Dharamsala to Rewalsar

After a peaceful week in Dharamsala, I decide it's time to leave, and take a morning bus to Mandi, which appears to be en route to most of the destinations I have in mind. For some reason, what appears to have been a once surfaced road has had it's surface removed and dumped unceremoneously at the roadside. Trundling through the dusty towns of the Himachal Pradesh foothills, I have my first near-death experience; the body of a man lies shoeless on the road, covered with a shawl, a blood trickling into a small sticky puddle nearby. A crowd of onlookers give their account to a local policeman. It appears the man was hit by some vehicle, or fell off a motorcycle (most Indians don't wear helmets). The episode makes me wish I'd read the chapter on "Meditations on Death" from a book I examined at the library of Tushita, a buddhist meditation centre in Dharamsala.

An hour or so later, my sense of shock gives way to an uncomfortable numbness in the buttocks, which gradually increases as the bus crawls towards Mandi. Out of the window I observe picturesque villages passing by, green terraces and apple orchard stretching down the valley towards the Uhl river below.

Eager to regain circulation in my lower regions, I don my packs and jump off the bus as soon as Mandi is in sight. With no map of Mandi in my guidebook, I orientate myself by instinct, crossing an old iron bridge and making my way through a colourful bazaar into the town proper. Emerging from the other end of the bazaar, I find myself in a bleak looking square, where most of the guest houses seem to be concentrated. My first choice from the guidebook turns out to be much pricier than I had hoped, but tired and in need of a hot shower, I take a room for one night. However, when I discover there's no water, I repack and look for alternatives.

I trapse around looking at other guest houses, mostly cheaper but pretty nasty, so I consult my guidebook for inspiration, finding one that sounds reasonable called "Rewalsar Inn". Asking for directions, I cross another bridge, walk up a hill, and find myself at the bus station. I recall that Rewalsar is a village outside Mandi. Too weary to retrace my steps, I board a local bus to Rewalsar, which proceeds to take me back the way I came and wait for half an hour just opposite my first choice of guesthouse.

By now it's dark. Fellow passengers look at me and a couple attempt communication in a broken English. The guy sitting next to me informs me he's a primary school teacher. I'm not sure if he's touching my leg deliberately or not; the concept of "personal space" hasn't been introduced in India yet. After another 30 minutes bumping up the valley, stopping every minute or so to let passengers on or off, I spot a building at the roadside, "Drikung Tsopadma Monastery - Rooms available". I ask the driver to stop and let me off, but he continues several hundred meters down the hill before paying me any attention. I trudge back up the hill and enquire about the rooms. No monks in sight, and the building doesn't seem particularly spiritual, but the room is reasonable and a friendly Indian girl prepares me some dinner, after which I take a hot shower and collapse into bed.

The following morning I walk around the village and visit the real Drikung Tsopadma Monastery (apparently my lodgings are really called "Drikung Tsopadma Monastery Restaurant"). The village boasts a large lake, sacred to both Hindus and Buddhists, surrounded by thousands of prayer flags. I sit and watch an elderly couple throwing rice to the fishies, whilst a Buddhist chants behind me and a Sadhu bathes himself in the brackish waters nearby.

Having seen everything the village has to offer in about 2 hours, I'm still impatient to move on, so take a local bus back to Mandi from where I'll head up the Parvati valley to Manali.

Triund

Today is my first day of serious trekking or hill-walking in India. Starting early, I leave McLeod Ganj (~1700m) and ascend along a 10km path through the pine and rhododendron forests up to Triund (~2830m) then up further to the snowline, where snow underfoot makes the path a little too hazardous to continue. The trek up, stopping for Chai a couple of times, takes me the best part of 5 hours, breaking in my walking boots (as well as feet, heart and lungs).

In the morning, the warmth of the sun makes it seem like summer. Some of the rhododendrons are in bloom, perhaps believing that Spring has arrived already. The snow above is ominously sparse for this time of year, for the villages below depend to some degree on the melt-water during the spring and into the summer months.

Tuna groups tackle overfishing

(From BBC News, 26th Jan 2007): The first international plan to try to stop the overfishing of tuna has been adopted by regulators meeting in Japan.

The plan called for better monitoring and co-ordination across regions, as well as action against illegal fishing.

Delegates from the world's five tuna bodies called the plan a first step towards arresting a decline in stocks.

But conservationists said the measures were not enough, blaming illegal and unregulated fishing and unsustainable quotas for tuna's dramatic decline.

Taj Mahal

I arrive in Agra on Friday, after an early train journey from Sawai Madhopur to Bharatpur, then a noisy, chaotic, and at times seemingly life-threatening bus journey on to Agra. I check into Sheela Hotel a few hundred meters from the East Gate of the Taj Mahal. Much to my dismay, the "Taj" is closed on Fridays, so I pass the afternoon wandering around the various bazaars and fending off the pushy shop-keepers nearby.

Eager to move on (Agra being nothing exceptional apart from the Taj), I decide to visit first thing in the morning on Saturday. At 6 a.m. I'm the first visitor through the gate. Still dark, I have the place to myself for a while, and take a seat watching the silhouette of the beautiful building appear before my eyes as the night slowly fades into the daylight. By this time, I'm surrounded by dozens of eager visitors, many of them trying to figure out why their photos come out completely dark despite their flash (we're a good few hundred meters away from the building!!). I await patiently for the right conditions, the mausoleum still appearing distant through the early morning mist, contemplating silently before trying to capture the scene on "film".

I visit the gardens and the tomb, admiring the wonderful pietra dura and arabic script decorating the cool translucent marble walls, before leaving the Taj behind. On my return to the hotel I discover my entry ticket hasn't been punched, and manage to resell it to a friendly French couple for a reasonable price.

After packing and checking out I take a rickshaw to the train station and procure my onward ticket to Delhi, catching the train just before it pulls away. This time, no sitting room available in 2nd class, I stand for the 3 hour journey, watching some fellow passengers sitting on the floor playing cards.

Ranthambore National Park

Two tiger safaris in Ranthambore National Park. No tiger's spotted.

Goodbye Pushkar

After almost a week in Pushkar, I'm back in India.

Sunset from a hilltop near Pushkar

A couple of days ago I made my way up to the top of a hill near to Pushkar to take in the spectacular sunset. It was beautiful, the sun appearing red through the mist over the plains, hills decorating the horizons. After the sun had set, the whispy clouds were lit up with a million shades of golden yellow, red and orange. Later that evening, I received a text message from a good friend "back home" (you know who you are) recommending I make my way up to the top of a hill near to Pushkar to take in the spectacular sunset. This photo's for you:

Ganesh

Ganesh is the most worshiped Hindu deity, the Lord of Good Fortune and the remover of obstacles. This photo is dedicated to a virtual kindred spirit of mine by the name of Miss Jopy Weber. Good luck with your surgery!

Pushkar

Sleeping at night in India seems somewhat problematic in general. Maybe earplugs would be a good idea. I'd set my alarm for 07:30 but was to tired to even see if the electricity was working for a hot shower. The lack of radio noise from outside suggested to me that there was no electricity in any case. Finally I get up around 9am and risk a cold shower (eek!). I finish packing and have some toast and honey and a cup of Chai for breakfast. Settling my bill and saying goodbye to the family, I catch a rickshaw to the bus station. To get to Pushkar, I first have to take a 4 hour bus to Ajmer, quite uncomfortable with my backpack between my legs, but the main annoyance being the constant beeping of the horn. The towns and villages we pass through now seem within the realms of normality to my now accustomed senses. Enough sights and sounds to keep me awake and alert (useful for keeping an eye on my day pack, stowed in the narrow luggage holds above). My bladder was thankful when we finally arrived in Ajmer.

The connecting bus to Pushkar was a trivial 30 minute journey, with scenic views over Ajmere from the hills dividing the two cities. On arrival in Pushkar, a multitude of touts were offering me their services, I manage to refuse them all, although one particularly persistent hotel tout insists on accompanying me on the 10 minute walk to my premeditated choise, Inn Seventh Heaven (Highly Recommended by Footprint). All rooms were taken, but I am offered a room in an adjoining hotel (Konika) for a modest 200 rupees a night, not negotiable.

I wandered through the streets and along the main bazaar, storekeepers offering their wares for tourists (bottled water, toilet paper, lonely planet books, tat, etc.) and pilgrims (mainly tat and trinkets) alikem in that pushy yet non-aggressive way they have. At sunset, I find myself at a Ghat (washing place) overlooking lake Pushkar, the spot a Lotus flower thrown by Brahma himself landed, allegedly. I was not alone. Hundreds of tourists sat on the steps of the Ghat contemplating the mystical moment, which rather spoiled it for me, although at least the photos turned out nice.

On the way back to the haveli, a couple of "priests" try to push their flowers into my hands for me to throw into the lake. I resist, insisting that if I felt the urge to do such a thing, I would do it at a time of my choosing. After wandering the streets a while longer, I find what appears to be the cheapest high-speed internet cafe on the planet, at 10 rupees per hour (about 2 cents). Feeling at home in front of the screen, I spend a couple of hours replying to dozens of emails, fruit of the previous days mass mailing and blogging activities.

For dinner, the fare at the hotel is more than acceptable, Baigan Masala (sautéed aubergine in a lightly spiced sauce). I´m still resisting the temptation of western food for the moment, although it starts to look more and more appetizing. Being in a Brahmin town, my urge for a beer wil also have to remain unsatisfied for a while longer.

I'm not quite sure what to make of Pushkar, my first impression being that it was a touristy hangout, but it seems to go deeper than that, a whole neo-hippie community living here, some for weeks, some for months, and some for years! This I discovered after walking around town aimlessly for most of the day, aghast with the "theme" feeling of the place. Today I perform the ritual of throwing the flower into the lake, and am rewarded for my piety with a red and yellow string tied around my wrist, my "passport in India" the Brahmin Priest assures me, in the little English he speaks.

I walk past a Chai Shop where I spot a chess board, and sit down awaiting for a Chai and await an opponent. Victory over two Indians, then a German guy, Gunther, manages a couple of draws. One of the onlookers, an Indian guy with stunted legs and dreadlocks, going by the name of Om Baba, invites me for a Chai at his nearby hostel. I accept his offer and spend some time there chatting with other visitors to Pushkar, and some Indians living and working here. Good banter.

Feeling a little grotty with a cold, and bites all over from these damn bed bugs, I employ an ayurvedic masseur, who leaves me feeling somewhat better. Plenty of hot lemon, ginger and honey, then a cheeky "apple juice" (codeword for beer, prohibited in the Brahmin city), before heading back to my lodgings, Inn Seventh Heaven. Before bed, I have one final game of chess with the owner of the Haveli, Anub, who Gunther had informed me was a keen player (I lose). Tomorrow there's a kite festival in the city, everyone competes to see can fly their kite the highest, and battle to bring down the kites of others. I haven't had much practice, but maybe I'll give it a go.

Heard some interesting Indian fusion music today, Kandisa.

Bundi

After a night of interrupted sleep, noises of pigeons, monkeys howling, a man being sick, and a loud radio. Feeling cold and congested, I'm happy when the power cuts off around 08:30, giving me a respite and a few more moments of precious sleep. Around 10:00, putting a brave face on things, I surface, have breakfast, and walk up to the run-down palace built into the side of the hill. According to Kipling, it is the work of goblins rather than of men! But well worth a visit, offering spectacular views over the town, blue houses dominating the urban landscape. Adjoining the palace, the Citrashali sports some well-kept gardens and paintings of the Radha Krishna story. Leaving the fort above for tomorrow, I stroll through the streets of the old city, taking photos of local craftsmen and peanut/sellers. A very peaceful town, and a good place to relax for a few days.

The following day, arising earlier and after a warm "porridge" (not made of oatmeal, but similar in taste), I climb up to the fort, the climb being easier in the cool of the morning. The Taragarh fort has been abandoned to the monkeys, hundreds of them living here and paying scarce attention to me, the only visitor in sight. The undergrowth growing through the ruins of this once magnificent fortress makes me think of what our cities will one day look like. After a couple of hours exploring and observing the monkeys, I descend down into the city and explore the lively and colourful bazaar outside the city walls.

In the evening, sitting on the rooftop of the Haveli, I listen to a brass band and drums in the nearby streets, a Hindu wedding procession.

Chittorgarh -> Bundi

I eventually arise from my slumber after suffering the persistent noise of horns during the early hours. The rickshaw driver is already eagerly awaiting me to take me on a tour of the fort, but I make him eagerly await a while longer, while I pack and wash, not daring to shower. Thankfully out of the "hotel", I'm rushed up to the top of the hill again, and into the fort complex. First stop is the impressive victory tower, nine stories high, celebrating the victory of Rana Kumbha over Mahmud Kilji in 1440. Afterwards: a beautiful Hindu temple, complete with the usual monkeys; Padmina's Palace, reflecting her beauty in the lake; the wonderful 11th century Sat Bis Deori Jain temple; and finally the ruins of Rana Kumbha's palace, where Padmina and the townswomen committed jauhar (mass suicide by fire) rather than surrender themselves to the King of Delhi, Ala-ud-din Khalji.

By now, it's past midday and time for me to move on. The rickshaw driver takes me down to the bus station, where I discover that the next bus to Bundi isn't til 6pm. Luckily, the rickshaw driver is still in sight, and helpfully takes me to the train station for no extra charge. I procure a passage on a slow local train, departing at 14:15, leave my rucksack in the luggage room, and venture out for bargain food at a roadside stall. Stuffed chillies, yummy! And a samosa to take away. While awaiting my train on the platform, an Indian student presents himself, and kindly imparts some Hindi classes. Others stand around looking at me, and browsing through my Footprint guidebook. Eventually the train arrives at 14:45.

We move slowly over the scenic plains, hills protruding in the distance. Stopping in every little village, the train takes almost 5 hours to cover the 150 km separating the two towns. Learning from experience, this time I stick to my initial choice of hostel, the R.N. Haveli, run by a family of women (mother & two daughters), and recommended by Footprint. The rickshaw drive into town after dusk is interesting, the streets still abuzz with people, bicyclyes, motorbikes, rickshaws, cows, etc. Here, the local speciality seems to be the crafting of large metal pots, pans and buckets, for carrying milk I later discover.

I receive a warm welcome from the family on arriving to the Haveli (old house), very quaint. After dinner with fellow guests, I explore the nearby streets and spend half an hour in a cyber café, nice to find after several days disconnected. Cold in the evenings, I've been sleeping in my sleeping bag, which I begin to suspect of hosting bed-bugs.

Chittorgarh

On the advice of Lonely Planet, this morning I breakfast at the coffee and apple pie at Edelweiss Cafe. The pie is nice, coffee nothing special, both expensive. A chai and a chat with an Indian art student, on the way back, results in the sale of a "postcard" for 20 rupees.

At the hotel, Asfak Hossein (the owner) had decided I was to be leaving today, having booked someone else into my room. So I pack. Upstairs, I say goodbye to fellow guests off to Jodhpur, then rickshaw to the bus station. Soon I'm on the bus to Chittorgarh, which gradually fills up and becomes even less comfortable. A bearable journey at around 3 hours, over the plains of Rajasthan, allegedly filled with opium poppy plantations for government supply.

On arrival at Chittorgarh, I'm instantly ushered in to a rickshaw by it's driver, who drives me up to the top of the hill and drives me down again (the rest house at the top is not really to my liking, but would have been a lot better than the shit-hole I end up in!). Out on the town, I soon realize that the trouble with getting off the beaten track is that there's a reason it's not beaten. No internet in sight, and no restaurants. The main attraction of this town seems to be me, judging by the locals who constantly stare at me. Kids follow me around in their dozens. Really it's all quite unnerving. Feeling lost and alone, I scuttled bac to the hotel, but soon realize that a solution can not be found in that dump. Pulling myself together, and overcoming my desire to catch the next bus out of here, I decide to hunt for food at the bazar, make the most of it, and visit the spectacular fort tomorrow before moving on. A wise decision, the Chat (lentil dish) at the bazar is excellent, I have two plates of the stuff for only 10 rupees (about $0.15).

Feeling more at ease with food in my stomach, I enjoy strolling around the market, taking in the sights, sounds and smells. Listening to the call to prayer at the mosque, I stop to take a few photos of street-side flower sellers, who start off being very camera-shy, but soon started enjoying the attention.

After dark, I buy a 15 rupee towel and a bottle of water on the way back to this nasty place, then crawl into my sleeping bag.

Udaipur

Picturesque Udaipur, surrounding the shores of Lake Pichola, was chosen as one of the principal locations for the filming of Octopussy. A complete contrast to Mumbai, the old city is geared up for mass tourism, hundreds of agents offering tours of the city and surrounding areas, shopkeepers trying to force there wears upon weary travellers. On arrival at the tarain station, at 7:30 am, after a 19 hour journey, I jumped into a prepaid rickshaw, who's driver, Manu, turned out to be a very friendly fellow. He saved me some rupees by showing me to the Lake Shore Hotel, half the price of the place I had reserved, and with the lake coming right up to the window of my room.

After a refreshing shower, well eneded after the 19 hour journey here, I strolled around the old city, and found myself in a ceremony in a beautiful Hindu temple (Jag Mandir), surrounded by the sounds of bells and the smell of burning incense. At the end of the ceremony, the priest kindly threw some holy water on my face. In the afternoon, a fellow guest, Isaac, and myself, employed Manu's services to take us to Monsoon Palace, on the top of a nearby hill. The long afternoon shadows added to the mystical ambience looking through the mist out over the surrounding area, Udaipur city visible by the lakeshore, and hills protruding out of the plains in the distance. White monkeys with black faces sat around grooming each other and playing near the entrance to the palace. After sunset, back at the hotel, I enjoyed a Vegetable Mutter and a beer, looking out over the lake and the old city lit up on the other side. After dinner, we suffered a screening of Octopussy, if only to see how Udaipur was portrayed in the film.

The following morning, I took a tour of some of the other sights the city has to offer: a burial site for the Marharanas, sporting hundreds of spikey Hindu domes; a colourful and serene royal garden with elephant-shaped fountains and squirrels playing in the trees; another Hindu temple, and finally an outlet for intricately decorated Indian bed clothes and wall hangings. I stopeed for lunch at an authentic Indian restaurant, where the man dining opposite me explained how to eat Thali with one's hand, a very useful lesson.

Mumbai

Mumbai, my first stop in India, a thriving city of 20 million inhabitants (an Indian man told me than unofficially, the population could be almost double that, taking it close to the population of Spain!). I was expecting to be shocked on arriving, and I wasn't to be disappointed. Flying into the city, the corrugated iron roofs of the chawls (slums) spread out as far as the eye could see, squeezing into every little space between the more permanent structures of the city, and right up to the edge of the airport. In the distance, towering skyscrapers indicated the location of the city's financial district. The airport was decrepit compared with the clinical feel of Doha's, where I had stopped briefly en route from Madrid for the connecting flight.

The hour-long taxi ride from the airport to my lodgings provided me with closer view of the squalour... by the roadside, hundreds of people sleeping under plastic sheets supported by wooden poles, some even forgoing that luxury. The traffic was utter chaos, rickshaws, black and yellow taxis, buses, private cars, bicyclyes, men pulling carts, pedestrians and animals walking in the middle of the road, all competing for the same bit of space, and making as much noise as possible.

I had been expecting to experience a period of initial shock on arrival, and I wasn't to be disappointed. Even venturing out on the safe streets of Colaba, one of the richer areas of the city, seemed risky. As a western tourist, I was an obvious target for street sellers and beggers (people missing limbs, small children carrying babies, asking for me to buy them milk, ...). Taking the camera out of my pocket didn't even cross my mind for the first couple of days.

After the initial shock, things started becoming clearer... This city was a wonderful mix of new sights, sounds and smells. The poverty, although fairly harsh compared with developed countries, was the norm for millions of people here, and the vast majority seem to make ends meet one way or another. Beggers and touts seemed to be concentrated in the more touristy areas of the city, outside of which the constant bustle was far more enjoyable.

On my penultimate day here, I took an early morning walk down to Sasoon Dock, where fishermen unload the previous night's catch. Women and children had all manners of fish and seafood on display on the dock, a vibrant and noisy atmosphere. Unfortunately, photography was forbidden on the dock for some reason, although I did manage to take a photo of some of the fishing boats through the early morning mist.