On Udaipur vs Octopussy

udai047
Originally uploaded by soylentgreen23.

I got a real thrill a couple of nights ago, when ITV showed "Octopussy" as part of its backwards-oriented James Bond series (backwards because they started with "Die Another Day" and will no doubt conclude with "Dr No" - backwards also because they interrupted the broadcast, as always, for an hour-long news break. What, is it still 1990?).

The thrill I got was because Bond was sent to Delhi, India, which quickly revealed itself to be Udaipur. Perhaps Delhi was too dingy to have been of any interest for our good spy? Anyway, no sooner had M told Bond to pack his bags for Delhi than we were shown a helicopter languidly floating past the Taj Mahal, Agra, and leading our hero eventually to Udaipur, home of the floating palace over Lake Pichola, and of course everyone's favourite, The Monsoon Palace, pictured here.

Perhaps it was a result of Bond's actions in the palace, when he was taken prisoner there, but the buildings I saw whilst in India, though certainly charming, were nothing like as beautifully presented as they were in the film.

It was almost as if they had used the palace only for its melancholic name.

On India04: Varanasi

Varanasi
Originally uploaded by soylentgreen23.

Varanasi; formerly Benares and still called that by some of the locals. Aside from an enlightening boat ride down the septic Ganges, and a brief tour of some of the cultural highlights of the city, Richard and I did nothing with our time here: we were too exhausted.

The Ganges was really quite something, lined with ghats - stairways down from the street to the water's edge - and crowded with people even as we headed there at sunrise. The Ganges is a holy river, and dramatically important in the Hindu religion; so much so that it is a place of pilgrimmage much like Sarnath is for Buddhists. It is so sad to know that the river is dead. It is so polluted that nothing can live in it anymore, yet still people come down to the river to wash themselves and their clothes and their pots and pans. It horrified me to imagine what I might be eating out of at our next meal.

The Ganges is also where people come to die, and to be cremated. In our boat, Richard, myself and a Japanese salaryman on a week's vacation, we sat in awe as we watched a blazing funeral pyre, the fire burning bright red and orange against the blue tones of the pre-sunrise dawn. "No photographs," our guide whispered, waving his hand as I raised my camera. I nodded and looked on in awed silence, as a burning mound was pushed into the river and I realised that it wasn't simply a mound, it was a person who used to be.

Time passed slowly for us in our hotel in Varanasi, on the long train ride to Delhi, and for the last couple of days we spent there before returning home via Dubai, yet at no stage were we bored. We played games, word games and geography quizes: how many countries can you name for each letter? The letter "R" is a tricky one - you can spend ages trying to think of countries, as it's such an important letter, but there are only three: Rwanda, Romania and Russia.

With just three days to go before England, I finally made the effort to call home. Previously I had relied on email, and even then I had sent only a few: there were better things to do than sit in an intensely stuffy little room typing and dehydrating. The call home made the wait to return infinitely more difficult, as I was informed of my father's death. I wished that I could have been with the rest of my family, to help, and felt as though I had abandoned them, even though I immediately knew that wasn't true.

I passed the last two days in Delhi, and one in Dubai, in something of a haze, as though I had died become a ghost left to wander the world, unable to touch or taste or feel. I was not sad to leave India, nor was I happy to return to England; I had simultaneously nothing and everything to return to.

On India04: Sarnath

sarnath
Originally uploaded by soylentgreen23.

At Agra, we left Bhupinder, who had been our constant companion since day two of our India experience. We parted with a handshake and a smile, and I hope that the tip Richard and I left for him, in an envelope with his client testimonials book in the glove compartment of his beaten-up car, was sufficient. I'm not good at tipping, but with Richard there to help I'm sure Bhupinder did okay by us.

Bhupinder left us at the train station a couple of miles out of Agra, where we waited for hours for a train to take us to Varanasi, half a day's journey away. Railway stations are a perplexing place in India. The platforms are not clearly signposted, and when the trains arrive, neither are they. The woman in the passenger's lounge demands baksheesh to enter your name in the station's logbook, and the porter, who for us was a scrawny little man who nonetheless carried all our bags without a struggle, demanded twice what we'd agreed beforehand because the train was so late. With a harsh word and an even harsher expression, I sent him packing with a small, though hardly paltry, tip. Should I feel bad about my attitude? As I have said, I am a very lucky guy. I earn enough in a week to cover the costs of someone living out here for many months, and yet when I feel that I am being taken advantage of I react accordingly. Bhupinder worked hard for Richard and I, though he was paid commission by all of the businesses he took us to; still, we gave him a good tip because, on balance, he was worth it. I don't mind giving money to deserving souls, but I will not give money to those that demand it of me.

My aggressive demeanour carried us into Varanasi, where we soon discovered that our tour operator in Delhi had done us a disservice. We had expected the same freedom of movement as we had enjoyed in Rajasthan, but here we were expected to pay extra for everything, even the trip we'd planned out to Sarnath. I was angry - how were we to know that the arrangements were so different? - and I pressed home my point time and again until our Varanasi representative crumbled (partly) and gave us what we wanted (partly). And so it was that we saw Sarnath, one of the holiest of holy sites in the Buddhist religion - I believe it was where the Buddha gave his first teachings. Richard was enthralled; I was emotionally drained by what had gone before and so perhaps wasn't as appreciative. All I could think of was how immensely phallic the Buddhist stupahs seemed.

On India04: Agra

Taj Mahal 001
Originally uploaded by soylentgreen23.

I consider myself to be an extremely lucky guy. Why? Because I'm so damned attractive I have to hire someone to escort me everywhere and keep the girls at bay? Because I'm so gifted at everything I do I have to advertise that I don't want a job? No. Because I've seen the Taj Mahal at its most glorious, and without a horde of other eager tourists getting in the way of my shot.

I have two photographs of the Taj, the world's greatest legacy to love; my favourite is probably this one here, but for its combination of impact and familiarity I have chosen the one above to post. As for Agra, there's very little I want to say; if you plan on visiting it, certainly go to the Taj and perhaps also the mini Taj (if they've gotten rid of the scaffolding) for comparison, and the fort is great if you're not already suffering from fort-fatigue, but otherwise get out of Agra as soon as you can. It's awful.

On India04: Jaipur Part Two

jaipur003
Originally uploaded by soylentgreen23.

By the time Richard and I returned to Jaipur, we felt like we were different people, exploring a different country to the one we had so recently arrived in. Yet nothing had really changed; there was still the same sense of decay and nondescript danger as there had been in Delhi, and we still suffered from the same anxieties. In the evening, after dining alone in the hotel's restaurant, we looked through Richard's Lonely Planet guide, contemplating our future. "It says here," I said, "that it isn't recommended that you head into Bihar without an armed escort. Richard, we were planning on going to Bodhgaya by train, and that's in Bihar!" The statements we read about where we'd been and where we were going, or would have gone had our plans not changed, were so extreme that by the second paragraph we were laughing so hard as to almost cry.

Jaipur, capital of Rajasthan, is popularly known as the "Pink City," for the decorative use of pink stucco in its architecture. It was founded by the warrior-scholar Jai Singh II, who was admired equally for his leadership on the battlefield as for his learned background. The picture above is from Jantar Mantar, the Maharaja's observatory. Jai Singh II sent his scholars around the world to investigate astronomy and bring back new techniques and ideas; after years of experimentation with brass instruments and glass optics, Jai decided that his environment was not hospitable to European methods, and he set about constructing a stone and marble observatory. The results are spectacular, and for both Richard and I, one of the true highlights of our tour, since neither of us had seen anything like it anywhere before.

On India04: Jodhpur

Jodhpur001
Originally uploaded by soylentgreen23.

In the time before the British, and certainly before Gandhi, India was a country dominated by a caste system: everyone had an assigned place and role in society. The most religious caste were the brahmin. As a form of identification, they painted the walls of their house a wonderfully deep blue colour; one benefit the paint offered was as a natural mosquito repellent, and soon many houses were lavishly painted blue, on one wall if not more.

One city that gained a certain level of recognition for this (as well as for the riding boots that bear its name) is Jodhpur, the blue city. Having left Udaipur, Richard and I travelled back north, where we stayed at a kind of boutique hotel, called Newton's Manor. Mr Newton himself put in an appearance often, but it wasn't until well into our first awkward conversation that I discovered his identity. Mr Newton, a christened Indian running a Christian hotel, was a quiet man who expressed himself most powerfully by saying little; unfortunately, what little he said to me left me with the impression that he had little to say. The hotel contained many personal touches that a less-exhausted traveller would have revelled in; the familiarity of the staff, the way the bedroom doors didn't close, the way the bathroom doors had clear plastic running down their length and offered no privacy, but Richard and I were too tired to care and besides, it was August, pretty much the hottest month of the year in Rajasthan.

Richard had begun to suffer from the heat. We drank obsessively - bottled water, always with the cap intact when we bought it - but still it was not enough, and so Richard spent the day in bed whilst I went out to explore Jodhpur with Bhupinder, my reluctant guide. I think Bhupinder preffered Richard's company, and I'm not surprised. My face can be so unexpressive; it takes a lot of effort on my part to smile or look happy, and in the heat I felt my facial muscles strain and give up and it must have looked like I was permanently angry. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

There are four highlights, must-see wonders in Jodhpur that it would be a shame to miss. The last of these, Umaid Bhavan Palace is the most modern palace in India, and one of the last great classical architectural enterprises in the country. We visited it late in the day, so fortunately Richard had recovered enough to see it. We also returned to one of the earlier treasures, Jaswant Thada, a delicate marble memorial for Maharaja Jaswant Singh II, who is interred in a tomb within this cenotaph.

The two most outstanding sights in Jodhpur are found at the same location, interestingly right next to Jaswant Thada. Mehrangarh Fort was never taken by an attacking force, until the British claimed it as our own and walked right in. It dominates the skyline of Jodhpur and is as intimidating on its inside as it is without. However, what made it special for me, and on that day sadly only for me, was the view it offered of the Blue City below, the picture you can see at the top of this entry. As I stood on the ramparts of the fortress, a cool breeze sweeping over me that felt like a thousand kisses, I imagined myself to be a scholar-warrior, home from my battles to take leisure in my studies of the world. As with my experience at the Monsoon Palace in Udaipur, this is one of the moments in my life that I hold onto most dearly. They are moments that could never be wholly replicated, or even described, but that is the wonder and the priveledge of experiencing them.

On India04: Udaipur

Udaipur
Originally uploaded by soylentgreen23.

Richard and I stayed for just one night in the city of Jai Singh. The next morning we set out bright and early in Bhupinder's Tata taxicab, heading south to Udaipur. Legend has it Udai Singh was blessed by a hermit on the site of the city's creation; he was told that it was an ideal place for a city, and so it turned out to be.

Udaipur is a city of lakes, the most famous of which is Lake Pichola, at the heart of which proudly stands the lake palace. Udaipur has something of an old-world charm to it, gentle and relaxing in a way I didn't experience again during my stay in India. We stayed at a hotel with magnificent views of the land around, and enjoyed our excursions into the city proper.

On a hill beyond the city is the Monsoon Palace, a decaying, melancholy building that served as a summer retreat for the Maharana when the city became too unbearable. We arrived as the Sun began to set, and the place was almost deserted. It was the most beautiful moment in a day saturated with beautiful moments, and I could have stretched it out for an eternity. As it was, no sooner had we arrived than we began our rapid descent back down the hill, Bhupinder with a crazed look in his eyes as we swerved around hairpin corners, dodging traffic and narrowly avoiding plummeting to a painful death time and again. You've got to love Indian driving.

On India04: Jaipur Part One

Jaipur
Originally uploaded by soylentgreen23.

I've meant to write about my experiences in India for so long now that I've forgotten most of what I didn't like and can only remember the bits that I did. When I was there, with my friend Richard Willis, there was so much that we both hated that we very nearly gave up after one night, but now, as I look back on those traumatic three weeks, I realise that it was one of the most powerful experiences of my life.

When we arrived in Delhi, the airport was practically deserted. It was early but I expected the place to be buzzing; we had flown out of Dubai at three in the morning and even then it was packed. We took a taxi into the capital, and our hotel on Connaught Place. We had a rough experience on the way, being shouted at by the guy who led us to the taxi; evidently I hadn't offered him a reasonable enough tip for the two minutes' work he'd done. He told us how much to give the driver, only for the driver to demand double, since there were two of us. We were too exhausted to put up a fight but his attitude contributed to the sickness we both felt in our hearts.

Originally we had arranged to travel around Rajasthan by train, but a visit to the central booking office at Delhi station was enough to make me feel sick at the prospect. I had never before been witness to the level of poverty I saw that day, and nothing I have done in my life was enough to prepare me for it. As we approached the main station building we were accosted several times by men trying to convince us that the tourist office was shut; we hadn't even said that that was where we were heading.

We barely slept all night. We talked at length about what lay ahead, and resolved finally to swallow our pride and book tickets home in the morning. First thing we left for the internet cafe, but as luck would have it, it was closed. We spoke to the hotel manager, who we had befriended, about our worries and he suggested that we visit his friend, who ran a tour company. The office was just across the street from the hotel, though crossing the crowded thoroughfare was as simple as swimming across the Ganges, and just as dangerous.

Our discussions proceeded for some time. The original plans drawn up by Richard and I were altered and then ultimately scrapped, with trains replaced for the most part by a form of taxi service. Our travels could be salvaged, at the cost of £300. As I was taken around Delhi looking for an American Express office, or somewhere that would give cash advances on a credit card, I began to feel sick to my stomach, and started almost shivering. The world seemed very far away as I entered the building and marched up the stairs, and I could barely look the teller in the eye as my money was counted out.

I was nervous about this new arrangement - we both were. We had already learnt that there were two principal types in India: those who wanted your money, and those who had your money but wanted more. We were worried that our driver, Bhupinder, might be of the latter, and at times our fears were confirmed as we were dragged from one commission-generating enterprise to another.

The great pain and anxiety I had felt in Delhi, that great heaving mass of a city, that cesspit, that apocalyptic vision of a world gone crazy with over population, all of it faded away when we arrived in Jaipur.

Jaipur is the real Rajasthan. It is why we risked so much and spent so much getting to India. Our first view of Amber fort, as we rounded a hill and cast our eyes up, was magnificent. Jaipur is a visual feast, full of temples and forts and palaces and the most extraordinary colour. By nightfall the horror of Delhi fell away from us as the world does for astronauts.