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5.08 pm Tuesday 16 January 2007 and my 44th birthday. My brother dropped me at the tube station near to his house and we said our brief goodbyes, as brothers do. I didn't know when or where I would see him again but I suspected that a lot of water might have passed under my bridge before I did.
The flight from Heathrow left on time and was comfortable. I slept for some of the night as the miles drifted by and the clock turned. When I awoke, the black of night outside the window had been replaced with the blazing blue sunshine of day and we were beginning our descent into Delhi.
This was the beginning, 9 months in the planning, years in the heart, would it really be everything I wanted it to be or was the reality to prove that what I was really looking for was under my nose all along? Would I last 9 months or 9 weeks? I was so out of my comfort zone and very alone, nervous but excited. No suits, no meetings, no 9 to 5, new people, places, experiences. The 737 pulled up to the terminal and the seat belt sign turned off.
I approached India with some considerable trepidation having read many things about it that left me less than impressed. The crazy traffic, the pollution, the noise, open urinals in the streets, spitting, scams and likelihood of being run over several times a day, plus the prospect of being mobbed by a hoard or screaming touts as you set foot out of the arrivals hall of the airport…there was plenty of reasons to be tense.
To be honest I was pleasantly surprised by the situation and by my reactions. Yes, all of the above is true to an extent but it was tempered with a spirit of a people at peace with themselves and their lives, mixed with the fact that this is a generally a very poor country and most people are just trying to make something approaching a living. It is almost that they accept that whatever role they have been dished out to them in the tombola of life's chances, whether it be Bollywood superstar or the poor bloke pushing bits of metal up a hill on a wooden cart, they accept that such is the will of their God and get on with it. India is very spiritual and religious place and most rickshaw drivers for example will have a little figure or picture of their Gods on the dashboard. While on many a street corner people will stop when shopping or on the way to work, and pray a moment at an impromptu shrine.
I soon found that there is technique to keep the locals generally happy even when you don't want a tuk tuk, a sari, a watch or any one of the thousands of other products and services on offer. My approach seemed to work most of the time; show respect, don't make eye contact, a slight shake of the head (not to much as too much as 'no' can look like 'yes') and whatever you do keep walking. Yes, in an average day in Delhi you will receive a lot of attention but keep your cool and make a joke now and again and everyone retains their perspective on the situation. My joke, as cycle rickshaw drivers would shout 'hello rickshaw', was to point both fore fingers down to my feet and then criss cross the same fingers in a walking motion in front of my chest. It did the trick.
Delhi is a challenging City there is no doubt of that but it has plenty to offer. I had three days there, which is enough if the noise, pollution and attention is not your idea of relaxed sightseeing. Part of day one involved the usual orientation in a new City and I soon discovered that Delhi actually has a very good underground train system. It's not extensive and you can't get to all the main attractions on it but if you use it as your base transport and mix and match with cycle rickshaw and motor tuk tuk it's a great combination. The metro is clean, cheap, safe and efficient, I loved it.
One of the highlights of the City is the bizzar Chandni Chowk which leads up to the magnificent frontage of the Red Fort, a testament to past emperor glories. I've never seen anything like Chandi Chowk, it's a single straight road of a mile or more, with numerous off shoots teaming with every type of small store and a traffic congestion like you would not believe. Imagine two lanes of road and six sets of vehicle all trying to get up and down it at once. Rickshaws, scooters, lorries, pedestrians, taxis, private cars, cows, goats and motorbikes all hooting continuously to say 'mind your back', 'get over', 'coming through' and 'you idiot!'
The diversity of stores is amazing, no planning permission here. Its tea store next to engineering shop, cloth seller to tyre change and so it goes on. Fascinating, intoxicating, frustrating, smelly and down right unhealthy, but a must see. Take time to walk from the Chandni Chowk metro station up Chandi Chowk road to the Red Fort. Be careful at the end as you have to cross a mad main road to get to the fort entrance and there are no such things as pedestrian crossings here, in fact drivers think twice about obeying the traffic signals.
The Red Fort gives you an impression of the opulent magnificence of the mogul emperors. Its high red walls and imposing entrance sweep you into an inner calm of tended gardens with smaller royal buildings that in their day were majestic both in terms of their white marble constructions and decoration of gold leaf and ornate paintings. There is a small museum of artifacts of interest but the real value is in imagining the emperor's lifestyle and how it must have contrasted with the standard of living endured by those outside of the red walls. If such architecture is your thing take a couple of hours for Huyamun's Tomb in the south of Delhi. He was another former emperor and his tomb is seen as a precursor to the Taj Mahal.
On to the imposing India Gate I went. It is impressive with a huge arch straddling a long straight road through the center of the City, and commemorates the fallen soldiers of India. Again it's a must if you like architecture. Delhi like India is a country of stark contrasts, the magnificence of the Red Fort and India Gate verses the crippling poverty of those at the bottom of society, living by the railway tracks near Old Delhi station in shanty huts and eating scraps. This is real poverty. I suspect you need some time to understand it but people I met shed some light on it. It seems that whether you are a beggar or a prince you are the product of your soul's behavior in former lives and so you get little pity if your lot is terrible because apparently you deserve it! In order to progress out of a terrible life you need to lead a good life now and then those credits will count for you when your next set of circumstances come round.
That first night in Delhi was for me, as I discovered it is for many travelers on their first big excursion. Talking to others in those early days they found themselves alone, a long way from their loved ones in a rather uncomfortable bed in a cheap room. After all the up of getting started I guess there had to be an adjustment down. Tomorrow is another day I thought…
It was an early start from Nizaddin railway station in the south of Delhi to take the two hour train journey to Agra, home of one of the most iconic buildings in the world, the Taj Mahal. At 7am the platform was full, awaiting the 7.15 departure and as the train pulled into view the crowd began to jostle for position. I surveyed each coach as it passed for the C1 coach that I needed to occupy and sure enough it swept by right to left and disappeared down the platform. At last the huge locomotive juddered to a standstill and the scrum ensued for the 3rd class seats. It was obvious that these were not bookable in advance, being the cheapest on offer, and so men, women and children gave up on polite charm, pushing and shoving their way through the doors and into the empty wooden benches.
With my laden rucksack I pushed my way down the line to coach 1 almost being squashed beneath huge bales of some commodity being loaded into a sidecar. The coach was noisy with bags and bottles, sacks and saris with people pouring over the seat numbers to find their space. Mine was 12 and I sank into it gratefully next to a nice Indian couple and their toddler who I guessed was around 20 months. Almost on time the 'Taj Express' dragged itself out of the station into the morning mist and ambled, horn sounding through the Delhi suburbs which were difficult to make out through the stained windows. The baby was lively and clingy but after an hour both the baby and I were asleep and it was thanks to the kind spirit of my neighbor that Agra didn't sail by with me still on board.
On arrival, my first feeling was to go straight to the ticket office and book my route out in two days time. With the help of friendly locals I found the office tucked away and discovered that buying a railway ticket is not as easy as you might think or wish. First there was a pink form to fill in with all the usual, passport number, arrival in India, departure from India, number of toes on left foot. My new found friends then advised me that a deluxe bus was a better option to Jaipur, my next port, and I duly resigned from the post of prospective railway passenger for the time being.
The budget hotel was good and clean although the hardness of the beds take getting used to, and a rather distinct shortage of hot water but what do you want for five pounds a night. It had private bathroom and TV! As someone told me in Delhi 'by the end of this year you will be able to sleep anywhere!' Once settled, the owners were very helpful and I decided that the order of the day was an excursion to Fatipur Sikri, 40 km from Agra and accessible by local bus service. Fatpur Sikri is described as a ghost city deserted by its inhabitants centuries ago when the water all dried up. My mind conjured images of tumble weed blowing across empty boulevards built by mogul emperors. Silly me! There is no where in India where there are no people. The ancient walled city is impressive a top the hill with its huge entrance arch and red sandstone walls encompassing a large open inner courtyard of tombs, a temple and other outbuildings which served the royal guests and workers. I spent a very interested couple of hours admiring the architecture as I had in Delhi and ambled around the surrounds, watching amongst other things the fabulous hand skills of the stone masons creating large new slabs of perfect flat red sandstone, with just hand tools for repairs to various walls and buildings.
Outside the calm of the hilltop however was a different matter. At the hill bottom was the usual village bazaar, teaming with every kind of food and service known to man. Everything can be mended here, it's a skill born of necessity. I rumbled through the throng as usual to the many 'hellos' 'where froms' 'auto tuk tuk' until I reached the square where the buses run back to Agra every half hour. There I met two travelers from Germany, also fresh into Agra, but weary from two months in India without a break. They would be going home in a few days but first, like me, they looked forward to seeing dawn at the Taj the following morning. It was at that moment that I was pleased to have decided only to spend a couple of weeks in mid India before flying down to Goa. India is fascinating but also hard work especially on a budget and I did not want to find myself in the position of no longer enjoying it due to being worn down by an assault on the senses day after day.
Dinner was a typically simple affair for this area, nan bread, daal and rice. Nice enough for now but I couldn't eat it for a week. One of the truisms of life is that photos rarely capture the true character of a place. For me this was most apparent in a trip a few years ago to Venice. I had grown up having seen many photos and films of Venice but when I finally came to visit the city its magic entranced me and it was alive in a whole new way. Such was the experience again today of the Taj Mahal. We have all seen it many times, perhaps the most famous picture being Princess Diana on her solo visit some years ago. Even today one of the first questions asked by many was 'where did Diana sit?' and they duly had their photo taken at the same bench. I made a point of rising early to see the Taj, sunrise being when it is said to look most spectacular. I set out in the cold and dark January morning with my auto rickshaw that deposited me close to the west gate. There were few people about and the buying of a ticket was an easy affair although the price to foreigners of 750R was the most I'd paid for any attraction. After the usual security frisk I was into the inner gardens with the large entrance gateway arch before me. A grey mist hung in the air and as I set my first view on the magnificent structure, the assembled group marveled at its white marbled majesty even in the poor light. Like the Karnak Temple in Egypt, the contrast between the Taj and the state of life immediately outside the walls couldn't be more stark. Inside, the unlimited wealth that had been lavished on this mausoleum and outside the desperate existence of a people living with open sewers, just surviving day to day.
Slowly the light level increased but still the sun did not brink above the skyline until, like the opening of a theatre performance, suddenly the spotlight caught the star of the show and it shone down one side in gold and silver and white. The Taj was purposely built on a raised platform so that its backdrop is only sky which gives it added impact. Slowly the curtain lowered on a clear mist free morning and the building lit up as if it were the first time it had ever been seen. True, it was like no photo, its presence, magic, magnificent. How could this have been built in the 15th Century? The craftsmanship of inlaid lotus flowers in white marble, each cut from 70 pieces of semi precious stone and intricate panels crafted from the hardest white marble of the time. This must be on a par with the pyramids I thought, for illustrating the ability of mankind to achieve the impossible. I know my photos, of which I took many, will not capture that either. I guess that is one of the reasons to be there, that media is never equal to the experience.
After a couple of hours drinking in the sights sounds and smells of the Taj, I studied my map and saw that after coffee at the Yash rooftop café, a walk up to the Agra Fort was very practical. Of course as soon as you try to do so the rickshaws descend and we begin the daily 'no thank you I'm walking' routine. The rickshaws find it difficult to understand why a 'rich' westerner should want to walk in the midday sun when for a few rupees they could ride. No affluent Indian person would do so. 'Mr. Walk, Mr. Walk' they named me and smiled as if to think stupid English!
After a week in India and a 6 hour bus journey from Agra I arrived in the capital City of Rajasthan, Jaipur also known as the Pink City. Indeed many of the buildings are pink, particularly in the old city where the usual hustling bazaars are to be found in great quantity. I must admit that after a week of dust, forts, temples, and every conceivable shop known to man, Jaipur didn't fill me with anticipation for a different kind of India experience. However, I remained open minded and set off after breakfast wit the rickshaws pursuing me down the road.
My first target was the Palace of the Winds, a world monument and the most famous sight in the City, a five storey intricate façade created in pink sandstone in 1799. Its delicately carved stone lattice work allowed ladies of the royal household to spy the actions in the street without being seen. The outside is beautiful, set on the busiest road you have ever seen. I couldn't see this being acceptable in Europe. Surely by now the authorities would have pedestrianised this area to keep the pollution from eating this fabulous and unique monument. Only in India. The inside was much less impressive, having been stripped of any character over the years but it did allow me to stand where those royal ladies had stood, hidden by the latice and surveying the crowds below.
I spent a pleasant hour in the tranquil courtyards of the City Palace with its largest single piece of silverware in the world, its impressive arms room and peacock paintings above the doorways in the inner most courtyard. Close by I climbed to the top of a minaret tower in the City centre that affords wonderful views of the City in every direction with the Amber fort on the mountainside being of worthy note. Just a few meters away was Janta Mantar observatory, a fascinating place that reminded me of a modern water park with high curved slides. In fact these oddly shaped sculptures built in 1728 were the first to accurately track and record the movements and annual cycles of the sun and the stars of the zodiac in their orbits.
Westerners get a lot of attention on the streets of Jaipur especially at times of the year when we are few and far between. Another traveler likened us to large mobile dollar bills and why wouldn't that attract attention. On any given day I probably received sixty plus people saying something to get my attention. Rickshaws of course top the charts, then children just looking to test their English or provoke a laugh with their friends. I must admit to being saddened though because you soon feel that anything that is said to you in the street is not a genuine interest in your visit to India or a wish to know more about you but instead a thinly veiled sidebar to usher you into some or form of transaction. The result I'm afraid is that you soon begin to avoid all such attentions and become detached from any opportunity to talk to the people who I really would like to know more about. Perhaps I should try a new tack in Jaiselmer. Go along with the script, but press them with some questions about their everyday life and see what happens. Note to self.
Sometimes however there are funny encounters. Today for example I had many of the usual 'hello sir how are you?', 'excuse me sir' and even 'do you not like talking with India people sir?' all of which I smiled waved and kept walking. Then to my side in the old city bazaar he appeared, suited in white (well white ish) jacket and trousers with a splendid red sash. Obviously part of a band practicing for the Republican Day celebrations which take place every 26th January. Over his arm he cradled his instrument a silver trombone 'you like to blow the trombone sir?' I looked at him and the trombone and laughed. No trombone blowing today thanks.
I have to say though that there is nothing vindictive about India or Indian people. I always feel very safe here, the people I find passive and essentially friendly and even in the honking chaos of rush hour traffic you don't find anyone hanging out of the car window furious fist waving and shouting. It's all very calm really.
There is only one train to Jaiselmer from Jaipur, the night sleeper that leaves at 11.57pm arriving 1.30pm the following day. The platform was busy as an ants' nest. I learned that a three-day festival was due to take place in Jaiselmer from the 31st which meant that people would be traveling there now to ready for the spectacle. Jaiselmer is far to the west of Delhi, Agra and Jaipur on the edge of the Thar Dessert. I found my seat in the AC3 sleeper compartment quite easily. There were two Indians couples already installed from Delhi on there way for a short holiday to the same destination. The ladies were in bed but the men were still chatting and welcomed me showing me where my seat and berth lay. I settled in. First a young German man arrived and claimed his place opposite and then four Korean young women. Somehow the railway reservations computer system had managed to produce two sets of reserved tickets for the same two seats, SC1 - 25 and 26. It was late now, after 12.20am and the train was pulling out of the station. We sat and waited for the conductor to understand why this had happened. After 20 minutes he arrived, reviewed the tickets and declared the Korean girls were invalid. The leader of their group was more than anxious about this and protested that these were confirmed reservations booked a year ago. The conductor disappeared, reappeared, disappeared again and finally led the young women off down the train to somewhere they could sleep. By now we were all ready for sleep and the bunks were put up. I tried to convince myself that the rocking motion of the train would help me to go off to sleep but it really didn't. Suffice to say I had a broken night of sleep but enough to feel refreshed by 9am.
For the last few hours we read and gazed out at mile after mile of desert scrub. This was a very different India to any I had seen. At 1pm I could see the fort of Jaiselmer away to my right on the hill. I was picked up by the hotel in an efficient way and the jeep sped up to the fort entrance. Jeeps are not allowed in the fort so the others and I had to don our packs at the main gate and follow the guide inside. It was all that we had been led to believe. Like a scene from the crusades, a fairytale golden sandstone fortress filled with narrow alleys and ornate houses built by wealthy camel traders hundreds of years ago.
There are many narrow streets in the fort and you have to remember to keep looking up, for overhanging these lanes are delicate carved balconies with engraved windows and arches, a testament to the wealth of this place in its prime. Jaiselmer was a prime trading station between the deserts of the west and the likes of Jaipur. It was a captive market and some did very well from it. Many of the descendents of those families still live inside the fort but now they sell accommodation and clothes rather than camels. All around the fort rooftop cafes and vantage points claim to be the best possible place to witness the sunset. In fact they are all good and it was very peaceful to sit with my Kingfisher beer and see the dark red and black sun fall peacefully behind the horizon.
One of the primary reasons people come to Jaiselmer is to take a camel safari into the Thar Dessert. I must admit I was reluctant to be just another tourist on the money train but once you are here the romance of this place captures you and it is difficult to resist the lure of the sand. This is not Lawrence of Arabia of course, the Thar is mostly scrub land and small cacti, but it goes as far as the eye can see in all directions. The next morning our organizer's jeep drove our party 40 km out of town and into the desert to meet up with the camel drivers. Our group comprised Americans, Germans, a Dutch man a Frenchman and yours truly. Our international brigade was quiet on the way out... None of us had ridden a camel before and we had all heard stories of spitting, biting and being generally unpleasant.
Read on
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