Hallo Besucher!

12 January 2005

Passport enigma... Until I tried delivering my passport together with my visa application form personally to the Indian embassy in Vienna, I didn’t know that any queue could possibly ever be longer than the queue to access the elevators of the Eiffel tower. But 15 Dec 2004 (a date to remember) proved different.

Fortunately, I thought by that day, that I can take the liberty to send my passport with the Austrian post as well. Until, well, I got informed by the Indian embassy - upon my inquiry - that my passport has never arrived. I, who has always been so confident in Austrian state owned companies with regard to great efficiency, austerity, and reliability, did not believe the Indian clerk on the phone and made my way to the embassy again to search for my documents in person.

Hélas! There was a queue again! When it was my term, I was invited to read the mail receipt book. This time, I was convinced that my passport did never arrive at the brinks of the Indian embassy.

However, today 12 Jan 2005 is a marvellous day! I went to the municipality of the 17th district in Vienna to apply for a new passport. I was the first applicant and was served at 8am. Believe it or not, at 8:10am I left the building with 69 Euros less in my pockets but with a new passport in my hands!

At 11:10am I reached the visa office of the Indian embassy and couldn’t find a queue congesting the automatic doors of the elevators, which are located probably about 100m from the application desk. There were only 10 people in front of me and 30mins later, I left the embassy with 50 Euros less and a receipt which allows me to collect my passport with a visa on the 17th!

 

19 January 2005

I was sitting on the train from a big night out in one of Austria’s most beautiful towns, which also provides one with a night life spectacle one will never forget (I’m not mentioning that I am talking about Amstetten and that I only survived because I had at least 2 bottles of Bordeaux and that the beauty of the town only came to life after I fell asleep...)

Well, on the train ride - that is what I wanted to tell you - my mobile rang and I had the Indian embassy on the other side of the line. I was surprised, because it was Sunday (16 Jan). Anyway, my old passport finally arrived but there was no visa fee included. Obviously, one of the very well paid postmen, who shags all our girlfriends, was greedy enough to open my envelope, take out the money, probably shag a hooker, and forward my passport only 4 weeks later. This is what I call good service! Well done and hope that my neighbour’s dog bites your tiny balls!

Collecting my passport and visa was pretty boring and ordinary. Nothing special to report on this issue. I arrived at the embassy, was served immediately, and received my new passport with a visa and my old passport (which is void anyway) without a visa.

Now, let the good times roll!!!

 

5 February 2005

What can I tell you about my flight? No one who has ever been on a long-haul flight would expect such an answer as “nice” or “enjoyable”. Anyway, to tell you the truth, the flight was 3 hours delayed, my aisle seat was miraculously crammed between two other seats, my knees are bruised due to the not so great space between my seat and the one in front of me and I had to fly with an all but antique Boeing 767. Didn’t Lauda ever hear about great, modern, safe and comfy Airbusses?

Immigration was surprisingly fast and efficient. I only had to fill in a customs form, which I did while queuing for the officer’s desk. I only just completed the form when it was my turn.

My driver was waiting for me at the exit and it was much less hassle to get out of the airport than I expected. Actually, there was no one who wanted to sell me things or to take me places. My guidebook obviously tends to overdo a bit. Compared to disembarking in Accra (Ghana) or Kathmandu (Nepal), it was quiet like a funeral.

After a 30mins drive along well paved avenues, which sporadically where congested with trucks, we arrived at the Hare Krishna Guest House. This was about half an hour ago. Now, I’m sitting at a computer in the neighbouring hotel. My guest house gave my room away, because I was so late. The next room will be vacated at 5am (in 1hr 45mins). Good night.

Oh yeah...and the weather: 15 degrees Celsius and rain. But the air is fresh and it feels quite pleasant (compared to Austrian winter anyway).

 

6 February 2005

I got up at 1pm this afternoon after a few hours of dozing. I couldn’t sleep because of all the noise and buzz generated (not by traffic but) by hotel staff and guests. After a cold shower (I couldn’t figure out how to turn on the boiler) I went straight to the train station to buy o ticket to Jaipur. When queuing, I realized that it was a mistake not taking into consideration that the ticket office closes at 2pm on Sundays. And I really heartily feel with the couple from New Zealand in front of me who wanted to move on the following day. Unfortunately, the computers shut themselves down precisely before it was their turn.

After the reservation trial I made my way to the Red Fort and got lost, as usually. It’s not that I have no sense of directions; it's that these roads are... I don’t know, missing on the maps! After hours of wandering around, I decided to spend a trifle amount of money to take a rickshaw to get me there.

The Fort was nice, but nothing really spectacular. I strolled around for an hour before getting another rickshaw to take me around Old Delhi. But when it started to rain, I changed to an auto-rickshaw to take me back to the hotel. This time I figured out how to heat the water (well, I asked at the reception) and had a steaming hot bath. Afterwards, I took a walk down to Connaught Place where I had dinner at the Host (a posh and upmarket restaurant) to help me sooth my bad mood (caused by the weather) with a lukewarm beer and a delicious and very spicy chicken dish (with heaps of different masalas).

 

7 February 2005

“Hash! Hasheesh! The best Hash in town” was what I constantly heard while walking from my guest house to the train station. Do I look like a drug addict? Well, maybe India has turned my looks already...

Buying my ticket to Jaipur was super fast. I only queued for 45mins and it took the clerk only about 45.26secs to issue my ticket (he took a break afterwards).

After leaving the station, I took an auto-rickshaw to Purana Quila, an old fort which turned out to be much nicer and less touristy than the Red Fort of Old Delhi. Actually, it wasn’t touristy at all. The fort embraces a vast leafy area and almost totally absorbs all street noise. It seemed like heaven! Only the occasional couple sitting by a tree or just lying in the grass hampered the peace. For the first time since I have arrived in India (which was only yesterday, anyway), I saw men and women holding hands and kissing each other shyly. Obviously, this is the place to be for a romantic afternoon, as showing any signs of affection in public generally is not acceptable.

Later, I went to Lodi Gardens, a huge public botanic garden with some monuments spread out across the area, Quiet and non-touristy either.

That was actually all I’ve done today. I have to admit that I couldn’t gather my forces until noon... And so I slept in!

 

8 February 2005

Thunderstorms and heavy rainfalls together with the pumping music of the fiesta, which was celebrated on the other side of the street, were disturbing the silence of the night.

When I left the guest house at 5:30am the party was still going on. The rain had washed away all the mud of the last days and uncovered the tarmac of the road. Deep puddles hampered me keeping clean pants on my stroll to the train station (which wasn’t much of an issue anyway, as I looked like I was bathing in a puddle for days already).

The train left the station at 6:10am sharp, notably exactly at the scheduled departure time. I will inform Austrian rail about it. Maybe, they can get some time management advice from Indrail?

I shared my bench with an elderly American fellow to my left, who was also travelling on his own. He was sticking self-adhesive address labels on to the back of Kama Sutra postcards. What kind of friends does this bloke have, I was wondering? Honestly, this guy was a bit strange. He kept on babbling to himself throughout the whole journey.

To my left was an Indian businessman with a bad after shave and an issue of the Indian Weekly magazine.

In Jaipur I hired a guy who took me on his auto-rickshaw through the pink city and its monuments. This is so much better than Delhi! In fact, they have real sights here (like the Maharadja’s palace, the Maharadja family tombs Gaitor, Jantar Mantar - the observatory, etc.).

 

 

9 February 2005

To spot a tiger, not to spot a tiger, to spot a tiger, not to spot a tiger... How many petals does a flower have?

a) 15

b) 20

c) any number but always enough to stop at “not to spot a tiger”

That’s the story about my trip to Ranthambore National Park, where seeing a tiger is almost guaranteed. Maybe I didn’t put enough emphasis on the world “almost” when I booked a private car to go there and back in one day. This totally busted my budget and I will have to live on chapati and water for the next week.

Nevertheless, it was a nice trip. The setting of the park is amazing with crumbled historic buildings spread out the whole area. We also saw a lot of animals, eg deer, owls, Kingfishers, crocodiles, turtles, monkeys, wild pigs, etc. The entire fucking brute you wouldn’t give a shit to see when you are out for a dangerous, almighty tiger!

The Canter (a roof-less 20 seater 4WD), I was on, also did its job on my suntan. When I got back to the hotel and saw my face in the bathroom mirror, my skin was tanned like the skin of the Indians! Wow, I loved it! Unfortunately, all came off under the shower.

 

10 February 2005

The guy who took me to Ranthambore yesterday picked me up this morning and took me to the bus station for Bikaner. Before I got off, he read my right palm and predicted me a good new job. He also saw that I have two girlfriends. Whoever feels addressed by this information now: No worries! This must be somewhere in the future when I reduce the number of girlfriends to only two!

It was a 7 hours bus journey to Bikaner, which is set out in the desert of Thar. I heard that it didn’t rain there any more since 6 years. Of course, when I arrived it just had rained cats and dogs so that the roads where flooded! I don’t know what it is but apparently I attract bad weather.... I even cut my trousers short in order to keep them clean of mud!

 

11 February 2005

From all I have seen so far, Bikaner has the most Indian feel of all cities. At least, it has more cows on the roads than Delhi and Jaipur.

I went to Junagarh Fort this morning, where everyone can see how splendidly the Marahadjas lived. The fort is now owned by a fund; obviously the upkeep became too expensive for the Maharadjas.

After that I was invited by a tout (someone who pulls tourists and sells them overpriced services) to have some chai (milk tea with immeasurable amounts of sugar). He allegedly worked for government in the tourism department. Of course he knew a very good company which organizes camel treks in the desert and so we went there. I almost wanted to leave him, but... Anyway, he brought me to a hotel which belongs to the Maharadja’s cousin (and that’s true, as my guidebook said that as well). They showed me their rooms and I got goose bumps, as these were the best hotel rooms I have ever seen in my life (and I have seen a lot of them). I decided instantly that on my return from the camel trek, I will spoil myself and stay in one of this rooms which look like they came straight out the Arabian Nights.

The royal atmosphere of the hotel also convinced me to book a 3 days camel safari in the Thar Desert starting tomorrow.

In the afternoon I took the 45mins bus ride to Karni Mata, the Rat temple. The rats there are believed to be reincarnated departed souls, which are saved from the wrath of the God of Death (Yama). I didn’t consider the fact that everyone has to put off shoes when entering the temple. It was a bit disgusting to step on all the rat poo. But eventually, I got used to it. I also had a rat run over my feet, which is considered a great privilege. I felt sooooo good afterwards! Now, it’s a bit strange because normally when I do something which feels “sooooo good”, I get the feeling of having done something wrong (without a proper marriage and all that stuff).

Back to the hotel I took a good shower!

 

12 February 2005

Shiv, the guy from the hotel where I arranged my camel safari yesterday and a driver picked me up from my place in the morning to take me to the nice hotel (Bhairon Vilas) for a cup of coffee. An elder British lady with a very distinguished Queen-like accent joined our company and told very funny stories about her life. Too bad that I already saw her the day before in the fort, where she was snorting, coughing and spitting and behaving all not so lady-like!

Dula, the camel man, and his assistant were waiting for me in the village where we started the trek. Our first stop was Dula’s own village, a one hour ride away from our starting point. He invited me for chai. Although, I actually dislike both milk and tea, I thought that I will have to put up with this for the next few days.

Dula met and saw his wife for the first time in his life on his own wedding. It’s common to arrange weddings in India. In cities apparently it’s not as strict anymore and the groom can at least choose from a selection of photos. In any case, the groom’s mother chooses the bride. They organize big parties with between 400 and 1,000 invitees. A wedding party costs around USD 20,000, which is the price of a family house in downtown Bikaner or of 2 houses in the suburbs. And all you get for this is a girl you’ve never met before and a great many pissed relatives!

After we left Dula’s village, we rode straight into the desert. I was surprised by how much life there is in the sands. We saw Antelopes, desert foxes, wild cats, and birdlife.

While Dula and his friend prepared dinner, I climbed a dune and waited for sunset. And honestly, can you imagine anything better (apart from shagging of cause, but considering the lack of opportunities) than sitting on top of a dune surrounded only by thousands of square metres of sand, watching the sunset - an orange fireball dipping into the desert -, and drinking a good bottle of beer?

 

13 February 2005

I learnt some very important Hindi words today. “Ramramshah” (please forgive me for not spelling it correctly) is a formal greeting whereas “Namaste” is like “Hello”. “Tshodana” means to fuck (but one’s not allowed to articulate this word in presence of a woman anyway).

Dula has 6 kids (all boys) between 4 and 15. He uses condoms as contraceptives...

Camels are the most peaceful and easy to treat animals I have ever seen in my life. They are dumb and apart from belching and farting they are absolutely quiet (because January and February are the rutting season, they made funny rutting sounds with their tongue every time a female came along). They never show any signs of exhaustion and would rather work to death than denying rendering their services!

I read Paulo Coehlo’s “The Alchemist” today and somehow I felt like being a shepherd on the discovery of a hidden safe myself. I’m just not sure what my hidden safe could be...

 

14 February 2005

This evening I checked in at Bhairon Vilas. I took the rooftop room which may not have as many memorabilia as other rooms, but it’s huge, has its own terrace and overlooks the fort and the whole city. Instead of Paying 1,200 Rupees (standard price which equals about 25 Euros), I got it for as little as 700 Rs (thanks to my negotiation skills).

Shiv invited me for beer and dinner (chilli chicken) and we spoke about his favourite subjects, which are Cricket and girls. Well, since I cannot really contribute to a discussion about Cricket we mainly spoke about girls... I told him the story about that lady I met in Greece... (now, that’s another story). I’m really glad I met him, as he is the first Indian person who didn’t want to sell me his grandmother. Shiv runs the art gallery in the hotel and has an entry in the Guinness book of records for having painted the smallest picture in the world.

I also found out that the reason for the constant pumping music during the night is that it’s wedding season! Hindis can only marry quarterly during a period of about two weeks (it all depends on the stars) and it is peak season now!

In my room, I felt like the Maharadja himself tonight until about 4 o’clock in the morning, when an awful, probably religious sing-sang started, which lasted for two hours!

 

15 February 2005

How can you possibly take 80 people in a 50 seater bus from point A to B? To make it a bit tricky, everyone of these persons takes at least two pieces of luggage and 10kg of rice, potatoes, onions or whatever there is available aboard. It’s easy! Travel by bus in India is the answer! Some people of course have to go on top of the bus! The conductor has his fun as well, as he can climb the seats in order to get into the back of the bus!

After a not so comfortable 7hrs bus ride (you can imagine), I arrived in Jodhpur, the Blue City, also known as the Suncity. It’s a great place to be with heaps of narrow roads in the old town and blue washed houses. I took a beer on the rooftop terrace of my guest house and enjoyed the splendid views of the fort and the city!

 

16 February 2005

I was the first foreign tourist at the gates of Meherangarh Fort this morning which I reached shortly before 9am and after an exhausting, steep, hazardous 10mins climb up there. I was greeted by a very beautiful young Indian lady with an English accent and she welcomed the man from the land of Mozart! Gee, did I fell welcome! I received a headphone guide and was promised to going to have the best sightseeing experience since I have arrived in India. And I had!

The fort is splendid and very well kept. It looks as if the Maharadja would still live there. The fort also provides one with stunning views of the blue city and Jaswant Thanda (a marble memorial to one of the Rajastani rulers). The fort was built in the 16th century and has never ever been defeated.

When I left the fort, I wanted to take a rickshaw to Jaswant Thanda and a guy offered me to take me there for the rip-off price of 50Rs. I offered 20Rs and he accepted. However, on the way to his rickshaw there was a sign citing that it’s only half a kilometre away. Thus, I decided to walk.

The Jaswant Thanda is a very beautiful marble memorial to the popular ruler Jaswant Singh II (1878-95). Nowadays, it is used as a cremation site for the Maharadjas.

Later, I took a stroll through the narrow alleys of the old town with its bustling trading life. It’s not as congested as other cities I’ve been to but still, the odd cow hinders auto-rickshaws, motor-cycles and pedestrians to come by.

 

17 February 2005

I had an early start today due to my bus to Udaipur, which was scheduled to leave Jodhpur at 7:45am (and it did). This time, I wasn’t the only white person on the bus. At least 10 other tourists with European origin came with me. However, they have been quite into themselves and not as open and curious as the Indian travellers.

To reach Udaipur, we had to ascend steep hills (for the ones of you coming from countries with rather flat geological characteristics - you may even call them mountains). I really enjoyed the views from my window. What a difference to the desert!

At one stage of our journey, at least 200 monkeys flanked the road and one passenger had brought bread to feed them. Obviously, this is an ordinary spectacle!

Further down, we saw an accident. A big truck and a car must have crashed, broke through the crash-barrier (which was made of bricks) and slid down the slope for about 100m. The ambulance was at the place of accident, but I don’t think that anyone could have survived. I’m actually not surprised at all. The Indian manner of driving is a trifle dangerous, especially when overtaking.

At the hotel in Udaipur, I asked the receptionist if he would have a single room. He was counting money and answered that he didn’t have a single room. Only a double. I then inquired how much it would cost. “500, ..., 400” was his answer. “OK, I take it for 400Rs!” He thought about it and finally nodded agreement. He denied my question about the pool and I was prepared to leave, but he was only joking.

The room is spacious and the bathroom clean and is even equipped with both towel and toilet paper! Yeah, this is like Christmas!

The garden around the pool is very nice and the pool is freezing...

 

18 February 2005

I wanted to start the day with a visit of the shores of Lake Pichola to view Jag Niwas, the Lake Palace, and Jag Mandir (another palace) which so romantically seem to float in the lake. I headed west from my hotel as indicated on my map and ended up on the hills of the old town with the City Palace in front of me. “Never mind”, I thought, “let’s start with this sight and go to the lake afterwards.”

The City Palace is again a former Maharadja’s home converted into a museum. I have to admit that Udaipur‘s City Palace is nice, but Jodhpur’s Meherangarh Fort is really hard to beat. However, the palace allows great views of the city and the hilly surroundings. From there, one has also great views on Lake Pichola and its “floating” palaces. But, blimey, the lake is dry and the palaces stand in grassland. Apparently, the lake dried out after a few successive years of bad monsoons.

I then made my way to the “Edelweiss” coffee shop and got lost again in the streets of an Indian city. I asked a guy who - instead of answering - asked me back which country would be suffering from my absence. When he heard that I was Austrian, he greeted me with a warm “Servus” and asked me whether I knew Andre Heller. This guy allegedly lives in Vienna and works as a chef in an Indian restaurant close to Westbahnhof. He told me that he started off selling roses; a tough job for which he worked 12 hours a day.

Edelweiss is a tiny but stylish place with only five tables. If you are lucky (I was not), you get one of the two roadside tables in plain sun. I pampered myself with a chocolate cake and a pot of real coffee (no instant stuff). It didn’t take very long until a beautiful young girl joined my company. Her name was Nina and she was Austrian as well but left the country a few years ago and lives in Zurich now. We had a good chat about India and explored the markets and streets of Udaipur in the afternoon.

At 7pm we went to the highest rooftop restaurant in town and watched Ian Flemmings James Bond “Octopussy” with Roger Moore. About half the movie takes place in Udaipur and it was really funny to watch. Filmmakers are impostors! They pretended to get to a palace, but once inside, the setting was filmed at a different location. Also, Bond, James Bond overflew the Taj Mahal and landed in Lake Pichola. But the Taj is at about 800km (as the crow flies) away from Udaipur. It was also funny to see how the filmmakers exploited every stereotype one can have about India!

What a pleasant evening.

 

19 February 2005

Today, I didn’t have a lot on the schedule. I slept until 10am and headed to Jagdish temple first thing in the morning. I didn’t really try to get a lot of information about it, as all this religious stuff is quite confusing for me and I forget it soon after anyway. There was a mass going on and the inside of the temple was crowded.

On my way down (one has to climb up a steep staircase to get in) I was asked for my good country and got an amazed reply from my inquirer: “We go to Graz next week and show our paintings at an exhibition! Come and see! I want you to tell me if Austrians may like it!” Too bad, my brother, but the same thing happened to me yesterday. The other guy had an exhibition in Salzburg. Next time, I pretend that Germany would be my good country and I’m sure there will be plenty of exhibitions in Munich, Berlin, Hamburg, Frankfurt, etc.

I took two cups of black coffee at the Edelweiss. Today I sneaked in right on time to get a sunny spot! However, with regards to female company, fortune was not with!

I also picked up my trousers from the tailor which I ordered yesterday. Nice and comfy and only 300Rs (about 6 Euros). Well, and then I went back to my hotel, splashed sunscreen on my body and dazed off by the pool!

 

20 February 2005

What a dreadful journey! I arrived at the bus station at 8:15am to catch the 8:30am service to Ahmedabad. The guy from the agency told me that I was booked on the day before, but it wasn’t a problem anyway.

I met a nice English couple who were also going to Ahmedabad. From there, they wanted to catch the night bus to Diu, an Island south of the state Gujarat. I actually planned to go to Palitana to see a hill of 1000 temples but changed my mind as I could do this on my way out as well.

The bus left Udaipur one hour late and we arrived in the dull city of Ahmedabad at about 3pm. We headed to a travel agency immediately to book us on a sleeper to Diu (a bus with beds). Unfortunately, they told us that the sleeper was full and that the ordinary night bus is fully booked as well. We should try at another bus station.

The three of us took a rickshaw (which was very, very, very tight) to get us there. Somehow, all roads were closed due to a huge Muslim festival. We had to try 3 bridges until we got there. And luckily, we got 3 seats at the 10:30pm service.

The Muslim festival was in full bloom when we headed off to a restaurant. The revellers had replicas of mosques and were drumming loudly. Everyone was a musician for a day; it just had to be noisy anyway! The English girl was quite afraid of the masses and had the impression that the atmosphere was loaded with violence and danger (I didn’t feel quite like her).

At about 9:30pm we where a group of travellers waiting and they packed us into a sleeper! I was very surprised and overwhelmed as I got a double bed to myself. But just for 10min then they chased us off the bus and we had to wait for our proper service, which finally headed off at 11pm. Good night! (Well, I slept like a baby anyway).

 

21 February 2005

Of course the bus didn’t take us to Diu but only to Una which is about 15km away. Thus we took a taxi to get into town and had breakfast.

The English couple and I went to find a place to stay. They were picky, I can tell you! We saw 5 places until they finally agreed to one place (but the others, I have to admit, really were a bit dreadful). Diu is not accustomed to foreigners, as most visitors come from Gujarat to enjoy the cheap booze! Gujarat is an alcohol dry state whereas in Diu the golden rivers are streaming and where they know no (or at least very little) taxes!

In the afternoon I went to Chakratirth Beach, which was about 15min walk away from our hotel. It was deserted and I was the only one out there. However, it’s not one of the nicest beaches with rocks and seaweed. But the water was quite warm and nice.

At 6pm we were meeting up for cheap beer at the La Bella Vista bar!

 

22 February 2005

I rented a bike this morning to cycle around Diu Island. I guessed that it would only be about 20km and also feasible for someone not very sporty like me.

I started off with the north side which was quite pleasant. There was almost no traffic, but palm trees lining the street, only little and cosy villages and the one and other Portuguese church (Diu used to be Portuguese).

At the west end of the island I went to Gomtimata Beach, where I met a Swiss couple. We spent a few hours at the beach, which was about 500m long and absolutely deserted. It did not have any rocks or seaweed and was really nice!

Cycling back from the beach to Diu town was really hard as I ran out of water and there were no shops on the road. Further, it was really hot and there were no trees on the south side of the island.

I met up with the British couple, the British chap and the Portuguese girl (whom we met on the bus from Ahmedabad) at 6am at La Bella Vista. We got to know an Australian guy from Melbourne. He must have been around 60 years old and considered himself semi retired. He worked half year and travelled half year. He told me that I could consider myself Australian, as I have already been to Melbourne twice. He also gave me the advice to tick “Yes” at the question about a criminal record on the Australian visa application form!

Later, we had BBQ-ed fish at the place next to La Bella Vista (both places, the bar and the BBQ are part of St. Thomas church - yeah, in Diu they know how to use a church). The fish was yummy with heaps of ginger!

 

23 February 2005

Riding on the back of a camel for 3 days is like an ayurvedic butt massage as compared to a day on the bike...

First thing in the morning I went to the local bus stand to inquire about how to get to Palitana and at what times. The bloke from the information desk invited me to a cup of chai. Now, that is nice, I thought (not that I got used to milk and tea and that I like it now, but anyway). He explained me which connection I should take and at what time. After that, he started his proper business. He told me that he didn’t get paid for 4 months already and that his wife currently underwent eye surgery in Mumbai. He then pulled from his drawer a book, in which he kept records of donations. I thanked him for the answers to my questions, gave him 2Rs for the chai and disappeared.

I went to the ruins of Diu fort, which is a massive fort, obviously only built to protect the island and not to house a Maharaja (of course since the fort is Portuguese). The lighthouse within the walls of the fort allowed superb views on the city and beyond.

In the afternoon, I went to Chakratirth Beach (the one close to town) again. I lay down 50m away from a couple. The dog, which followed me two days ago when I returned from the beach, was there as well. He sat down between us. When the couple disappeared, the dog sat behind me. Funnily, another bloke came and lay down his towel and the dog changed his position and sat between the two us! I really felt well guarded!

I was early at La Bela Vista (apologies for my ignorance in my prior entries, but the Portuguese language does not know double letters). The beer garden was infested by cows, who ate the decorating palm trees. Maybe they only open at 6pm I thought and strangely the cows disappeared shortly before 6pm. But the bar didn’t open anyway. The reason was that the Archbishop, who lived in Goa, was in Diu for a visit to confirm the boys and girls. Apparently, this is something special, as the catholic community is rather small and he only comes every 5 to 6 years. We went to church and followed a bit of the mass before we decided to go for a beer somewhere else.

At sunset, we climbed the roof of St Thomas Church (the one with the bar and BBQ). The views from there were even better than the one I had from the lighthouse this morning. Also, with a rising full moon on one side and a setting orange sun on the other, the setting was marvellous!

 

24 February 2005

I boarded a state bus in Diu at 5:10am and arrived in Palitana at 11am after changing twice. The state buses look like transport means for prisoners sentenced to death. They are not the most comfortable ones and very loud. Also, the concept of suspension seems to be unknown to Ashok Leyland (the bus brand) which makes a bus ride enjoyable like a funfair ride. But hey, who wants to be on a rollercoaster for a few hours?

In Palitana, I checked into a cheap hotel to take refuge after my climb (more on this to come later) and to take a shower before taking the night bus to Surat, which turned out to be the best hub for Aurangabad from Palitana. I decided to walk to the foot of Shatrunjaya, as it was only 30mins walk from my hotel. After half the way I thought that it was not the best idea, to walk in the heat of the midday sun and arrive on the foot of the hill already tired. But this was only after the point of no return.

Shatrunjaya is a holy hill with 1,000 temples on the top of it. The hill, said in legend, is a chunk of the mighty Himalayas. To reach the top, one has to defeat about 4,000 stairs. I met a young guy from Mumbai who went there with his family to pray. With his brother ahead of us and his parents back, we had a nice chat about his girlfriend for example. His parents must not know about her and his mother will choose his wife anyway. She would never accept his own choice! But this guy undeniably came from a wealthy family! He also told me that it was a very special day to climb the hill, which only happens once a month. It means even more luck! Man, I am a lucky guy!

On top, the guy went for his prayer (which was supposed to Iast 1.5hr as there are so many gods) and I went to explore the place. I’m not sure whether the number of temples really count up to a 1,000 but there are a lot of them! And they really look fantastic and the view from the hill was amazing as well. Every time I entered a courtyard of temples, another courtyard opened up. This strenuous walk in the torrid midday sun was really rewarding!

Later, I went to a restaurant, where there were no menus and where English was unknown. I just pointed to some dishes of other customers and was promptly served. I had unstuffed fried samosas with a hot potato masala dip and boiled rice with some other masala (but didn’t ask what it really was). This and a small bottle of Mirinda cost me 28Rs (0.60 Euros). Now, that is what I call good cost/ performance ratio!

I had my proper single bed on the night bus. Curtains gave me privacy as well. But the road was rough and bumpy and so I couldn’t sleep anyway.

 

25 February 2005

After we had arrived in Surat at 7am, I headed straight to the state bus stand to catch the 8am service to Aurangabad. It is really easy to move around India, as there is always a means of transport. But sometimes due to lack of options you have to face it and take the state bus... I guess I don’t have to tell you much about a 10hr trip on a prison bus with temperatures around 40 degrees Celsius.

The smog above the city was so dense in the morning that it was impossible to read a traffic sign from any distance of more than 100m!

In front of me sat a young mother with her baby daughter. Every time the baby pissed herself, the mother changed nappies and put the wet ones to dry on the iron rail outside the bus (I don’t know what the rail is for, but I assume it is supposed to hold the vehicle together). Well, I’m sure this makes nice, dry, and dusty little nappies!

About 2 hours before we arrived in Aurangabad, the scenery became quite pleasant with hills and fields of sunflowers, corn, barley and cotton. Women were harvesting in the cotton fields and I could see huge mountains of cotton on the way.

 

26 February 2005

I booked a package tour to Ajanta caves as I couldn’t be bothered by organizing anything myself after yesterday’s bus trip.

The caves have only been discovered in 1819, when the British John Smith was hunting tor tigers in the area. There are 28 manmade caves in a horseshoe-shaped mountain. They date back to the 2nd century BC and have been carved out of the rock. All sculptures and columns are part of the mountain (well, some crumbled and have been rebuilt). They also sport some fine wall paintings, which apparently have partly been done by Hindus! The caves served as Buddhist temples, but have been abandoned in the 6th century for an unknown reason.

My fellow acquaintances from the package tour were a bit of a downturn, as they partly moved as slow as snails, were unable to climb up or down a stair, and didn’t hear that mankind invented antiperspirant already quite a while ago. I guess that’s why I hate going on package tours! Well, there will be one more tomorrow...

 

27 February 2005

First, we went to Dalautabad, the fort of Aurangabad. They have knocked off large parts of a mountain to shape the fort like a cone. It’s a medieval fort with a maze sort of ways to confuse any possible conqueror. To get to the last and high security part of the fort, one had (and still has) to walk a pitch dark labyrinth in the rock. A guide led us the way up using an oil lamp, like in the old days. The labyrinth was infested by bats which were a bit disgusting because you never know what they would let fall down...

After that we went to see Khauldabad, obviously a very holy place for Muslims with the tombs of Aurangzeb (an emperor) and other notable Muslims. Beat me, but I am not religious and it just didn’t do anything to me (and from an architectural viewpoint, it wasn’t thrilling). Especially the Islamic religion seems a trifle strange to me and raises the words intolerance and destruction in my head. So, this was a pretty boring place for me.

The next sight was the Hindu Shri Grishneswar 12^th Jyothirling temple. Apparently, it’s the 12^th of a total of 14 stations a Hindu has to pilgrimage in his life. To get into the inner shrine, all men must take off their shirts and enter bare-breasted. Inside was a group of worshippers touching a brown rock or wooden thing, which depicted a penis and a vagina, the symbols of fertility. These actually stroke me a bit, as sexuality in Hinduism is normally something not openly shown and discussed.

The Ellora Caves, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, were great. They may not sport as many nice paintings as Ajanta does, but the sculptures are just magnificent. The biggest of the 34 temples (which are Buddhist, Hindu and Jain), the Kailash temple, has been excavated top-down and is almost a small village. If you consider that all rooms, temples and sculptures inside are the original rock, one can imagine how much work this must have been.

At the caves, I met the group of puberty-driven adolescent boys again, who I had to photograph in Daulatabad fort already. But instead of asking me about my good country, my good name, etc. they asked me whether I have already fucked an Indian girl. Now, that would be awesome, but it’s a sheer impossible mission. Then they asked me whether I fuck my girlfriend. Jesus, do I look like a monk? Yeah, being a teenager in India must be really hard and it wouldn’t surprise me if a lot of them were secretly gay. I mean, who wants to wait until the age of 23 and then shag a girl your own mother has chosen?

After a 30mins stop at a hand looming factory (well, it was actually only a shop), which quite pissed me off (but our Indian fellow travellers had to buy), we went to see Bibi-ka-Maqbara. This is some sort of miniature copy of the Taj Mahal. It looked quite fine and made me curious about what the Taj has to offer!

In the evening, I rushed to the restaurant “Food Lovers”, where I had already been the day before. Just to be able to use a 40% discount voucher they gave me. But then, they didn’t accept it anyway. They were bullshitting me that the food I have to consume had to cost at least 150Rs, which I can never eat. Pissed off, I went to the bus station to board my one-by-two seater bus, where I had a reservation for a seat on the single seat side. Of course, the bus was a two-by-two seater and my neighbour was, out of a billion Indians, the one and only obese. Good night!

 

28 February 2005

I survived the 12 hours trip to Hyderabad quite well. The bus dropped me at a place from where it was an easy stroll to the Best Western hotel Amrutha Castle, which I chose because of the rooftop pool.

I was warmly welcomed by a knight’s armour in the hotel lobby. After I had checked in and had eyed up the grim looking face of Henry VIII looking from a painting on the wall and observing the room, I headed off to Golconda fort, another medieval shelter from conquerors. At the entrance, there is a point where due to a diamond shaped roof, clapping hands creates an echo which can be heard all over the fort. The special thing about this is that if you stand only two steps aside from the person clapping hands, you cannot hear the echo! Amazing. Well, all the other crumbled rocks look pretty much the same everywhere.

After visiting the tombs of the Qutb Shahi Kings (another place of historic value, but I couldn’t be bothered anymore), I went back to the hotel to enjoy an afternoon by the pool. Unfortunately, the pool was closed between 11am and 4pm. I even made my way to the manager to tell him my opinion about this and how crappy I find the hotel’s guest service, but this didn’t help at all.

I then headed off to Charminar, or Four Towers, which I climbed. I had quite a good view from there on Mecca Masjid, the 6^th largest mosque in India. I also visited the Charkaman, or Four Arches. Well, all nice... But the temperatures must have been hitting the 40s today and I fucking wanted to splash out by the pool! Which I did afterwards.

Because the best Western hotel Amrutha Castle has such a crappy service, I will check out tomorrow morning and head further to Bidar instead of staying for two or three nights in Hyderabad.

Oh yeah, Hyderabad is India’s hi-tech centre and obviously quite rich. It’s extremely green and for Indian standards really clean. It has the least 3^rd world feel of all places I’ve been to so far! Come here for a visit, but do never stay in Amrutha Castle!

 

1 March 2005

The Indians are a funny people after all! I read the newspaper “India Today” during breakfast this morning and what caught my eye was a “Before & After” statement about abolishing surcharge taxes on tea. The statement was depicted with a photo of a teenage Michael Jackson and today’s Jacko!

I learned that the Indian government has slashed income and surcharge taxes. However, the tax system does largely favour wealthy people. I find it a trifle inappropriate to have a 5% surcharge tax on ozonized (ie purified) drinking water. Clean drinking water is no luxury, but a human right in my opinion. The outrageous thing is that India has only a 2% surcharge tax on gold and jewellery, which solely serves the rich buggers to decorate themselves like Christmas trees!

India considers herself as being on the brinks to an economic power. I am very sceptic about that. A country, which does not know highways, but only narrow interconnecting roads, which are mainly in very bad condition, which has huge problems with the supply of drinking water, and where everyone considers any place outside a building a public toilet and a garbage dumb is far away from that heaven. Further, the increasing gap between rich and poor may cause future social problems with possible uprisings of the less favoured. And last, not least, being a power in just one area (the software engineering) is probably not a sufficient basis for becoming an economic power. But maybe I’m wrong and the hype about India will become a self-fulfilling prophecy!

The 4.5hrs bus ride on a state bus to Bidar was quite OK today. The bus was from the state of Karnataka (that’s where Bidar is located) and they seem to have much nicer buses! Further, I had two seats for the whole journey!

Leaving Hyderabad brought back an obvious picture of the 3^rd world. Slums with ramshackle huts made of clay, corrugated iron or palm tree mats were lined along the road on the outskirts of the city.

Arriving in Bidar is like travelling back in time. Except for the main roads, unpaved roads cross this sleepy town. It has less traffic than other cities and the people are extremely helpful! The hotel receptionist even took me to a private bus company to inquire about a connection to Hospet, my next stop after Bidar. However, there are no direct connections on private buses. Even with the state bus, I will have to change once. Well, I guess I’ll have a fun night again tomorrow!

 

2 March 2005

The ruins of Bidar fort are picturesquely laid out on wide plains and thus benefit from a romantic atmosphere. I explored the rooms and corridors of the palace and totally lost my way. Although, all parts of the palace are roof-less and I was able to see where I was, it was hard to find the way back as many staircases were blocked by fallen bricks and gravel or were just missing. Eventually, I came to a well preserved chamber which had many very explicit graffiti on the wall. The wall had holes at places where the vaginas of some of the naked girls with big boobs graffiti would be. I was wondering what these holes have already been used for. Whether they would generate a genuine sensation, I don’t know. After a stroll around the grassland, which is bordered by the fort’s walls, I went to Mahmud Gawan’s Madrasa, which has burnt down in 1969 after being struck by lightning. Glimpses of coloured tiles still reveal how splendid this Persian-style building must have looked like.

My last sightseeing point in Bidar was the Bahmani tombs. But these are only deceasing mausoleums comparable to those of Hyderabad.

I am sure that I am the only white person in town at the moment and that Bidar doesn’t see a lot of Westerners at all. People watch me as if I were an alien. A young boy even anxiously moved back a step when I approached him. But when he finally shook my hand he was really proud of himself! Communicating to townsfolk, who generally don’t speak English, is also fun!

I was quite lucky with the first part of my bus journey to Gulbarga, where I had to change for Hospet. Until today, I was totally unaware of the fact that State Transport Corporations run something like luxury buses as well. Imagine a worn out European bus from the 80s and you know what you get when you’re travelling in luxury!

In Gulbarga I inquired 3 times about the departure time to Hospet and got three equal answers: 9:30pm. Since I still had plenty of time, I asked some private bus companies if they would offer direct services to Hospet. Nil.

At 8:15pm I asked an officer about which bay the bus to Hospet would depart. He just indicated the direction with his right hand accompanied with the words: “That’s the bus.” And here we go. What I saw was an old, shabby, dented, yellow thing. It was already packed with passengers and I hurried to get in. The bus left at 8:30pm sharp. I don’t know what happened to the one hour which was still missing to the “official” departure time, but I was on the bus and the rest didn’t matter.

I only got a seat on the last bench, which is designed to accommodate 6 passengers. We were 7 plus a little boy. But he didn’t really count as he immediately fell asleep on my lap.

At the first stop after about one hour, most of the people went off the bus and I had a two-seater bench to myself. However, the road was so bumpy that my spine almost collapsed and provoked multiple herniated discs at one time...

If you’d asked whether I had seen hell, I would answer “Yes”!

 

3 March 2005

The bus arrived in Hospet at 4:20am. I was stranded. The hotel, where I wanted to check-in was full and so I went to another lodge, which was supposed to be very good value, according to “Rough Guide”. Well, the room was worn-out, and whether it was clean, I couldn’t say. The bathroom had no light and that was probably a good thing. The shower I wanted to take before going to bed was cold, as the hotel only provided hot water between 6am and 9am. Further, the bathroom only had bucket showers (fill your own bucket and pour it over your body).

Finally, I went to bed at 5am and slept until 9am. I took a bus to Hampi, where I actually really wanted to go (but I arrived too early to get there and now I couldn’t be bothered by the hassles of moving again). Hampi undeniably used to be a place of importance. It is the place where the Vijayanagar Empire (from the first half of the 14th century to the second half of the 16th century) had its capital.

The remains, temples, palaces and elephant stables are spread out over 26km2, embedded between palm trees, banana plantations, and bizarre rock formations. Although, this is a touristy place, it is quite relaxed and I didn’t get hassled by touts and other locals who wanted to be my guides (well, with a few exceptions).

I had a very good walk around the area, mainly because of the shitty map of my guidebook. I somehow missed a turnoff and consequently walked the wrong way. However, the scenery was splendid and there were no tourists. Just the occasional farmer, who I asked for directions. The path eventually took me to where I wanted to go anyway.

After having walked for 5hrs without any break, I sat down in a restaurant and had “lunner”. (Yeah, I created my own English word! It is something between lunch and dinner, later than lunch but before dinner time. And it's not tea!)

The walk wore me out and I was wasted and didn’t want to wait until sunset to climb a mountain for the views. I took the bus back to my lodge where I had another bucket shower.

The hotel guys must have been able to read my thoughts...The doorbell rung and a guy came to fix the light and to clean my bathroom!

 

4 March 2005

I climbed the Hemakuta Hill this morning and I discovered new sights and great views of Hampi Bazaar. On my way to the Krishna Temple and Narashima Ganeshna (that’s basically a huge monolithic Ganesh statue), I met an Israeli with whom I wandered around for a few hours. Together, we even found the right path back to Hampi Bazaar!

He told me about a place, called the Monkey Temple, on the other side of the river. This was obviously still a secret place, because my guidebook didn’t know about it. We went over to the other side on some sort of basket (braided palm tree leaves). The water came in from the bottom, but we made it! The Israeli guy went back to his guest house (which was located on this side of the river) and I took a rickshaw to the temple. It was a 20min walk up some stairs and the monkeys came to say hello. Well, I had them all over me. They wanted to grab my glasses, steal my bottle of water, open my daypack, etc. They are very smart creatures I have to say! The day before, when I had “lunner” (I told you), a monkey nicked a pack of fruit juice from a shop and drunk it on top of a tree! The views from the hill (actually, the temple was not spectacular) were amazing and really worth the effort (some people even walked to the place instead of taking a rickshaw).

On my way back, I met a German girl on the basket-boat. She was from Leipzig and worked at last year’s Wave-Gothic-Meeting in the “Moritz Bastei”. Since I was there as well, we really had to chat about things. We had dinner (well, she had, and I had beer) and shared our Indian experiences.

I had to wait an hour for the bus, which was supposed to leave every half hour back to Hospet. But that’s just how India works. No complaints. I had to use that night for another bus ride. But this time, I went on a private bus with proper seats!

 

5 March 2005

Somehow, I attract the fat people being my neighbours on long overnight bus journeys! Tonight, my travelling acquaintance used the space of one and a half seats and with his left elbow he kicked my head and gave me a bloody nose.

We passed clean suburbs with posh mansions when we got to Bangalore. The next thing I saw was an area of slums. We arrived at 7am at the bus station and I was on the connecting bus to Mysore at 7:05am.

The region between Bangalore and Mysore is hilly and utterly romantic with rice fields and palm trees.

Every time I think that I've already seen the best thing, something better comes up! And this is absolutely sure for the Mysore city palace. OK, it could also be the Bel Air home of a rich American weirdo, but this is no replica, it is genuine! The palace has only been completed in 1912 after the old one burnt down in 1897.

To get into the palace, one has to remove his/her shoes and leave the camera at the cloakroom. I thought that I could be sneaky and put my camera into my daypack. But gotcha! They have metal detectors and I had to walk back to the cloakroom, bare-footed on very hot tarmac.

The building looks like a fairytale castle and is splendidly equipped with a mix of Indian and European decorations and gadgets. The only flaw I saw was a very dodgy power supply for the ceiling light. Black and red coated twisted cable....This has for sure been fitted after the Maharadjas had moved out. For some reason, all Indians have to touch everything, which for sure doesn’t do any good to this precious heritage.

After this experience, which was almost like an eye-treatment, I went for late lunch at some American-looking fast-food pizza place. The pizza was pricey but really OK and they had western music. They didn’t have the newest chart breakers on (a bit of Enrique Iglesias), but at least my ears stayed clear of the Indian cock-a-doodle-doo.

 

6 March 2005

It was overcast for most of the day, which gave the air a pleasant coolness. I had to kill the whole day until midnight (for my bus to Kochi) and so the weather came in quite handy.

I promenaded on Ashoka Road and on Sayaji Rao Road to inhale the faded grandeur of the city (according to my guidebook). I did find the “faded” part, but the “grandeur” must have been hidden very well. This was true at least for Ashok Road, as Sayaji Rao Road proofed the guidebook true. While exploring the city’s streets, an ad caught my eye: A huge picture of a lady dressed in gothic with a rifle and to her right the slogan “Fine men surrender to black”. Now, that is what I call a nice ad for Cognac!

The former road is also the main entry point to Devaraja Market, where I bought fragranced smoking sticks, one of them being sandalwood (just for the sake of having a bit of sandalwood from the world’s capital of sandalwood Mysore). What caught my eye was the German imprint on the sticks’ packages. But the marketer assured me this was just because of the sticks’ export quality. What the hell, they only cost 0.40 Euro per 20 pieces anyway.

Later, I took the bus to Chamundi Hill, one of the 8 most sacred hills of India (Shatrunjaya in Palitana is another one; refer to 24 Feb). I had some sort of déjà vu, but couldn’t be bothered by entering into the temple (as they all look the same and it deemed me that this was the reason for my déjà vu). Instead, I went to the Godly Museum, where I learnt that the world drama repeats itself identically every 5,000 years. Aha, the reason for my déjà vu must have been that I was on the hill already 5,000 years ago. But I somehow doubt that I came up by bus...

Back in the city, I visited the contemporary art gallery of Jaganmohan Palace. Most of the exhibits date back to the 1930s. On the third floor, which is dedicated to music, they even had sheet music of Richard Wagner.

When I went to the cinema at 6:30pm to buy my ticket for the 7:30pm show, the queue at the ticket counter was massive. However, it only took me 10min to get my ticket. Security controlled that nobody pushes to the front of the line. But the queuing people would have killed that person anyway. By 7pmn the cinema was sold out.

The film was a musicalesque drama with lots of colourful pictures, beautiful women and a narrow plotline. Daughter lives with her parents in Montreal; pregnant sister, who is married to a rich Indian businessman comes to Canada to deliver her twins; sister dies during delivery; daughter has to marry her brother-in-law and to give up her secret boyfriend, who is a rock star; couple goes back to Delhi; years later, rock star comes to Delhi to give a concert; secret relationship starts again; everything comes up; husband let’s his wife decide; wife decides to stay with husband for the sake of the kids. Well, I guess, that is what the Indians call a happy end.

The audience was screaming, whistling, clapping hands, smoking, talking, and calling friends on the phone. This was an exciting experience!

 

7 March 2005

The A/C bus Kochi tonight was really cool! I had two seats to myself and the A/C was set to about freezing temperature. Thus, they had to supply all travellers with blankets. Very intelligent, indeed!

Kochi is actually the twin city of modern Ernakulam and old Fort Cochin (Portuguese). I checked into a cheap guesthouse in Fort Cochin and went off for my sightseeing tour after I had a good shower. First, I visited the Chinese fishing nets that line the northern shore of the peninsula (well, I’m actually not sure whether Fort Cochin is an island or a peninsular, but I took the ferry from Ernakulam which means that there is some water around it). Then I paraded through town, passing St Francis Church and other not so flamboyant buildings until I finally reached Mattancherry Palace. Honestly, it is nothing compared to Mysore Palace or any other palace I’ve seen in India so far. The museum inside was full of paintings...

Although the buildings may not have been as fantastic as at other places, this town had a good vibe.

The Jewish synagogue was closed and only opened at 3pm, but I didn’t want to wait for an hour (although I had a pineapple lassi in a cafe to kill the time first). Instead, I went back to the Chinese fishing nets and bought some tiger prawns which have been put on the BBQ with loads of garlic by some beach restaurant. Yummy! Alcohol obviously is not allowed in Kochi, as they served my beer discretely in a tea cup and I had to hide the bottle below the table.

Fort Cochin would be a magnificent place with lots of atmosphere if there was no pollution. All sea inlets and creeks were foul and stank as all sewage flew into them. A sewage plant and heaps efforts in educating people about garbage treatment (avoidance and collection) would do marvellous results to this place!

 

8 March 2005

I went on a backwaters cruise today. The backwaters are basically a lake, which opens up to the sea. In the morning, we went on a traditional houseboat (kettu valam) to a spice village, where heaps of different trees and plants were shown and explained to us (nutmeg, jackfruit, cardamom, cashew nuts, cloves, pepper, cacao, India rubber, etc.). I was amazed by the diversity of plants which grew here!

We had lunch at the boat and swapped to small canoes to go down narrow, overgrown canals. The tropical vegetation was really fantastic! However, we did make a lot of stops to visit villages, where people had their goods on offer. I had expected more cruising and less business...

However, it was a very pleasant day and I met funny people from Australia, The Netherlands, Portugal, and Germany.

Oh yeah, and did I mention that we have about 35 degrees Celsius? But never mind, it’s also very humid which means that I start sweating the moment I leave my room!

 

9 March 2005

I had an early start this morning and left my hotel at 7am to get a bus to Varkala, about 130km south of Kochi. After changing buses twice, having not-the faintest idea about where to hop onto the connecting bus once and a 15min haggle about the price for a rickshaw ride to my final destination which saved me 0.20 Euros, I arrived at Bamboo Village resort at 1pm.

The village was great; it was on top of red cliffs falling steep down to the sea. A golden beach below the cliffs provided access to the warm and shallow Arabian Sea. The restaurants all faced the sea and were built from bamboo. Well, this was not the real village of course, but a tourist village. The only downturn again was the garbage, as the Indians litter the area without qualms. I really think that they would be much better off employing a Westerner to train them in waste management.

Unfortunately, Varkala obviously did not attract the crowd I was expecting, but rather couples between 25 and 65 years old, girls who didn’t shave their armpits, and package tourists (a couple taking a photo of an Indian woman preparing chai at the beach must be on a package tour!) The only two foreign nationalities here seemed to be British and German... (and one lone Austrian). But I have to admit that I liked it anyway as this was only my preparatory step before getting to Goa. My skin needed to adjust for sun baking and I needed some rest from the dreadful bus rides of the last 4.5 weeks! On Sunday, I will take a 20hrs train up to Goa to a very dodgy place which is 1,100km further up north from here and is feared for its clamorous mob and loud rave parties.

I had steamed fish filet spiced with coconut cream and wrapped in banana leaves for dinner. This was a real feast! Apart from a few exceptions, I found the Indian food not very inspiring so far. I was already wondering how people could rave about the food. Most of the times, it was either bland (obviously spiced for the western tourist) or so hot that my taste buds denied passing on any information about other spices than chilli to my brains. But today proved different! Maybe the chefs from the state of Kerala really know how to cook!

 

10 March 2005

I was busy studying the people at the beach today. What I realized was that female sunbathers here fell roughly into two categories. The one being the average, red skinned, sunburnt, blond-dyed British girl carrying a bit too much weight on her hips. The other, and that is by far the biggest group, are the women who startlingly resemble my grandmother in her 50s. Lovely perms, great swimsuit, and sexy silhouette. But hey, this is how my grandma looked like in the 1970s and not in bloody 2000s!

The male beachgoers also fall into two main categories. There are those who proudly sport their huge grown moustache (not to confuse with an Adolf Hitler moustache). But since about 80% of Indian men carry such moustaches, the aforementioned group may only try to adapt themselves to local habits. The second group, which is by far the biggest, are the Guildo Horn look-alikes. For all of you, who don’t know Guildo Horn: He is a popular German singer, who is lordly equipped with a big, hairy belly (and loves to show it), sports hockey hair (well, actually he is bold but grows the 5 remaining hair on his back head), and who sings about his mother’s nut cakes!

Oh, and not to forget the guy in his mid-fifties, wearing a g-string thong, publicly exhibiting his sagging butt. Disgraceful! But he is definitely not worth opening a third category...

In the late afternoon, I was praising myself for being brave enough to receive an Ayurvedic massage. But when it started, I hated myself for being stupid enough for not performing a research on what it really was.

My kneader was a massager and not a masseuse. I had to strip off totally and to remove glasses, necklace, and watch. He then oiled me up from head (including hair) to toes. Not a single part of my body was spared (well, except for my very private parts - I would have killed him). He started his treatment with is rough hands, which felt like sandpaper on my partly sunburnt skin. No, I really didn’t enjoy it. And I really look forward to getting an erotic body massage with tantric massage oil from my girlfriend (with her soft hands) back home!

 

11 March 2005

I realized at the beach today that there was more than just one g-string wearing man being almost in their retiring age. One obviously thinks that he is the reincarnation of Robinson Crusoe. He wore a string around his waist with a worn out, brown cloth threaded between his legs. These men grow their hair down to their bottoms (and I am not only talking about the hair on their head but also about the hair on their backs).

However, these men are surrounded by women and I have to admit that some of them - despite their age - look really good! You probably know already from which country they are! It’s Italy, the country with the finest women and the most disgusting men!

 

12 March 2005

I stayed away from the beach today as I got a bit sunburnt yesterday and I didn’t want to ruin my hopefully good time I will have in Goa before I even go there. I just hung out at the cliff, had a couple of drinks at the restaurants, and read my book.

It’s a bit sad, but this is what travelling is about: meeting people and leaving them again when moving on. I bumped into the lovely Dutch girl and the cool Australian bloke, who were with me on the Backwaters cruise in Kochi. They both arrived yesterday evening. I also made the connaissance of a young Danish girl in the cybercafé.

A punch of about 10 people met up tonight for cheap cocktails and beers at the Funky Art Cafe. We kept the place open for a long time. Everyone else had already returned to their rooms and other restaurants closed much earlier. But tonight, the Funky Art Cafe heard a lot of “One more beer please!”

 

13 March 2005

Hangover, la gueule de bois, Katerstimmung. It was an easy morning, as my body was still sheltered “à l'abri de l'ivresse”. I wasn’t sure when the hangover would kick in, but the day started smooth with myself sliding through time.

On the train, I met a German girl, who just finished off her last week in India. She had studied in Mumbai for almost a year and went travelling at the end of her stay. Her experiences and views on the people and the country were very interesting, as she had insights a traveller would probably never get. Having her as a travel companion made the time rush.

We went to sleep at 9pm. She left the train before sunrise, about an hour before I got off.

 

14 March 2005

I took a shower and a short nap in my new guesthouse in Vagator before I headed to Big Vagator beach. It was not as scenic as the one in Varkala but the sea was more refreshing. Vagator was missing some charm, but hey, I came for the parties!

The beach was besieged by busloads of Indian tourists. Having no sense for privacy, it didn’t surprise me that every now and then some Indian blokes just sat down beside me and started one of the typical dull and tiring conversations: “What’s your name? Where are you from? Is there a difference between Austria and Australia?” I tried to be as impolite as possible and answered the questions as short as possible without moving my eyes from my book.

Well, and the parties? Goa is far away from being an Ibiza or Gran Canaria. They only have a few music clubs, which close at midnight. However, only one of them is open, as one has been closed by police for being too loud and others were closed due to yesterday’s elections. They won't reopen until the result will be official, probably on Wednesday.

 

15 March 2005

I walked to Chapora Fort this morning, which was only a 10min promenade from my guesthouse. Chapora and Vagator are twin-villages without any visible borders. There was not much left from the 17th century lateritic bastion except for the ramparts. However, the view from the ramparts on the beaches was splendid. I have to admit that I thought the view from up the fort would be much better than what you actually get when you’re on the beach...

Later, I went to Middle Vagator beach. Accessing this beach, I passed by a number of bamboo huts on poles. These must be long term accommodations for the hippies, who work half a year in Switzerland and blow their money in Goa smoking chillum (ie Indian spliff) for the rest of the year.

The beach’s location is undeniably very scenic, in a small bay and surrounded by coconut trees. I was pleasantly surprised as this proofed my thought from up the fort wrong.

Almost all sunbathers used a sun bed except for Keith Richards. Yeah, believe me or not, the Rolling Stone’s guitar man frequented this beach as well! He permanently had a spliff between his lips and flaunted himself in his sexy Robinson Crusoe bathers (with g-string on the back). Maybe, he was not really Keith...

Goa obviously really is the place where the hippies came in the 60s and stayed until today. And they also brought their kids and grandchildren!

I met a French couple with whom I spent a few hours talking. Gee, I realized that my French language skill still had a lot of opportunities to improve!

 

16 March 2005

At about 11:30pm (yes, this was shortly before 16 March) I went to the Primrose Cafe, the only club in Vagator, which was still open. Before I got to the cafe, I passed a shop selling club wear which glows in the dark. The sort of things you can buy at London’s Camden Markets. Surprisingly, the road in front of the shop was frequented by not so raving dread locked brothers and sisters of Jimmy Hendrix. If I would be the shop owner, I would shoo them away, as they are definitely not contributing to the sales.

The Primrose Cafe is a not so thrilling place with an open air garden and an indoor dance floor. One can see that the proprietors did not really push things for their patrons. However, if there would have been a good party, I wouldn’t have cared so much. But there was no party. Well, the music was on, but the indoor dance floor was totally deserted and only about 20 to 25 people occupied the beer garden.

Some of the patrons obviously made an effort to dress up. They wore quite out-fashioned pants with a 100 zippers and shoes with 20cm soles. I don’t really remember, but this was en vogue in the mid-nineties for about a week until everyone realized how crappy these tatters look. But this is Goa. The rest of the patrons were some wanting-to-look-young remains of the heydays of the 60s.

Considering my impressions from the beach last afternoon and what I saw at the “party”, the only thing I can say about Goa is that it is a very sad reminiscence of the 60s and the 90s when this was the place to be. Today, I would almost say that going on holidays to Mallorca (El Arenal) is much less awkward than admitting to having visited Goa.

I saw Keith Richards at the beach again. I assume that he has constantly been smoking shit since 1968 and didn’t realize that the world had turned and that we have the year 2005 now. He undeniably lives in a different world.

A German guy who has already been to Goa last year confessed that a year ago, he went out until sunrise every day. But all beach parties were cancelled this year.

I spent the afternoon with the French couple and we had dinner together. My French still doesn’t improve and I never get any of the girl’s jokes...

 

17 March 2005

The French couple took me on their motorbike (it was big enough for the three of us) to Mapusa this morning from where it was a bit easier to get to Old Goa. In Mapusa, I realized that I had forgotten my camera in the hotel deposit box. Well, I guess hanging around without having a lot to think about doesn’t exactly constitute training for my brains. Consequently, I bought a disposable camera for the day.

The first thing I did after my arrival in Old Goa was getting to the train station to book my trains from Mumbai to Varanasi to Agra to Delhi. I had to queue 2hrs 15min until it was my turn. Due to the upcoming Easter Holidays (don’t ask me why they celebrate Easter in India when there is only a tiny minority of Christians), almost all trains were fully booked. The clerk behind the counter tried 3 connections and gave up after that (this took him 10min). I was surprised that a hi-tech country like India had such a slow and outdated train reservation system. It was not possible to see all connections with available seats. Thus, the clerk had to open the reservation screen and enter each connection to see availabilities for exactly the chosen connection. Indrail must have bought the reservation system from Austrian Rail...

He told me to go to another train station about 30km apart and book a tourist quota (I have no clue what this was and I didn’t give a damn fucking shit after a waiting time of 2.5hrs). I made it very clear that I am not accepting his recommendation which resulted in him handing me over a timetable to look up for connections myself. This was when I really got angry. I did tell him how bad his service was and that his behaviour towards clients would be absolutely inacceptable for a company like Indrail. When I was swearing, I also used the f-word, which is absolutely off-limits in India. However, he did not shoo me away, but after the subsequent 15min regular (no worries, he didn’t take a break because of me) lunch break, he helped me and a quarter hour later I left the station with all my tickets. The graffiti on the station walls weeping about the “very, very, very slow service” and that the clerks are a “very lazy staff” was true.

To get back to the centre which was about 2km away from the station, I wanted to take a rickshaw. I was not in the mood of haggling and fixed a price of 20Rs, but the drivers wanted to have 50Rs and didn’t get any lower. Thus, I decided to walk as I was not one of the stupid tourists who let himself rip-off. I have to admit that the rickshaw drivers at the station were as lazy and dumb as the ticket reservation clerks. They prefer to hang around, wait for hours (there was no train arrival scheduled for the next few hours) and do nothing instead of making 20Rs which was still more than an Indian would pay for the trip.

However, my day brightened up from this moment. I only walked a few steps when a bloke on a motorbike stopped and gave me a lift. Free of charge.

Old Goa used to be the capital of Goa but had to be abandoned because of malaria and cholera epidemics. Today, it's a UNESCO World Heritage site. It is the cleanest place I have seen since my arrival in India (they even have trash cans) and it shows the Portuguese splendour of the colonisation times. In addition to the town’s beauty, it also has a peculiarity to offer: the remains of St Francis Xavier (whoever this was) in a metal coffin with a glass display!

 

19 March 2005

The German guy with whom I usually have a few beers at the beach had to swallow antibiotics today. He burnt his leg on his motorbike’s exhaust pipe and the burn didn’t get better at all yet. But he was happily drinking beers for breakfast anyway (I want to note that I had a chocolate shake)!

Paris Hilton’s mother with her blond dyed hair and her dreadlocked hair extensions falling right down to her knees told some Indian men to fuck off when they tried to take a picture of her topless. From the back, she was quite an eye-catcher, but her tits showed her real age which must have been around 50.

It’s almost a celebration when busloads of Indian male tourists sprawl to Middle Vagator beach (they leave their wives at Big Vagator beach) to watch the whites and take pictures of them. Obviously, they prefer getting topless Europeans in front of their lenses probably to have some decent artwork for jacking off.

I also saved an Austrian girl, who just arrived the day before, from a huge betise which was to buy a 50Rs quality Sarong for 75Rs. I’m quite good at bargaining and haggling already, but you can imagine that the vendor swore at me and cursed that my return plane shall crash!

 

20 March 2005

This morning the French chap took me to the train station on his motorbike. It was fun sitting on the back with my big back-pack on (he carried my small back-pack on his chest). The 35min ride was a bit exhausting, as I had to manage my balance point especially when we drove uphill.

On the train, I climbed up my berth, listened to my mp3-player, read, and watched the guy who tried to put a parcel under the lower seat. It was obvious that it would never fit underneath it but he kicked it anyway. After a minute or so, I recommended flipping it onto the side, which was much narrower. And surprise, it fit! Well, this is no peculiarity. After all, we are in India, where such things happen all the time.

15min before arrival, I started to chat with a young Indian couple from Mumbai who returned from their holidays in Goa. They told me that they get ripped-off by Indians as well! I was somehow relieved that they don’t think that only Westerners are boneheaded...

With only 5min delay, the train pulled into Victoria Station. When I got out of the train station, warm air (comparable to lovely summer nights in Europe) welcomed me and I felt quite good about Mumbai.

I checked into a hotel just across the street. The cheapest room cost 700Rs, about 2.5 times the average I paid so far. When I saw the room, I was quite surprised: it had a shared toilet and a shared bucket shower. The room was as long as the bed and wide enough to be able to open the door. But my cabin had A/C and TV!

 

 

21 March 2005

I felt in love with her immediately. She is voluptuous and raucous, but sedate and lean at the same time: Mumbai. The 16 million people metropolis (more than 100 million when embracing the larger Mumbai area) with a perverse gap between wealth and poverty is disrupting. Most travellers I met on my trip hated this city and recommended to move on as fast as possible.

I left the hotel at 7:30am and the streets were still empty, the frenzy not yet awake. Mumbai comes to life between 9am and 10am. I explored the districts of Fort, Churchgate, and Colaba on foot. I strolled between great Victorian buildings, leafy gardens and well-kept parks. Downtown Mumbai is reasonably clean and provides enough public toilets so that nobody has to pee on walls or trees. Cows and auto rickshaws are not allowed in this area. Occasionally, homeless people were still asleep on the sidewalks. Many women were dressed in western clothes.

The city grid is easy to understand and thus even I didn’t get lost. Glimpses of Mumbai even reminded me on my all favourite city of Sydney! When I passed a Starbucks-like coffee shop, I indulged myself with a hot chocolate extravaganza cake and two massive mugs of excellent coffee. I really felt like in heaven!

Further, all local people who I talked to where very friendly and chatted with me without ever wanting to sell me anything!

In the afternoon, I boarded my train to Varanasi. I was sad having to leave this megalopolis so early.

 

22 March 2005

With a 3 hours delay, we arrived in Varanasi at 10:10pm. We accumulated two thirds of our delay after Allahabad (ie we only had one hour delay after 1,500km), which is located only 150km south-west of Varanasi. Allah may be great, but he definitely doesn’t give a shit on train schedules. The 34hr trip wasn’t too bad after all, as I was booked on the most expensive class (2AC) with beds, bed sheets, A/C, and only a few people.

Varanasi is the holiest city in India attracting hundred thousands of people coming here each year to die. It is said that a better place in your next life is guaranteed if you die here. From all the things I heard about Varanasi, it must be a really crazy place.

People were sleeping on the platforms and in the station hall. Now, this is nothing special, but the crowd was so big that people even slept on the tarmac in front of the station.

 

23 March 2005

I left the guesthouse at 5:30am in order to catch a boat at sunrise. I shared the boat with two Spanish girls (and the oarsman of course) and we excitedly looked people bathing, swimming, washing clothes and drinking the water of the holiest of all rivers, the Ganges. They lathered themselves, filled up bottles with water and prayed while sitting in the water. A few meters further apart, at cremation points, deceased people are burned and their ashes scattered into the river. It is a real spectacle to see life by the Ganges! It’s strange that people drink water where you wouldn’t even want to bathe a toe! I guess it's not so much the dead bodies, but industrial waste which causes problems. But after all, the people I saw looked pretty healthy! Maybe there is something true about this water...

The rest of Varanasi is not very spectacular. It is a very busy, noisy, smelly typical Indian city with an over-average hustle and bustle. The 10min bicycle-rickshaw ride to the bus station was quite exciting, as we almost run over a cyclist who cut our way, we bumped into an auto-rickshaw and another bicycle-rickshaw crashed into us. Nothing serious happened though.

I took the bus to Sarnath, where Siddhartha Gautama (known as Buddha for the untaught) gave his first sermon, to visit some temple remains. This has been a pretty dull excursion, as there is nothing much left of the temples (actually, only a few bricks) and it bored me.

 

24 March 2005

After quiet Kerala and Goa and the organized chaos in Mumbai, Varanasi’s street frenzy is almost insupportable. But after a while, I got used to it and didn’t care about the motorbikes, rickshaws, and bicycles which almost bump into me anymore. And although the walking pace of Indian people is even slower than the one of Europeans, I managed to get through the crowds. I walked down the Ghats (the steps at Ganges, where people bathe and wash and swim and shave...) on a main and extremely active shopping street.

The Ghats themselves were a bit quieter than in the early morning. However, there were still plenty of interesting things to see. I got asked whether I wanted to get shaved (twice by the same guy). Well, I may look a bit scruffy but hey, these are my holidays!

The trick, where a guy comes up to you, shakes your hand and says that this was a hand massage which costs you 10Rs, I know already from an Australian guy whom I met last year in Nepal. I looked at the guy's hand and said that I was travelling in India since months already and that he has to come up with something new to impress me. He just said “ahhh” and wandered off.

Varanasi is known as the city of lights and has been founded by Shiva. I ignore why the city of lights but I assume this has something to do with the founder. It is also one of the oldest living cities, as it has been founded in the 6th century BC and been populated ever since.

 

25 March 2005

I met a Canadian couple (they didn’t show me their passports and I can’t be sure about their nationality as all US Americans in India pretend to be Canadians, because they are obviously embarrassed about their government) on the train last night. First, I thought that they may be siblings or just good mates as she looked glamorous, like a princess and he was a real dork. She had her nails polished, had lipstick on and was wearing expensive jewellery. She told me about her sister, who supposedly is glamorous. She said that her sister wouldn’t survive such a trip because she needs everything sterilized. Well, that remembered me of my ex-girlfriend Niki, who thinks that it isn't clean if it doesn't smell like chlorine. He, whom she called “honey”, only spoke boring stuff about computers, mainframes, and software.

I couldn’t believe my ears when she told me that she was born in Croatia and moved to Canada at the age of 3. This was 38 years ago. I was really shocked as she looked like 30! This must be the Canadian climate or Croatian genes. It’s clear for me now where I will head to next after India!

They only made a very short break in Agra to see the Taj Mahal and wanted to move on to Jaipur on the same day’s night train. Bummer that the Taj is closed on Fridays. I guess they have found out by now...

I went on the other side of the Yamunda River to view the Taj from the back. It's obviously the only place from where you can see the whole building. It appeared on the sky when we drove to the viewing point. It is majestic! Even through the dense smog, it looks stunning! I got a few good shots with the Taj and its mirror image in the river.

After that we went to the tomb Itmad-ud-Daulah. It’s beautiful and has splendid white inlaid marble. It’s also called the Baby Taj although it doesn’t look anything like the original.

I didn't get into the huge Agra Fort, as most parts are closed to public and the rest probably looks pretty much like the 100 other forts I have seen already.

And from 11am to 5pm I hung out by the pool! Relaxing!

 

26 March 2005

I watched “Fashion TV” last night before I went to bed. They had a feature on beachwear. It provoked sweet dreams, very sweet dreams indeed.

At 6am I entered the main gate of the Taj Mahal; I crossed a yard and went through another gate and there it stood.

It is grand. It is majestic. It is perfect I was overwhelmed by the beauty of this human masterpiece. I had goose bumps (well, it was a bit chilly after all at 6 o’clock). It makes people look like ants. Yesterday’s rickshaw driver was wrong when he said that the backside is the best to view the Taj. There are no words which can describe the grandeur of this monument.

It has been built between 1632 and 1653 by Shah Jahan. It is said that he built it for his favourite wife Mumtaz Mahal, who died shortly after giving birth to her 14^th child in 1631. It is meant to be a symbol of eternal love. More critical voices affirm that it is expression of the emperor’s megalomania and unbridled vanity.

Shah Jahan wasn’t a very good being for he murdered his brothers in order to take full power of the country. But back then this may has been a wise decision which may have saved the empire from falling apart. He died imprisoned by his own son after he took a massive overdose of opium and aphrodisiacs at the age of 74.

It is the Colour Festival today. It is a holy day but I couldn't make out any festivities. It’s just kids shooting loads of colours from their water pistols at people. I hid by the pool and luckily remained clean (actually, not getting painted means bad luck, but I am not superstitious anyway). A group of German pupils were brave enough to get out of the hotel. They came back in pink, yellow and green colours. Green proved to be most resistant when they tried to wash the colours off at the pool shower.