Jodhpur - boy

The blue city, and indeed it did look impressively blue from afar at the Meherangarh fort towering above it. Unfortunately, in order to go back to your room, you have to see it up close and it’s none too pretty. We stayed in an area where there were a few guest houses but outside these backpacker havens was only unsightliness; decrepit shops of necessity lining the decaying streets with their broken sewers bubbling over the collecting refuse. And of course the omnipresent auto-rickshaw drivers ready to pounce on their next customer.

We had a wonder around, following the stronger smells, and found the market. This was a lot more colourful than the rest of Jodhpur purely due to the number and variety of colourful saris and turbans floating around. It was also the place were one could (supposedly) find the best lassi in town. These were the kind the locals drink; just one type, plain and so thick with sugar you need a spoon to drink it. Think condensed milk concentrate and you’re half way there.

Our extremely talkative and possible mad hotelier suggested a ‘tourist taxi’ to our next destination, therefore giving us the chance to see two attractions en route. I’d never heard about these services but I guess it makes complere sense that there’s a market for the traveller who is willing to pay more for a hassle-less ride from city to city. As with everything in India, there’s a price to pay other than the rupee one and this one is getting used to Indian driver etiquette. I think I know the car language now. Beeping the horn on every corner - easy enough - means I’m going round this corner in the middle of the road at speed, everyone please move. Beeping horn and flashing lights on every corner; like the last one but for night time. Beeping the horn while overtaking signals the overtakee and means please slow down so I can pull in just in case the oncoming traffic is faster than anticipated. Of course it is possible that our driver simply connected the horn to his accelerator pedal. This would make sense as he informed us of the number of hours he had already worked and his lack of sleep and figured this could be a technique to stay awake. This was one reason we didn’t complain about him playing loud Bollywood music the whole way, at least we knew he was awake even when playing chicken with the oncoming cars (which he seemed to do an awful lot). Though, I think the manoeuvre that must take first prize was his ‘overtaking while concentrating on phone call’ manoeuvre. This involves concentrating on the call so much that you forgot you’re overtaking. Not only were we riding parallel around several bends but we were doing it so slowly that the car behind us overtook us on the inside! Actually, it’s not as dangerous as it seems; he has a miniature of Ganesha on the dashboard so nothing bad could possibly have happened.

Despite the drive (and of course we could have kept our eyes shut), the drive was worth it. Apart from seeing Ranakpur, yet another Jain temple (but one of the finest) and Kumbalgarh, a fort with some incredible views, we also saw a glimpse of Rajasthani life out there between the towns. For example, we passed a bizarre shrine built after a motorcycle accident five years ago. The motorbike is propped up next to it and the bike’s engine is said to start every month. Apparently there was no town here five years ago and now there is, everybody wanting to be close to the motorbike miracle, although stopping the accident from happening in the first place would be a healthier miracle one would have thought. We passed a few of Rajasthan’s tribal people; some using equipment and water collection systems that wouldn’t look out of place in a museum of the middle ages; and others (all women) using another ancient technique of blocking roads with stones and wood to gather money from passing cars and buses. Our driver was as perplexed as we were saying that the women were probably ‘mad at India’, but couldn’t get an explanation since they didn’t speak Hindi and he didn’t speak their language. Later we found out that the village women do this every year for the Holi festival and were lucky we only had one road block to pay our way through.

Jodhpur - girl

A question I keep asking myself: why does everyone abroad (me included) seem to feel as if the ultimate quest is to find ‘that picture’? Does it matter? Are we losing something by always trying to find a new and interesting pose, someone doing something, or looking, ‘foreign’, a new level of poverty or beauty to snap? I see so many of us on this quest that I wonder how we now look to those we’re visiting. I wonder what we’d see if we put down the camera and actually took in what’s in front of us. Today, driving from Jodhpur to Udaipur, I kept wanting to stick my camera out the window and take photos of everything new - do I want memories, do I want photos that demonstrate how much poverty I’ve seen or do I just want to claim everything for myself? A bit of all of them? Maybe. I’m definitely not proud of this and would like to change this about my habit of travelling before the end of the trip. I had to really push myself to put it down and just look, just take in the outstanding colours and scenes before me.

Today’s journey took us from Jodhpur to Udaipur through tribal areas of Rajasthan. The poverty we hadn’t been seeing in droves came and bit us on the ass. We could have been visiting the middle-ages and nothing would have looked different (except, of course, for the motorised vehicles). Cow powered water wheels (again with the cows), women with their veils teaching children to carry water pots on their heads, people working the dusty, dry land. Villages here looked similar to many African villages: hustle around the road, the same shops, the same resting men while the women go about their work, barefoot children calling in excitement at seeing white faces in a car, teenagers herding goats and an overriding vision of colour. It’s trite but true; the colours of Rajasthan are what make this place so interesting. While the land is a drab, dry reddish colour, the women wear the most beautiful saris, bringing everything to life.

I again have to question the place of cows in society - if they’re so holy why’s it ok to own them, tether them and work them? Isn’t it a small step to simply take a bite out of a tasty looking one? C and I wondered if this ever happens - imagine your neighbour commenting, ‘didn’t you have three cows yesterday?’ and you having to wipe steak juice off your chin before mumbling a big fat lying ‘no’.   

We visited three incredible sites in the last two days - a fort in Jodhpur, Ranakpur and another fortress out in the middle of the ass end of nowhere. The first fort was impressive for its sheer size and the way it dominates an enormous, sprawling misery of a city. Ranakpur is a Jain temple that crawls with tourists and understandably so, to be honest, as the place is beautiful. However, for me, the second fortress - Kumbalgarh - was the most wonderful. The views were simply marvellous from every point in the place - over hills and fields we could see for miles. And the monkeys made it even more fun.

Two interesting things occurred on our journey between the two cities: 1. our taxi driver stopped beside a motorbike and some roadside stalls and told us that a shrine has developed around this miraculous bike - five years ago there was a crash there and now, every month, at full moon, the bike’s engine starts up. Dunno, maybe it cries real tears too. We couldn’t tell if the driver believed this or not.

2. As we were approaching Kumbalgarh, we came across a group of women who had created a roadblock. I had visions of angry Maoists in Nepal and I suspect our city driver did too. He muttered something about ‘angry tribal women’ and turned the car round. C and I then had a pleasant ten minutes conjecturing what they could be mad about, and rationalising it for them, before someone else told us that the women were simply extracting a small fee from every driver to contribute to their holi celebrations, which seem to be later here than other places. I did decide here that it was totally legitimate to take pictures of the women since they had forced us to stop and hand over cash. Seems like a good exchange to me.

We seem to be having some interesting ‘people’ experiences at the moment too: Yogi, owner of Yogi’s guest house: total nut job. Claims to know Barack Obama and the ‘big Daddy of the BBC’. He also claims that some American dude is giving him $200,000 a year rent for the hostel building. Even smile at the man and you’re stuck for at least an hour as his mind wonders and his mouth keeps up. A lovely guy but a little tiring. Our taxi driver today immediately told us that all Indians put on an act - and then swapped from being bubbly and nice to being a bit of a sulky bastard! He played tinny Bollywood tunes at full volume almost the entire 10 hours we were in the car with him. I almost thought it had been a test and that we’d get a prize for not asking him to turn it down until 9 ½ hours into the journey! Damn it, I was wrong. No prize.

And now, we’re staying in a new hotel, on first impression I dislike the owner. He watched C and me struggle to bring luggage in and eventually picked up my hat and camera to help! Everyone else, without fail, has helped out of kindness. This guy is weird. He sat and watched us finish our meal in his hotel and claimed I was the first person to ever mention that fact that the bathrooms don’t have ceilings (as in they’re a section of the bedroom with walls but no ceiling) - I don’t believe him given how many people get bad tummies here. No matter how much one loves one’s partner, a ceiling might be nice! And yes, bad tummies have come to us. C first, but only extremely mildly and now me. Bah. Although it does mean I might lose weight - maybe I’ll wait a few more days before bringing out the antibiotic guns. (On further thought I think that perhaps neither he nor I were in good moods when we met, he’s a bit odd but certainly not unpleasant). 

Also, I’ve just noticed that my sweat smells of curry!

Jaisalmer - boy

The 19 hour "express" from Delhi to Jaisalmer was a bit of a struggle. It consisted of open carriages divided into several units with eight beds in each one; so a lot of squeezing of selves and luggage into small places going on. When we noticed everyone chaining their luggage to special points in the carriage we realised that chains were something we forgot to buy beforehand so had a fitful night keeping our non-sleeping eye on our large rucksacks and sleeping on our small ones. To help us stay awake our neighbour ensured his mobile phone would ring at least a hundred times throughout the night with an especially irritating Bollywood melody. He must have guessed our predicament.

This city is probably one of the most relaxing places I've been to in India (I had been before for a few months, not just to Delhi). Perfection would probably mean putting huge unfixable holes in the tyres of Jaisalmer's million or so motorbikes so they couldn't swerve in and out of people on the narrow streets constantly beeping their horns, but I'm probably naive to think that a flat tyre would stop these guys anyway. The cows however seem oblivious to all this; they seem to be quite happy lying in the middle of the road eating the detritus left on the ground. It's amazing really; cardboard, paper, dirty rags go in; milk comes out. And the Lassies do taste good (drink, not Scottish women).

We were lucky enough to be here during the Holi festival; celebrating the start of spring and killing daemons or something like that. It is one of the few times you can walk the streets with no traffic and the only price you pay is being covered from head to tow with a large selection of coloured powers. Rajasthan is always described by the guidebooks as a colourful place but this is ridiculous. Today, the end of lunar such and such (1^st March 2010 for the rest of us),  the people turn it up a notch by saturating the town and everyone in it all the primary colours and everything in between including luminous yellow and radioactive green. We knew we'd get a pasting when we went out and even bought our own bags of 'throwing powder' so we could get our own back. There was a lot of smearing powder on the face and body too, which I was previously warned about the day before. 'You will have to protect your wife from the crazy guys on bang [ganga, weed, etc] who will run up and down molesting women'. And he wasn't wrong. I guess that's what happens when all the (undoubtedly) sexually repressed teenagers in a small town have an excuse to touch the opposite sex. It's a lot clearer now why most Indian teenage girls were more or less separate from these guys and did their own thing in their own groups. Now the day is over and we are trying to wash the stuff off we realise that this may be some kind of dye. Mmm, we were warned about that too so can't complain really.

As for attractions; the large sandcastle fort was large, impressive and busy; the museum (at the old Maharaja's Palace) interesting and informative; the Desert tour (without camel) mediocre (we seem to be keeping a quota of one crap desert tour per week); the Jain temples all around extremely ornate and the priests within sufficiently irritating with the hard sell - or hard 'give us a donation'. On the last point I should say that there is already an entrance fee to the temples, plus a fee if you want to take pictures, plus a fee if you want to walk round with your eyes open, plus there's a big sign saying 'Don't give the priests any money'. I did try and point this out but I don't speak Hindi and they don't speak English, which makes me wonder who put the signs there in the first place; the Indian tourist board perhaps? I'm sure business will boom when they realise and remove the signs. Anyway, rant over.

As with Delhi, we had an array of amazing curries with only a light sprinkling of bacteria in a couple as my gut will attest.

Jaisalmer - girl

Jaisalmer 25/02-02/03/2010




It really feels as if we’ve left the UK now. We’re staying in a typical backpackers’ hostel that serves banana pancakes on the roof and offers mediocre tours; we spend our days walking in the blistering heat and retiring for cheap but delicious curry in the evening. We have successfully evaded the ubiquitous ‘camel safari’ and have not been seduced into buying travellers’ clothing - although perhaps after a few more weeks we will give into that one. We’re still washing on a daily basis so perhaps some would say we’re not entering into the full spirit of things. What the hell, chaque’un a son gout, non?



Jaisalmer is a fascinating city 19 hours west of Delhi as the train flies. And to be honest, it didn’t really fly, more hobble. We were in a ‘3AC’ carriage, which is nowhere near as grand as it sounds. The ‘3’ stands for three bunks high. Who knows what the ‘AC’ might stand for as there was certainly no ‘AC’ that I noticed. However, the 19 hours passed fairly painlessly and we eventually found ourselves on a hot, dusty, yet busy station at Jaisalmer. It turned out the unthinkable had happened - our train was a full hour early, confusing locals and visitors alike.



Think Carcassone, think Jerusalem or any other walled, fortified town and then add a great big desert, that’s Jaisalmer. Built in the 12th century, this place is simply stunning. 99 sandstone bastions protecting a town of winding lanes barely big enough for the inhabitants let alone the cows and motorbikes that clamour for their space. Inside the fortress is the Maharaja’s palace, now a fascinating museum and a complex of Jain temples where intricate carvings in the same sandstone offer tourists another opportunity to part with their rupees as devout monks spend their day chasing foreigners for baksheesh. God’s will and all that, or should it be Gods’ will?



Wandering through the streets of the fortress and the new city I have been particularly struck by another dichotomy of religion and reality: cows are holy yet left to forage through rubbish for sustenance. People may put out scraps in the evening but most of the cows, although huge, are unhealthy and seem to be subsisting on cardboard boxes and scraps of cloth.



What appears particularly absent from Jaisalmer is the desperate, highly visible, poverty of India. Most people appear healthy and happy. I got a brief glimpse of reality, though, as we drove through a small area on the outskirts of town with homes resembling African huts. Villages out in the desert also offered the poverty we were expecting. Contrast this with the hotel owner we met today who pulled out his new i-phone to demonstrate the speed of his hotel’s wi-fi.



Throughout our days in Jaisalmer, excitement was brewing. Vendors were doing a brisk trade in coloured powders and plastic water pistols and children were getting more and more high pitched - imagine Christmas excited but outside, in 33 degree heat. Holi (pronounced ‘holy’) was almost here. Day 1 meant singing in the street outside our hotel as people collected funds for ‘the party’. By Day 2 even the tourists were being let in on the secret of Holi although I think C and I learned more than most thanks to an extremely kind (big mouthed?) hotelier. He mentioned to me that there was a big party down at the lake in the evening. So after supper we took a stroll lake-wards to see what was up. Unwittingly we found ourselves in a crowd streaming through a small gate. The party was, in fact, four separate parties for different strata of society and, naturally, we’d been corralled into the ‘upper class’ party. Amazingly, at a party for thousands of people where we thought we knew no one, we bumped into the guy who’d told me about the party. He was a little shocked to see us but took us under his wing, offering us sweets to try and explaining what was going on. We excused ourselves fairly quickly, feeling that we shouldn’t intrude on something that was so clearly not for tourists. Luckily we’d left our cameras behind as I suspect the temptation would have been too great.



Day 3 involved nothing more than digging up the roads at select intervals and making fire for people to walk around. Day 4, however, was the most fun of all. Between 9am and 2pm the entire town, resident and visitor alike, was out on the street greeting others with a ‘Happy Holi’, a daubing of coloured powder and a big hug. I suspect the hugging may have been an excuse for touching women but who am I to question the motives behind religious requirements? Within minutes of leaving the hotel we were quite literally covered, from head to toe, in coloured powders - as was everyone else. The atmosphere was incredible as everyone came together to enjoy the coming of spring (doesn’t everyone celebrate spring this way?). And I, for one, have never been groped so many times before lunch in one day!

I assume other towns were also celebrating today but I’m glad we were here, in Jaisalmer, this ancient city with a population that lives regardless of the thousands of tourists wandering in and out of their streets, taking intrusive photos and getting in the way.

Delhi - girl

Delhi 23-25/02/2010
Where to begin? Obviously, a Shantaram experience was what I’d whimsically hoped for. Sadly, a warm welcome into India and into Indian culture was not to be had. Instead there was the creepy hotel guy who conspiratorially informed us that he was giving us a shit room for one night but it’d be ok on night two. He was a bit surprised when we then complained about the damp box of a room right next to reception we were given. The second room was bigger and not so damp but the cleaner had clearly only just finished his last cigarette in there when we moved in. We elicited a free breakfast in compensation for still being in a crap room as well as a promise to move us first thing in the morning. It was claimed that we were the first people to ever, in the history of the hotel, complain. We didn’t bother directing him to the website of fairly mixed reviews! Room number three was bigger but neither of us managed much sleep on either night thanks to the porters’ lack of understanding about hotels primarily being for sleeping. Despite C asking a number of times, the noise was most certainly not kept down.
Creepy hotel guy was weirdly incapable of directing us to anywhere or showing us where the hotel was on a map - luckily whoever designed the business-card, was not. The Delhi metro was a lifesaver - easy to use, quick and clean. The only issue came when C thought he’d been pick-pocketed within minutes of being on the platform. A very miserable few minutes ensued until he realised he’d moved all the money to another pocket and then forgotten! Lucky boy.
First stop was a meeting for me with a guy from an NGO with whom I’d been corresponding. We sat for 2.5 hrs discussing issues facing street-living/working children in India. Fascinating guy and really interesting work. Meeting him has certainly made a lot of things about India much clearer. While the problems are clearly severe, civil society is a lot more developed than I’m used to in Africa, which means a seemingly greater level of understanding and compassion from local government and community structures - invaluable when working with vulnerable children.
We decided to walk from the hotel to the station - a mere one hour through screaming traffic, road-works, millions of people and anything else you care to imagine. However, the ease with which we purchased rail tickets more than made up for the stress of the walk. The highlight was seeing an extremely tall goddess statue with wooden scaffolding all around - people we making all sorts of interesting genuflection type movements to this plastic goddess. Perhaps an indictment of modern India?
Thankfully the train had no space on the day we wanted to leave Delhi so we were forced to leave a day early! For some unknown reason we allowed a hotel we were ditching to book us a cab - eventually a small, smelly, man with a small, smelly car, claimed to be our cab. Despite reason telling us not to go with him we did. It was fine (if smelly).
With eight hours until the train to Jaisalmer we decided to walk from the station to the Red Fort - yup, as dull as everyone said it was. However, the Jama Masjid mosque was not. After a walk through a long bazaar we arrived at this majestic building. Rather than leave our shoes outside we carried them in with us, which only caused trouble with the mini man guarding the entrance to the minarets tower - like a little troll in Rumpelstiltskin. He was convinced that our shoes would de-holy-fy the minaret (true, we had walked in de-holy-fy-ing water only minutes before). Clearly the 20 rupees we gave him to guard them re-sanctified the area.
After a great lunch in a well-recommended restaurant we wandered back to the station to collect our bags and enjoy the relative luxury and peace of the first class waiting room - sometimes I do love a bit of western arrogance (we certainly weren’t travelling first class).
Interestingly, despite all the poverty - evident in human and infrastructural form - after the first night I wasn’t particularly overwhelmed. Work in Africa prepared me well for slums and human poverty and work in the fSU prepared me well for the chaotic and collapsing infrastructure. Of course, seeing people forced to live in such appalling circumstances breaks my heart, but it also fascinates me to see whole communities living on the streets. I just want to meet them and understand their lives. Whole rivers of electric cables on the streets, high or low, have a strange beauty to them. We just kept asking ourselves, ‘but how could one ‘fix’ Delhi?’ The city’s decay is so severe, the chaos so all encompassing, that there seems little option but to keep on going, keep on half-heartedly fixing and keep on hoping nothing goes seriously wrong. Not a glowing reference for India’s capital.


I couldn’t say I enjoyed Delhi, per se, but I did find it enthralling and truly an education.

Delhi - boy

If anyone asked you to design a city based on chaos and decay you would have a hard time beating Delhi as an example. There are literally hundreds of surprises round every corner. Just when you thought couldn't see a more dilapidated mish mash of old and older withered buildings there's another in worse shape and this time with tangled telephone and electricity cables stapled and twisted around any part of the structure that's still intact. It's a surreal experience, like walking through a huge installation. It feels real enough when you're there but quickly feels detached once inside one of the many swish London priced restaurants; then once the meal is over very real again as you prepare to brave the streets.

Though it felt like an assault course for us the Delhians (if that's what they're called) seem to take it in their stride. Judging by the general level of mayhem accepted by us in the west these guys should be having a nervous breakdown every ten seconds, but they don't (or can't since many are living below the poverty line). I'm sure people do snap here but it isn't when five cars, three auto-rickshaws and one cow try to squeeze into a gap intended for three people and it isn't after ten hours or more of incessant beeping that all rickshaw and taxi drivers have to put up with (and no doubt contribute to). What is their secret?

I'm expect to be asking a lot of what (or what the ..!?), how and whys around India. Like, for example, why does it require five forms to obtain pre-pay phone card? How did our hotel make toast that flops around like processed cheese? Why do they stencil 'This bus is running on clean fuel' on buses that are barely hanging together on their frames belching out black fumes? Is the word configuration aesthetically pleasing or do people that write these things actually believe that people buy this stuff? Such questions always raise more questions so I'll leave it for now. Maybe I'll find a fakir (or faker, can never spell these things right) who will be able to answer these questions.

Walking off guard without a care in the world doesn't seem possible here and it's tiring so any escapes are welcome and one, oddly enough, came in the form of the metro system. This was orderly paradise compared to outside. Even during rush hour (which is between three and seven) the commuters form orderly lines before boarding. I've never seen such a large group of people self-organise in such an effective manner.

We didn't stay long since we were forced to leave a day early due to train schedules but we had some interesting walks up and down Delhi, Old and New; through the tourist and non-tourist bazaars; seeing a couple of tourist attractions and of course quality currys twice daily.

Dubai - boy

We'd been threatening to visit friends in Dubai for a couple of years now and so we thought five days here would be a good start to our trip. It turned out to be great timing since February is a good time of year for Dubai (cool weather); there were birthday celebrations (a party!) and (as it also turned out) extra friends from London bringing with them an extra birthday and yet more reasons to party (or engage in an animated gathering of friends with good food and drink).

A, D and others had already equipped us with knowledge of life in Dubai so we came loaded with expectations which all seemed to fit reality; from the bored Emirati customs guys flicking aimlessly through our passports (obviously safe in the knowledge that no one would use fake British passports to enter their country) to the mega malls and flashy hotels. We knew not to expect any quantity (or quality) of museums, shows or other types of unholy godless western entertainment commonly found in filthy infidel western Gomorrahs. The one museum we visited: The Museum of Dubai, was a bit crap but at least is was practically free so all we lost was time. I saw a sign for a Museum of Linen but decided that seeing the sign was probably more interesting than the place itself. The Lonely Planet says the "single greatest thrill in the city" is the five minute abra (ferry ride) across Dubai Creek. Nuff said. A bird did shit on me on Dubai Creek (sounds like a good title for a song) and I guess that must take a close second. I shouldn't forget though that Dubai does have the tallest man made structure in the world: Burj Al Khalifa or the Burj or el Burjerino (and formerly known as Burj Dubai in good times). This is a monster of a building that rises over 800m dwarfing an already impressive skyline of skyscrapers. Personally I think they should have gone for an extra 200m and made it a km high. Unfortunately it was closed for repairs, but when open I anticipate it knocking the 'abra across the Creek' from its number one spot.

Though the city itself may lack attractions our days were nevertheless relaxed and pleasantly filled. A and P's flat was spitting distance from the Burj which allowed for ample time staring at its dizzying hights. Clouds would sometimes drift by just below the top floors; bizarre, I imagine, for anyone on the top floor looking down. The buggying over the dunes was awesome; my boy racer ego experienced bliss whilst driving with reckless abandon over the highest dunes our robust little 4x4 could manage, though my passengers may not have shared this. We had cocktails with H in the coolest bar in town, which overlooks (from far away) the Palm Islands. We clubbed Dubai style for P's birthday at a local Salsa joint, which is pretty much like western clubbing with the threat of taxis taking you to the police if you imbibe too much of the unholy substance. D and K were over, both for work in one way or another. It was D's birthday so more celebrations; Champagne and mezzes at their suite followed by steak and some of the finest desserts I've eaten. All meals top notch from pie and beer on our first night to Shisha and hummus on our last.

Oh, and I have some vague recollections of C and me doing a desert safari but that particular escapade full of eastern promise seems like a dream to me now (a dull and forgettable dream).