Leaving Ranthambore

Post birthday celebrations included a day lounging by the pool with the fellow birthday revallers and doing as little as possible, I joined them for lunch and I watched their faces as we were served by running naan man, the novelty having worn off on me but not my companions.

The only slight inturruption in my day of nothing was the overly attentive staff phoning me enquiring if I would like another safari. I relented in the end and, on the condition I could keep the room till my intentionally late departure, was booked onto a 6am tour.

I awoke bleary eyed and stumbled to reception joining the other early risers indulging in the free coffee and pastries provided. Soon enough I was picked up and got into the jeep with 2 Italians a loud Australian and a Scottish couple from Glasgow. At the park we were allocated zone 4, pleased not to be assigned zone 1 I felt good about this safari...I shouldn't have. Again the tigers were nowhere to be seen and despite notification of a sighting and a whacky races style rumble through the jungle with 5 or 6 other jeeps we were again denied even a glimpse of our elusive stripy friend. It wasn't a complete disappointment, again the company was good and this zone did included one of the largest lakes in the park which at daybreak was a hive of activity with everything from monkeys to wild boar sharing the communal watering hole.

I returned a little disheartened and drowned my sorrows in the breakfast buffet before retreating to my cool box (I ramped it back up to 18°C, tropical compared to the day before). Making use of the pool for the last time I realised this was probably going to be the last time I was to have this indulgence for a long time, my future intinerary taking me to Agra, Delhi then up into the hill stations of the North, this justified an extra hour or so by the pool.

After packing and dragging myself away from my haven I headed for reception where I was met by the owner, he insisted on me joining him for coffee and I accepted on the prior arrangement that if he made me miss my train I would get a free nights stay. I was on time. His driver that took me to the station saw to that, what took 20 minutes there was covered in about 10 and as we pulled in, through a no entry section, right to the door of the station I just got out without uttering a word to Evil Kenevil next to me.

I got onto the train and ousted the free loader who occupied my seat and had a rather subdued journey back to Jaipur. I was booked into the same hotel and once again I was bundled into the Pussy Wagon and once again, I was subjected to the hard sell for the guided tour, only this time I accepted...

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.

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.

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.

Jodhpur

As we pulled in we were yet again dropped in an obscure location and left to the mercy of the rupee hungry rickshaw drivers. Picking one of the less shady looking ones we starting hurtling towards the city centre, although i couldn't help but notice the close proximity we were driving towards the vast open sewers either side of us as the winding, narrowing streets took us deeper into the heart of the old city. As we pulled up to the guesthouse the sign seemed to dishearten the rickshaw driver somewhat, NO commision given, painted clearly in bold letters. I was ousted with a grunt and practically a shove and as I handed over what I suspected was a reduced rate fare in hope of a deluge of commission he emphasised the traffic and that he now must return empty, i held my ground and he soon sped off.

The guesthouse was ran by a Jain family and there was no shortage of hospitality, the tea poured freely and when I was on the roof terrace in the shadow of the mighty Mehrangarh Fort I was plyed with all kinds of creations from the kitchen. Seeing I had an interest in cooking she was more than happy to take me through a few recipes including the most famous of indian drinks, massala chai. After all this we sat and chatted for hours on the differences between our cultures culminating in my shock at the amount, and length of time in saving it, of her daughters dowry (the Jains being one of the most strict castes, arranged marrige is still strictly adhered to, and the bigger the dowry the better the husband). Heading to bed I realised I hadn't even stepped foot into the blue city yet, tommorrow was going to be a busy day.

I set off early to the fort being assured it was only a 20 minute, steep, walk north from the hotel. After 45 minutes I found myself completely lost and succomed to the advances of a rickshaw driver who could tell i was well of the beaten path. A couple minutes buzzing through the back streets I was whizzed past my hotel and up the road that I had decided was not the right way from the moment i stepped onto the street. Soon enough I was at the entrance of the huge fort and after parting with the usual inflated foreign entrance fee I adorned my complimentary audio tour headphones and set out. Jodhpur still technically has a Maharaja but he no longer live in their ancestral home, choosing now to live in a wing of a huge 5 star hotel on the outskirts of the city. The fort was everything you would expect from a deeply divided area, battle scarred on the outside and filled with oppulent living quarters beyond the 10 foot thick walls. After a nice stroll inside it wasn't till i was out on the battlements I realised how hot it now was. Sweating to the complete saturation point I decided it too was time to abandon the fort in search of some 5 star a/c surroundings.

On my last day, complete with a list of 'local prices' courtesy of my host, I headed off to the spice markets. So far I've always found the spice markets the most interesting of the market sectors and Jodhpurs was no different. Various spices pilled up into neat pyramids of all coulours and fragrances surround you, and everyone seems to be offering you a better price than their neighbours. After enquiring at a few vendors to the price of saffron, the most expensive of spices, I was given numbers that would have covered my hotel stay for 1g, finally I spied a little old man in a tiny shop not seeming to care for any buisness but looked content just to watch the world go by. On asking about the saffron he produced a number of small boxes and directing me to the best quality he quoted me a price less than that on my spice list and both parties departed with much laughter, although I was just laughing with him as i had no idea what he had said in induce such a guffaw.

The morning of my departure I was given a hearty breakfast and waved off as I headed for yet another bus journey to the holy site of Pushkar, a mere 6 hours by bus...or so I was told!

Journey to Jodhpur

The next few days were spent wandering the city by day and watching Octopussy by night on my sociable but windy, roof terrace. Having bargained with the owner that if i stayed 7 nights instead of my original 5 he would knock the rent down. Being a victim of my own tightness i I stayed on thr extra 2 nights, enduring, unnessicerily, another two nights in the sweat box and my soaking shrowd.

On my last full day I booked a bus to Jodhpur (Rajasthan being reasonably well served with 'luxury' tourist busses i decided to give the trains a rest), and was surprised to be offered the option of sleeper on what I presumed would be a standard coach.

As I boarded the bus it had a very strange layout. The right hand side was set out like a sleeper bus with two teirs of bunks runing the length of the bus, the left hand side was seating although those every ingenious Indians had squezed another sleeping birth above the seats, giving for a clostrophobically low ceiling for those in the seats. The bus appeared to be overbooked, a fact which seemed to please the conductor as he pocketed the extra fares, at the expense of the personal space of the passengers (something which is not respected). As we were heading closer to the Thar desert the scenery was mainly of flat scrubland and the hot winds battered the bus. Regardless i had my window fully open and was hanging my right arm if not for the breeze then for the extra bit of space it granted me, this was something I was to very soon regret.

The Indians have a ponchant for chewing betel nut, and despite the fact it turns their mouths a blood red and rots their teeth it is as popular now as it was hundreds years ago when it first started. The main problem, not only on a personal level but as of late when it was banned by the government, is the spitting of the bright red excess juices (you may see where this story is going). So as I gleefully hung my arm out the window I was completely unawares to the betel chewing going on in the sleeper birth above, that was until I heard the all to familiar 'Wild Western pontoonesque' spitting noise and the sudden wet feeling on my arm. As I hastily withdrew my arm the red ooze stared to trickle towards my elbow, not knowing wether to express my disgust or retaliate with something equally as nasty I did neither and tried my best to clean myself up with my sleeping neighbours newspaper. After 5 minutes of applying that most nessecary of items, the pocket size hand sanatizer, i felt a little cleaner although the smell lingered on, I closed my window and now realised why people tend to do this, only opening them to spit out of.

With nothing left to do but sit there and hope for jodhpur I closed my eyes and hoped for my iminent, uneventful, arrival.