UDAIPUR






In between bouts of screeching brakes grinding to a halt, crazed kids running and screaming up the aisles and pot holes that appear to have their own gravitational force, inspiration struck me: why be a backpacker when you can be a flash-packer?

My bus, pre-booked in Delhi was a 'luxury' sleeper, consisting of 2 rows of seats running down the centre, above which are boxes which can only be described as transparent coffins, only tall enough for people to lay down or at best lean back on your elbows.

Thankfully getting the long straw and having the chair it was with some guilty amusement that I watched into the glass, with the people and their possessions swooshing around like the contents of a washing machine on spin cycle, especially when the gravitational pot holes strike.

This was a mild comfort to a less than mild hangover until said inspiration struck.

It was then with much delight, after checking into my hotel room complete with big Tv and 4 poster bed, I punched in my cerdit card details to confirm my flights for the remainder of the trip, with not a train in sight. Flash-packing at its best.

I guess I won't really be a backpacker again unless the big bad GFC catches up with me or I request a P45 and have to count each and every Rupee.

It was a serene time discovering Udaipur with the nagging horror of the trains out of mind, even the ridiculous traffic and street sellers didn't seem to get to me. The place itself boasts the lake palace used for the Bond film Octopussy.

Being quick on the uptake, 20-30% of the places have some kind of reference to the movie whether it be 007, James Bond these are plastered across guest houses, hotels and restaurants all the hope of securing custom through this loose association.

No one has really riffed on the title of the movie itself which is a surprise, or perhaps my childish sense of humour with what you could call such a place doesn't work with the locals.

So, departure lounges, reasonable coffee and people calling me sir await at the airport en route to Mumbai. A nice change from arctic winds, dodging projectiles and a constant feeling of confusion and panic that I'm on the wrong train.

I've been looking forward to Mumbai as much as anywhere on this trip so I'm hoping the mix of modern India and the colonial version live up to expectations.

JODPHUR




Just as the other cities in Rajasthan have their associated colours, Jodphur is known as the blue city and on first impression its the colour of the place that is most striking and impressive.

Resisting too many comparisons with the sky blue train carriage to Jaisalmer, the blue paint business seems a lucrative one ion these parts given that each house has exactly the same shade and that it is also EXACTLY the same as the aforementioned wind tunnels disguised as train carriages that got me to the desert.

Again like most cities of the region, Jodphur has it's fort as the main attraction. Most of these are now getting quite similar, and only after a few visits to the armoury of these can I be impressed with the unique and inventive ways that people of the past came up with to kill and mame in the name of progress.

The Jodphur fort itself is the same in many respects although it's elevated position above the city does really highlight how good they've done with the emulsion, rollers and paint brushes above.

So having covered enough of the main attraction and satisfied that I've seen it thoroughly the rest of the time here was devoted to the purchasing of knick nacks: a task that can sustain me for as long as any or fort (bars excluded).

This was also good time to try and rectify my horrifying discovery that my train tickets out of Rajasthan to Mumbai consisted of 'wait-list' tickets, which give you no actual seats whilst relieving you of the full cost of them anyway.

Some friendly help in the station revealed that 35 others were also 'waiting' for a ticket, although given that people cram into these things like they're the last train from the apocalypse means my chances were slim to anorexic of getting on board.

My new friend in the station kindly pointed out that what you see on the screen and what can happen are 2 different things.

An Rs 300 payment to the local 'fixer' (outside the station away from view) meant that within 30 mins I had myself a seat, albeit in the dreaded third tier, meaning two twelve hour journeys back to back. It was with mixed feelings then that I took some exhilaration from my first 'unofficial' transaction in India, and some regret that it may well have cost someone their seat.

My two helpers as part of a brief conversation, as always in India became friends for the next 24 hours and I found myself in the company of one guy that is a musician who tours India with his band (he plays hardcore sitar apparently).

The other guy was the self proclaimed 'fixer' who used to street box (and had some nasty scars to prove it) but now is also in the 'gem trade' which sounds equally short lived and illegal to me. But nonetheless they were good value for company and wit their help I discovered the sharp end of a hangover when drinking 8% beer (it has the EXACT same bottle as the 5% stuff!) for the night.

A sore head, and still a sore arse from the camel 'race' in Jaisalmer boarded the bus (a nice change perhaps?) to Udaipur for the day, although the thought of the 24hrs on trains is starting to fill with with occasional and momentary panic.

JAISALMER










I'll admit that whilst I am more than fine with roughing it and staying in less that opulent surroundings when travelling that rail travel so far has been a mixture of the best and middle classes on offer in India: I have been enjoying tea and toast whilst chugging along in the best classes and more than comfortable in the mid range sleepers on the longer journeys where bling class wasn't available.

So then I was a touch apprehensive in Bikaner when examining my ticket to reveal that I was in the basement 'sleeper' class and that the financial expenditure for this 7 hour trip was $3 compared to several multiples of that I've paid so far. It's all good this is what travelling is all about though, right?

Whilst some journeys I've been on here have been an oasis of calm, others resembling a rolling detention cell for troublesome toddlers, the carriage and the train itself looked like a mental ward or prisoner relocation carriage.

Not so much as a result of the antics of the occupants, but more the décor. Someone, at some stage in the last 10 years has seen the fading state of the train carriages and decided that the best way to brighten things is a coat of blue paint: on everything.

Nothing has escaped the swipes of the brush it seems, with plug sockets, plastic handles and everything besides the floor and ceiling either deliberately or accidentally covered in layers upon layers of it.

Painting over rusting parts is only ever a short term look and the results from the pale blue frenzy is a flaking, rusting, dusty carriage that feels like said institutions.

To be fair this is actually fine and no worse than some of the hovels called 'rooms' I've stayed in previously, and considering the cost of the ticket I consider this a minor victory for thrift.

However the feeling of victory was short lived and I began to realise exactly where my 145 Rupees had gone (or not gone) once an old man came to sit on the bunk opposite. Like most people in India he clearly wasn't a wealthy man, meaning that usually in such circumstances you normally purchase only what is required with little luxuries.

So it was a slight surprise perhaps, as we started to roll out of the station that the older man started to pull at contents from his impossibly small bag and begin setting up something that looked like Everest base camp on the opposite bunk. After digging out sleeping bags, cushions, pillows, hats and scarves etc. He gave me a little smile and settled himself in, no doubt looking forward to the morning fry up he'd be knocking up on his stove the concealed further within his bag.

So after 6 hours staring blankly at the ceiling, fidgeting to stay warm and shivering from the cold I must have looked like a was vibrating, it was time to leave and find some accommodation - 5.45 am.
At this stage I was in hostile mood but too tired to fight and after inadvertantly being ripped off on my room I went straight to bed, and the numb feet never left me until mid day the next day - after the conclusion 0f what I was hoping would be my second sleep.

As it turns out I also got ripped off in spectacular fashion on my Camel trek, but all in all the 3 days in Jaisalmer were a welcome break from the monotony of cities and the long frozen detour west from the rest of Rajasthan was well worth it.

Jodphur next, and another carriage awaits - although day time hours guarantee a different experience to the one that got me here, which I am genuinely thrilled about.

BIKANER

Hindsight is a wonderful thing. And in hindsight I was perhaps a touch harsh on Pushkar given that the city of Bikaner deserves its rightful place as a city best forgotten, for me at least.

Needless to say that myself, tattooed palm (drawing amused gazes from locals and confused ones from linen clad hippies) and all weren't impressed with yet another bustling city, this time with no real stand out attractions to see other than it providing a way to break up the journey to Jaiselmer west of here.

The best way for me to avoid getting pissed off with it all and trying to eke out an entertaining day of it is to hire a driver for the day - this at least means you see other places whizzing buy from a rickshaw and rely on someone else's local knowledge to put together an interesting day rather than the much maligned and over relied upon Lonely Planet.

The usual score of temples, cemeteries and random ornate objects on roundabouts (was the roundabout there first or the object?) was pleasant enough, as was my driver but having seen to much of the same thing but on a grander scales dulls the senses somewhat and it was through forced gestures that I try to covey genuine enthusiasm when the drivers and locals ask me what I make of their wonderful home city and its attractions.

However it's not all hum drum and repetition here: the fact that Bikaner is an outpost before the Thar desert and that tourists will buy anything means that camels and camel safaris are all the go, especially for those not heading to Jaiselmer.

So then, camel sit is another projectile to add to the list of things to keep an eye out for and avoid: not quite as deadly as the traffic or as nasty as a freshly laid cow surprise but still one to think about when wearing flip flops.

That being said, whilst the camel has an impressive and deafening spit action, it's the local guys that probably pose a more realistic threat to clean feet and clothes.

Whilst you don't see too many smoking in the cities here, it did take me a little while to see that the little sachets on sale practically everywhere are spiced chewing tobacco pouches rather than popping candy sherbet or any other kind of old school sweets, meaning you are never more than 50m away at any time, should you need a quick fix and some bright red teeth.

The end result on the streets is that people are constantly talking with a mouthful of the stuff, talking with a mouthful of liquid and spitting it pretty much any time they're awake...the result is a lovely decoration on the streets that looks like it's been raining jellyfish or a poor job by a mop up crew shortly after a bloody battle had taken place. Grim.

So no camel safari for me here as Jaisalmer beckons where I will have a ride out for a day, in between the spitting and hacking of guide and beast of course...

AJMER & PUSHKAR

So after not exactly brimming with enthusiasm with being here, it was better than I expected and to be fair the sights and offers of Ajmer would have been more than average had I not seen some of the best in Rajahstan prior and perhaps the fact that people come here midways between amazing things is why it'll never be more than average in most peoples eyes.

Besides the array of temples, mosques etc. to see the city itself is the same as most others, the mix of traffic, pollution and livestock that India has been so far - and although not wishing the rest of my trip away the thought of a secluded spot on the beach in Goa does sound like heaven!

I also branched out the extra 15kms around the mountains that separates Ajmer from Pushkar, which is the site of the Holy Lake and Ghat where Gandhi's ashes have been scattered.Given the dry winter season the lake itself is more of a puddle at the centre of the surrounding shrines but nonetheless full on linen-clad hippies and the part time holidaying equivalent flock their in their droves owing to the fact that surrounding the lake is a haven for all the sorts of things in a bazaar that the stereotypes would crave.

So, as I was walking through the markets in combats, t shirt and sunnies (as you do) I couldn't have felt more out of place as if I were wearing a tuxedo, scuba gear or nothing at all.

At this point I must admit although I was the one that stood out I was quite pleased not to get caught up in a whirlwind of such things. So you can imagine my horror, when upon chatting to a couple of local girls (who inevitably want something when they invite you to take their picture) that one asks for my hand and then begins to scrawl on my palm with what looks like a small wrapper with a dark coloured goop.

The horror became realised when they kindly let me know that this was henna and that they were offering me a free tattoo on my palm! By this point the girl in question was scribbling frantically and at this stage I was in too deep and thought that something finished wou0ld at least be better than a forcibly abandoned effort. Not so much perhaps, as the result looks like the creation of a sugar crazed toddler let loose with an orange felt tip pen.

If these hippies are onto something and karma does exist, I certainly got mine.

JAIPUR: A Tale of 2 Salims and an Underpants Malfunction

So as alluded to, the first 12 hours here have been bizarre, thought provoking and thoroughly embarrassing: a fine effort when 9 of those hours are spent sleeping.

So first to the bizarre and thought provoking. In an attempt to string together something along the lines of a plan I'd phoned ahead and reserved my hotel for the next 2 nights (with free transfers) in order to avoid the constant pressure from tuk tuk drivers that threatens to break my patience in the coming days and weeks.

So as per the plan, I called them once I'd arrived, and my designated guy was on his way, armed with my name and my description of what I looked like.

The usual deal here is that the other drivers leave you alone once they realise you're betrothed to another hotel (and of course driver) and they look for some other lost souls who are too tired to argue and just want their beds as quickly as possible after a long train journey and late arrival.

All was pretty much following this formula although one guy (let's say Salim #1 to make things simple) keeps the banter going and is straining to do so beyond the usual pleasantries (where from, how long staying etc. etc.). He's offered to take me back himself should my ride turn up, mentioned a dance festival that night, a wedding in his village tomorrow night and of course the obligatory full day city tour prior.

After much resistance on my part, and partly to cease the repetition of his offers I agree to meet him outside my hotel at 11.00 to discuss what may transpire rather than any specific commitments.

Enter stage left Salim #2 fresh from the hotel, who after much searching realises that the ones he's looking for is at the centre of a 10 man circle.

He gets my name roughly right but the hotel spot on which is good enough for me as Salim #1 is starting to get beyond niceties and is ushering me toward using his form of transport instead, which I wasn't overly comfortable with at that point.

The conversation that followed on the way back to the hotel was roughly along the lines of:

Salim #2: "Do you know that man"

Ian: "Kind of, he's Salim as well, talking to me about (various offers repeated here)"

Salim #2: "He is not a tuk tuk driver. Please Mr Ian, to be staying away from this man, I live in Jaipur all my life and know lots of men, this is man is one of the mans I am afraid of"

Ian: "What do you mean?"

Salim #2: "I have many, many stories about this man, which you would not believe me about if I tell them to you"

At this point I'm slightly more awake and to be honest just intrigued to find out.

Ian: "Come on, what stories are you talking about?"

Salim #2: "I am frightened even talking about it in cases peoples hear us"

My interest fades at this point and just put it down to something fairly elaborate to pitch an inevitable day's city tour once arrived at the hotel. Obviously not having packed my poker face, Salim sees this and darts us off the road to a quiet alley (if there is such a thing in India) and explains:

Salim #2: "OK, I am telling you this as my new friend but afterwards we don't be talking about this and Salim any more (silent nod of the heard from me). That Salim is a man many bad people in Jaipur know, he is in the business of selling people - any people!"

Ian: "Selling people?"

Salim #2: "Yes he is selling people, all kinds of people, he takes them and he passes them to others who never get seen again. Please, please listen to the deep and honest advice I give you and don't meet this man again. Please promise me you will do this, I am not caring whether you take any other tuk tuk driver or me or anyone else, please take my words."

At this point I agree and once we're back to the hotel I agree again without mentioning the back story and Salim gives me a hug to thank me for being so open to advice. I check with the hotel and describe Salim #1, which draws a fairly blank expression from the owner, although Salim #2is one of their few trusted drivers as he's a small business man with a few tuk tuks rather than driving for other owners like most.

Strange ay?!?

After getting some sleep once the thoughts of what might/might not or never would have been I woke up still feeling less than perfect from the previous day where I'd suffered from 'Gastrobics' (Gastro-aerobics, you heard it here first!) most of the day. I did however make short work of my plain omlette and plain toast at breakfast in the main dining area. It was on comtemplating what a poor choice this was given that it was the omlette on the train that may have done me over when I got up to leave for the day.

The breeze passing through the open dining area felt particularly chilling around the back of my shorts and upon subtle, but closer inspection by turning around I had indeed soiled myself at some point during breakfast - marvellous.

By my heart was beating 10 times faster, I tried to coolly and calmly gather my belongings and head back to my room for a slight detour instead of the day trip. I'm glad to say that inspiration struck, and my John Wayne style walk of shame was all that bit easier thanks to the hoody tied around the wait: a classic manoeuvre that has been saving disgraced toddlers for years that comes to the rescue of a man who should know better - or for that matter should just know!

No matter how well you cover your tracks (pun intended) when facing an embarrassing error the paranoia that everybody knows anyway never quite leaves you.

After a day#2 sightseeing, wearing pair of shorts and underpants #2 for the day I decided to eat elsewhere than the hotel that evening, safe in the knowledge that laughter from other tables was most likely not directed at me and my underpants malfunction.

Ajmer next, and hopefully by that point I won't be petrified to pass wind.

ps - pics will follow, of Jaipur that is.

AGRA: Suit Clad Toddlers and Extreme Badminton

So, after unsuccessfully navigating train announcements in Hindi and choosing the right platform I made it with a whole 90 seconds to spare on my train to Agra, but besides that plain sailing.

The main attraction of the place is obviously the Taj Mahal and the Taj Ganj area, being the 16th century construction workers village has now become a ghetto of a different nature catering to the overpaid an undereducated foreigners such as myself.

To go into real detail on the Taj Mahal itself wouldn't do it justice, or make this an interesting read so I'll keep it short: I was expecting something amazing and even after some of the great things in Delhi the sight of the place from a distance and the intricacy of the work close up really did mean it was every bit as good as I'd hoped.

Taj Ganj as an area isn't too far removed from Pahar Ganj in Delhi, although it being slightly less densely populate did at least mean that the flat rooftops hadn't been built upon to the point they resembled a game of drunken Jenga and the locals could find some peace 5 stories up if not a ground level.

Perhaps the most fascinating part of this besides the obvious use for rooftops of laundry, plants, goat storage etc. was the most dangerous game of badminton I;m ever likely to see.

The rooftop itself was only appropriate in the sense that it was the size of a badminton court, although did lack of few other keys things such as a net, and areas to run past the line that didn't result in instant death.

No adjoining rooftops meant that chasing a lob over your head to make a shot would ultimately cost you more than a point to your opponent.

Nonetheless, the kids seemed to enjoy the game with the same sense of amazing spacial awareness that the adults demonstrate everyday when operating any mode of transport.

This is not where the similarities of kids vs. adults over here ends however. One of the most endearing qualities of the Indian culture regardless fo caste is the desire to look your best at all times, whether it be the wealthy in designer clothes or those far less fortunate spending the hard earned rupees on brightly coloured saris and suit jackets, shorts and ties for the boys.

As a result the number of kids running around not in Sponge Bob Squarepants, Hello Kitty or Power Rangers emblazoned clothes but jumpers, waistcoats, ties and dresses.

And it's from here that the mannerisms of the kids also resemble the adults. This is especially true of the younger kids that have made tourism their source of income, where the st kids meet, greet and serve with all the professionalism and decorum of seasoned professionals.

Watching two small boys talking in the street next to a motorbike with thoughtful body language and controlled gesticulation would make a silent observer assume that the conversation is more likely to be about the "knackered carburettor" than whether or not there may be chicken nuggets for tea.

So Jaipur next and as I write this after my first day of two in the city the first 12 hours have been eventful to say the least which is quite an achievement considering they were between an 11pm arrival and an 11am breakfast. More to follow.

DELHI

After the bustling streets, busy food markets, the sounds and smells of a polluted metropolis that was Kuala Lumpur I imagined this would be a decent grounding before stepping into the extreme equivalent that Delhi would be - wrong! KL has all the energy, chaos and general craziness of a village fete in comparison and like thousands of others before me it took me a bit by surprise.

First impressions of the place are that it is everything (good and bad) that you expect it to be: cars, tuk tuks, animals and pedestrians all intersecting each other at high speed with incredible accuracy and even more incredible nonchalance!
In a desperate attempt to recapture the spirit of my previous travels I decided to stay in the 'backpacker ghetto' area of the city (Paharganj) where reasonable prices are exchanged for less than reasonable cleanliness, counterfeit good sold with genuine enthusiasm and all kinds of distractions from travel are available - a small minority of which are legal.
The array of interesting things to step in along the way, and my reluctance to travel in anything other than flip flops meant that sure footed progress to my hotel was the way forward rather than expedience. I can't imagine walking through a marble lobby ankle deep in fresh cow shit would be a good start.
My room itself is everything you expect for the miserly price and certainly no worse than any other of the sun starved shoe boxes masquerading as hotel rooms I've stayed in before.
Complacency is of course a short lived thing: plenty of times I've been awoken in my life by traffic, people arguing, farm yard animals howling their signature noises but never all in the same night1
The eclectic orchestra of goats, dogs, cows, scooters and apparently random shouting need a lot more work as a group if they're ever going to be a soothing harmony!

Despite (or perhaps because of) this it's been a fantastic experience so far and everything I thought and hoped it would be. Day 1 proper has been more of the same and an exercise in efficiency that would raise even the most Germanic eyebrow.

Upon taking a quick early morning walk to breakfast I'd already been befriended by 2 locals, and some discussion on cricket, past and present countries withs some recommendations thrown in I was several thousand Rupee lighter and in a car with my driver doing most of Delhi that day!
It must be said that whilst I enjoy winging things to within an inch of their (or my) life the genuine and sincere nature of everyone I've met so far builds an instant trust and credibility that your well being is in hand meaning that good advice cant be ignored. Unfortunately no such advice could be found for avoiding the all-too-familiar school boy error that will no doubt be a recurring theme during the trip.
So, the masterplan for Rajastan was born and all my train tickets are now in hand, KP is at the wheel and we're ready to rock (or whatever the Indian equivalent is).
My 'tour' as such basically involves KP dropping me off outside each of the monuments and letting me guess where he's parked: to be fair to him he is pretty good at spotting a lost white face from miles away so , and in between times discussing rich cultural topics which centre around his insatiable curiosity for the legality of 'sexy business' in Australia. Nonetheless it was an intense but totally worthwhile way to see the city and KP dodged dogs, cows, children at high seed with only millimetres to spare meaning he must be near the top of the leaderboard of the game that everyone appears to play when operating a vehicle.

Some photos below of the amazing sites in Delhi that for me honestly rival placed like Beijing for sightseeing cities. Next stop Agra and the Taj Mahal....

Ps - apparently the cobra has had his teeth removed by the guy on the right.

India for a month....let's see if I can assemble something of vague interest in that time....to be continued.