all of which were fairly innovative concepts in India. interested in seeing if we could support them through purchases, we only found one scarf that we had to pick up immediately, but were impressed with their range of block printed and hand-made items, as well as the proactive and professional staff. SEWA has been a success thus far and deserves to continue to thrive. 
colour in Ahmedabad's streetsthe final step in our local tour was the Victoria Gardens, a small park opposite SEWA and across yet another wide main road. full of tall trees and grassy areas, most of the benches and green spaces were taken up by lolling men. the gardens were filled with more active life, however, with green parakeets and the ever present hyperactive squirrels jostling for attention among the usual plethora of calling birds.
as well as the vermillion blossom that you often see in India, there were trees with broad leaves and white, yellow-centred flowers that emitted a fabulous fragrance, a total contrast to Ahmedabad's general perfume of exhaust. Philippa thought that it might be gardenia.
homeward bound, we slaked our thirst from one of the very few drinks stalls we have seen in the city; we cannot account for their apparent absence. winding our way through the bustling market again, Philippa picked up a new wallet for the trip, as hers had finally died, another victim of the India Effect on possessions. as evening hastened in, we thought we'd try the Green House restaurant just along from our hotel. it was affiliated with the House Mangalda's hotel, home of the R4,000+ per night rooms, but was supposed to be a cheaper offshoot. however, there's nothing cheap about a R65 lime soda or R400 'authentic street snacks'! so we took up option two, the Paramount, requiring a bit of backtracking towards the market and aggressive beggar evasion. the unprepossessing blank door in a plain wall hid a gaudily decorated room and uniformed staff - efforts had been made, here! best of all was another Indian first for us - curtained booth dining areas. for once, Philippa could eat without being stared at, which made a huge difference. the food was fine, too, and noticeably cheaper than The Food Inn. decisions, decisions.the hotel room was welcoming, but very warm, when we got back. we found it difficult to escape the conclusion that Ahmedabad is not a very nice city, despite fine architectural flourishes here and there. the day had been an immeasurable improvement on yesterday, though, and tomorrow's visit to Ghandi's Ashram should be a fine way to conclude - and then leave - this place. all we needed to do was somehow get to sleep in a room as hot as a sauna.
all our very best
edd & philippa
The Descent
Friday 23rd May
- the descent
- Abu Road station - a new low!
- back to Ahmedabad
- Hotel Shonky - another new low!
not the best of days, and one where no photographs were taken, fatigue and disinterest in our surroundings making us disinclined to immortalise the things that we saw. read on to discover exactly why...
Mount Abu was hit by numerous power cuts during the night, with the subsequently failing ceiling fan overhead lending itself well to the now customary poor sleep before early travelling routine. unfortunately, the alarm went off for us to finish packing and leave right in the middle of a particularly long power cut. we floundered around in the dark at the frankly ungodly hour of 4am, trying and failing to get our torches to work (they have been slowly dying ever since we arrived in India, and it isn't the batteries). the hotel's nightwatchman gave us a knock on the door in case we'd overslept for the taxi, proffering lit candles to light our room. it lent the room an atmospheric air, even if it merely helped to heighten the shadows! shortly afterwards, he appeared again, this time with a powerful flashlight, and we could at last finish up. we have absolutely no idea how we managed not to leave several valuable or important items behind in our stygian scramble, but somehow everything seemed to make it out of the Shri Ganesh with us.
clumping down the stairs with our packs in the faltering flashlight's beam, the nightwatchmean - a man whose position we did not know existed until this morning - helped us load the bags into the waiting taxi jeep. we had not seen weather like this for our entire trip so far. thick mist had descended on the blacked-out town, the air wet and heavy. already it was clear that the zigzag down the mountain's sides would be slow and take longer than the journey up, so we were grateful for the early start, even with its accompanying difficulties. we set off, with the headlights too weak to penetrate the mist on low beam, and merely bouncing back off the precipitation if placed on high beam. not all of the town was in darkness, as it turned out, but those patches that were illuminated were few and far between. someone appeared to be washing the road with a hose at one point, an odd activity for 4:30am in the morning. unsurprisingly, ours was the only car on the road.
the descent was prolonged, gloomy and rather dangerous. as we couldn't see the road; we were intrigued to know how the young but obviously skilled driver could. he drove carefully and safely all of the way down, skirting helpfully placed obstacles such as parked trucks on bends with aplomb on a mountain road so serpentine that Jain stone carvers would have been proud, a road that was lined with a grand total of four lights. we're sure that many a poorer driver would have sailed off through a barrier into space, so non-existent was the visibility. looking back behind us, the mist would sometimes swoop down over where the jeep had been only moments before, like a predator pursuing its prey, or flood waters racing down a valley. the weird scene was given added oddity points when we passed several figures dressed in white pushing two occupied wheelchairs up the hill, those seated also white clad. we knew from their uniforms that they were Om Shanti devotees, on their way to the Brahma Kumaris centre, but their ghostly presence and total lack of lighting to guide their way gave the sight of such white apparitions an unearthly quality. and at what time must they have commenced their long and arduous ascent?
it would be a lie to say that we were not at least a little concerned with the driving conditions and it was with genuine relief that the mountain road levelled out, the mist dissipated and we cruised down to Abu Road railway station on roads unaffected by the power cut higher up. our arrival at the railhead at around 5:30am was heralded by a man vomiting copiously at a public water tap outside. although certainly unpleasant, this would in fact set the tone for the next hour or so and set us up well for the general mood of the day that was to come.
our train was almost on time, according to the arrivals board and also to the enquiries officer, a man who did not even move from his feet-up-at-the-back-of-the-office position to respond to customers. it would be only 20 minutes late, great stuff considering it originated in Delhi the previous day. this meant that we had only an hour to wait. this was the silver lining to the cloud that was even being at Abu Road station. it was the filthiest we have seen in India, which is against some pretty stiff competition. it may well be the filthiest railway station we've ever been to in the world. how we had missed its condition when we arrived is unclear; maybe because we walked through it from the train in seconds
the first thing that hit us was the smell. less than pleasant odours abound in India, unavoidable where cows are allowed free roam and drainage is often rudimentary at best, and you do become fairly inured to them for the majority of the time. however, Abu Road station was truly exceptional. the entire railhead stank like a blocked and overflowing latrine; Edd made the mistake of casting a glance at the rail tracks once, and it turned out that we were correct. they were obscured from view by vast piles of garbage and, as Uncle Monty would say, oomska carpeting the space between the platforms. people clearly pay very little attention to the 'Please Do Not Flush when Train Is In Station' signs. rats popped merrily back and forth among the detritus as passengers on the platforms did their best to add to it. a huge cockroach was spotted chuntering around under the portable chai stand. the water taps that Indian railways had helpfully placed between the tracks on the ground dripped into fetid pools of stagnant water. the platform was dirty and stained. when people crossed the tracks, as they frequently do in India since the trains run off overhead electricity wires, they covered their mouths and nose in haste and distaste. somehow, this did not translate into them not littering further.
we did consider using the sleeper class carriage waiting area, but its toilets would have shamed the last day of a major music festival. the cover of the timetable bible Trains at a Glance shows several models standing around an unrecognisable Indian platform you could eat off. at the base it declares; 'Indian Railways; Observing Cleanliness Year.' we're treating this as the best example of Indian humour that we have so far discovered.
an hour passed, filled with breath holding exercises and observations of mosquito swarms making bombing raids on our arms before pulling up at the last minute, recoiling at the scent of DEET repellent. it makes all those days of the sensation that your skin is peeling off worth it. the train rolled in at last and our 3AC carriage even came to rest next to us. we were on, off and away from Abu Road.
we haven't travelled 3AC before, mainly because it's about four times more expensive than 2nd class sleeper, our usual method of travel. we can't understand why. the carriages do, of course, have air conditioning, a significant advantage, but other than that they are essentially the same, with all of the seat backs swung up to form the middle bunks. they are covered with the same thin, uncomfortable plastic coating. we'd never been too bothered by this in 2nd class sleeper, since it's a really cheap way to travel long distances. but at this price it seemed a bit much. pillows and blankets are provided, and the family around our bunks had kindly already worn them in for us. water, tea/coffee and breakfast is supplied, too - perhaps we were in a hard-to-please mood, or maybe the carriage's appearance that a tornado had recently ripped through it after a night of people sleeping within had something to do with it. it's sometimes hard to resist being thoroughly British and moaning, but we'd had sufficient to deal with already today. best to sleep and try and ignore it all.
three women sat opposite us on a seat that had clearly not been raised up to a bunk for the whole trip. Philippa managed to fall asleep quite quickly; Edd has no idea how. the two middle aged matriarchs and one senior, marshalling lady talked incessantly for the entire journey. it was conceivable that they had done so since boarding. perhaps they could be wired up to the energy grid? gallingly, they were of course the only people talking for the full length of the carriage.
the journey back to Ahmedabad passed in rare moments of snatched sleep, for Edd at least, and much of it was spent staring at the bottom of the bunk above him, occupied by a quiet, respectful single Indian man. Edd was woken up once by the porter, but only to enquire about drinks, which seemed to be a fairly pointless exercise. later, Edd did finally get to sleep for a few precious, long-desired moments before the porter shook him awake again near Ahmedabad - to ask for a tip. 'You must be joking?!' Edd spat at him. '100 Rupees,' he suggested, ludicrously.
Ahmedabad was as hot, congested and dirty as when we had left it. we were besieged by rickshaw-wallahs within moments. we managed to deflect a few of them with the tricks we know, and even more by telling all those within earshot that we had a hotel booked and won't be going to their recommendation - no commission there. loaded up on a three-wheeled chariot once more, we weaved our way down to the Old City area and the Hotel Ajanta, our new home.
hot, bothered and tired, we checked in with the manager, a poster boy for the disinterested jobsworths of India. our edition of the Rough Guide describes the Ajanta as 'a colourfully decorated comfortable hotel with good facilities.' what we want to know is; how much money changed hands? the hotel - and we were definitely in the correct one, we checked - has no facilities to speak of, none. you reach the rooms past the entrance hallway by passing through an out of service lift, permanently fixed open. the bizarre, ham-fisted room layouts look like the masterwork of a set designer for a film set in a hotel with a murderous manager. our room was a 'Super Delux' - a second, great example of Indian humour in one day. it was a wonky rhombus shape, as if it had been forced into its space by unseen and impatient giant hands. it had two ceilings, one open, the other above composed of polystyrene and with the appearance of having been dropped in from a sweaty office. adorned with the usual loose wires and mouldering fittings, it gained extra points for the grimy, sub-standard bathroom - and yes, that is by Indian standards. It would have made a great Abu Road hotel. but - and it was a big but - it had powerful AC and we both swiftly and simultaneously collapsed into sleep.
a few hours passed and waking up in the Ajanta was an unpleasant shock after dreamland. Edd thought about it for almost a few seconds before announcing that anything would be better than this hotel. unfortunately, he had been moaning about it ever since arriving, hardly constructive behaviour. he grabbed only the guidebook and his wallet - which would prove to be a major mistake in a few days' time - and popped out to find an STD phone.
[Edd - almost immediately, I discovered that we were in a machine parts and oils kind of district, in which there were unbelievably no STD stands and three coin machines with all of their instructions in Gujarati. I trudged around for ages and eventually ended up what felt like several leagues away at a chokingly congested major junction. the Moti Mahal, our previous Ahmedabad home, was full for days to come, and our second Ajanta-escape choice was over R4,000 a night - again, not quite the prices promised by the guide book. laughably wound up and sweaty, the coughing walk back along the nasty main road did yield one fantastic image that, sans camera, I can regrettably only impart by words. horns behind me made me turn to see a particularly large, painted elephant, complete with relaxed and casual mahoot, leisurely strolling down the busy highway, traffic braking and veering to avoid it. like most of the day had been, it was one for the 'Only In India' memorial scrapbook.]
more AC-pummelled rest and, by 4pm, we had regained some composure and were ready to set out for the tourist office. naturally, today being how it was, this was a problem, for several reasons. at first, no-one would take us, as we had no Gujarati. then, as ever in Ahmedabad, no-one knew where we wanted to go, or could read a map. as is the way in India, the tourist office is on the other side of town and the Subamarti River from any of the tourist sights, bar one. we managed to direct a rickshaw-wallah across the bridge spanning the wide but mostly dry river before hopping off somewhere near the office. we realised 30 seconds after the rickshaw had driven off that Edd didn't have his hat, one of the most essential items possible for an Indian summer. panicked, we hurried back to where we had disembarked, in hope rather than expectation. probably ignored because it was made of cow leather, Edd's hat was lying dirtied and crumpled in the road. we knew how it felt.
we asked one Indian man if the tourist office was and he gave us a genuine Indian first - he said that he did not know! he suggested a nearby shop for assistance, rather than giving directions despite not knowing, the usual Indian method. the tourist office, when eventually found, was conveniently situated down a side street of a side street. we managed to secure at least some information about travel agents and Gujarati sights, especially for the spectacular Shatrunjaya Hill near Palitana, with its 800 Jain temples.
another rickshaw led to the district of Paldi, its tourist agents and more disappointments. none had coaches to Palitana, only being able to recommend the state bus service, located back on the opposite side of town. trying to figure out our next move, we were at a low ebb when we were aggressively cornered by beggar women wielding babies like bawling weapons. they totally ignored all of our responses to their advances, continuing to grab our arms until we had to resort to physically pushing them off. shouting and angry, it was a new low in our day to forget. we reacted poorly, in foul moods as we both were, thwarted at every turn by a brick wall to every alternate suggestion, a jobsworth serving every request, a puncturing needle to every balloon of possible good cheer. we felt like we had been back in Ahmedabad for days.
another rickshaw, another exhaust-filled ride. you can virtually see the particles of pollution flitting around in Ahmedabad. the city and region was hit by a major earthquake in 2001. some of it still looks like this has only just happened - we passed one man sitting defiantly on his veranda that dropped down and away into the road, supported only by hundreds of sandbags. he looked determined to enjoy his veranda, despite half of his house missing. he probably had the right idea.
at the bus station, we managed to navigate staring men and yet more grabbing beggars to actually secure a Monday morning ticket to Palitana, at less than R100 each; again, a bus journey that was ridiculously cheap. Edd rang up a new hotel option we'd found, the Hotel Good Night, right next to a prominent mosque, and therefore (hopefully) easier to get directions to and from. we went there by rickshaw to check out the rooms - square, clean, normal, with a great shower, what innovation! - and confirmed a non-AC room for tomorrow, saving a little cash. finally, we ate downstairs at its affiliated Food Inn restaurant. it was not the cheapest, but it was fine, although the bored waiting staff had nothing better to do than stand in a group and specifically watch us eat. within walking distance of the Ajanta - in fact, opposite where Edd had made the earlier STD calls - we went back to 'home,' pretending not to look at the hotel and room, whacked on the AC and hid behind our hands until we fell asleep.
from Mount Abu's mountain pass road down, the day had been one long, continuous descent. tomorrow, surely, could only be better.
edd & philippa
- the descent
- Abu Road station - a new low!
- back to Ahmedabad
- Hotel Shonky - another new low!
not the best of days, and one where no photographs were taken, fatigue and disinterest in our surroundings making us disinclined to immortalise the things that we saw. read on to discover exactly why...
Mount Abu was hit by numerous power cuts during the night, with the subsequently failing ceiling fan overhead lending itself well to the now customary poor sleep before early travelling routine. unfortunately, the alarm went off for us to finish packing and leave right in the middle of a particularly long power cut. we floundered around in the dark at the frankly ungodly hour of 4am, trying and failing to get our torches to work (they have been slowly dying ever since we arrived in India, and it isn't the batteries). the hotel's nightwatchman gave us a knock on the door in case we'd overslept for the taxi, proffering lit candles to light our room. it lent the room an atmospheric air, even if it merely helped to heighten the shadows! shortly afterwards, he appeared again, this time with a powerful flashlight, and we could at last finish up. we have absolutely no idea how we managed not to leave several valuable or important items behind in our stygian scramble, but somehow everything seemed to make it out of the Shri Ganesh with us.
clumping down the stairs with our packs in the faltering flashlight's beam, the nightwatchmean - a man whose position we did not know existed until this morning - helped us load the bags into the waiting taxi jeep. we had not seen weather like this for our entire trip so far. thick mist had descended on the blacked-out town, the air wet and heavy. already it was clear that the zigzag down the mountain's sides would be slow and take longer than the journey up, so we were grateful for the early start, even with its accompanying difficulties. we set off, with the headlights too weak to penetrate the mist on low beam, and merely bouncing back off the precipitation if placed on high beam. not all of the town was in darkness, as it turned out, but those patches that were illuminated were few and far between. someone appeared to be washing the road with a hose at one point, an odd activity for 4:30am in the morning. unsurprisingly, ours was the only car on the road.
the descent was prolonged, gloomy and rather dangerous. as we couldn't see the road; we were intrigued to know how the young but obviously skilled driver could. he drove carefully and safely all of the way down, skirting helpfully placed obstacles such as parked trucks on bends with aplomb on a mountain road so serpentine that Jain stone carvers would have been proud, a road that was lined with a grand total of four lights. we're sure that many a poorer driver would have sailed off through a barrier into space, so non-existent was the visibility. looking back behind us, the mist would sometimes swoop down over where the jeep had been only moments before, like a predator pursuing its prey, or flood waters racing down a valley. the weird scene was given added oddity points when we passed several figures dressed in white pushing two occupied wheelchairs up the hill, those seated also white clad. we knew from their uniforms that they were Om Shanti devotees, on their way to the Brahma Kumaris centre, but their ghostly presence and total lack of lighting to guide their way gave the sight of such white apparitions an unearthly quality. and at what time must they have commenced their long and arduous ascent?
it would be a lie to say that we were not at least a little concerned with the driving conditions and it was with genuine relief that the mountain road levelled out, the mist dissipated and we cruised down to Abu Road railway station on roads unaffected by the power cut higher up. our arrival at the railhead at around 5:30am was heralded by a man vomiting copiously at a public water tap outside. although certainly unpleasant, this would in fact set the tone for the next hour or so and set us up well for the general mood of the day that was to come.
our train was almost on time, according to the arrivals board and also to the enquiries officer, a man who did not even move from his feet-up-at-the-back-of-the-office position to respond to customers. it would be only 20 minutes late, great stuff considering it originated in Delhi the previous day. this meant that we had only an hour to wait. this was the silver lining to the cloud that was even being at Abu Road station. it was the filthiest we have seen in India, which is against some pretty stiff competition. it may well be the filthiest railway station we've ever been to in the world. how we had missed its condition when we arrived is unclear; maybe because we walked through it from the train in seconds
the first thing that hit us was the smell. less than pleasant odours abound in India, unavoidable where cows are allowed free roam and drainage is often rudimentary at best, and you do become fairly inured to them for the majority of the time. however, Abu Road station was truly exceptional. the entire railhead stank like a blocked and overflowing latrine; Edd made the mistake of casting a glance at the rail tracks once, and it turned out that we were correct. they were obscured from view by vast piles of garbage and, as Uncle Monty would say, oomska carpeting the space between the platforms. people clearly pay very little attention to the 'Please Do Not Flush when Train Is In Station' signs. rats popped merrily back and forth among the detritus as passengers on the platforms did their best to add to it. a huge cockroach was spotted chuntering around under the portable chai stand. the water taps that Indian railways had helpfully placed between the tracks on the ground dripped into fetid pools of stagnant water. the platform was dirty and stained. when people crossed the tracks, as they frequently do in India since the trains run off overhead electricity wires, they covered their mouths and nose in haste and distaste. somehow, this did not translate into them not littering further.
we did consider using the sleeper class carriage waiting area, but its toilets would have shamed the last day of a major music festival. the cover of the timetable bible Trains at a Glance shows several models standing around an unrecognisable Indian platform you could eat off. at the base it declares; 'Indian Railways; Observing Cleanliness Year.' we're treating this as the best example of Indian humour that we have so far discovered.
an hour passed, filled with breath holding exercises and observations of mosquito swarms making bombing raids on our arms before pulling up at the last minute, recoiling at the scent of DEET repellent. it makes all those days of the sensation that your skin is peeling off worth it. the train rolled in at last and our 3AC carriage even came to rest next to us. we were on, off and away from Abu Road.
we haven't travelled 3AC before, mainly because it's about four times more expensive than 2nd class sleeper, our usual method of travel. we can't understand why. the carriages do, of course, have air conditioning, a significant advantage, but other than that they are essentially the same, with all of the seat backs swung up to form the middle bunks. they are covered with the same thin, uncomfortable plastic coating. we'd never been too bothered by this in 2nd class sleeper, since it's a really cheap way to travel long distances. but at this price it seemed a bit much. pillows and blankets are provided, and the family around our bunks had kindly already worn them in for us. water, tea/coffee and breakfast is supplied, too - perhaps we were in a hard-to-please mood, or maybe the carriage's appearance that a tornado had recently ripped through it after a night of people sleeping within had something to do with it. it's sometimes hard to resist being thoroughly British and moaning, but we'd had sufficient to deal with already today. best to sleep and try and ignore it all.
three women sat opposite us on a seat that had clearly not been raised up to a bunk for the whole trip. Philippa managed to fall asleep quite quickly; Edd has no idea how. the two middle aged matriarchs and one senior, marshalling lady talked incessantly for the entire journey. it was conceivable that they had done so since boarding. perhaps they could be wired up to the energy grid? gallingly, they were of course the only people talking for the full length of the carriage.
the journey back to Ahmedabad passed in rare moments of snatched sleep, for Edd at least, and much of it was spent staring at the bottom of the bunk above him, occupied by a quiet, respectful single Indian man. Edd was woken up once by the porter, but only to enquire about drinks, which seemed to be a fairly pointless exercise. later, Edd did finally get to sleep for a few precious, long-desired moments before the porter shook him awake again near Ahmedabad - to ask for a tip. 'You must be joking?!' Edd spat at him. '100 Rupees,' he suggested, ludicrously.
Ahmedabad was as hot, congested and dirty as when we had left it. we were besieged by rickshaw-wallahs within moments. we managed to deflect a few of them with the tricks we know, and even more by telling all those within earshot that we had a hotel booked and won't be going to their recommendation - no commission there. loaded up on a three-wheeled chariot once more, we weaved our way down to the Old City area and the Hotel Ajanta, our new home.
hot, bothered and tired, we checked in with the manager, a poster boy for the disinterested jobsworths of India. our edition of the Rough Guide describes the Ajanta as 'a colourfully decorated comfortable hotel with good facilities.' what we want to know is; how much money changed hands? the hotel - and we were definitely in the correct one, we checked - has no facilities to speak of, none. you reach the rooms past the entrance hallway by passing through an out of service lift, permanently fixed open. the bizarre, ham-fisted room layouts look like the masterwork of a set designer for a film set in a hotel with a murderous manager. our room was a 'Super Delux' - a second, great example of Indian humour in one day. it was a wonky rhombus shape, as if it had been forced into its space by unseen and impatient giant hands. it had two ceilings, one open, the other above composed of polystyrene and with the appearance of having been dropped in from a sweaty office. adorned with the usual loose wires and mouldering fittings, it gained extra points for the grimy, sub-standard bathroom - and yes, that is by Indian standards. It would have made a great Abu Road hotel. but - and it was a big but - it had powerful AC and we both swiftly and simultaneously collapsed into sleep.
a few hours passed and waking up in the Ajanta was an unpleasant shock after dreamland. Edd thought about it for almost a few seconds before announcing that anything would be better than this hotel. unfortunately, he had been moaning about it ever since arriving, hardly constructive behaviour. he grabbed only the guidebook and his wallet - which would prove to be a major mistake in a few days' time - and popped out to find an STD phone.
[Edd - almost immediately, I discovered that we were in a machine parts and oils kind of district, in which there were unbelievably no STD stands and three coin machines with all of their instructions in Gujarati. I trudged around for ages and eventually ended up what felt like several leagues away at a chokingly congested major junction. the Moti Mahal, our previous Ahmedabad home, was full for days to come, and our second Ajanta-escape choice was over R4,000 a night - again, not quite the prices promised by the guide book. laughably wound up and sweaty, the coughing walk back along the nasty main road did yield one fantastic image that, sans camera, I can regrettably only impart by words. horns behind me made me turn to see a particularly large, painted elephant, complete with relaxed and casual mahoot, leisurely strolling down the busy highway, traffic braking and veering to avoid it. like most of the day had been, it was one for the 'Only In India' memorial scrapbook.]
more AC-pummelled rest and, by 4pm, we had regained some composure and were ready to set out for the tourist office. naturally, today being how it was, this was a problem, for several reasons. at first, no-one would take us, as we had no Gujarati. then, as ever in Ahmedabad, no-one knew where we wanted to go, or could read a map. as is the way in India, the tourist office is on the other side of town and the Subamarti River from any of the tourist sights, bar one. we managed to direct a rickshaw-wallah across the bridge spanning the wide but mostly dry river before hopping off somewhere near the office. we realised 30 seconds after the rickshaw had driven off that Edd didn't have his hat, one of the most essential items possible for an Indian summer. panicked, we hurried back to where we had disembarked, in hope rather than expectation. probably ignored because it was made of cow leather, Edd's hat was lying dirtied and crumpled in the road. we knew how it felt.
we asked one Indian man if the tourist office was and he gave us a genuine Indian first - he said that he did not know! he suggested a nearby shop for assistance, rather than giving directions despite not knowing, the usual Indian method. the tourist office, when eventually found, was conveniently situated down a side street of a side street. we managed to secure at least some information about travel agents and Gujarati sights, especially for the spectacular Shatrunjaya Hill near Palitana, with its 800 Jain temples.
another rickshaw led to the district of Paldi, its tourist agents and more disappointments. none had coaches to Palitana, only being able to recommend the state bus service, located back on the opposite side of town. trying to figure out our next move, we were at a low ebb when we were aggressively cornered by beggar women wielding babies like bawling weapons. they totally ignored all of our responses to their advances, continuing to grab our arms until we had to resort to physically pushing them off. shouting and angry, it was a new low in our day to forget. we reacted poorly, in foul moods as we both were, thwarted at every turn by a brick wall to every alternate suggestion, a jobsworth serving every request, a puncturing needle to every balloon of possible good cheer. we felt like we had been back in Ahmedabad for days.
another rickshaw, another exhaust-filled ride. you can virtually see the particles of pollution flitting around in Ahmedabad. the city and region was hit by a major earthquake in 2001. some of it still looks like this has only just happened - we passed one man sitting defiantly on his veranda that dropped down and away into the road, supported only by hundreds of sandbags. he looked determined to enjoy his veranda, despite half of his house missing. he probably had the right idea.
at the bus station, we managed to navigate staring men and yet more grabbing beggars to actually secure a Monday morning ticket to Palitana, at less than R100 each; again, a bus journey that was ridiculously cheap. Edd rang up a new hotel option we'd found, the Hotel Good Night, right next to a prominent mosque, and therefore (hopefully) easier to get directions to and from. we went there by rickshaw to check out the rooms - square, clean, normal, with a great shower, what innovation! - and confirmed a non-AC room for tomorrow, saving a little cash. finally, we ate downstairs at its affiliated Food Inn restaurant. it was not the cheapest, but it was fine, although the bored waiting staff had nothing better to do than stand in a group and specifically watch us eat. within walking distance of the Ajanta - in fact, opposite where Edd had made the earlier STD calls - we went back to 'home,' pretending not to look at the hotel and room, whacked on the AC and hid behind our hands until we fell asleep.
from Mount Abu's mountain pass road down, the day had been one long, continuous descent. tomorrow, surely, could only be better.
edd & philippa
Packing it in
Thursday 22nd May
- more fun with India post - we keep going back for more.
- Hymns in Marble, Part II
- lunch with new friends
- Nakki Lake and Honeymoon Point
- a fond farewell
our time in places such as Chittor, Kota or Ahmedabad in recent days had been salved by the beauty of Bundi and the reinvigoration of Mount Abu, but today was to be our last day in the latter and we wanted to make the most of it. consequently, we did the unthinkable and got up early to make sure. in addition, the only train we were able to get tickets for tomorrow leaves just after 6am, necessitating a departure from the Shri Ganesh at around 4:30am, so we figured that we ought to begin to bring the rising times down a bit! the morning started with an overcast sky, but the sun soon burned that off, even though the hill station retained its cooler feel all day.
it was with a strong sense of deja vu and a steeling of the soul that we set off for the GPO after breakfast, following the discovery - with some of Sanjay's hits and misses included - that we had yet another good-sized bundle of items that would not fit in our bags. we figured that it would take the usual 2 hours! the post office was small and quiet, with only one customer - surely we'd be out of here in no time at all? as in Udaipur, however, we'd have to go elsewhere to get the parcel cotton wrapped as required. the location this time was a non-Sanjay tailor's nearby in the main bazaar - one of the staff there recognised us immediately as 'friends of Karina,' as he was also one of the film crew members from a few days ago! the most senior man in the tailors sewed an incredibly intricate cotton second skin around our package with added wax seals, but it took him an age, although not through lack of skill; his lack of urgency allowed his staff time to try and sell us saris, suits and suchlike. he showed me a mark under his nail and one on the other side of his finger where the sewing machine had been overzealous earlier and skewered his digit. it looked very painful indeed but he just shrugged it off and said that you have go and get on with things - in India, a day off or lost is business given away to others and no food for your family.
Philippa asked the staff whether or not they knew where to buy the really plain and basic, coarse red and black striped dhurrie that gets used all of the time as a covering or base layer by stallholders and pretty much everyone else, too, at some point. we've been looking to buy one for quite a while - for about half of our time here so far, in fact - but it has proven highly elusive to purchase, even though you regularly see it in use. they brought out several progressively plainer dhurries, but they were all very obviously not just red and black striped. still looking a little confused, the staff said that they believed that someone in the bazaar had one, so Philippa left with one of them. Edd sat and drank his offered chai and spoke to the senior guy, who was still patiently sewing away. it was only us there, now, as the rest of the shop staff had melted away once they realised that we weren't buying anything today.
the trip to the bazaar proved fruitless for Philippa, as she'd been shown still more multi-coloured patterns. she explained the design again - it really is as simple as described above - and the lead staff member suddenly recalled that he might have a spare one upstairs in his other shop as part of his materials for his own use. he came back with exactly the one! Philippa likened it to a tourist in England asking where they could buy a basic Marks & Spencer's plastic bag - one just assumes that you can't possibly want the basic, ordinary one. the price seemed steep but the dhurrie is huge, at least 6' x 8' if not more.
despite claims to the contrary by the post office, the tailor's had neither post forms not a felt pen to finish off the package, but the cost for the cotton sewing was a third of that we paid in Udaipur, once again underlining the dangers of not knowing the cost of things in India! back we went to the post office, to discover that they had no felt pens - and no post forms, either! we had been foolish to believe that such things would reside in a post office. they assured Philippa that the customs necessities of the post forms 'would not be required' while Edd hastened back into the bazaar to buy a felt pen. he did find one - next to the tailors who wrapped our parcel. Edd saw them at a distance and they nodded and pointed next door before they'd even been asked anything. information is never volunteered in India, it seemed to us, and if you don't ask the right exact, specific question, then you won't get the correct answer. this can be a problem is your question is prompted by ignorance, as almost all of ours are.
thrilled and elated by this week's pointless bureaucratic buffoonery but still managing to smile, as one must in order to retain one's sanity at times, the package was addressed and handed over. where it will actually end up, and when, we cannot predict. it will be nice if it gets home, but it was now left to faith, as usual. time elapsed for the sending of the package - hey, what do you know, a total of 2 hours.
a chai and the disarming power of the stallholder's massive smile soon brought us out of our torpor. we slotted in a brief drop off for the massive dhurrie at the hotel prior to finding a jeep and setting off once more to the Dilwara temples, in hope of having more time - and space - to take in the detail and devotion.
sewing in the street, Mount Abu
as we arrived only just after 12 noon, when Jain temples in general seem to open to the public, the two main buildings inside the complex were quiet and calm. as time wore on, more and more Indian tourists appeared, but in nothing like the numbers of two days before, with many in tour groups being hustled through. left to our own devices, we were able to sit and really take in the levels of ambition and technical mastery that envelopes every visitor to the Vimala Vasahi and Neminath temples. individualities on each figure, animal or demon become more distinct, so that each assumes its own personality, as must surely have been intended. you can believe the claim made in our guidebook that the Vimala Vasahi took 2,000 craftsmen 14 years to complete.
it was a real privilege to be able to have what turned out to be a total of almost four hours in the temples over the two visits. we almost certainly got a great deal more out of them and noticed a huge range of new features and details, as well as having the chance to see the various aspects work together to give incredible panoramas without everything being obscured by hordes of (other) tourists and pilgrims at festival time. a desire for a drink and snack eventually led us out, but we had also been receiving a steadily increasing degree of unwelcome and sometimes rude attention from the Indian tourists. gawping and staring, gesturing and giggling from an individual or just a couple of people is bearable, but repeated instances from large groups of people about three feet from you, or from packs of young men towards Philippa at a coward's distance, can even distract you from the marble artistry that you, at least, are immersed in.
a shared kusta puri outside was a useful and tasty antidote to any negativity generated by the Indian approach to international relations. it was amusing to see the levels of dreck being sold at the stalls outside after marvelling at the temples' interiors, like alcopops after fine wine, or Tracey Emin after Degas. after a bit of difficulty locating a taxi in these post-festival times, we secured a cheap ride back into town to make a late lunch date with Jeremy and Karina, with whom we had been generously invited to Sanjay's place above his tailors for a home-cooked thali lunch.
the meal was cooked by Raju and Rajju, woman of the house and one of the men respectively. we all sat on the floor on a rug laid there for the purpose and the entire lunch proceeded with someone sleeping on a bare mattress only feet away, face and torso obscured by a sheet, with no comment or concern from anyone. Sanjay came up after we had started, as he had a little oddly already eaten. the repast was of course delicious and very filling, with a rich curry and flavoursome dal plus the usual pleasant rice and potato concoction. in common with all Indian offers of food, it also came in inexhaustible quantities. it concluded with a very sweet dessert, 'unique' to Mt. Abu; it looked a bit like saffron-coated sultanas and tasted of sugar and moreish decadence. Raju and Rajju were, of course, excellent hosts. various members of the extended family came and went, as they all lived in this upstairs space. Sanjay was pleased to have us all there, but it was clear that Karina was the family's main focus, only fair since we had only just met them.
Philippa, Rajju, Jeremy, Karina, Sanjay.
it was a shame to have to leave their welcoming hospitality, but we had to let them get on with their afternoon, and we had our own plans, too. for us, this meant our long-mooted tour of Nakki Lake and an exploratory trip to see if we could find the viewpoint area of Honeymoon Point. we'd also arranged to have a short farewell with Jeremy and Karina in the evening.
the route up to the not very amphibious Toad Rock was already known to us, so we chose to go anti-clockwise. on this route, the crowds and stalls thinned out rather more quickly. before long, there were few people around. Philippa demonstrated her keen eye by somehow managing to find one of the miniscule screws for the nose piece from Edd's sunglasses that had fallen off into a pile of sand! repairs made, we took the path skirted the edge of the lake by the large jets of water and watched pedalos bravely try and scoot underneath them close to source, attempting to avoid getting wet and pleasingly failing repeatedly.
some money has clearly been spent on facilities for tourists in Mt. Abu at least, with regular viewing areas and benches along our route. the Indian majority who make up the visitors here had gaily decorated them with carpets of crisp packets, bottles and glass, creating a festive atmosphere.
the view across the lake as we traced its diameter was lovely, a fine backdrop from the water jets on our far left across the seaside-style main tourist drag, your eye picking out the various craft being taken for a spin on the water before being led up to a large and striking heritage hotel (one of the pricey ones!) that looks down over the town until finally resting (from this angle) on Toad Rock's decidedly angular features. it was cool, relaxed, peaceful.
Toad Rock. doesn't look much like one now, does it?
there were very few passers by, with the notable exception of a large group of Sikh men out on a run, platoon style, in matching blue and orange track suits. we found the turn off for Honeymoon Point and expected it to climb upwards to look over Nakki Lake, concerned as to whether or not we would have the energy. but we'd got it wrong - the road sloped down instead, through a valley full of black-faced monkeys eating fruit before stopping at the drop-off to the plains below, a dizzying descent made a little easier to take in as the atmosphere was hazy and muted.
lots of little stages had been tastefully constructed on the top edges of the slope, so that you could have your 'own' viewpoint each. in the height of the wedding season, each one must have a couple and accompanying photographer to capture 'their' moment.
bar the odd child occasionally demonstrating the amazingly grating properties young voices have in an echoing environment, it was a soothing place. an Indian family passing by at one point made the fatal mistake of making unmistakeable crisp packet noises, attracting the swift and close attention of a large black-faced monkey. no one was concerned for their safety as much as their food, which the family hid with varying degrees of success.
crisp thief
we encountered a wandering salesman, a man who looked like he had done an awful lot of wandering. appearing more like a saint or holy man, he was offering spices, remedies and cures from a patchwork shoulder bag that looked older than he was. softly spoken and with no real salesman's push about him, he showed us all sorts of products from saffron to tree sap that was as hard as rock. for each tincture, friable stone or extract he had a recipe or two for good health, as well as photos of those (mostly Western) souls who had previously bought from him. Edd picked up some wood amber, to keep in the bags to scent our rapidly disintegrating clothes. the salesman weighed it all up on a portable scales that appeared from his bag, a receptacle that seemed to possess TARDIS-like qualities. he was without doubt one of the coolest people we've met in India.
get your remedies here, I'm not asking five for one, I'm not asking five for two, 3 for a fiver, can't say fairer than that, love.
heading back home, we passed an orange-robed man sitting on a wall gazing out across the lake in silence. he seemed to have the right idea, we thought. we spoke briefly with him, asking him about something was sprayed in white paint on the road, which he said was for a recent TV advert.
he had a becalming voice and presence, aided somewhat by his being strikingly attractive. we later walked by some holy men by the lakeside sporting outrageously tikka'd foreheads, two encounters that distracted us from the near constant litter, which even ringed the lake itself. just before we got home, a sizeable group of fit looking souls strode by, decked out in climbing gear. there is something for everyone, it seems, in Mt. Abu.
after so much activity and offsetting relaxation, we began packing our bags with contentment and pleasure that we had made it here and slight irritation that we were getting up before dawn to leave it and return to Ahmedabad, of all places. we met up with Jeremy and Karina to say farewell - Edd gave him a bidi (hand-rolled leaf with tobacco) that a fine old friendly man had forced upon him in an act of hospitality, after we had met him on the road back from Honeymoon Point. along with our postal tailors, he had also invited us for dinner this evening, but he did live 37 km away at the bottom of the mountain, and we had an early start.
we said a fond farewell to Jeremy and Karina over an unplanned drink downstairs. we hope very much that we will be able to stay in touch with them. we have no doubt that we would never have enjoyed such access into the local community if it had not been for all of Karina's own efforts prior to our arrival. everyone was very welcoming to us as their friends and it enhanced our undeniable enjoyment of our time in Mt. Abu. but the travelling wheel rolls on, and new trains and destinations await us in the morning - rather early in the morning, at that.
may this find all readers healthy and happy.
tunzaluv
edd & philippa
- more fun with India post - we keep going back for more.
- Hymns in Marble, Part II
- lunch with new friends
- Nakki Lake and Honeymoon Point
- a fond farewell
our time in places such as Chittor, Kota or Ahmedabad in recent days had been salved by the beauty of Bundi and the reinvigoration of Mount Abu, but today was to be our last day in the latter and we wanted to make the most of it. consequently, we did the unthinkable and got up early to make sure. in addition, the only train we were able to get tickets for tomorrow leaves just after 6am, necessitating a departure from the Shri Ganesh at around 4:30am, so we figured that we ought to begin to bring the rising times down a bit! the morning started with an overcast sky, but the sun soon burned that off, even though the hill station retained its cooler feel all day.
it was with a strong sense of deja vu and a steeling of the soul that we set off for the GPO after breakfast, following the discovery - with some of Sanjay's hits and misses included - that we had yet another good-sized bundle of items that would not fit in our bags. we figured that it would take the usual 2 hours! the post office was small and quiet, with only one customer - surely we'd be out of here in no time at all? as in Udaipur, however, we'd have to go elsewhere to get the parcel cotton wrapped as required. the location this time was a non-Sanjay tailor's nearby in the main bazaar - one of the staff there recognised us immediately as 'friends of Karina,' as he was also one of the film crew members from a few days ago! the most senior man in the tailors sewed an incredibly intricate cotton second skin around our package with added wax seals, but it took him an age, although not through lack of skill; his lack of urgency allowed his staff time to try and sell us saris, suits and suchlike. he showed me a mark under his nail and one on the other side of his finger where the sewing machine had been overzealous earlier and skewered his digit. it looked very painful indeed but he just shrugged it off and said that you have go and get on with things - in India, a day off or lost is business given away to others and no food for your family.
Philippa asked the staff whether or not they knew where to buy the really plain and basic, coarse red and black striped dhurrie that gets used all of the time as a covering or base layer by stallholders and pretty much everyone else, too, at some point. we've been looking to buy one for quite a while - for about half of our time here so far, in fact - but it has proven highly elusive to purchase, even though you regularly see it in use. they brought out several progressively plainer dhurries, but they were all very obviously not just red and black striped. still looking a little confused, the staff said that they believed that someone in the bazaar had one, so Philippa left with one of them. Edd sat and drank his offered chai and spoke to the senior guy, who was still patiently sewing away. it was only us there, now, as the rest of the shop staff had melted away once they realised that we weren't buying anything today.
the trip to the bazaar proved fruitless for Philippa, as she'd been shown still more multi-coloured patterns. she explained the design again - it really is as simple as described above - and the lead staff member suddenly recalled that he might have a spare one upstairs in his other shop as part of his materials for his own use. he came back with exactly the one! Philippa likened it to a tourist in England asking where they could buy a basic Marks & Spencer's plastic bag - one just assumes that you can't possibly want the basic, ordinary one. the price seemed steep but the dhurrie is huge, at least 6' x 8' if not more.
despite claims to the contrary by the post office, the tailor's had neither post forms not a felt pen to finish off the package, but the cost for the cotton sewing was a third of that we paid in Udaipur, once again underlining the dangers of not knowing the cost of things in India! back we went to the post office, to discover that they had no felt pens - and no post forms, either! we had been foolish to believe that such things would reside in a post office. they assured Philippa that the customs necessities of the post forms 'would not be required' while Edd hastened back into the bazaar to buy a felt pen. he did find one - next to the tailors who wrapped our parcel. Edd saw them at a distance and they nodded and pointed next door before they'd even been asked anything. information is never volunteered in India, it seemed to us, and if you don't ask the right exact, specific question, then you won't get the correct answer. this can be a problem is your question is prompted by ignorance, as almost all of ours are.
thrilled and elated by this week's pointless bureaucratic buffoonery but still managing to smile, as one must in order to retain one's sanity at times, the package was addressed and handed over. where it will actually end up, and when, we cannot predict. it will be nice if it gets home, but it was now left to faith, as usual. time elapsed for the sending of the package - hey, what do you know, a total of 2 hours.
a chai and the disarming power of the stallholder's massive smile soon brought us out of our torpor. we slotted in a brief drop off for the massive dhurrie at the hotel prior to finding a jeep and setting off once more to the Dilwara temples, in hope of having more time - and space - to take in the detail and devotion.
sewing in the street, Mount Abuas we arrived only just after 12 noon, when Jain temples in general seem to open to the public, the two main buildings inside the complex were quiet and calm. as time wore on, more and more Indian tourists appeared, but in nothing like the numbers of two days before, with many in tour groups being hustled through. left to our own devices, we were able to sit and really take in the levels of ambition and technical mastery that envelopes every visitor to the Vimala Vasahi and Neminath temples. individualities on each figure, animal or demon become more distinct, so that each assumes its own personality, as must surely have been intended. you can believe the claim made in our guidebook that the Vimala Vasahi took 2,000 craftsmen 14 years to complete.
it was a real privilege to be able to have what turned out to be a total of almost four hours in the temples over the two visits. we almost certainly got a great deal more out of them and noticed a huge range of new features and details, as well as having the chance to see the various aspects work together to give incredible panoramas without everything being obscured by hordes of (other) tourists and pilgrims at festival time. a desire for a drink and snack eventually led us out, but we had also been receiving a steadily increasing degree of unwelcome and sometimes rude attention from the Indian tourists. gawping and staring, gesturing and giggling from an individual or just a couple of people is bearable, but repeated instances from large groups of people about three feet from you, or from packs of young men towards Philippa at a coward's distance, can even distract you from the marble artistry that you, at least, are immersed in.
a shared kusta puri outside was a useful and tasty antidote to any negativity generated by the Indian approach to international relations. it was amusing to see the levels of dreck being sold at the stalls outside after marvelling at the temples' interiors, like alcopops after fine wine, or Tracey Emin after Degas. after a bit of difficulty locating a taxi in these post-festival times, we secured a cheap ride back into town to make a late lunch date with Jeremy and Karina, with whom we had been generously invited to Sanjay's place above his tailors for a home-cooked thali lunch.
the meal was cooked by Raju and Rajju, woman of the house and one of the men respectively. we all sat on the floor on a rug laid there for the purpose and the entire lunch proceeded with someone sleeping on a bare mattress only feet away, face and torso obscured by a sheet, with no comment or concern from anyone. Sanjay came up after we had started, as he had a little oddly already eaten. the repast was of course delicious and very filling, with a rich curry and flavoursome dal plus the usual pleasant rice and potato concoction. in common with all Indian offers of food, it also came in inexhaustible quantities. it concluded with a very sweet dessert, 'unique' to Mt. Abu; it looked a bit like saffron-coated sultanas and tasted of sugar and moreish decadence. Raju and Rajju were, of course, excellent hosts. various members of the extended family came and went, as they all lived in this upstairs space. Sanjay was pleased to have us all there, but it was clear that Karina was the family's main focus, only fair since we had only just met them.
Philippa, Rajju, Jeremy, Karina, Sanjay. it was a shame to have to leave their welcoming hospitality, but we had to let them get on with their afternoon, and we had our own plans, too. for us, this meant our long-mooted tour of Nakki Lake and an exploratory trip to see if we could find the viewpoint area of Honeymoon Point. we'd also arranged to have a short farewell with Jeremy and Karina in the evening.
the route up to the not very amphibious Toad Rock was already known to us, so we chose to go anti-clockwise. on this route, the crowds and stalls thinned out rather more quickly. before long, there were few people around. Philippa demonstrated her keen eye by somehow managing to find one of the miniscule screws for the nose piece from Edd's sunglasses that had fallen off into a pile of sand! repairs made, we took the path skirted the edge of the lake by the large jets of water and watched pedalos bravely try and scoot underneath them close to source, attempting to avoid getting wet and pleasingly failing repeatedly.
some money has clearly been spent on facilities for tourists in Mt. Abu at least, with regular viewing areas and benches along our route. the Indian majority who make up the visitors here had gaily decorated them with carpets of crisp packets, bottles and glass, creating a festive atmosphere.
the view across the lake as we traced its diameter was lovely, a fine backdrop from the water jets on our far left across the seaside-style main tourist drag, your eye picking out the various craft being taken for a spin on the water before being led up to a large and striking heritage hotel (one of the pricey ones!) that looks down over the town until finally resting (from this angle) on Toad Rock's decidedly angular features. it was cool, relaxed, peaceful.
Toad Rock. doesn't look much like one now, does it?there were very few passers by, with the notable exception of a large group of Sikh men out on a run, platoon style, in matching blue and orange track suits. we found the turn off for Honeymoon Point and expected it to climb upwards to look over Nakki Lake, concerned as to whether or not we would have the energy. but we'd got it wrong - the road sloped down instead, through a valley full of black-faced monkeys eating fruit before stopping at the drop-off to the plains below, a dizzying descent made a little easier to take in as the atmosphere was hazy and muted.
lots of little stages had been tastefully constructed on the top edges of the slope, so that you could have your 'own' viewpoint each. in the height of the wedding season, each one must have a couple and accompanying photographer to capture 'their' moment.bar the odd child occasionally demonstrating the amazingly grating properties young voices have in an echoing environment, it was a soothing place. an Indian family passing by at one point made the fatal mistake of making unmistakeable crisp packet noises, attracting the swift and close attention of a large black-faced monkey. no one was concerned for their safety as much as their food, which the family hid with varying degrees of success.
crisp thiefwe encountered a wandering salesman, a man who looked like he had done an awful lot of wandering. appearing more like a saint or holy man, he was offering spices, remedies and cures from a patchwork shoulder bag that looked older than he was. softly spoken and with no real salesman's push about him, he showed us all sorts of products from saffron to tree sap that was as hard as rock. for each tincture, friable stone or extract he had a recipe or two for good health, as well as photos of those (mostly Western) souls who had previously bought from him. Edd picked up some wood amber, to keep in the bags to scent our rapidly disintegrating clothes. the salesman weighed it all up on a portable scales that appeared from his bag, a receptacle that seemed to possess TARDIS-like qualities. he was without doubt one of the coolest people we've met in India.
get your remedies here, I'm not asking five for one, I'm not asking five for two, 3 for a fiver, can't say fairer than that, love.heading back home, we passed an orange-robed man sitting on a wall gazing out across the lake in silence. he seemed to have the right idea, we thought. we spoke briefly with him, asking him about something was sprayed in white paint on the road, which he said was for a recent TV advert.
he had a becalming voice and presence, aided somewhat by his being strikingly attractive. we later walked by some holy men by the lakeside sporting outrageously tikka'd foreheads, two encounters that distracted us from the near constant litter, which even ringed the lake itself. just before we got home, a sizeable group of fit looking souls strode by, decked out in climbing gear. there is something for everyone, it seems, in Mt. Abu.after so much activity and offsetting relaxation, we began packing our bags with contentment and pleasure that we had made it here and slight irritation that we were getting up before dawn to leave it and return to Ahmedabad, of all places. we met up with Jeremy and Karina to say farewell - Edd gave him a bidi (hand-rolled leaf with tobacco) that a fine old friendly man had forced upon him in an act of hospitality, after we had met him on the road back from Honeymoon Point. along with our postal tailors, he had also invited us for dinner this evening, but he did live 37 km away at the bottom of the mountain, and we had an early start.
we said a fond farewell to Jeremy and Karina over an unplanned drink downstairs. we hope very much that we will be able to stay in touch with them. we have no doubt that we would never have enjoyed such access into the local community if it had not been for all of Karina's own efforts prior to our arrival. everyone was very welcoming to us as their friends and it enhanced our undeniable enjoyment of our time in Mt. Abu. but the travelling wheel rolls on, and new trains and destinations await us in the morning - rather early in the morning, at that. may this find all readers healthy and happy.
tunzaluv
edd & philippa
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