The Highway of Death – Rajasthan Roadtrip
// May 6th, 2010 // No Comments » // Food, India
On a busy three (or six)-lane highway, consider the resulting noise. There is constant honking whenever two vehicles are anywhere near each other. And it is not only to warn large trucks that you are beside them; there are specific honks to say “‘I’m coming up alongside you / I’m overtaking you, so don’t squash me” (two honks); “Move over, you are taking up two lanes and I want to use one of them” (repeated honking, or leaning on the horn), and “I’m behind you and I might at some stage want to pass you, so this is just to let you know I’m here, but I’ll honk again when I’m actually going past you so that you don’t squash me” (one honk). The conversation of the highway. Coming from a country where unnecessary honking is illegal and the very sound of honking indicates some degree of road-rage, sitting in a car and listening to 8 hours of constant honking can result in extremely frayed nerves.
The trucks and auto rickshaws actually encourage the use of the horn, so that they do not have to check their mirrors. Painted in colourful handwritten script on the rear bumpers of the vehicles are polite requests saying “Sound horn / Horn please”. There are actually many handwritten requests on Indian trucks’ bumper bars: others include “Keep distance”, “Use dipper at night”, “Wait for side” (still not sure what this one means – overtake on the side, not over the top?), and “StoP”, always with a capital ‘P’ at the end. These signs were one of the more amusing parts of the Trip of Death, as were the unique horns that some of the larger trucks have – rather than mere honking, some tooted out a pretty tune that was in stark contrast to the dirty, ancient diesel smoke-blowing truck that owned it.
If the constant honking and potential flattening by truck doesn’t seem overly dangerous, take into account the speed of some drivers (140km isn’t illegal) and the sudden braking when all types of livestock cross the road ahead without warning. In addition, on roads with two-directional traffic, oncoming vehicles frequently overtake when it is not safe to do so, drifting over to the wrong side of the road, sometimes piggy-backing a car that is already overtaking the same vehicle. You might have two vehicles bearing down on you head-first in your lane, who then have the nerve to flash their headlights at you – this signal means that you should move out of the way and let them pass. At this point there is nowhere to go – swerve left and they may still hit you (or you will roll into a paddock); swerve right and crash head-on into the truck that this vehicle is trying to overtake in the first place. All you can do is slam on the brakes and leave a gap large enough for the oncoming vehicle to slot back into their own lane, in front of the truck. After witnessing several near-misses of this style, we could picture ourselves as the meat in a Suzuki sandwich, so we decided not to watch.
Ridam gave the other drivers a run for their money in the crazy stakes, weaving in and out of traffic with barely milimeteres to spare on either side, playing chicken with oncoming overtakers, and leaning on the horn when necessary, but we were still almost crushed between massive trucks on several occasions. The roadsides were littered with the bodies of the many trucks and rickshaws that had died on the highway, adding to the obstacles to avoid when overtaking.
When we were close to Jaipur we came across an old Fort, so we stopped to take some photos and stretch our legs in the small parking bay. The bay was obviously a tout hotspot, but we were pleasantly surprised at how easy it was for an authentic Indian guy to dispatch of the tout in his own language. We finally arrived (alive) at the Pink City of Jaipur, and entered the city gates to find our hotel. Navigating the streets of Jaipur was much like navigating through other Indian cities – dodging the usual cows, pedestrians, bicycles, rickshaws, motorbikes, food trolleys etc – but with the added difficulty of camels towing wide trailers of wood in their slow, jolty gait, or elephants wandering along majestically.
Our first sight in Jaipur was at a snack shop. Ridam grabbed us a few dishes of aloo tikki, thus beginning our love affair with Rajasthani food. After eating this heavenly snack, we drove around a little more to find the next gastronomical delight – apparently there was a famous icecream store in town. We eventually found it, and saw crowds of people lined up at the counter. We soon discovered why – the icecream was amazing. Called kulfi, it’s a heavier, richer icecream – more like frozen condensed milk. And the flavour – sweet pistachio with crushed nuts on top – yum. We also tried their thick fluffy milkshakes, and rabri dessert (icecream-style pudding) – each item was the best thing we’d ever tasted, until we tasted the next one. We crossed the crazy 10-lane road about three times to get second helpings and try different flavours. The pineapple milkshakes were outstanding.
That evening we went to Chokhi Dhani Village. Attached to a 5-star resort, Chokhi Dhani was a re-creation of a traditional Rajasthani village, designed to represent the daily life of the traditional people. The hotel rooms surrounding the village were small two-storey mud huts with brightly coloured painted external walls, while the village itself was a festive celebration of dance displays, games (darts, archery, ring throw etc – Rajasthani side show alley), elephant rides, camel rides, bullock-drawn carriage rides, traditional shops selling locally-made trinkets, fire dancing, traditional costume displays, lakes and waterfalls. At the centre of the village there was a ‘restaurant’ where we sat on the floor and were served thalis of traditional Rajasthani foods – curries, lassis and breads. We wandered around for hours, playing sideshow alley games, watching dancers, getting lost in the wooden maze. After we’d seen everything twice, we lay down on charpai cots – low benches with woven rope seats – and gazed at the stars, listening to the music and festivities continuing around us. The entire event cost 350 Rs per person ($8.50) – including the meal. Traditional village life (albeit with a healthy dose of made-for-tourist commercialism) was an amazing and informative experience – the Rajasthani culture is richly artistic, musical and beautiful.
The next day we drove to Jodhpur. We risked our lives again on crazy Indian highways, but this time we paid tolls for the privilege at regular intervals. We stopped for lunch halfway between Jaipur and Jodhpur in a small town called Ajmer. On advice from a local we headed to an upstairs restaurant, leaving the usual noise, dust, rubbish and cows on the street below. Once there, we found ourselves in an ultra-modern restaurant that was designed using Shanghai’s Maglev bullet train as inspiration. We sat in a train dining carriage that screened footage of the actual Maglev bullet train’s trip on television screen ‘windows’ while we ate. The slick and modern decor was in bizarre contrast to the simple rural Indian town outside. By the time we’d finished eating (the food was actually quite good for a ‘themed’ restaurant), it was already 3pm. The waiter told us it would take another 5 hours driving to reach Jodhpur, so we hurried out. None of us wanted to be on those crazy roads after dark; the lack of headlights thrown into the mix would make it even more dangerous than during the day, but luckily we reached Jodhpur within 2½ hours, thanks mainly to Ridam’s driving skills.
Our tour of Jodhpur started with the Mehrangarh Fort. This 550-year-old Fort is one of the largest in India, and sits 122 meters above the city – the view of the Blue City of Jodhpur was amazing from the Fort grounds. The Fort itself houses several palaces with intricate carved walls and large courtyards. We followed an audio tour and heard 33 snippets of historical information about the Fort, including the weaponry of the time, regional architecture and entertainment areas of the palaces. The tour pointed out the Fort’s battle scars – cannon ball damage inflicted by Jaipur’s attacking armies can be seen on the second gate. We saw elaborate rooms filled with historical displays; swords, body armour, elephant seats, covered chairs with long poles to carry the royal women, miniature paintings, carved window shutters. There was such elaborate ornamental detail on every item – even the body armour was intricately decorated with hand-painted gold leaf designs.
As impressive as the Fort was, the view of the city from each window was also a spectacular sight. The small square houses look like blue Lego buildings placed in not-quite-straight lines, and their pale blue hue gave the impression of overlooking a Mediterranean town rather than a land-locked city in Northern India. Apparently the blue paint reflects the sunlight to keep the houses cool, and also acts as an insect repellant.
From the Fort, we could see the gleaming white Jaswant Thada Palace, and the Umaid Bhawan Palace. The Jaswant Thada memorial was built over 100 years ago using intricately carved sheets of white marble. The stones are extremely thin and polished so that they emit a warm glow when the sun’s rays dance across their surface. Umaid Bhawan Palace is one of the world’s largest private residences, with 347 rooms. It is still inhabited by the Maharaja of Jodhpur, but a part of the palace has been converted into a hotel – rooms cost a mere $3,000 per night.
After touring the historical sites, we decided to see how Jodhpur fared in the food stakes – it didn’t disappoint us. We had a tasty cheap thalis, and gorged on butterscotch icecream, pineapple milkshakes and a dessert that resembled pizza slice, with a soft Anzac-biscuit base and a creamy condensed-milk topping.
The next leg of the trip was Udaipur. The road to Udaipur was terrible – in addition to the insane drivers and lack of road rules, the streets themselves were more like tiny back-road shortcuts, with potholes galore and unmarked speed humps the same colour as the rest of the road – unnoticeable until you hit them, and no match for our little Suzuki. The slamming on of brakes and cursed words were common. But all was forgiven when we reached our hotel – the Udai Bagh was a beautiful resort, a luxury oasis surrounded by sandy cliffs. Dinner was served on the lawn in the middle of the grounds, with lavish buffets spread out around the tables. Traditional Rajasthani singers and dancers entertained on a woven rug under a spotlight, and waitstaff cooked breads in the tandoor to order. The desert air was cooler at night, and it was all too pleasant to sit under the stars drinking Kingfishers and listening to the wolves howl in the distance.
Our first sight in Udaipur was the Kumbhalgarh Fort. Built during the 15th century on a 1100 meter-high hill, the Fort has perimeter walls 36 km long, claimed to be the longest in the world after the Great Wall of China. The front walls are 4.5 meters thick, and there are seven fortified gateways leading up to the Fort itself, which houses over 360 temples. Although its stature was impressive, the Kumbhalgarh Fort was not as spectacular as Mehrangarh; there was nothing to see except the outside of buildings. After the Fort, we saw the City Palace and the Eklingji Temple, a religious complex housing 108 temples chiseled out of sandstone and marble, built in 734 AD.
The second day in Udaipur we saw Chittor Fort in Chittorgarh. It is considered the largest Fort in India and the best in the state of Rajasthan, but having seen Mehrangarh Fort we’d have to disagree with that claim. It was very dilapidated, with lots of rubble in the grounds – unsurprising given it was invaded (and conquered) three times before being finally abandoned in 1568. Although the Fort itself was mediocre, the Fort grounds housed the impressive nine-storey high “Vijay Stambha” (Victory Tower), hailed as the symbol of Chittor and an expression of triumph. This tall, narrow tower was built 540 years ago, using red sandstone and white marble, and is engraved with inscriptions and images of Hindu gods and goddesses. An interior staircase winds alternatively through the central chamber and surrounding gallery and each storey is distinctly marked with openings and balconies.
The grounds surrounding the Victory Tower were primed for picnicking, and humans shared the grassy area with monkeys, wild pigs and cows. This green grassy area was a relief and a stark contrast to the dry and dusty surrounds. A nearby temple with green water ponds was bustling with people seeking blessing, and monkeys seeking snacks.
Back at the hotel we washed off the dust in the freezing cold, unchlorinated swimming pool. We taught the Indian guys a few tricks in the water – Ridam was an entry-level swimmer, and it was the first time Vishel had ever been in a swimming pool. Had the water not been arctic temperature, we would have swam for longer (and showed off a little more) but our evening buffet had commenced, and the Kingfishers were calling.
The next day we drove from Udaipur to Ranthambhore. We would not have believed it possible, but these roads were even worse. They were unpaved dirt tracks with large rocks and massive potholes that were impossible to avoid. We arrived in Ranthambhore with rattled teeth and rattled nerves, knowing that we had to take the same road on the way back out. Our stopover in Ranthambhore was purely in the hopes of seeing a wild tiger on safari, and we were up at 5am to try and make this happen.
Despite the first few hours of seeing nothing more than monkeys and wild deer from our open-top 4WD bus, we finally heard the radio call that a tiger had been spotted by another safari bus. Our driver hightailed it to said location, the bus spewing out dust and rocks in its haste – we felt sure that any wild tiger would be long gone, frightened off by the noise. But sure enough, when we came to a stop, we saw him – about 200 meters in front of us, all but camouflaged by his surroundings, majestically sitting in the sand under a tree, without a care in the world. It was an awe-inspiring sight. We spent around 15 minutes watching the tiger and taking photographs – zoomed in, he is clear as day, but from a distance he is difficult to spot, even through the viewfinder. The tiger himself paid us no attention, and just sat with his head resting on his paws. Occasionally he would lift his head and gaze around, but spotting nothing of interest would just lie down again. He never looked in our direction – whether he was accustomed to the vehicles or just not hungry, we weren’t sure. We returned from our safari trip excited and satisfied that it had culminated with the tiger spotting – it had seemed unlikely during the first few hours, when the most impressive sight had been the rising sun. Knowing that there were only 1,141 wild Bengal tigers left in India made us feel extremely fortunate to have witnessed this.
The last stop on the road trip was Agra. We arrived late afternoon and resumed swimming lessons. By now, Ridam can swim the entire length of the pool underwater without taking a breath, and Vishel can kick and paddle, but floating unassisted still evades him. Still, not bad for his second time ever in water. It still amuses us how easily impressed the guys were – floating on our backs seems like a magic trick to them. We really take for granted our access to beaches and pools in Australia. They asked us when we learnt to swim, but neither of us can ever remember being formally taught.
After swimming, we went for a meal at Pinch of Spice. This rates a mention only because we caved in – after eating vegetarian food only for a few weeks, we ordered chicken and lamb kebabs, and were sorry to say it was the best meal we’d ever eaten. The vegetarians were quite generous about this, and managed not to look at all disgusted or judgmental about our obvious delight in eating flesh.
We left early the next morning to head to the Taj Mahal. What a spectacular sight it was, even from a distance. We paid our entry fee, then caught a golf-cart bus to the outer gardens. As soon as we saw the Taj, we all stopped to take a thousand photographs – this was before we’d even made it through the front gates. It was just such an amazing sight, you could not help but to stop and stare. Huge, glistening white and perfectly symmetrical, it made you question whether it was real, or merely a brilliant mirage. Nothing else in India is that clean and shiny. Up close, the Taj is just as brilliant – smooth and glossy marble walls, intricately carved calligraphy with passages from the Koran, and inlaid flower designs made of precious gemstones. The sheer size and craftsmanship of the building is remarkable. It is impossible to be unimpressed by the structure, even if your visit was to simply be able to tick it off your to-do list.
We wrapped up the road trip with a quick drive-through McDonalds lunch (imagine our delight at finding a McAloo Tikki burger!) and headed back to Delhi, recounting our adventures as we drove. We all had different ‘best parts’ of the trip, but all agreed the highlights had to be:
- Spotting a tiger in the wild
- The Taj Mahal
- Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur
- Eating Kulfi in Jaipur
- The Udai Bagh Resort in Udaipur
Rajasthan definitely left an impression on all four of us. The distinctive culture, traditional dress and distinctive food made it feel like we had travelled through a different country. The craziness of the roads cannot be overstated, but that’s what makes it unique. We never got sick of the sight of a camel walking along the side of the road, lugging a trailer with a white-turbaned Indian at the reins. A traffic jam at the narrow city gates of a Rajasthani town and accompanying honking horns and choking dust can be forgiven when you see that a sluggish elephant is blocking the entryway. And it wasn’t all charming – for every painted, scarf-wearing camel laden with bells, there are 10 filthy, barefoot beggar children thumping on your car window for handouts.
It is not easy to ignore the poverty and waste that is so in-your-face in India, but learning to accept it as part of what makes India the stark, brutally beautiful country that it is breaks down your former prejudices, makes you question your pre-conceived notions of what makes a place beautiful, and – hopefully – ensures you keep an open mind throughout all future travelling experiences.
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A Short Stop in Delhi
// April 30th, 2010 // No Comments » // India
Next stop: Delhi. We were meeting Kevin’s workmate, Ridam, who had lived and worked in Sydney for the past two years but was originally from Delhi. He was back in India for an extended visit with his family at the same time we were in town, so he was going to act as our tour guide for the next two weeks. Our plan was to travel through areas of northern India that Ridam had never visited, so we were all going together.
When we arrived at Delhi Airport, we headed straight outside with our luggage, expecting an internet café or similar where we could sit and plan our accommodation. We hadn’t booked a hotel in advance – nothing like leaving things until the last minute – and we needed somewhere to stay for three nights before we headed off on our roadtrip. But when we exited the airport building, we found nothing but a large paved area with bench seats, where people sat awaiting arrivals. There were no cafés, no wifi hotspots, not even a public telephone. We tried to go back inside the building to the Information counter we’d spotted on the way out, but we were stopped at the door by a security guard with a gun. We pointed at the Information booth not 20 metres from him, and showed our luggage to prove we’d just arrived, to no avail. We considered arguing with him, but given he had a rather large gun, we figured he would win.
While watching a military vehicle mounted with a 50 calibre gun (cannon) circle the parking area we sat on a bench amid flying dust and dirt in the humid air, and consulted the Lonely Planet. We picked a hotel at random, jumped in a taxi and gave the driver the address. The hotel turned out to be quite luxurious and modern, and reasonably-priced. However, the cleanliness and opulence of the hotel was quite a contrast to its surrounds. We had unwittingly selected a hotel in the area of Paharganj, a low-budget backpacker’s haunt, loaded with cheap hotels, cheap eateries (they can’t be classified as restaurants) and local stalls. The sides of the road were overflowing with rubbish: plastic bottles, shopping bags, broken bricks, piles of sand and old discarded sandals. The cars that dared try to drive up the road had to pull over if a vehicle came from the other direction, as it wasn’t wide enough for two. The usual bevy of rickshaws, motorbikes and bicycles made their way through the rubble, honking horns and spraying dust as they went. The street ended with the junction of the New Delhi Railway Station, so the frenetic activity and harassment factor was high. The noise of the city surrounded you from every side, amplified between the high hotel buildings, and mangy, flea-ridden dogs wandered aimlessly. But at night, Paharganj was transformed – the hotel signs lit up all along the streets, and in all their neon glory they turned our slummy little dusty street into Delhi’s very own Las Vegas strip.
The view from our hotel room was of the building directly opposite – basically a bombed out towering brick staircase with concrete rooms attached. At any given hour, three or four Indian guys could be seen standing on the stairs or rooftop, surveying the scene below, smoking, hanging out their washing, peeing into a corner, or just sitting on their haunches, staring blankly into space. There was a switch on the wall next to our bed that closed the curtains electronically with just one touch. We used it frequently.
When Ridam came to collect us for dinner the next night, he was appalled at the dodgy location we had selected for our lodgings. He was quite concerned and told us he would arrange a replacement hotel immediately. We tried to assure him that the hotel itself was fine – luxurious in fact. We are uncertain as to whether or not he believed us (can’t blame him, given the surroundings resembled downtown Baghdad), but he tried to look less worried.
The day after, Ridam and his brother-in-law Vishel collected us for a Delhi tour: Old Delhi Spice Markets, India Gate, and Parliament. People were playing cricket on the perfectly manicured lawns of Parliament House just as happily as they played cricket on the dusty, rocky roadsides. We had Indian fast food for lunch (Haldirams – see the Guide to Indian Snack Food below) and wandered around Delhi. The city is in the middle of a construction blitz, gearing up for the Commonwealth Games in October 2010. Not only are they building new venues and metro systems for the Games, but there is also a lot of renovation of pre-existing structures occurring to beautify the city. Everywhere in Delhi, something is being torn down, fenced off or dug up. All this construction accounts for a lot of extra flying dust, in addition to the everyday sand and grit that gets stirred up by traffic and blown into your mouth. We probably should have added ‘dust’ to our Snack Foods of India post – we’ve no doubt swallowed half of Delhi in two days.
A Backpacker’s Guide to the Best Snack Foods of India
// April 4th, 2010 // 4 Comments » // Food, India
Thali
A staple in Northern India, this dish contains several curries, pickles and curd. It is generally eaten with Roti (a wholemeal flat bread) and sometimes rice. Each region of India has a special thali, which contains different types of curries, usually served in small metal bowls on a round tray.
We tried Rajasthani, Punjabi and Bengali. Line honors would have to go to Rajasthani Thali; it was very spicy, filling and delicious.
Dosai
A south Indian meal consisting of fried paper-thin savoury pancake that contains a spicy filling of goodness, usually potato. Dosai is usually served with several Sambars (masala chutneys) and coconut condiment to complement the heat.
Some variations of Dosai are:
- Onion dosa – chopped and grilled onions are spread on the dosa.
- Ghee (thuppa/neyyi) dosa – ghee (Butter) is used instead of oil while frying the dosa.
- Kerala Dosa – A different kind of dosa, that is small, thick, soft and spongy.More like a pancake and somewhat similar to appam, with the difference that it is flat and that dal is used in the batter.
- Masala Dosai – a dosai stuffed with spiced potatoes and the best Dosai we have sampled.
Aloo Tikki
A north Indian snack made of boiled or fried potatoes and various spices. Aloo means potato, and the word tikki means a small cutlet or croquette. Found in almost every chaat shop or stall all over Delhi and other parts of India, it is served hot along with tamarind and coriander sauce and sometimes yogurt or chickpeas. The best one we sampled was at a restaurant called BMB in Jaipur. Unbelievably good – probably the best meal we had in India.
Unexpectedly, McDonalds also sell a variant that surprisingly isn’t too bad, the McAloo Tikki burger.
Kulfi
Kulfi or Qulfi is a popular flavored frozen dessert made from milk which originated in India and is popular throughout neighbouring countries in the Middle East. It has similarities to ice cream in taste, texture and preparation.
Unlike Western ice creams, kulfi is not whipped, resulting in a solid, dense frozen dessert similar to traditional custard based ice-cream.
This is an unbelievably good dessert and we are surprised it hasn’t taken off in the west. One of our favourite treats in India, the best flavours were Pistachio, Mango or Cardarmon. Look out for the really popular stores or the street peddlers in Delhi – they have crowds of people trying to gain some relief from the heat.
Rabri
Rabri (pronounced rubbery) is a sweet, condensed milk based dish made by boiling the milk on low heat for a long time until it becomes dense and changes its color to pinkish. Sugar, spices and nuts are added to it to give it flavor. It is chilled and served as dessert.
Great dessert and very different from your standard western treat. Look for the crowds at Kulfi shops and they bound to also sell Rabri. It is common in Rajasthan.
Lassi
Lassi are India’s most popular drinks. They are made by blending yogurt with water or milk and various Indian spices. The most common in the south is mango Lassi, made from yoghurt, milk or water and mango pulp.
These are a must try and great for breakfast, as they can be quite filling.
Paani puri
Throughout India you will see street vendors pushing carts selling snacks that look like round balls of crispy pastry – this is Paani Puri or paani batasha.
It is a crispy cracker-like ball that is filled with some chickpeas, boiled potato paste, different spices and a mint-based cold water filling with tamarind paste.
I tried a couple of these but be cautious – the vendors generally don’t use filtered water, and my stomach paid the price for a day or so.
Lemon Soda
Throughout India you will see plenty of street vendors selling lemon drinks which are very refreshing and have an added benefit of soothing your stomach. The best way to describe the drink is its similar to Eno which we have in the West. It consists of Lemon, Salt and Bicarb Soda. The locals also have the drink with Masala spices added – which we tried and didn’t like – but you can also try this.
Be careful again as some vendors do not use filtered water, however you can bring your own water and ask them to make it with that.
If street vendors aren’t your thing you can also try Limca (a Coke-branded soft drink) from corner stores, it is lemon-lime flavoured with a lot less sugar than Lift or Solo – very refreshing.
Milkshakes
Milkshakes are very popular in Delhi where they can be a godsend for fending off the oppressive heat – lots of icecream, milk and ice blended with fresh fruit. The local favourites are Papaya shake (a mixture of icecream, Papaya and Rosewater) or Pineapple shakes (very sweet but extremely good). A popular local store in Delhi is Keventers in Connaught Place; just look for the crowds in the middle of the day.
Just a note: the milkshakes in the south of India aren’t the same – most are made with just milk and served at room temperature. Ask for added icecream if you want it cold.
Chai
Chai or tea is a must in Northern India, with so many prime growing areas and types of chai, is it always going to be a popular drink. It is difficult to travel very far in India without hearing the call of “Chai Coffee Chai” from street vendors and on trains.
The quality of Chai is fantastic with the most popular Chai blends being Darjeeling and Assam. Indians generally serve it one of three ways:
- Masasla Chai – Milky tea infused with Masala and other spices.
- Black Chai – standard Western way; served black with a side of milk, usually hot milk.
- Milky Chai – Made with hot milk and tea only (no water at all) and is extra-sweet. This was one our favourites and we definitely recommend trying.
The train Chai wallahs, despite being annoying and repetitive, serve amazing milky Chai and at 4rps (10 cents!!) a cup it’s an absolute steal.
Samosa
A popular snack all over India. Little pastries of goodness served up from street vendors. The pastries are crispier and tastier than the western varieties and they melt in your mouth. The contents are generally potato and lentil-based and vary in spiciness. These snacks are a lifesaver between meals and on late-running trains and cost only 20-30rps (50-70c)
Fried Pepper
Stuffed Peppers (Bharvan Mirch or Bharva Hari Mirch) consists of bell peppers stuffed with cooked mashed potatoes and onions, seasoned with chili, turmeric, coriander, cliantro, salt and lemon juice. The peppers are then either browned in a Tawa (frying pan) or baked in an oven until the peppers are soft.
Finally, if you not game enough to try street vendors or train wallahs, check out Haldirams, a chain of stores specialising in Indian snacks.
They are great for tasty quick snacks and deserts and are usually packed to rafters with locals. Haldirams have stores throughout the world and also serve larger meals like thalis, currys and tikkas.
These are just a few of the amazing new tastes we have been introduced to in India, certainly not all of them. We encourage you to try some yourself, as well as the many other meals we haven’t mentioned here. Don’t be put off by the appearance; some of the tastiest meals look like a bowl of yoghurt with a splash of chili sauce on top. If in doubt, ask a local or vendor what you should try – they are usually pretty helpful, and are happy that you want to try something new.
Enjoy!
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The Mother Ganga
// April 3rd, 2010 // No Comments » // India
Our guide arrived, and led us through the maze of cobbled streets back out onto the main road where he hailed two bicycle rickshaws. He climbed into the seat of the first one and took off, while our poor driver struggled to pedal fast enough to keep up with him. The two of us could barely both fit in the seat together- it was clearly not made for indulgent Western arses. After a lot of straining and sweating by the driver, we arrived at the entry of more cobbled maze roads and disembarked our rickshaw. The guide paid both drivers, a 10 Rs note each. Our driver kept his hand out for more (and he deserved it, pulling a double load) but the guide walked away, ignoring the driver’s complaints.
We followed him down to one of the ghats alongside the Ganges. A ghat is a series of steps leading down to the water. There are 100 ghats in Varanasi but the guide explained that this one was the most holy of ghats – there was a temple at the top of the steps, and people would come to bathe in the Ganges then immediately climb the steep steps to receive blessing from the temple above. He explained that as Varanasi was a very holy city, and the oldest known city in the world, all Hindis try to go there at least once in their lives to receive a blessing from this temple after bathing.
Down at the water, we climbed into a long paddleboat and sat down. While we waited for our guide to climb aboard, a little girl came over with a basket of offerings. They were small weaved leaf baskets containing petals and a candle. We were going to wave her off, but the guide explained that they were to be set afloat down the Ganges river, accompanied with a wish which the Ganges is sure to grant to us. We set our offerings down the Ganges where they drifted side by side until they were out of sight.
As we were paddled up the river, we passed temples, old palaces, and several more ghats. We got a closer look at the ‘desert’ side of the riverbank, with its dusty trails and horse tracks. The guide explained this was used by those who were more well-off, to bathe and pray peacefully in the remoteness and serenity.
Further upriver, we came to the crematorium ghat, where bodies are burned on piles of wood right on the muddy riverbank. Each body must be washed in the Ganges beforehand, and the holy man presiding over the cremation must put out the flames with Ganges river water afterwards. The ashes are then given to the waiting family members to dispose of in the Ganges. Slightly further back up the riverbank, there was a raised, rounded cement block, upon which cremations of important people such as parliamentary figures are performed. Later, we walked along the riverbank through this area and kids were playing cricket here, using the parliamentary cremation block as stumps.
As our boat drifted past, we saw a cremation fire being extinguished by a holy man, barely meters from the water. The holy man would wade in shin-deep, fill a silver jug with water, then turn around and throw it on the smoking ash. The guide told us the holy man would dispose of any body parts not completely burnt – sure enough, as we watched he carried two smoking ‘logs’ between tongs to the water’s edge and threw them into the river, a mere few feet from the bank.
Trying to wrap our minds around the fact that the ‘logs’ he’d thrown into the river with a splash were in fact human body parts, we drifted further downstream and saw people right next to this area squatting in the water, cleaning their teeth, rinsing their mouths out with river water. Unbelievable. And of course, these were not the only body parts in the river – the number of cremations over thousands of years must be staggering, not to mention the bodies that were deposited without cremation. According to the guide, there are five types of bodies that do not require cremation beforehand – pregnant women, children under 10 years of age, holy men, those who died of smallpox, and those who died of a cobra bite. These do not require cremation as they are already considered pure.
Floating on the river, we were glad for the murky, dark water and shuddered to think what lay below us. But as the guide explained to us, Mother Ganga is the mother of all – birth, life and death. Newborn babies are taken to the river and held underwater momentarily, with Mother Ganga asked to look after the child throughout its life. During this life, if the child is lucky enough to live close to the Ganges, it will bathe in her water, offer prayers on her banks, be blessed at the river temples, then eventually be cremated on her shores and returned to her as ash. Full cycle.
It was an amazing experience to see how ingrained this river is, in not only the spiritual lives of the Hindi people, but in their everyday activity. It became far less repulsive and shocking to see people bathing, swimming and washing in this water once you gain a sense of understanding that this river is their life, their blood – it heals them, it keeps them safe throughout their life, they return to it upon death. Pilgrims travel far and wide to put Ganges water on a wound or injured body part, for it will be healed.
After the boat ride, we returned up the ghat steps to the main road where our guide showed us around some temples in town, via an auto-rickshaw. One was the oldest temple in Varanasi, the second was the largest and most expensive. The guide pointed out each god to us, statues set in small alcoves in the walls, and explained what each one represented – wealth, power, food, destruction. At the second temple we were blessed by the priest with a dot of orange sandalwood paste on our foreheads, and a fresh marigold flower lei draped around our necks. The guide said this was a great blessing, as not many people received it. He also said that the orange leis and forehead dots were a symbol of marriage.
He also took us to the silk weaving area of town, quite a large area as silk is one of Varanasi’s largest industries. We walked through the narrow alleyways and looked through house windows to see people threading looms by hand. They do this for 8 hours a day, using the specific silk weave design of the family, handed down through the generations. Inside a silk showroom, we sat on the floor and watched a vibrant sales pitch whereby hundreds of different silks were unfurled in front of our eyes, one by one, hundreds of different patterns and colours flicked out and laid before us like a magician’s act, a new one every second. We were persuaded to buy one, if only to keep a little piece of beautiful, colourful India with us. But salesmen can smell a rupee from three blocks away, and as soon as we had paid, they came from everywhere to show us their silken wares – bed covers, quilts, cushion covers, 6-metre long saris – there was no escape from the unfurling. We made a dash for the door claiming we were going to be late for our flight, which was not far from the truth. Our time in Varanasi was over.
We had arrived in Varanasi expecting to see the world’s most dirty, unhygienic and polluted river – reportedly some 3,000 times over the limit considered safe for bathing – and be horrified by peoples’ indifference to this filth. What we did not expect was to come away from this experience with a newfound appreciation of what this river actually means to the people of Varanasi. They have been living their lives in the Ganges for thousands of years – it didn’t cause them illness; it healed them, just as it had their parents, grandparents and great-grandparents before them. Faith, or a just well-developed immune system – either way, who are we to question it.
We certainly did not expect ‘beautiful’ to be a word we’d use to describe the Ganges, but welcome to the contradiction that is India. Filthy but colourful, noisy but serene, hectic but slow-paced, grim, dusty and in-your-face…but beautiful.
A Room with a View
// March 26th, 2010 // No Comments » // India
We awoke at sunrise to the sounds of river activity and distant calls below. Drawing the curtains of our rounded room revealed the most amazing views from every angle. The room was perched about three stories above the Ganges, perhaps 30 metres from the riverbank, allowing us to view the action directly below us, as well as for miles both up and down the river. The river was full of movement – rowboats hauling tourists wearing shorts and caps, pilgrims in long white gowns and brightly-coloured saris, locals selling fresh fruit or blessing candles to deposit into the river, swimmers crossing from the far side of the river to the steps – yet there was a peaceful quiet, with the lapping of the oars on the water the only sound to be heard. As the sun rose directly opposite us, locals rowed tourists slowly up the river – the activity on the banks was what they had paid to see. Varanasi locals and visiting pilgrims alike were bathing on the steps, brushing their teeth, washing their bodies and clothes in the murky water. Calls for blessing rang out, floating like clouds on the still morning air.
We sat on our tiny balcony for half an hour, mesmerised by the movement below. The river, the people, their daily routines unchanged for some thousands of years – it was all so alive, so foreign, and so beautiful. Already, in this tiny space of time, India had completely redeemed itself. The painful train ride, the uncomfortable room – all of it was worth it, even if this half hour was all we ever got to experience. Incredible India; the advertising slogan could not be more apt.
After taking a thousand photographs, we dragged ourselves back inside to shower, dress, and get out there amongst the action. As an added bonus, we found that the floor of our room was littered with tiny insect corpses – the coils had worked their magic overnight, and neither of us had been bitten.
Down on the riverbank, amid the colours, sights and sounds of people performing their daily routines, we strolled past temples, jewellery sellers, children playing cricket, stray dogs, lazing cows, men washing their bodies, teeth and hair in the water, women sitting on the steps, splashing the water over their arms and sari-draped legs. Further along the steps, we watched a young child have her head shaved with a straight razor, outside a temple. The removed hair is burnt and thrown into the Ganges as an offering. There were laundry men pounding the water and soap out of clothing and bed linen on concrete slabs at the water’s edge, then laying them out to dry in the blazing sun on the dusty, urine-stained steps of the riverbank.
We could see our hotel room, the room that had only hours earlier been cursed by us in every language we knew – it was perched majestically above the water, the room itself jutting out further than the rest of the hotel, rounded and dome-roofed. When we arrived the night before, we’d figured that the hotel had named itself “Palace on Steps” as either a joke, or a vain attempt to lure tourists. It turns out that the hotel was actually constructed inside a 400-year-old castle, and the room we were staying in had been the meditation room of the Maharaja. From down here, we had an understanding of just how palatial and impressive the castle must once have been.
That evening, a prayer ceremony was held on the steps down river from our hotel. Hundreds of pilgrims gathered to chant, light lamps and offer flowers and prayers to the holy river Ganges – “Ganga” in Sanskrit. The ceremony area was strung with yellow flags, flowers and lights, and decorative smoking oil lamps were swung in time with the music.
After the ceremony, walking back through the maze of alleyways, just around the bend from our hotel we encountered a newborn calf, literally a few minutes old, lying in a pool of blood on the cement as its mother licked it clean. There, on the bare cement, surrounded by brick buildings in alleyways barely wide enough for a full-grown cow to walk through, this new mother had brought her baby into the world, with not a blade of grass or veterinarian in sight. We asked a bystander how long it would be before it took its first steps – we could see it trying to wobble to an upright position, its unsteady legs giving way each time. He said around half an hour. As we waited, children from the surrounding homes were brought past briefly to look at the new arrival before being led back to their beds.
We headed back to our hotel, feeling very privileged to have witnessed such an amazing event; the birth of a cow, the most sacred animal in India, in Varanasi, a holy city and one of the most sacred pilgrimage places for Hindus in the world.
All Aboard to Varanasi
// March 23rd, 2010 // No Comments » // India, trains
Our flight touched down in India, and we braced ourselves for the craziness that was sure to greet us at the airport. Expecting a barrage of taxi drivers, hotel salesmen, tour guides and general shifty touts, we were almost disappointed when nobody approached us – we barely got a second glance. Our luggage was waiting on the carousel, customs and immigration were fast and efficient. Hold on – are we actually in India?
On the way to the train station in a taxi like a relic from the 60s (complete with curtains on the windows and a padlock on the boot), we dodged rickshaws, motorbikes, cars, cows, auto-rickshaws, pedestrians, bicycles, buses, stray dogs. With the windows wound down (no aircon in the 60s), the sound of vehicle horns was deafening, and ingesting street dust was unavoidable. Yep, this is India!
By the time we reached the station we were convinced that not only had we flown to India, but we had also flown backwards in time. Everything was ancient – not in a quaint historical manner, but in a faded, dusty, broken-down manner. The buses that rattled past us, overloaded with passengers, would be better placed in a junkyard. The buildings looked like they had not a single minute of renovation or TLC since their initial construction. The Hindustan Ambassador taxis have been in production since 1958 and their style has not changed since that time – the ones on the road could well be from the initial production run.
We searched for the ‘first class lounge’ that our first class train tickets entitled us to rest in – we located them upstairs on the rooftop of the station, which provided a fascinating view of the thousand taxis lined up below, each one’s driver seemingly leaning on the car horn. Very few western tourists were here – one in fact. He was sitting outside the lounge, leaning against a wall. We soon found out why – first class in India is not the same as first class in Australia. We weren’t expecting a Qantas Business Class lounge replica, but the dirty windows, broken metal chairs, wooden crates for luggage storage and delicate aroma emitted by the squat toilets was a far cry from any lounge we might have envisaged. We chose the outdoor seating.
Our train was delayed by two hours, which we spent on the first class rooftop watching the security man at the doorway wave his big whacking stick at people without tickets who tried to gain entry to the “luxurious” rest area. The train finally arrived, and we located our carriage. Again – not Australian first class. Our seats were not in a cabin as expected, but facing each other alongside the window, next to the aisle, with a curtain to be pulled across for privacy. The seats converted into a bed, with the other bed a bunk above. It wasn’t uncomfortable, although it was slightly cramped. It wasn’t particularly clean either, with our first cockroach spotted soon after embarking. At least one of the share toilets was Western style – it is difficult enough to reconcile the thought of the toilet emptying straight onto the tracks without having that thought whilst trying to balance in a squat position.
We sat squashed up against the window as other travelers pushed past us, looking for their seats, banging into our elbows and knees with their luggage. Once the train started moving, we set the chairs to the bed position. A porter handed out linen and tiny matchbox-sized pillows. By now it was after 10pm, so we chained our luggage to the metal chair legs, put in our headphones and tried to sleep. The rocking of the train was soothing, but the angry Indian voices, cockroaches crawling on our legs, people brushing past and dragging open the curtains, scuffling, snoring, and phlegmy coughing noises were not.
The morning bought the additional joy of an Indian toddler in the bunk opposite us, running up and down the aisle squealing, with his squeaky puffer shoes beeping with every step he took. At least during the daylight hours the chai and coffee wallahs boarded the train at every stop and wandered down the aisle announcing their wares. The 10c cups of hot, sweet milky tea worked wonders on our spirits. We were ready to get off the train by now though, and factoring in the 2-hour departure delay figured we should arrive in Varanasi around 11am (we had, in fact, very optimistically packed all our belongings by 9am in the wild hopes that the train may have made up those two lost hours overnight).
But 11am came and went, with no sign of our stop approaching. We asked a porter what time we might reach Varanasi and were told “Four”. Four more stations? Or four more stops? Or four more hours? Every question received a nod in response. But after four stops, we were not in Varanasi, despite hopefully asking someone every time: “Varanasi?”. We asked another porter, who informed us we would arrive in two hours’ time. Relief. We settled in our ‘chair-cum-bed’ (yes, they were labeled as such), had some more chai and a few train samosas, which were surprisingly good – provided you don’t think too long and hard about when, where or how the samosas were created, or the adventures they had experienced prior to being in our mouths. Carried on large metal trays on a samosa wallah’s shoulder, uncovered in the dust and flies and sun, then down the aisles of who knows how many trains before being purchased for the princely sum of 30c and scoffed down by ravenous (and by now unfussy) Australians who trust that the Dettol hand sanitiser will cure all ills – what stories those samosas could tell.
Two hours later, and again each station is signposted with a name other than Varanasi. We have time to read them as the train stops for about an hour at each station, waiting for mail to be loaded and unloaded, with the airconditioning stopping along with the train. We drink more chai and eat the thali lunch we had ordered hours earlier – the small dishes of hot vegetable curries, pickles, kurd (yoghurt) and roti bread cheer us momentarily. Each stop gives us the opportunity to witness small village life firsthand – some station platforms are so short that our carriage is further back along the train lines deep into the villages. Women pumping water, children playing in the dirt, cows swatting flies with their tails, well-to-do children in tidy school uniforms walking along the tracks to school.
The state we are travelling through is Bihar, generally regarded as India’s most lawless state. At each stop, local wallahs and beggars board the train, hoping for some customers or loose change. We clutch our bags close to our chests and pull the curtains tightly closed. At one stop, a legless beggar is hoisted up onto the carriage then drags himself down the aisle, asking for money in his native language. Our curtain does not reach all the way to the ground, and he snakes his hand up from below the curtain, waving it around at knee-level for a coin or two. The wallahs that get on at the stations are not India Rail employees, so we are cautious of purchasing from them. They walk down the aisles, calling out their wares in Hindi – pani, mumfli, chai (Water, Peanuts and Tea). A little boy walks past selling bhaji, a mix of chopped vegetables and onions, which he carefully measures out and serves in a square of newspaper.
These brief distractions are interesting at first, but by now we are rather frustrated and hot, feeling extremely claustrophobic and just wanting to get off the train. We had heard no news of any delay, we had no map to see where each station was relative to Varanasi. We simply had no idea where we were. We asked a chai wallah – he says we will arrive at 4pm. We optimistically hope this is true – after all, the first porter tried to tell us something about ‘four’ – perhaps he meant 4pm! But 4pm comes and goes…no Varanasi. We ask a few more people, but they are limited either by their English, or their desire to help us (or both).
By now we are close to breaking point, and vow never to take a train in India ever again. We are only cheered by the fact that we had booked a flight from Varanasi to Delhi instead of the 17-hour train trip we initially considered – the additional $150 we paid to fly is worth every cent. This train trip was supposed to take 12 hours and was now closing in on 22 hours – who knows how long the ’17 hour’ train trip would have taken. Finally, a fellow traveller tells Kevin that in two stops we will be in Varanasi – perhaps half an hour’s time. He explains that the train is running very late; it never usually takes this long. He announces it to be a ‘very very bad train’. Soon afterwards, a conductor comes to confirm that the next stop is Varanasi. Finally! We could have cried. Everyone started making motions to pack up their belongings, apparently all getting off there too – we hadn’t realised Varanasi was everyone’s destination, as nobody else seemed upset, frustrated, annoyed or impatient at the delay.
As we dragged our luggage off the train, we were bombarded with offers of taxis. A man shoved his business card in our faces, which we almost brushed away until we saw ‘Palace on Steps’ written on it – the name of the hotel we had booked. We tried to keep up as he rushed through the crowded station, dodging groups of people camped out on the platform and the cement floors – the train delay had inconvenienced more people than just us, and seeing babies and toddlers sleeping on the filthy ground wrapped in their mother’s saris made us feel remorseful at being so self-centered.
Finally he stopped at an auto rickshaw, managed to shove our luggage inside and still leave room for us, then drove through the madness of India. Eventually we turned off the main street into a labyrinth of narrow alleyways, dodging the same manner of vehicular and bovine obstacles that are found on every other road. Eventually the alleyway narrowed too much for the rickshaw, and we went on foot. Finally arriving at our hotel, we tried to apologise for our late arrival due to the train delay (it was after 10pm; we were expected at 10am) but they already knew about it – the rickshaw driver had been sitting at the station waiting for us since 9am that morning. Apparently the station had given him the same runaround we’d received from the porters – every time he asked about its arrival, they’d tell him it would arrive in another hour, so he kept waiting. We gave him a huge tip (hopefully equivalent to a day’s takings) and headed to our room.
The tiled hallway was littered with insects, both flying and walking, enjoying the light of the naked bulbs. The hallway had no doors at either end, providing full access to bugs. Unfortunately, this was a sign of things to come. Our room was also full of bugs. They swarmed around each lightbulb like a huge black cloud. While we were wondering how to address this issue, the hotel staff went around the room turning on all the appliances to show that they worked, and promptly blew a fuse. The lights remained on, but the air conditioner wouldn’t come back to life, nor the fan. The staff said not to worry; the power would come on in an hour. We didn’t have the energy to worry, and after not showering for 24 hours we just wanted to wash up and go to bed. The shower was nothing more than a showerhead opposite the toilet and next to the sink – no separate cubicle. There was also no hot water. Deciding to deal with it in the morning, we climbed into our bed liners (cotton sheets treated with permethrin to repel bugs), pulled them over our heads and tried to sleep, but it was too hot. Under the sheets, we needed air conditioning. We couldn’t risk sleeping without sheets and being eaten alive. The two mosquito coils burning in the room were doing little to help.
By now it had been over an hour and the power hadn’t come back on, so we tried to call reception, but there was no dial tone – the phone was dead. Annoyed but too exhausted to move, we gave up and tried to sleep despite the heat. When a mosquito buzzed past our head while we were UNDER the sheet, we snapped. Angrily, we dressed and walked back down bug corridor to the reception desk across the alleyway. But at the end of the hall, we saw a large iron gate had been closed and locked – effectively locking us in. We called out to the reception desk, to no avail. We searched for other exits, again to no avail. The other end of the hall held the door to our room and a small balcony, from which we could hear noises far below but see nothing in the darkness. Back in our room, our only option was to phone the hotel’s reception using our mobile phone. Thankfully, they answered and promised to send ‘the boy’ around to look at the air conditioner.
‘The boy’ is a common fixture in all Indian hotels. Any request issue or concern will be seen to by ‘the boy’. Need toilet paper? We’ll send the boy. Got wifi issues? The boy is coming. Aircon broken? Wait for the boy, 5 minutes.
Business must have been slow at midnight, as we were visited by two boys who promptly ascertained that the fuse was indeed blown (as we’d suspected) and quickly mended it. They switched on the aircon with a satisfied grin. We tried to explain our difficulty in getting reception’s attention; the locked gate, the dead phone. They looked confused, so we pointed to the phone. One boy picked up the handset, listened for a minute then declared “Broken”. He looked at us like we were crazy – surely we could have figured that out for ourselves? We thanked them and sent them on their way, then finally drifted off into an exhausted sleep, full of hateful thoughts about India, the hotel, the room and the mosquitoes, praying that a fire doesn’t break out overnight, and promising to leave first thing in the morning.
To be Continued…….India’s Redemption?
Pleasantville, Malaysia
// March 20th, 2010 // No Comments » // Hotel Advice, Malaysia
Greetings from India! What an amazing country this is. After an initially rough start, India has definitely gotten under our skin (or our fingernails, at the very least).It was a struggle for us to get used to the idea of leaving Bali. Having some idea of what was in store for us in India – ie no lazing by the pool sipping cocktails – we spent the last few days there doing just that, as well as wandering along the beach, enjoying massages, and eating.
We tried to book a hotel online for our first night in India; we would be flying in to Kolkata, then taking an overnight train to Varanasi a day or two later. However, we found that navigating the online reviews of Kolkata hotels was impossible – for any given hotel, the reviews would include both glowing praise, and warnings to avoid like the plague (or risk just that). In the end we decided to just take the train to Varanasi the same night we arrived in Kolkata. This meant we wouldn’t have any time at all to explore the “City of Joy” (or meet its 15 million inhabitants), but it also meant our hotel situation was resolved. We were also obligated to book the train ticket for the earlier date as no seats for the following few days were available. The Amritsar Rail overnight train leaving at 7pm on 4th had a couple of ‘standby’ seats remaining, so we hurriedly booked them so as not to miss out altogether.
So, we ended up leaving Bali without having visited Waterbom water park, which was a little disappointing. However, we are fairly certain we will return to Bali someday, so we will leave Waterbom on our ‘to do’ list. We arrived in Kuala Lumpur (KL) around 5pm on the afternoon of the 3rd. KL is to be our pit stop during most of the Asian leg of the trip (ie the first few months) as it is the main hub of AirAsia, the discount airline through which we have booked many of our flights.
We took a taxi through the suburbs of KL into a ‘Hollywood Hills’-type gated community (complete with security guard), with huge McMansions that all looked brand new and unoccupied. We were greeted at the door of our palatial-looking abode by Walter, the B&B’s proprietor – a retired Marine, formerly of DC and Hawaii, now residing in KL’s Pleasantville with his Malaysian wife. The B&B is their home, with most of the rooms fitted out for guests, with all lounge areas, pool and barbecue area available for common use. Our room was “Okinawa” – each room has a city theme (Bombay, Oahu etc) and is furnished accordingly. Okinawa had Japanese silk screen prints on the walls, geisha statues, and a low futon bed.
Within 10 minutes of arriving and receiving our “bootcamp” style debrief from Walt, along with orders to sit down and relax, we realised this wasn’t your standard, casual B&B – it was run with military precision. We were told what time to take our breakfast in the mess hall (dining room), and what time the convoy to the airport would be leaving the next day. Fearful of being told to drop and give him 20, we relaxed as instructed and drank our refreshing Coke with marine-like obedience.
After we’d settled in, we walked back through the spiral streets and the security gate to a shopping area to stock up on supplies
(drinking water, etc). We found a restaurant with outdoor seating and cooking stations around it – tandoor, curries, noodles/rice etc. Most of the tables were filled with local families and workers, some eyeing us with curiosity, some with distrust, and some not regarding us at all – there was a game of cricket playing on the flatscreen tv, after all. After some language difficulties, we managed to order a little bit of everything, and ended up with a massive, delicious meal for a little over $4 Aussie.
Back at Walt’s, we booked a hotel in Varanasi and looked for train tickets from Varanasi to Delhi around the 8th where we were meeting Kevin’s workmate Ridam. The trains all seemed to take a minimum of 17 hours, and arrived late on the 9th – checking out airlines, we found a flight that took only an hour and a half. Sure, it cost $187 compared to the $30 train tickets, and it was on the 7th instead of the 8th, but we decided the convenience of a fast flight was worth the extra money and a day less in Varanasi. Plus, we were already taking a 11-hour overnight train on the 4th, and thought we might be tired of train travel after that – how true this would turn out to be!
The next morning over breakfast we met a retired Australian couple with a passion for travel who were returning from Laos and Northern Thailand with great stories. We also chatted to a Filipino family about potentially visiting the Philippines. Despite this not originally being in our itinerary, the conversation has planted a seed and now we will see if we can manage to get there whilst on the South East Asian leg.
As Walt drove us to the airport, we chatted to him about our year-long plans and our upcoming month in India. He’d served in the region as a Marine, and he thought we were insane to even visit there, let alone for an entire month with an overnight train ride through Bihar. Speaking with the frankness of the Americans: ‘Oh man, you be crazy, Afghanistan was a walk in the park compared to India!!’.
Despite Walt’s somewhat militant approach to hospitality, he was highly efficient and took the stress and worry out of transiting. We will definitely use his B&B for all our overnight stops in KL – the inclusive airport pick up and drop off, comfy rooms, free wireless internet and home-cooked breakfast make it a good deal for $50 AUD. Details are:
Jawadene Suite and Breakfast
Phone: +6016-3108449
jawadene@gmail.com
Listed on www.asiarooms.com
Bali
// March 2nd, 2010 // 2 Comments » // Indonesia, Pre Departure, monkeys
So we are finally at a point in our trip where we can take some time to add to the blog. It has been a whirlwind up until this point; the last few weeks in Sydney were extremely intense, with Kevin working right up until an hour before we left for the airport, and Stacey having to sit her final exam 3 days prior to departure. The last few days were spent packing and cleaning, which involved going through every item in the apartment to decide which ones we wanted to take with us on the trip (very small pile), pack and put into storage (larger pile), or throw away (huge pile). The removalists turned up while we were still finalising the three piles, and helped us box up our items while we made several thousand trips down our four flights of stairs to dump our ‘throw away’ pile items into the communal rubbish bins, or on the side of the road for bulk waste collection.
Our last night in Sydney was spent eating takeaway food with plastic spoons and sleeping on a blow up mattress – the apartment was empty except for our backpacks. The next morning Kevin headed into work as usual, lugging his worldly possessions on his back, while Stacey dealt with the cleaner and carpet steamer prior to the end-of-lease inspection by the real estate. Once we had the all-clear, she handed back the keys and walked down the four flights of stairs for the last time.
We met in the city at 6pm after a couple of farewell drinks with our friends, then headed to the airport to catch our 8pm flight. We spent the 5½ hour flight trying to comprehend the fact that we won’t see Sydney again for 12 months, but it was difficult to fathom. The final few days were such a hurried blur that it still hasn’t registered that our apartment is no longer our apartment, our car is no longer our car, and we don’t live in Sydney (or, for that matter, Australia) any more. It felt like we were taking a holiday, perhaps a few weeks away at most. Even now, 8 days later, it feels like we will be heading back home to work and reality any day. The fact that we have 357 days left of our trip is impossible to grasp – it seems like an eternity.
Our first stop was Perth, where we spent four days catching up with friends and relatives and catching up on what we had missed since our last visit a year and a half earlier (turns out, not much had changed). We flew to Bali on Tuesday 23rd February full of excitement and anticipation that now we were leaving Australia, our ‘real’ trip was about to begin. Our 8 days in Bali are more for relaxation and recuperation purposes than for adventure. Think of it as a precursor to the real trip (and Perth was a precursor to that). We want to spend time relaxing, lounging by the pool, eating well, and getting some sun – just a normal holiday after a stressful few weeks in Sydney. The reality of budget backpacking will hit soon enough, when we arrive in India. Luckily, Bali is reasonably inexpensive (typically of South-East Asia) that we are able to live in relative luxury without blowing our budget.
Trying to wind down from our hectic lives has been a challenge, but the $5 cocktails and lying poolside in 33` heat has helped. This is our first trip to Bali (or Indonesia in general), and with it being a regular destination of our Western Australian friends, we were expecting to be amazed. On arrival we found it typical of other South-East Asian destinations, with taxi and hotel touts vying for our custom, stifling humidity even at 10pm at night, and the smell of barbecue smoke in the air. A walk along the beach the next day naturally incited comparisons with other beachside locations – the sand is whiter in Thailand, the water clearer in Fiji – but we forced ourselves not to make hasty judgements. Over the course of the next few days we have determined what it is that makes Bali a popular destination. The locals are friendly, fun and jovial people – they love to chat and joke around. The food is amazing, both local and Western, and ridiculously inexpensive. The island vibe is very relaxed and slow-paced, and you can’t help but slow down to match it. There are touts everywhere, but they are not as persistent as
one would expect given that it is slow season. A simple ‘no thanks’ is usually accepted, and is enough to silence them. There is no begging you to look, no grabbing of arms and dragging you into stalls. In Kevin’s words, the ‘harassment factor’ is a lot less than we anticipated. An additional (and undeniable) attraction for Western Australians is the 3½-hour flight time from Perth to Denpasar and the potential for flights costing less than $200.
On our second day, we flagged down a taxi on the way to Kuta and went for a drive to Nusa Dua, Uluwatu and Jimbaran. Nusa Dua is known for its watersports, as the beach is sheltered from the crashing waves that make such sports difficult in Legian and Kuta. At Uluwatu we saw Padang Padang beach where our friendly taxi driver “Barman” informed us that Julia Roberts had last month filmed scenes from the movie ‘Eat, Pray, Love’. We stopped briefly at JImbaran where the restaurateurs were setting up their tables and chairs along the sand for the evening’s service. We have heard that Jimbaran has become increasingly expensive of late (although no doubt deservedly so) and as such probably won’t venture down for a meal.
We toured a temple in Uluwatu famous for being over-run with monkeys. We were warned that
the monkeys will steal your sunglasses, so we dutifully took them off and held them while we walked through the temple jungle. Turns out that it doesn’t matter where your sunglasses are on your body – Stacey was distracted for a moment by a monkey drinking from a water bottle that she didn’t see another come up beside her and grab the sunglasses from her hand. She chased him into the trees, fearing the worst – they were lost forever, or at the very least snapped in half. Losing prescription sunglasses three days into a 12-month trip would not be ideal. Luckily the temple is prepared for such events, and Barman (who had accompanied us) called to the staff for help. They bargained with the monkey, and soon after he handed back the sunglasses in exchange for fruit. On return of the undamaged sunglasses, Stacey showered the saviour with gratitude, while Kevin offered some money. When said saviour wouldn’t accept the money, we thought him a very good Samaritan who gets joy for helping those in need. But as he repeated his refusal of the money, we realized it was because the amount offered was too little, “Not enough; very hard work”. He requested 20,000 Rp, so we readily paid the $2.50 – a small price to pay for $350 sunglasses.
Kevin suspected a scam whereby the monkeys are trained to steal such items – a win/win situation where the monkey gets rewarded with fruit and the trainer gets rewarded with money. This suspicion was aroused by the calm reaction of the staff, and confirmed by a visit to another monkey-infested area where the monkeys were not interested in sunglasses, eyeglasses or any other items of the sort.
The next day we arranged for Barman to take us on a day trip to the volcano and the town of Ubud. Along the way he inquired whether we wanted to see traditional Balinese dancing. We hadn’t really thought about it, but agreed it might be interesting, thinking Barman may know some small village holding a dance that day. Instead, he dropped us at a large commercial arena with about 300 other tourists, all paying 80,000 Rp each to sit and watch a ‘traditional’ show. This was not the intimate village setting we had expected, and upon returning to the car decided to avoid all further traditional tourist attractions.
The volcano was an amazing sight, as were the rice paddies surrounding Ubud. We politely refused offers to visit the silver and gold jewellery village tour, the wood carving village tour and the arts and crafts village tour. We did visit the monkey forest, and stopped in at the lewak coffee plantation. The lewak is a nocturnal animal that eats coffee beans from the plant, filtering the bean as it is digested. The bean is then harvested from the lewak droppings and roasted into coffee. How could we resist trying a cup? We were also able to sample locally grown teas, including ginseng and lemongrass, and plain coffee and hot chocolate. The scenery was spectacular. The coffee was not.
At the Kintamani Volcano we paid the entry fee of 10,000 Rp per person, happy to fork over $2.50 to see a ‘natural’ tourist attraction. Touts lined the road up to the volcano, and Barman kept driving to get us to a better vantage point, which conveniently was located on the balcony of a buffet restaurant. He parked the taxi and then disappeared into the crowd to find his own lunch, leaving us to partake in a buffet we didn’t really want. The view from the balcony was amazing, but it was just as good on the side of the road next to the restaurant. However, with no indication of Barman returning any time soon, we decided to do the right thing and pay for the buffet (we were also unsure as to whether Barman received some kind of commission for taking us there, and we didn’t want him to be penalized for our stinginess). He had told us the buffet was 80,000 Rp per person, but we found the menu had no prices. Upon inquiring the price from the waitstaff, we were told the buffet price was in fact 100,000 Rp per person. Not wanting to get ripped off purely for the sport of it, and after already conceding to eat somewhere we were not entirely interested in, we debated whether or not to stay. Again Barman’s ‘commission’ was considered, as was the additional 20,000 Rp per person (yes, we are squabbling over a total of $5 – but that’s not the point!). During our debate, we saw several other patrons at surrounding tables pay their bills. It was then that we learnt a valuable lesson in Tourism Economics, which is as follows:
- Americans/Russians: 200,000 Rp
- Europeans: 150,000 Rp
- Australian/New Zealanders: 100,000 Rp
- Locals: 12,500 Rp
- Brennans (after much haggling and several threatened walkouts): 60,000 Rp
No doubt this can be explained using a simple equation, but as we barely passed economics, we will instead say that the price of the buffet is positively correlated with a tourist’s inability to barter.
On the way to Ubud we drove through the rice paddies and terraces. The countryside was beautiful, so green and lush. We stopped to take a photo at the side of the road. When we got out of the car, we were immediately swamped by touts of all shapes and sizes, including children trying to sell us postcards of the view we were photographing, and an old rice worker with wooden items in his bicycle basket. We had no idea where they came from, as there were no shops around – they must have been watching from the windows. After we took our photos and went back to the car, we saw Barman handing over money in exchange for a ticket – he had been charged to park there.
We stopped in Ubud to wander through the streets, but as we are unable and unwilling to buy anything (our packs are already at airline checked baggage weight limits), window-shopping does not interest us. We contemplated whether or not to walk through the monkey forest, after Stacey’s ordeal at the previous monkey location. While we pondered at the forest entry gates, we heard a scream, and turned to see a woman with a monkey on her back, who was trying to grab at the icecream cone she was eating. She ran around in circles screaming “get it off!” while the monkey hung on for the ride. He eventually dropped to the ground and wandered off without his icecream. We decided that similarly good entertainment might be viewed inside, so we went in. Stacey inquired at the gate whether or not her sunglasses should be hidden from view. When informed that they were safe, that the monkeys were not interested in anything but food, our suspicions about the training of the Monkey Temple monkeys was as good as confirmed. The walk through Monkey Forest was quite pleasant, and several inhabitants posed for photos while eating the mini bananas that tourists can buy for the purpose of feeding to them.
The following days have been spent relaxing by the pool, investigating the ‘warungs’ (tiny local eateries) and wandering along the beach. Before we leave (in 2 days’ time) we plan on visiting Waterbom waterpark, and intend on booking hotels for the next leg of our trip. We fly to Calcutta via Kuala Lumpur – a hotel for the one night in KL has been booked, but we need to arrange somewhere to stay in Calcutta for a few nights before overlanding to Varanasi. As much as we were impatient for our ‘real’ holiday to begin, we are both now somewhat wishing we could spend another few days (weeks? months?) in Bali. Not to say we are not looking forward to India, but we have very easily slipped into ‘lazy tourist’ mode. It will no doubt be a long time before massages and afternoon cocktails are routine events.
For those coming to Bali that are interested in cheap transport/guide (400,000 Rp/$40 USD a day), Barman’s details are:
BARMAN
Mobile: 08174736781
Email: s_barman69@yahoo.com
Just remember to be firm about what you do and don’t want to see.
First Post
// February 14th, 2010 // 3 Comments » // Pre Departure
Well its less than one week to go until our departure day of Friday 19th. What a crazy couple of weeks its been trying to sever the various ties to our hectic Sydney lives. The last couple of weeks we have managed to:- Sell off and give away possesions we no longer need.
- Both locked in Career Breaks.
- Build this blog.
- Drop too much money on Travel Insurance……they better be there when we need them.
- Jumped through bureaucratic hoops to get several visa’s in advance.
- Locked in a 1 way flight out of Australia.
- Have all our shots, lost count of how many, got all the common shots minus rabies….we’ll keep away from those scoungy dogs and pesky monkeys. We are also now lugging enough Malaria tablets to last 4 months….in hindsight, should of just got them on the road.
- Visit to the dentist and complete 2 crowns that Kevin had been putting off for over a year.
- Bought our Backpacks and any items we taking with us, we are going with approx 50l of gear for the year.
- Banking Stuff – setup high interest savings account…sold down shares, paid off all debts, organised stash of foreign currency.
The final week is going to be intense and probably wont have much time to enjoy the anticipation until we are on plane with beverage in hand. Stacey has finished work and has her final Chartered Accounting exam on Tuesday so has been pretty much focused on that for last couple of weeks. Kevin is foolhardedly working right up to the last day, guess it will be an odd feeling rocking up to work with a backpack and leaving for airport from there.
We havent had time to do much Holiday Planning, we know roughly the places we want to go and will work it out on the road. Our first destination after a short trip to Perth is Bali, so we are hoping to destress there and work logistics of India for the month of March.
The plan is to pack the majority of our possesions on Wednesday and effectively move out Thursday. Should be a crazy week.
