Tuesday 21 August 2012

Birthday Tiger Safari - Ranthambore

I awoke on the slightly chilly side maybe having over done it on the a/c, i had never seen one that went as low as 15°C before! I treated myself to another hour in bed then decided I was hungry enough to justify emerging from my cosy cocoon. I wandered to reception to check my afternoon safari was all good and I was greeted with big smiles and a bouquet of flowers. I went for breakfast where I met the Kiwis from the night before who had returned from their, fruitless, tiger safari . We had breakfast and soon enough ended up lounging by the pool, where I was to spend the rest of my day, well till 3 o'clock anyway.

I wasn't too sure what to wear for my safari, having seen a very eager looking couple return earlier that day in full camoflage gear i felt a bit of a novice in my cargo shorts and tshirt, however I think it was Ray Mears and his wife who looked the odd balls out of the groups. I was called forward and pointed in the direction of my jeep, they hold 6 and I was the fourth to board, I got sat next to a Swiss guy and the rest of the tiger hunting contingency being nationals happily chatted away between us until we reached the final pick up, two rather large Indians climbed in making it a tight fit in the back. We were all handed disclaimers and next of kin forms to sign incase we got eaten whilst on the safari and we were soon speeding off to the park entrance.

We got alocated zone 1 when we arrived, something the guide didn't look to happy about, it was the smallest of the zones and as I can imagine happy tourists with numerous tiger sightings tip better he was maybe worried for his pocket more than anything. We bee lined for the watering holes in hope that a tiger was cooling off on what was a particularly hot day and whilst there was plentiful deer, wild boar and monkeys (the tigers certainly weren't going hungry anytime soon) there was not a tiger to be seen. We drove around for the next hour or so passing similarly disappointed tour groups before coming to a stop at a particular tiger hot spot, but not today. As a large cobra slithered passed we were provided with a little excitment alas it was a tiger we came to see and it seemed we would remain disappointed. Exiting the park we encountered a group of crocodiles basking in the sun, oblivious to the overly exited Indians filling memory cards with their slumbering state.

When we got dropped off, no tip, on hearing of the luxury of my hotel my Swiss companion came in for the use of the pool, we had a couple of extremely over priced beers and he snuck into the buffet restraunt for a bite. No sooner had we finished, the naan man came running up towards us with not a bread but a cake, accompanied by that universal of songs Happy Birthday. To my surprise he ran right passed me to the table next door to us where a group of 8 middle aged, slightly drunk, brits sat. The song had just finished when it started up again and running naan man, afted a quick lap around the room, brought me a personalised birthday cake. We joined forces with the other group and had an impromptu joint birthday party indulging in yet more over priced beer, but hey its my birthday!

After a few to many, more in the respect of my wallet than my head, I retreated to my ice box and had one of my emergancy whiskies my sister and gifted me on leaving Scotland (these for one of those 'I need a drink' moments however so far so good so I tempted fate by cracking one now). I sank into bed glass in hand and despite the lack of a tiger sighting decided it had been a different, but successful birthday.

Monday 13 August 2012

To Ranthambore

I arrived at the station after a quick breakfast and found the platform the train was leaving from. Now the train stations have the capability to be very organised however this is very rarely the case, the train was already at the station and along the platform an electronic sign corresponds to each compartment telling you where to board. To my surprise my ticket pointed me in the direction of the first class a/c compartment, surley a mistake. Reluctant to board I waited as the train quickly started to fill up, suddenly, 10 minutes before its departure time, the train started to move. Panic stricken I started to gather my bags and enquired, fruitlessly, to anyone in earshot as to what to do. Much to my relief, and very quickly my dismay, the train stopped and I found myself infront of me a very chotic looking second class sitting compartment. I pushed myself onboard and was met by a solid wall of passengers. I began jostling and shoving my way through the near impenatrable crowd and finally found my seat, which unsuprisingly was occupied. I flashed my reservation slip under the reluctant passengers nose and after a game of musical chairs I was given a seat, not mine but I was just happy at not having to stand for the next 3 hours to Ranthambore.

The inspectors on the train are unlike their bus counterparts, whilst they tend to do an initial sweep from the originating station they are never to be seen again, in second sitting anway, this allows for these carriges to become quickly swamped by commuters, the carrige now housing well over 200 passengers. The next few hours did not pass quickly, everytime a seat was vacated it started an argument as to who was now to occupy it, after a couple of minutes of stand off and sometimes people just sitting on top of each other usually the original occupier would return and oust the successful candidate.

Finally we pulled into Ranthambore, I got up to get my rucksac down from the overhead rail I then turned back to get my bag and found that my seat had already been taken. After wrestling my bag from underneath the new occupant, reluctant to stand up in fear someone else should take his newly acquired throne, I pushed my way off the train and onto the platform. As I was walking up the stairs I noticed a plaque with my name on it being held by a well dressed man, I made myself known and I was quickly unburdoned of my bags and shown to a very nice a/c jeep, a distinct contrast from my last mode of transport. We sped off from the station and after around 15 minutes turned to face a small unasuming hotel front. I was greeted warmly at reception and adorned instantly with a flower garland, I was spared the usual rigmarole of filling in the visitor paper work and shown instantly to my room. Walking down a long corridor we emerged into a large complex with neat little gardens and a nice big swimming pool, it was like a little bit of paradise compared to some of my recent hovels. The room was big with a massive bed and a huge bathroom, with a bath tub even, and most importantly tea and coffes making facilities, what...you gotta appreciate the little things!!

As it was full board I headed in for some lunch where I was quickly befriended by the very attentive waiting staff, one of which had the sole job of distributing nann and roti bread (which he did with great efficiancy, running the length of the restraunt to the tandoor oven outside, I think he may break health and safety protocol but he did it with a smile). After lunch I spent the rest of the afternoon lounging by the pool, retreating to the bliss of my ice box of a room when it got too hot. I headed back out to the restraunt to eat and met in with a great couple from New Zealand and we spent the night chatting about our various experiences in India so far. They retreated around 11 as they were booked on the morning tiger safari leaving at 6am, as it was my birthday the next day I had gifted mysf a lye in and opted for the afternoon safari. I sank into my bed with a complimentary cup of hot chocolate, engrossed myself in some trashy film and decided that my birthday splurge was, so far, worth every rupee.

Thursday 9 August 2012

Jaipur

The train arrived into Jaipur roughly on time, however not the station. We sat for over an hour tantalisingly close, much to the dismay of the rickshaw driver who had been sent by my hotel to pick me up (a nice benefit to pre booking accomodation, although i sometimes think its more of an assurance by the hotel that they get your buisness and are not coersed into another hotel by a rickshaw driver, anyway it seems mutually benaficial). Eventually I made my way out the station and was greeted by my driver, he showed me to his rickshaw, named the 'Pussy Wagon', this was reconfirmed by the presence of the slogan in large pink lettering on the back window.

I was soon being given the hard sell for tours of the city, wondering now if maybe the drivers offered the hotels free guest pick ups in the hope they could score an over priced day tour. Trying to explain that I was only there for one day only seemed to encourage him and push harder, i gave a reasonably non commital answer and remained silent till we arrived. I had booked into the Sunder Palace, and whilst it wasn't a palace it was not far off! I was shown to one of the nicest rooms I had been in since my arrival in India, and by no means the most expensive either. I grabbed a fresh lime soda on the roof and tried to get my bearings in this huge, pink, city.

I started walking towards the walled, old city and after 30 minutes of walking only then realised the true scale of this city, with a population of over 4 million it shouldn't really have been surprising! After passing a kfc, a mcdonalds and the ice cream shaped Raj Minder cinema I finally reached the huge pink walls of the old city (the city was painted pink to celebrate the visit of the Prince of Wales, not Charles, and they decided to keep it that way). Nearly the whole of the old city is now dedicated to the art of shopping, the streets are lined with every kind of shop imaginable, all set out neatly in there own little areas, they also have what many other indian towns and cities do not, pavements. As these are slighty raised it means they are free even from the motorcyclists too lazy to walk the 4 extra steps to a shopfront or the cheeky rickshaw driver in a hurry. No sooner had I entered this great marketplace when I was bombarded by offers of guided tours by cycle rickshaw drivers, which locals call helicopters (something which at first caused me much confusion). The sun was starting to set and whilst i wouldn't normally indulge in these activities I soon found myself being whisked around the streets and allies of Jaipur in the back of my 'helicopter'. After an hour we arrived back on the street to the hotel, which was uphill, during the journey I could tell he was maybe having to work a little harder than for his average fare, so I decided to give him a reprieve and get out and walk the rest...I shouldn't have. He now went on about how much hard work he had done over the last hour, something I couldn't deny, and maybe a little extra would be nice, then proceeded to ask for double the set fare. After 5 more minutes of haggling we agreed on a new price, walking away I realised I should have just stuck to my guns but when you find yourself getting irrate over 20 pence sometimes you have to wonder if its worth it!

In the morning I rolled out of my extremely comfortable bed and wandered up to the roof for breakfast where I got absorbed into a loud frenchmans conversation/sermon on the state of rubbish in the streets, railways, countryside and generally everywhere in India. His congragation seemed about as interested as you can be with a problem that is well beyond the resolve of any mortal man and I engrossed myself in the local newspaper (an article on the food and drink to be consumed at the london olympics, and I quote "that bolus of starchy white sugar paste, the snot of the Gods, tongued only grudgingly from its ridged brown cocoon" or the creme egg as its more commonly known and "a mid strength lager taste sensation that can only be compared to drinking elite athletes urine out of a rinsed baked bean can" or simply put Heinaken, they certainly have a way with words these Indians).

I doged past the rickshaw driver come tour guides and headed into the old city under my own steam. The heart of the old city containing most of the cities sites, the usual palaces and gardens but Jaipur also had a gem under the name of Janter Manter. This is one of five observatories built in the same style but arguably the most impressive, a 40 meter sun dial dominates the garden and to be honest the other dials and planitary alignment devices look more like pieces of abstract art than anything else. Understandably popular the numerous tour guides all try their hand at coaxing you with their knowledge for a fee. Due to the concentration of tourists and guides I found you were very rarelly out of earshot of one giving their textbook commentary so I just eavesdropped, a small victory for my wallet I decided.

After that I ticked off another palace which name eludes me, probably lost forever after the hefty bang on the head I gave myself entering through a stone doorway, inventing a new expletive at the same time.

I returned to my hotel for an early night, keen to get to my luxury birthday treat hotel in Ranthambore I had booked the first train available at the sacrifice of a/c or even sleeper class, no tomorrow I was to have my first experience in second class sitting!

Pushkar

After 9 hours of mainly chai stops for the driver and conductor I arrived sweaty and tired to Pushkar, having decided on the bus that I was quite prepared to be ripped off by a rickshaw driver and taken to my hotel (which I had specifically booked for the swimming pool). To my amazement there was not the usual comotion as i departed the bus and to my dismay not a rickshaw to be seen. I got my ruckdac into the most comfortable unccomfortable position and started trundling through the streets towards what I had been vauguley told was the direction of the bramha temple near to where I was staying, only after the man i asked wanted to hear my life story. Eventually after more directions and life stories I arrived, I was shown to a pretty minging room and just out of the corner of my eye I noticed what looked like an open cesspit but I presumed it was the pool.

So far off to a bad start, maybe a walk around town will get me in a better mood. Within 5 minutes of leaving the hotel I had been pestered by more beggers and hassled by more hairy sadhus than anywhere else I had been. On going into see the sacred lake where Brhama dropped a lotus flower I expected to see a small oasis in what otherwise was a pretty non-discript town. It was certainly no oasis, the ghats completely surrounded the lake and made it look a little like my swimming pool but there was a certain something about it I couldn't put my finger on. Just as I was starting to come round a sadhu, or at least a man posing to be one, started hastling me, offering me a flower to give as an offering, i politely declined and then he started saying how it was for my family, which is apparently the standard rouse, priest performs puja then asks you to value the price on your familys blessing asking for thousands of rupees in exchange. I walked off feeling a little deflated and saddened that in even the most holy of places the con men are out in force.

I can't say i did a huge amount over the next couple of days, a quick visit to the Bhrama temple about the only thing of real note. Otherwise I meandered through the main street, bumping into a couple familiar faces that i had met in Goa (Pushkar actually did feel like a bit of a rajasthani goa, except the fruit shacks lined a busy street and not the golden sands), and enjoying the experimental fruit cocktails the stall owners would conjour up.

As it was nearing my birthday I had decided that I would treat myself to a tiger safari at Rathambore and after a little bit of email haggling I had booked myself into a luxury resort. I cut my time short in Pushkar and got a train booked to Jaipur to kill a couple days before heading to the jungle.

I boarded a local bus to take me to the train station in the larger town of Ajmer. The bus was packed to capacity and after contemplating waiting for the next one I decided just to persevere and pushed myself on. The most interesting part of a packed bus is not the jostling for the occaisionally vacated seat, which can be fierce, or even the way a young man will never relent his seat even when the most infirm board, it is in fact the agility of the bus conductor. These most nimble of men can manouvere their way through even the tightest of spaces, at times swinging from the handrails in order to negotiate oversived luggage or sometimes just those who are fed up of standing and all the while never missing a fare!

Once I arrived I quickly checked the train was still on time and then went for a spot of lunch. As I left the station I was pounced on by a plethora of drivers eager to take me back to Pushkar, unable to convince them I was just waiting for my train I ducked into the first place I could see, a rather unsavoury drinking hole, I spent an uncomfortable hour before deciding it would be better, and safer, to sit on the platform and wait out the last hour till my train arrived.