Tuesday, October 26, 2010

day 146















The road to Jaisalmer was long but I left before the sun was out, my MP3 player fully charged and I was making good time. If all went well I would reach Jaisalmer just after lunch. This is about as far into Rajashtan as you can go, beyond lies only the Great Thar Desert. The idea of reaching this final frontier was especially exciting for me but I had other reasons for looking forward to Jaisalmer. Samesyn. Sarah, a friend that I’d met in Cape Town, shortly before I left for India was going to be in Jaisalmer for a few days at the same time that I would be there. Sarah works in India and for months we kept missing each other (sometimes by a few hours) and I was looking forward to actually spending some real time with her. Her brother was visiting from London and the 3 of us were planning to, among other things, do a camel safari into the desert. I got to Jaisalmer a day ahead of them and spent it sleeping and asking around about camel safaris (prices and so on). The best deal was a 2 day, one night safari, organised by (you guessed it) Lucky’s cousin. When I arrived in Jaisalmer it was obvious that Lucky had phoned ahead telling all about my impending arrival. The words ‘Madam’ and ‘motorcycle’ were used in every Hindi conversation I overheard.

After Jaisalmer and a few days of great companionship with Sarah and Tim I headed back to Jodhpur for my promised visit with the spice sisters. Again there were many stories and lots of chai but soon the open road was calling me and I said my farewells to the sisters and their poor mother and left for Mount Abu. I decided to add Mount Abu to my Rajashtan trip because it’s a hill station (which means the weather is heavenly) and it sounded like the kind of place where peacocks roam around in the streets and people fly around on magic carpets. I was wrong about the magic carpets (and the peacocks) but right about the climate. Unlike the dry, intense heat elsewhere in Rajashtan, the weather in Mount Abu was deliciously moderate. The only thing, as far as I could tell, that bugged me about Mount Abu was that everybody in my guesthouse seemed to be on honeymoon and I became acutely aware of my single serving status. The owner of the guesthouse was shocked to hear that I was still planning to ride all the way to Udaipur, on my own no less (!) and told me to find myself a partner (clearly a honeymoon hotelier). I told him that was working on it (so to speak) and went to my room. The next morning, before the nosey owner or any of the lovebirds stirred I left for Udaipur, the most romantic city in India. On my own.

Udaipur was my last stop in Rajashtan and was a perfect finish to, probably, my favourite Indian state so far. The night before I left Udaipur for Mumbai I did something the Lonely Planet told me to. I watched the James Bond Movie ‘Octopussy’ at one of the rooftop restaurants while enjoying a meal. ‘Octopussy’, you see was filmed (partly) in Udaipur which is certainly not its only appeal but definitely adds to the charm of this exquisitely beautiful, and yes, romantic city. To my dismay, it seemed that all honeymooners in India, eventually, make their way to Udaipur and, it seemed, book themselves into my guesthouse, the Dream Heaven. Go figure.

It turned out to be an easy decision to not make the 800 km journey down to Mumbai from Udaipur (on the Yamaha anyway). The highway down to Mumbai runs through Gugurat (a state I had no particular interest in seeing) and I made up my mind to get to Mumbai ahead of schedule so I took the bus with the Yamaha, get this, tied to the roof (I have video footage for those who don’t believe me!). Anyway, while I watched the Bond movie, I must have eaten something disagreeable because the next day, on the bus, halfway to Mumbai, things inside my stomach went horribly wrong. To my horror (horror, horror!) I discovered that this particular bus did not have a bathroom. ‘No worries Madam, we will be stopping soon’ said the driver. Soon, I knew (in Indian terms), could mean hours! Perhaps I could sleep or meditate through the pain, I thought but spent the next hour viciously cursing Indian cooks, bus drivers, the Lonely Planet and James Bond until finally the bus stopped at a little roadside restaurant. The other passengers, also queuing to get off the bus, were moving so slowly that I actually considered climbing out of the window but composed myself enough to not scream at them.

‘All is well’. ‘All is well’ *

After an agonizing bathroom episode I went to the counter and asked for some mineral water but before I could even finish my sentence I threw up. It was completely unexpected and I just barely managed to not do so on the shop counter but next to it, into an empty box. A large crowd formed around me, offering no sympathy or comfort only cold, curious stares. When I eventually stopped vomiting enough to stand up I had to look at the 30 odd spectators with a pathetic mixture of embarrassment and self-pity. Back to the bathroom. And then back to the bus. Only 8 hours to go.

Needless to say, I was a little fragile when the Yamaha and I got dropped off in Mumbai the next morning. The bus driver demanded another 300 rupees for off-loading the Yamaha but quickly saw that I was in no mood for any of that and let it go. It took me 2 hours to find the Colaba-area in Mumbai, which is where I wanted to be and another hour to find a decent hotel. Then I slept for the rest of the day, clutching my bottle of electrolyte-infused water tightly. At around 21h00 there was a knock on my door and, to my surprise, I got up to answer it. A very slick-looking Indian man with a huge grin and a gold tooth gave me a quick up-and-down look and breaking into a million rupee smile said ‘hey hey, so you want to be in a Bollywood movie, yaar?’. I looked at him, taking a moment to register and said ‘are you kidding?’. ‘Absolutely!’

*‘All is well’ is a very cool and clever catch phrase in one of the best (Hindi) movies I’ve seen called ‘3 Idiots’.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

the blue city













Like I said, leaving Pushkar was hard. Thanks to my guide book I imagined Pushkar to be an exotic, lush oasis in the Indian desert but on my way there I started to think that the book had got it wrong. I spent the entire day riding around what felt like the middle of nowhere (the landscape was dry, vast and barren) and I was just about to give up hope of ever reaching Pushkar when I saw a sign that read ‘Pushkar Lake’. Lake?! The idea that there could be a lake in this dry place seemed impossible but I kept following the signs and sure enough, a lake. Like most mountains, rivers and lakes in India this lake was holy (and also severely polluted). It still amazes me that a country, that views everything as holy, could have so little respect for nature. Pollution and littering is a huge problem in India and I have much to say on the subject but, for now, let me say this. I cannot and will not, ever, get used to it. It drives me crazy.

Despite the pollution, India still manages to take my breath away. This is a beautiful country and Pushkar is definitely one of its gems. Before I left for the Blue City I felt I needed to say a proper goodbye with a walk around the holy lake and chai with my new friend. Then it was time to leave and like so many times before I promised to return, someday, as I waved goodbye. My plan was to meet up with the highway again and head to Jodhpur but Dinesh told me about a better (shorter) route that would shave 60 km off my day’s riding. Like an idiot/adventurer I opted for the shortcut and spent 6 hours on one of the worst roads I’ve ever seen (all the potholes in India live on this road). I’ll admit that halfway to Jodhpur I revoked my promise to return to Pushkar and see my good friend Dinesh again. Bastard.

Eventually though I did reach Jodhpur and started the tiring process of finding a good, clean and affordable place to stay. For those who think traveling is a break from day-to-day admin, think again. I spent an hour riding through the crowded alleys looking for a budget guesthouse called ‘Yogi’ (recommended by Dinesh) but people just looked at me like I was crazy. I think some of them thought I was actually looking for a guru (‘excuse me, do you know where I can find a guru?’ ..Seriously?). I was just about to give up hope when a guy on a bike stopped next to me and asked me if I needed a room. Usually I would ignore these tout-types but I was exhausted so I followed him. I followed him to, possibly, the most exquisite (and cheap!) little hotel in Jodhpur. The guy on the bike, Lucky, was no tout, he was the owner and he was on his way to get a shave when he saw me (a damsel) in distress. Lucky turned out to be a great host and I even saw him one morning with a bucket of water, washing the Yamaha. I soon discovered that almost everyone in Jodhpur was related to Lucky in some way. He had brothers, sisters, cousins and uncles everywhere. One night I went to a totally random restaurant and had dinner and discovered that it belonged to Lucky’s sister. Even the hotel I ended up staying at in Jaisalmer belonged to Lucky’s cousin.

Thanks to Lucky and the beautiful blue buildings, I loved Jodhpur. It’s hard to speak about this place without sounding like a tour guide but Jodhpur is gorgeous. Spices, sweets, sugar cane juice, incense, perfume and more famous saffron lassi (again there were 2 identical ‘famous’ lassi shops right next to each other) was a feast. Truly. There is also the Jodhpur Fort that looms over Jodhpur the same way Table Mountain does over Cape Town and it’s said that there is nothing quite like it elsewhere in the World. I can confirm. The fort is also the best point from which to view the city. Its only when you’re way up in the fort looking down that you can see the Blue City in all its glory. I took a photograph but the picture in my memory is much, much better. A sea of blue buildings almost as far as the eye can see.

In Jodhpur I also met some interesting people, a tout named Nando spoke to me every time I passed his shop, insisted that he was the most famous man in India and found it alarming that I’d never heard of him. Nando eventually managed to get me into his shop. It was a spice shop and turned out to not belong to Nando at all but to 7 sisters. It could have been the intoxicating tea spices in the air (cinnamon, cardamom, ginger..) or the stories the spice sisters had to tell but I stayed for more than an hour. It seemed like every spice had a story and I listened eagerly as I sipped the most amazingly spiced chai. Ushu and her 6 sisters had taken over the family spice business after their father ‘expired’ a few years before. Considering that almost all shop owners in India (especially in a conservative place like Rajashtan) were men, this all-female business caused a stir. ‘Mohanlal Vehomal’ (the name of their father and the family business) mixes the best spices in Rajashtan (even the Lonely Planet says so) and others know it. Their 4 shops (in and around Jodhpur) are constantly targeted by vandals, and touts for other spice shops lurk around the market trying to lure foreigners away. The sisters work 7 days a week to keep the business going and get as much money into the family coffers as possible. With 7 daughters to marry off and 7 hefty dowries to pay their mother never lets them forget what a heavy burden she is carrying (they are carrying). It’s a sad story and their mother is by no means unloving when she says her daughters are burdens and Ushu and her sisters understand it’s just the way things are. If you are a woman you are a burden to your family until they can find you a husband (yes, arranged marriages still happen). Don’t misunderstand, not all marriages in India are arranged but the custom is alive and well in some homes. I was so moved by Ushu and her sisters’ story that I promised to return and stay with them for a few days. After Jaisalmer (my next destination) I would have to return to Jodhpur to meet up with the road to Mount Abu and I couldn’t wait to ask my many, many questions and to get to know all of them better.

That night Lucky came up to me and declared his undying love ..for the Yamaha and asked if he could take it for a ride. Of course. I gave Lucky the keys, told him to be careful and went to my room for a nap. About an hour later I looked out my window and saw Lucky washing the Yamaha, again. The next morning at 5am I left for Jaisalmer and Lucky had woken up especially to say goodbye to the Yamaha, and to me. Next stop, Jaisalmer.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Pushkar

In Pushkar I went for a bicycle ride, made a friend and got bitten by a dog, although not in that order. Along with missing fresh air, my family and ginger beer, I also missed riding my bicycle and Pushkar was the absolute perfect place to go for a ride so I set my mind to finding a bicycle to rent and then, as luck would have it, I met Dinesh.

Dinesh runs a kind of ‘all you need’ general store right outside my hotel and every morning he greeted me with the largest smile (even by Indian standards) I’ve ever seen. On top of his crazy smile, he had an absurd sense of humor (imagine Jim Carey, but he’s Indian) and it was inevitable that Dinesh and I would become friends. I asked him about renting a bicycle and he told me not to worry and less than 30 minutes later there was a knock on my door. ‘Hello my fren! Look, bicycle for you!’. I was delighted to the power of a billion but the bicycle looked a little worn, even by Indian standards. Still, I was grateful for this gifted horse and inspecting it would have been rude. After I thanked Dinesh I jumped on the black bicycle (old school, with a red saddle and a bell) and raced down the street. Ten meters later, going down a hill, surrounded by cars and motorbikes, I discovered that the brakes didn’t work. Indian traffic has taught me to expect the unexpected and I didn’t panic but I was heading straight for a truck just a few meters in front of me and I needed to stop fast. Instinctively I planted both my feet onto the ground and screech myself to a halt like they do in the cartoons. Within seconds Dinesh was there apologizing as if he’d just killed my dog. He took the bicycle (death-trap), mounted it, told me to ‘wait 2 minutes please, my fren’ and disappeared around the corner. True to his word, Dinesh was back within minutes with another bicycle. I could imagine him knocking the nearest kid off his bike, yelling ‘emergency!!!’ and bringing it to me.

This time I did a brief inspection. Only the back brake worked and when I kicked the tires they both buckled a little but it would have to do. And then, for the second time, I was off. Just like my first ride with the Yamaha, my first ride on this bicycle was terrifying at first but ultimately liberating and after a while I moved in harmony with the chaotic traffic and through the dark, narrow alleys with skill I did not know I had. I rode for hours (hours!) and had to stop only because it was already dark and I couldn’t see the road anymore.

I took the bicycle back to Dinesh and thanked him. What a great day. I missed riding my bicycle. It’s funny how little things in can give you so much joy. I started thinking about what else I was missing back home. I miss the African sky. I miss anything Afrikaans. I miss Table Mountain. I miss hugs. I miss grapes. I missed the World Cup. I missed my father’s 70th birthday (I missed many birthdays but that one stung). I missed my brother falling in love.

Now, about the dog. Dogs in India, like the cows, are lame, placid creatures that locals tend to ignore but after my experience with the cow in Varanasi, I should have known better. One afternoon, I went for a walk through the streets when this specific sleeping dog woke from his slumber and growled softly at me. ‘What the heck was that?’ he must have thought. Nobody, including me, paid any attention to him, dogs are only dangerous at night, when they’re awake and moving in packs but when I passed him the second time he growled again. I ignored him again but the next thing I knew he snuck up behind me, bit my ankle and then ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction. It wasn’t really a bite, more like a pinch, it didn’t even break the skin and everybody who saw it, including me, was more amazed that the lame little mutt had the courage to do that. As for the dog, he was long gone.

Despite my near-death experience on the bicycle, my run-in with the dog and having caught a severe case of melancholy, it was hard for me to leave Pushkar. It was definitely the kind of place where you can get stuck and never want to leave but when you travel by bike the open road is always whispering in your ear that its time to move on. Next stop, Jodhpur, the Blue City.

Friday, October 8, 2010

I am aha























Again, let me say this, I am not a biker but* as I left Delhi for the second time on the Yamaha with the sun rising behind me, I felt totally alive. I had a permanent grin, butterflies in my stomach and a funky rhythm in my spine. The ride from Delhi to Jaipur (my first stop) was incredible. You simply turn onto the Jaipur highway and watch the landscape change. I was a little disappointed that the desert didn’t start the moment I crossed over into Rajashtan, it happens (duh..) gradually and you’re eased into it. The first thing you see, in abundance, is camels (I stopped counting after 83 because it became too distracting). The roads were better than those in the North and after 2 chai stops and 3 bathroom breaks I arrived in Jaipur, the Pink City. I’d forgotten how exhausting riding was and after I booked into my guesthouse I slept like a dead person for a few hours before I went for a walk through the streets.

In my guide book I read something very interesting. The best lassi in Jaipur, it said, is at a place called ‘Lassiwalla’ and is served in tall terracotta pots that you smash on the sidewalk when you’re done ‘but’ it went on to say ‘beware of imitations’. Needless to say ‘Lassiwalla’ was my first stop when I left the next morning armed with a map and a long list of places I wanted to see. It was easy enough to find but there was a problem, there were 3 lassi shops right next to each other, all named ‘Lassiwalla’ and all claiming to be ‘the oldest lassi shop in Jaipur’ or ‘the original lassi shop’. There was only one thing to do, I would have to try them all and decide for myself which was best. It was a tough job but somebody had to do it. First prize went to the Lassiwalla on the left. Not too sweet, ice-cold, delicious. Before I left Delhi, Shallu told me that Rajashtani dhaba food was the best in India and I soon discovered that she was not kidding.

But not all my experiences in Jaipur were culinary nor were all of them pleasant. On my way to the Hawa Mahal (photo), I walked past 2 school boys (about 16 years old) when the one closest to me suddenly stretched out his hand and grabbed me between the legs, just for a second, and continued walking like nothing happened. Shocked, it took me a few seconds to react and turned around just in time to see him high five-ing his friend. For a moment I considered going after the little prick and breaking his arm but I knew that would cause a scene and scenes in India always attract a lot of attention and I shuddered at the thought of having to explain (or mime) what had happened so I exhaled and I let it go.

Later that day 4 different locals (all decent, sincere looking middle-aged men) stopped me on the street and warned me not to speak to any of the young guys who would approach me, saying that ‘they are part of the Mafia, Madame’. Naturally I had many (many many) questions about the Indian Mafia, not least of which was ‘what on earth could the Mafia want with me?’ but I heeded their warning, if with a pinch of salt, and spent the rest of the day avoiding as best I could anyone who looked like they belonged to the Mafia and any and all school boys.

Before leaving for Pushkar, my next stop, I needed to take the Yamaha for a check-up. In Delhi I noticed that the speedometer was broken and I wanted to get it fixed before going any further. Having a broken speedometer provided me with some of the best laughter of my life because the way Shallu pronounced ‘speedometer’ was absolutely hilarious (putting the emphasis on every syllable but the right one) and I almost burst out laughing when the bike walla I took my bike to did the same thing.

Bike wallas are by far my favorite Indians. At first I thought they were going to be a problem for me because I knew I was going to need them often and I am, after all, a foreigner, a woman, easy prey. But I found them to be anything but predatory. With rare exception they were kind, respectful, simple, honest folk and treated me more like a sister than a customer. It always amazed me that they’d send me on my way with a brilliantly serviced bike, wishing me a safe journey waving as I left with obvious affection. I owe a great deal to all the bike wallas out there. Shukriya.

Along with getting the speedometer fixed I also had the Yamaha washed. It was an old bike and very dirty but it looked like new after its bath. The Yamaha shined and as I ran my fingers over the white letters ‘Y-A-M-A-H-A’ I thought of the crazy journey we’ve been on together. Just like me the Yamaha had little scars and bruises testifying to our adventure. There were white paint spots from when I parked it next to a building that was getting painted and the dent from when I rode into a bus and fell over. The ‘Y’ on the side of the petrol tank got scraped off slightly during the landslide up North and now looked like an ‘I’. I AM AHA. Yes you are, I thought. Yes you are.

This trip into Rajashtan was in many ways different from the one up North. It’s true that every Indian state is different from the next and of course landscapes and roads and people and cultures change but that’s not what I mean. It was me, I was different. I was just that little bit more experienced, wiser, focused and stronger. This time around I had more than just stubbornness and an adventurous spirit driving me on, I had a more than 4000 km portfolio of the incredible things I’ve done and seen. There was a quiet, calm confidence in me that was very different from my do-or-die determination at the beginning of this trip. It felt great. Next stop, Pushkar.

*Terran Williams (a pastor at my church in Cape Town/surfer) once said that the word ‘but’ is a powerful word because it neutralizes everything that’s gone before it and introduces a new, better reality.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

doubt


















On my last day in Varanasi I went for a walk when a small boy came out of nowhere and took me by the hand. He smiled and said hello. I said hello back and we walked together, hand-in-hand, through the streets. I knew that he wanted something from me so I told him, plainly, ‘no paisa (money), no chocolate, ok?’ but he seemed a little hurt by my accusation and assured me he just wanted to walk with me and hold my hand. He seemed sincere and I felt embarrassed that I assumed he wanted something that. I didn’t notice that we had changed direction and were heading into the market. I’d gotten used to being hounded by street children demanding (not asking) money or chocolate. It’s sad but foreigners are really seen as giving-machines, walking talking ATM machines or Santa Clause. This boy seemed different so I let my defenses down and walked with him reprimanded myself for automatically thinking he wanted something. Just then we arrived at the place he was guiding me to. A German bakery. He pointed at something and said ‘give me!’.

Looking back now, perhaps I should have just bought him a cupcake but I felt that he had lied to me. ‘I’m sorry, no’ I said. His smile vanished immediately and he shoved my hand away in disgust. Bad Santa! He ran away without saying goodbye, probably to find another foreigner that would give him a treat and I was left alone in front of the bakery feeling rejected, unloved and used. I’m being a little dramatic sure, but it affected me. It hurt me.

Just a few hours after that incident I was on a train to Agra to see the Taj Mahal with my own eyes and finally tick it off the list of ‘things to do before you die’ but I felt raw about what happened in Varanasi. If my faith in the sincerity of people were fragile when I left Varanasi, Agra was the worst possible place I could go to. The guide books warn about the touting and harassment in Agra but it was much worse than I expected and after only 2 hours I wanted to leave. My train out of Agra was only leaving the next morning so I was stuck until then. But I came to see the Taj, not to hide in my hotel room so I told myself to snap out of it, go outside and face the mob.

On my way to the Taj a particularly persistent cycle-rickshaw rider pulled up and stayed beside me, offering his services, for almost 15 minutes. I must have said ‘no, thank you’ a million times but he refused to leave. After a while I simply ignored him. Then, somehow, he accidently rode over my foot with his rickshaw. It hurt like hell but it was the pained (crazed) look in my eyes, I suppose, that finally made him leave.

I limped all the way to the Taj ticket counter and paid 750 rupees (!) for a ticket. Locals pay only 20 rupees (it seemed even the Indian government thought I was Santa Clause). My foot was throbbing and hundreds of ‘guides’ harassed me while I queued to go inside. ‘Please leave me alone’ I told them over and over and then finally sat on the steps outside for a while trying to regain my excitement. After all, I was about to see the greatest building in the world (according to the guide book). I imagined the moment very differently and couldn’t shake the heaviness and negativity I felt. You can only say ‘no’ so many times before it starts affecting you negatively. And so I went inside, looked around, took a few photographs and left, spending the rest of my time in Agra counting the hours till I could leave. It was a sad day.

I arrived in Delhi the next day, sad to the bone, convinced that India was a horrible country that once had a place in my heart but had betrayed me. Again, I know that I was being a bit dramatic but I felt heartbroken. It took me a few days before I started to remember all the extraordinary kindnesses and generosity I had experienced in India. How could I forget that? You need to have faith in the goodness of people even when their appearance, behavior or your prejudice tells you different or you rob them of the opportunity to surprise you. Eventually I felt reconciled to India enough to start planning the next adventure.

The next part of my journey was into Rajashtan and I couldn’t wait. Soon I would be heading off into the Indian desert with my Yamaha. The Lone Rider, chapter 2. But then, to my surprise, the same people who were inspired by the first journey were suddenly trying to talk me out of this one. There were again those familiar voices telling me that I can’t do it or shouldn’t do it. The lack of faith made me sad and angry but I understood it all too well. It’s easy, and human, to forget the great things we’ve seen and to start thinking small again and before I knew it I also began doubting whether I could do it. I looked in the mirror and the person looking back didn’t look like me at all (Indian street food has been a lot easier on my wallet than it has been on my waistline but that is not what I mean). My faith was gone. Whatever the reason for it, I was suddenly doubting why I was on this trip at all. When I first decided to do it I had to convince many people that I wasn’t crazy, reckless, irresponsible or even selfish. A lot has happened and I’ve certainly come a long way since then and every word in this blog has been a witness to that. I reminded myself of all the incredible, if not miraculous, things that I’ve experienced on this trip and that I was terrified to ride up into the Himalayas too but that I did it and lived to tell about it. I also remembered something I wrote in the beginning of this trip. ‘You need to find one reason why you can do something and then do it’.

A text from my brother finally gave me the reason I needed. Going on an adventure, he said, means that you don’t know whether you’ll make it or not but you go anyway. I felt my faith seeping back and as I counted all my extraordinary blessings I suddenly felt like not only can I ride a motorbike through the Indian desert but perhaps I could even move a mountain. Rajashtan here I come.