India

After an interesting overnight and full day on the bus, I arrived in Varanasi, one of the "holy" cities in India. Lying on the banks of the Ganges River, Varanasi is a pilgrimage for Indians from around the country. To bathe in the river is considered a ritual blessing. People come to Varanasi, and the Ganges to die. Their bodies are set afire and they are floated on barges into the water where their ashes eventually become one with the river. I suppose there is a certain morbidity to this, but curiosity encouraged me to visit Varanasi to witness it for myself.

On the bus ride down, I was introduced to the practice of "baksheesh", or tipping. You find this all around Nepal and India, but the Indians have turned what we would consider a gratuity into a not so subtle form of baggage blackmail. After loading your bags the handler will come to you demanding this tip, usually 3-5 times what he will collect from locals. If you refuse, he will not guarantee safe passage of your bag, often he will even throw it right off the bus. They are pretty hard-core about it. Because the practice is not regulated, you are basically at the operators mercy. I learned one way to overcome the problem is to ride with your luggage on top of the bus. It's a great experience, especially over a long trip if you don't mind the wind, and as long as it doesn't rain. But don't expect to travel India without having to put out a bit of baksheesh from time to time.

Anyway, after crossing into India at Sunali into the province of Uttar Pradesh our bus was stopped about three times in the first hour by police. I suspect they were searching for drugs. Passengers were requested to open bags, and at one stop two passengers were requested to exit the bus where they were questioned for about ten minutes. I'm not sure they made it back on before we resumed our trip. That was about the only incident. I spent most of the next nine hours on the roof of the bus taking in the sun with several other travellers, and trying to get through a Tom Clancy novel.

We arrived in Varanasi, around 6.30 P.M. after a gruelling 21 hour trip. I was exhausted and feeling a bit ill a bad meal. All I wanted was a bit of food and a bed to crash in. At the bus stop I teamed up with three other travellers looking for a place called the Old Yogi Lodge down in the old city. The driver assured us he knew where it was. What he failed to tell us was there were about five places with the name "Yogi". Guesthouses are always a toss up wherever you go. As good as the recommendation in the guidebook is, it is often out of date by the time it reaches print. The place you are looking for has sometimes changed names, ownership, or closed up all together. Varanasi was a good example of this. We spent the next 45 minutes looking for the right one. We finally settled for the "New Yogi Lodge". I checked in, forced down a plate of plain rice, and then rushed upstairs to the toilet. The night had a lot of ups and downs, but by the next day I was feeling O.K.

The New Yogi turned out to be not to bad a place. The rooms were large and clean, and the owners were friendly. If you wanted food though, you had to order it about two hours in advance. The cook, an elderly gent of about 92, only prepared one meal at a time --- toast took about 20 minutes. I spent most of the first day wandering along the ghats, places with steps down into the Ganges where daily rituals of bathing, washing and cremation take place. People congregate along the Ganges for both social and religious purposes. Hindis believe the river is sacred. They come from great distances to bathe and healed by its waters. If they are close to death they also make the pilgrimage to Varanasi to be purified and cremated.

I received two very divergent views on the Ganges. The first was from boat guide who paddled me down the river. He explained to me as we floated down the river past the bathers, the washers, and the odd body which had not been cremated that the Ganges was "like a mother" to India. She provided life and sustenance. She is pure and holy just as "your mother is". And she was constantly being cleansed by refreshing rains. He was a Hindi. Contrasting this was the view of the Muslin owner of the guesthouse where I stayed. Ali considered the river polluted, foul, and the source of much disease. He felt that certain practices had to be stopped before the river was poisoned beyond rescue. From a practical perspective I would have to agree with him, but then neither he or I had any religious devotion to the river. Never-the-less the river did possess serene beauty, and I spent many hours sitting along its banks.

That evening after a great dinner of curry, rice and chipati at a place down the street called Elricho, I got into a bit of chess with Ali back at the guesthouse. After losing the first game badly, I came back from looming defeat to win the second. As a concession I agreed to go on Ali's guided tour of the city the following day. Earlier in the day I had arranged my ticket on the night train onto Lucknow for the next night. The trains were pretty booked up, and it was one of the few ways to get to Agra and the Taj.

Ali guided me around much of the old city I had seen the day before. His insights into the history and culture of the country were enlightening though. It was obvious just listening to him talk how caste and ethnicity color not only peoples' lives in this country, but also how they see their country, its strengths and its weaknesses. After a few hours down in the markets and walking along the Ganges, we motored north to the Bharat Temple. Dedicated to "Mother India" this temple which is open to all contains a huge relief map of the country built to scale. The map covers almost the entire main floor of the temple. It was dedicated by Mahatma Gandi with the hope that its symbolism would help bring all Indians together.

From there we walked into the silk weaving district. According to Ali the area is home to over 60,000 Muslims. Each dwelling is home a crafts business. Some families manufacture silks, others do woodcraft. We stopped at several homes where huge loom were set up. The patterns were printed on punch cards which along shuttle helped create the print. Each loom was hand operated. Some patterns were simple requiring four or six colors. While others were quite complex with 12 or more colors and take several days to produce. Needless to say I did buy a bit of silk, but with a bit of haggling the prices were hard to beat.

Before I left Varnasi I again checked on my airline ticket. There was still no confirmation. I continued to check once or twice a week, with no success until I reached Mumbai.

The trip to Agra was another long one --- ten hours by train, another nine by bus. When travelling in India, you never get anywhere fast. But at this point in my trip I had gotten used to enjoying the rides. The scenery, the conversations, and the opportunity to read made the travel days work. I figured out when I got back to Canada, that I had read an average of five books a month over the five months (not including all the travel guides). In India there are several ways to travel by train. By bus there is only one. Although tourist buses are advertised, there is not much difference in the comfort factor, and you can ride for about 1/2 to 1/3 the price by taking a regular coach. There is a "courage factor" involved though. Many buses look like stripped down school buses that are ready to rust away. Once your on though, you're O.K. Another hot tip: You'll find the best somosa anywhere in India at the bus stations. Check it out.

By train, there is a big difference in the quality of service. Third class is extremely uncomfortable and usually requires being scrunched on bench seats, or standing for hours at a time. First class air-con is an is an expensive extravagance usually seven to ten times the price of regular coach. A good compromise is 2nd class aircon. This usually includes sleeper accommodations for overnight trips. Its a good way to travel while you sleep and save money on accommodations.

A couple of Americans I had met on the bus, Tim and Sheila, had heard about a hotel close to the Taj Mahal that rented out tents in their garden. We decided to check it out. The place was called the Hotel Taj Khema, and the tents were huge canvas desert safari type things. Each unit had a main room with two double beds, and three anti-rooms surrounding it. It worked out to be about 100 rupee a night. We splurged. The next morning we awoke around 8.00 AM, walked up a small hill behind the tent, and had breakfast while we gazed at the Taj.

Now I had seen pictures of this palace many times. I had marvelled at its beauty. I had heard the stories of its building. But seeing it with my eyes instilled a sense of awe in me. Its size, its grandeur, the simplicity of its lines set against the sky, and the way it rose out of the scorched, desolate land created an extraordinary image. Though I wax poetic, I think we all felt the same way. After breakfast I grabbed my camera and nearly raced over to have a closer look.

Constructed over a 20 year period in the 17th century, the Taj is a is a monument of devotion built by the Shah Jahan, the the fifth Mughal Emperor, to his wife Mutaz Mahal. It is considered an amazing architectural extravagance built almost entirely of marble. and requiring 20,000 workers to complete. There are many myths which surround the Taj and add to its intrigue. Mutaz died in childbirth and her death crushed Shah Jahan who in his sorrow undertook the building of the Taj. Jahan committed huge funds and resources to its construction. His obsession many feel was the weakness that led to overthrow at the hands of his son Aurangzeb in 1658, five years after the Taj Mahal was finished. It is said that Shah Jahan spent his remaining years imprisoned across the river at Agra Fort gazing across longingly at the resting place of his one true love. It is also rumored that Jahan had planned the building of of a mirror to the Taj across the river in black marble, though there is very little evidence of it today.

I visited the Taj on three separate occasions to view and study it. Inside the gates you will find several "official" groundkeepers who, for a small fee, will show you all the "best spots" to take photos of the monument. It's actually not a bad bet. I came up with some pretty decent shots. On one occasion I ran into a group of nuns on a day trip from Delhi. They were extremely friendly and told me many additional stories about the palace. On another occasion I learned a handy piece of information --- all National Heritage sites have free admission on Fridays.

Other examples of Mughal architecture can be found in and around Agra. Amazingly the Mughal Empire, which lasted only 200 years, produced a legacy of art, architecture, and masterful craftsmanship. I spent my second day touring Agra Fort and many of the other palaces and halls in the city. During my evenings in Agra I wandered the narrow avenues and streets surrounding the Taj. There was a great selection of shops and roof top cafes in this area.

The third day Tim, Sheila and I took the one hour trip to Fatehpur Sikri, an abandoned city. Originally built by Emperor Akbar in the late 16th century, Fatehpur Sikri was the capital of the Mughal empire. It has remained, preserved, in fantastic condition. Several palaces and halls comprise this walled city. We spent the better part of a day wandering through the maze of structures, courtyards and gardens. We inherited sore feet, but came back with some incredible photos.

At the end of the day Tim and Sheila continued down the road to Bharatpur, while I'll doubled back to Agra. On the word of another traveller I had decided to make a detour in my trip. I had originally planned to head to Delhi, however a hot tip had me heading down south into Madhya Pradesh towards Khajuraho and the Jain Temples. On my way down, another two day trip, I overnighted in Jhansi where I witnessed my first "electric light wedding".

It was about 9.00 PM. I had checked into my hotel, had dinner, and was just settling down to sleep. I had to catch a 7.00 AM bus in the morning and had opted for a good sleep, rather than cruise the town. In the distance I could here a band playing. It sounded like a parade. Over the next ten minutes the noises began getting closer and louder. My curiosity was peeked, and realizing I wouldn't get to sleep to soon, I went to check it out.

When I got down to street level I could also see a lot of lights. It looked like some kind of festival. There was a crowd surrounding a six member brass band. In the middle of the crowd were about ten women all carrying portable street lamps. They were wired to each other and attached by cords to a portable generator. I watched for about five minutes as the band plays. Suddenly, from down the street comes this horse and rider all decked out in white and rhinestones. Everyone gets quite excited and swarms around the horse. The next moment another group of women start an impromptu dance entertaining the rider as he sits on his mount. I walk up to this kid who is sitting like me at the side of the road watching the whole affair. When I ask him what is happening he explains to me its a wedding.

Apparently I was travelling India during the height of wedding season. Over the next four weeks I witnessed almost one wedding a day. I was actually invited to three: one while I was sitting waiting for a train, one by a family I met travelling overnight on a bus, and one, which I actually attended, in Khajuraho for the daughter of a local Maharajah. I developed the impression that the presence of foreigners was a sign of good fortune, though this was never confirmed.

Every ceremony I saw had essentially same rituals: the band, the lights, dancing in the streets, and the groom in white, always arriving in dramatic style. In the traditional Indian wedding, the groom is the focus of the event. Often the bride doesn't even make an appearance. I understand though, that the bride is required to provide a dowry.

After a short time, the wedding party retreated into the reception hall. I headed back to the hotel. The next day I was back on the bus. The trip which was supposed to take about 5 1/2 hours ended up taking more like eight. After getting about two thirds of the way to Khajuraho, the bus broke down. We changed buses and waited. The driver decided he didn't have enough passengers to continue. Another quirk about buses in India is that while they usually get to you to your destination, you never know when you'll arrive. One hour later, we switched buses again and resumed the trip.

I checked into a guesthouse in Khajuraho and after having a bite to eat I went over to check out the temples. The touts outside the entrance were incredibly persistent, worse than those in Agra. I had about an hour before the sun set, so I didn't waste much time with them. Inside I briefly surveyed the temples. The area was laid out almost like a city park with eleven structures. The detail and intricacy of the craftsmanship was amazing. The sculpture and relief work on each of the spired temples represent scenes from everyday life in the Jian culture which existed before the Mughals arrived in India over 1000 years ago.

What makes the temples unique and a topic of conversation for visitors, if not their reason for making the pilgrimage to this remote location, is their representation of erotic art. Scantily-clad maidens and goddesses in suggestive poses adorn large areas of each temple. The further depiction of women and men in some truly acrobatic sexual positions is believed to be a form of kama sutra. There are many stories as to why they were included so prominently on the temple walls. Some say they were carved to please the gods and protect the temples. A more intriguing notion is that the images were used to teach and encourage a timid population in decline to go forth and multiply.

Once the sun went down and the temple grounds closed I decided grab a quick meal at a cafe across the street. The curry turned out to be some of the best I had tasted anywhere in India. As I was making my way back to the guesthouse I noticed everyone around seemed unusually busy. Shop keepers were decorating their storefronts. Lights were being erected on an arch which ran the distance of the main street. Cars, buses and taxis were lined up everywhere, and an enormous number of people were milling about.

I was stopped by one street vendor who tried to sell me books on the kama sutra and various precious stones. I asked him what was going on and he explained that the following day the former Maharaja's daughter was to be wed. It would beone of the biggest event of the year in the region, and people were coming from all over to attend. As the conversation developed, the vendor told me that he was a distant relative of the groom. He then invited me to the wedding himself. When I returned to my guesthouse I learned that several other travellers had received similar invitations. I was planning to leave the next day, but this sounded like an intriguing opportunity. I decided to stick around.

The following morning there was a small procession, like a parade, with floats and a band which travelled through the town, stopping from time to time to perform crowds of onlookers. I assume it had something to do with the wedding, but I saw no evidence of the bride or groom.

The wedding was not scheduled until the evening. So I spent the better part of the day visiting several of the other temples and exploring the village. By about 5.00 PM large groups of people were starting to gather outside the entrance to the reception. I had gone back to the guesthouse to change into my most presentable clothes. I approached the entrance somewhat doubtful that my verbal invitation would get me in. The ushers at the door just smiled and waved me inside.

Past the entrance I joined a throng of people moving slowly into the hall. Two huge tents formed the main area of the reception. These tents then opened up into a garden. There were easily 700 to 800 people inside. Groups were gathered in several different areas. Musicians were playing in one area. A comic group performed in another area. Refreshments and food were being offered in a third area. Many people milled about from one place to another, while others, who had already claimed a seat close to where the cerimony would be, held their position. There were officials and dignatories from all over India. I noticed also that there was a large foriegn contigent present.

I wandered about for about half an hour. During that time I watched the performances and spoke with several people. I had learned by now that most Indians were very talkative people. I must have heard the life story of one elderly couple. I think gathered ten addresses from people around India, with promises to visit if I had the time. Just as I was looking for some relief, everyone started hurrying towards the door. Like a fool I followed.

Before being crushed I made it outside. There cameras were going off, people were cheering, and from down the street I could see a white horse and rider. The groom stopped at the entrance where he was entertained by a band and dancers for several minutes. Then, without dismounting, he started to make his way down the corridor into the hall. I rushed to get back inside before the crowd. I found a seat with a group of travellers and we proceeded to watch as the wedding party made its way inside.

Only after everyone was seated did the groom get off his horse. But where was the bride? According to the woman seated next to me, she would not be attending. She was having a private reception at another location. I thought to myself, "If the daughter of a Maharaja can't attend her own reception, who can?" Apparently, I was told, it all has to do with tradition, modesty, and the importance of the man as the head of the family. I watched the rest of the cerimony which lasted about an hour and consisted of several speeches, the receiving of gifts, and a toast. It was an interesting cultural experience, but a bit staid. I left Khajuraho the next day.

On December 1st I journeyed from Madhya Pradish to Rajisthan in the northwest. Rajisthan is a province which borders Pakistan. The trip was most easily accomplished by bus. However it still took close to twenty hours before I arrived in Jaipur, the capital of the province. On the final leg of the trip I met travelled on a bus that was almost exclusively occupied by one family. They were on their way to Jaipur for a wedding. Of the twenty or so people, one little girl was extremely charming. She spoke English quite fluently and kept me occupied for hours with conversation about India, Canada, and family life. By the end of the trip I found myself ingratiated to the whole family, taking pictures and sharing chai in the wee morning hours. Needless to say I received another invitation to a wedding. Unfortunately it would not be for another four days, and I doubted I would still be in city.

Jaipur is divided into two parts, the old walled city and the modern city. Most of the guesthouses are located outside of the walled city. There is a good selection just west of the rail station, and south of the bus station. A little further down the road, opposite the main post office, is a place called the Evergreen. I had heard about it from a few travellers just before I left Varnasi. The rate was a little high, but the rooms were quite comfortable and I didn't feel like trampimg around looking for another place to stay. Over the next three days, it began to feel like a throw back to 70's culture. Everyone just kind of 'hung out' listening to music, reading, doing laundry. During the evenings people would sleep out in the courtyard under the stars waiting for the sun to rise. It was actually a 'cool' place to check out.

The old city is Jaipur's major attraction. referred to as the 'pink city' it was built during the declining years of the Mughal empire, the walls and buildings were painted pink as a sign of openness and hospitality. Seen from a distance in the setting sun the city is almost luminescant. Sevaral bazaars litter the inside of the city each selling different wares, clothing, perfumes, laquerware, and household goods.

I had an interesting interchange with one tout in the Johari Bazaar. I had read warnings about touts in these areas who try to sell you jewelry and preciuos stones. You pay for the jewelry or a portion of it. The jeweler then promises to forward you the gems to your home country. They rarely arrive. If you pay by visa you will often get scammed for twice what you receive.

Knowing this, when I was approached by a guy trying to sell me a bill of goods, I tried to ignore him and walk away. He was persistant though, so I finally engaged him in conversation. After he'd given me his pitch I tried to reverse the scam. Telling him that I was a buyer visiting India to make business contacts and get samples of merchandise, I worked on convincing him to give me gems which I would sell for him in Canada and make him rich. We twisted each others arm for ten minutes or so. He finally gave up and walked away.

I spent the afternoon walking around the old city and through the bazaars. One of the highlights of the city has to be the Hawa Mahal. This towering facade looms over the main street of the old city. Five stories high, it consists of myriad of ornately-sculptured windows stacked one above the other. It was used at one time to allow the women of the royal household to look out on the activities of the city below. The observatory, Jantar Mantar, is also worth a visit if you are into the ancient science of stargazing. There is a huge sundial, well over thirty metres tall. You can literally sit around all afternoon and watch time go by.

I found a great restaurant that night, just down the road from the guesthouse. Niro's had a great selection of dishes. I settled for a hot vegetable curry. Next to the restaurant was a bookstore. I picked up another Tom Clancy novel. On the walk back to the Evergreen, I stopped at a corner stand and bought some ras gullas. I had developed an addiction to these small ball of cream cheese. Over the last few weeks they had become my Indian sweet of choice.

I took most of the following day off. I lingered at the guesthouse, read my book, and slept. I did get out in the afternoon to send some mail and check out travel arrangements for the following day. On my way back from the bus depot I ran into a girl I had met in Agra. Trina and her friends had just come back from Pushkar and were heading down to Goa and the beaches. We were crossing paths, as I was just on my way to Pushkar. We spent the evening together, compared stories, and had a real great time. Before we departed the following day, I explained the dilemma with my plane ticket. I told them if I couldn't get a flight out of Mumbai I would meet them down in Goa for the holiday.

The short five hour trip to Pushkar was a nice change. It was a hot and sunny day when I was dropped off at one of the ghats surrounding the lake. No sooner than had I grabbed my bags than I was approached by a local offering to give me a blessing for the special religious holiday being celebrated. I shrugged the fellow off and made my way down the central avenue in search of a guesthouse. I later learned that these blessings, usually accompanied by a red ribbon bracelet, are known as the Pushkar passport. Every visitor to the city is approached, at least once, to receive this ritual.

I had read that the place to stay in this small town was the Pushkar Palace. Not a palace, but rather quiet, colonial style structure, I found the hotel on a east side of the lake. The rooms were not cheaper, 150 rupee a night, and the single I was shown was no larger than a closet, but it was right on the lake and the atmosphere was right.

The pace of activity in Pushkar is slow, compared to life in most of India. The town is also considered an important religious pilgramage for Hindus. Like Varnasi, Hindus consider the lake holy, and come to bathe and be healed in its waters. There are a few things to see in the area, but mainly Pushkar is just a great place to relax. Apparently I had just missed the famous Pushkar camel and cattle fair the week before. Several hundred thousand people and animals decsend on the town for a week of festival, camel races, and wild excitement. I was just as happy I had missed it. I was ready for a break. That is what I did. I spent the better part of the afternoon languishing in the sun, reading a book.

At about 5.00 in the afternoon the silence was interrupted by the sound of drums echoing across the lake. Curious, I went to investigate. A group of about 50 people were down by the foot of the lake. Four men beating drums and waiting for the response to come from a ghat on the far side. Another group of ten or so women were dancing and performing a traditional song for the gathered crowd. After they finished one of the women held out candle and began lighting sparklers held by the crowd. Everyone began to sing again. It seemed to be a light ceremony, though no one standing near me knew for sure. It concluded as the sun set.

Pushkar also has a great selection of restaurants. Many of the them serve buffets both in the morning and the evening. The Pushkar Palace buffet had a great selection of traditional Indian specialties, and included dessert. For someone who had been surviving of a spartan diet the last four months, the all-you-could-eat menu was a feast. I also met a group of travellers, Della, Frank, Heather and Janis, who spent the better part of the next three days with.

Della and Frank had spent the last three months in India. They had started in Calcutta, crossed over the north central region of the country and into Kashmir where they trekked for three weeks before heading south. They had been in Rajisthan for about a month and were planning to spend at least two more months in the country. Heather and Janis were both heading back to New Zealand from England where they had spent the last year working. They were planning to spend January in India and then head on to Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, and home.

Friday morning, the five of us took the long trek up to the Savriti Hill temple. Along the way we stopped at several small villages. One group of young girls invited us into there small home for chai. We sat and chatted for close to an hour before we continued our trek. After paying them for the chai, they asked us for more. We pooled our resources and came up with several pins, a chocolate bar, and two cans of coke. I don't know if it's what they really wanted, but they were grateful

We reached the temple at about 10.00 AM. Still in use, it was blue in color with a very simple design. The real sight was the view. Looking back at Pushkar you could see the lakes and ghats in the distance. In the other direction we saw, small as ants, a caravan of camels heading out on safari. We were so exhausted from the climb, that we sat around and gazed at the surrounding territory for a long time. It was close to noon before we started to make our way down.

Later that day I was approached by another local insistant on giving me my "passport". I decided to check it out just for the experience. The price started at 10 rupee. I was taken down to the lakes edge where Tanir asked me to remove my shoes and dip my feet in the water. He then used a collection of supplies: rice, tica, and rose pedals to make the blessing. At this point he asked me to make a blessing of health for my grandparents, and asked me how much I would give the temple to bless their health, I told them they had passed on, he then asked me how much I would give the to bless their souls. I could see where this was going. He worked on me, repeating the request for my parents and my family. At one point he expected me to give him 1000 rupee. I explained I had offered him 10 rupee only. Finally, a bit deflated, he settled for 20 rupee, more than I probably should have given.

Saturday was rather lazy, I spent most of the day sleeping, reading and eating. From time to time I would take a walk down the main street to stretch my legs and browse in a few shops. Aside from the relaxation, Pushkar is also a good location to shop. Leather goods, silver and gold jewelry, clothing, marble, and other crafts line the main street around the lake. Vendors are reasonable and willing to negociate. It is also very easy to return to a shop because the area is small. Before I left I found several rings, tapestries, and three leather stool seats to add weight to my pack.

I found a Internet service at the north east end of the lake. The owner was just starting his business. He was hoping to create a website that would promote Rajisthan and Pushkar(Rajisthan Online) to tourists and travellers. He told me about some of his ideas and I spent about 30 minutes sending email to friends I hadn't spoken to in several months. Later I met up with the group and the five of us had a great dinner and made plans for the next day.

We met again early the next morning with still no definate plan. As a result, after breakfast we sat around for about two hours drinking coffee and chai and watching monkeys hop around the rooftops of buildings in the area. At one point these delinquent primates nearly stole the grapes and bananas from under our noses.

We finally decided to take a trip into Ajmer for the afternoon. We spent about five hours in the city visiting several Muslim landmarks.We would stop every hour or so for a break. It was an unusally hot 33 degrees Celcius. Much of the architecture is Mughal, built by Shah Jahan. Though not as dramatic as that around in Agra and area, it is beautiful in its own right. It was fun walking around with this group. Della had firey red hair and Janis had blonde. The stares they would receive from both men and women werer quite obvious, almost comical. We had taken our packs with us and after supper we parted company to continue our journeys, I to Jaisalmer, they back to Jaipur.

The overnight trip to Jaisalmer was bumpy and sleepless. The bus stopped every half hour or so to pck up passengers, and sometimes just for chai. At about three in the morning the whole bus unloaded by a roadside restaurant. The driver made a point of seeing that we all got up and out to grab a snack. A good hour later we resumed the trip. We finally reached the city at around 8.00 AM. Even before we got off the bus we had been inundated by touts offering us the best guesthouses and "safaris cheap". I'd met a group from England on the bus. They had heard several good comments about the Deepak guesthouse and their camel safaris. So before we were ambushed we grabbed a taxi and told the driver where to take us.

Jaisalmer is a walled fortress located in the remote sands of the Great Indian Desert about 200 kilometres east of Pakistan. From a distance, as the bus appoached, the fort city resembled a majestic kingdom from biblical times. Built in the 12th century by Rawal Jaisal, hence the name, the city long stood as a trade link between India and central Asia. The advent of shipping however, saw the decline the city's fortunes and its utility for overland merchants. It remains an important strategic outpost due to its proximity to Pakistan. However, Jaisalmer's major trade today is tourism.

Almost everyone who travels to Jaisalmer comes for a camel safari. I was no exception. Safaris can be arranged for a day, two weeks or longer, virtually everywhere. The prices and quality vary quite a bit, so it's a good idea to shop around before you committ. It's also better to deal through an established business or guesthouse, as opposed to a someone on the street. Then you've got a come back if you have a less than satisfying experience.

In contrast to Jaipur, many of the guesthouses are located within the walls of the old city. Surrounding the entrance, a slew of vendors and camel drivers were noisily selling their wares and their services. We left the taxi and entered. Inside things suddenly became quiet. We followed a winding stone path upwards. Several hundred metres on, the road opened up into a plaza with several small paths leading off in different directions. Fortunately our guide knew the way. Turning right, he lead us down one of the narrow alleys.Within moments we arrived at Deepak.

Arriving early, we had to wait about an hour for rooms. In the meantime we stashed our packs and went up on the roof to have breakfast. The view was incredible. The sun was rising and the desert was lighting up as far as the eye could see. The breakfast wasn't bad either and by 9.30 we all had a place to stay. I shared a room with two of the Brits, Cy and Stan. The room had a window that overlooked the side of the fort. Impressive, but it wasn't cheap.

That afternoon we scouted out other safari outfitters. Several of the businesses inside the fort offered comparible deals for three and four day treks --- between 400-500 rupee a day. Four days was the maximum I thought I could spend on a camel's back. When we returned to Deepak, the owner plyed a bit of pressure for us to deal with him. The rates were steeper at 600 rupee a day, but Peter offered us a deal on our rooms if we stayed following our trip. We weern't under any obligation to him, but we liked the operation and decided to go with it.

The next morning it didn't matter. I woke up sicker than a dog and had to cancel out. Cy and Stan went ahead. I spent most of the day between the bed and the toilet. I'd actually been lucky on the trip so far. Over five months I had sick only about three of four days. By evening I was feeling better and decided to start the next day.

At 7.30 AM I met Janet, the only other person leaving that day, in the lobby. We walked out to the entrance of the fort, were introduced to our guides, and took off in a jeep into the desert darkness. Janet had opted for a two day trek, I'd settled on three, but we'd travel the first day together. We headed west for about an hour before we reached our camels. After unloading the jeep, and packing the animals, with food water and supplies, the adventure began. Once I was on the camel, yorgi, was his name, we headed off into the sand.

They were actually pretty tame beasts, or so I told myself. Though the two guides led Janet and I along for the first while, after an hour we were on our own. We stopped at a village about mid morning to look around. The homes were simple clay and wood shelters, some just partially constructed. The only inhabitants of the village were children. Apparently most of the women were out collecting water, or working some distance away. The men...?

We took a few pictures, gave the children a few rupees, and made our way back to the camels. Both Janet and I were a bit leary of drifting to far away from the our belongings and transportation. Just before I remounted the camel I had to make a run for the bushes. It was a problem that I had to deal with for most of the excursion. Definately not the best time to be riding a camel in the hot desert sun.

Around mid day we stopped for lunch. This was an experience. In order to cook the rice, vegetables and chipati, we had to forge the sand for scraps of wood, branches and twigs to light a fire. We did this at every meal. While we usually had little to work with . The guides seemed to be experts out of making something out of nothing.

After a thoroughly satisfying meal we packed up and and continued our trek. It was about that time I began to feel it. It being the pain associated with, for lack of a better description, the unbroken rider. We rode all afternoon, with one ofr two breaks. Everytime I got on and off the camel, a big effort was involved. By the end of the day, I was never so happy to be down on firm ground giving my butt a rest.

We set up camp, right on the dunes. Once the beasts were tethered, watered, and fed we set about preparing our own meal. It was similar to what we'd had for lunch, but by that time any food tasted good. An hour later the sun had set. We sat around a roaring fire for another hour, and then for lack of anything else to do drifted off to sleep while watching the stars.

We were up the next day at 6.30 AM. Our guides, we called them Bob and Ed, were busy preparing breakfast. As we ate, Ed explained that he and Janet would be heading off in another direction today to make it back to the rendevous in the afternoon. This was news to us, but there wasn't much we could do. So after we packed up we said our goodbyes and broke off.

Bob and I continued west. We rode at a faster pace, occasionally at a gallop. Our conversation was limited, but he told me about his family. He had three children. Two girls and a boy. He had been driving camels for over 15 years and said he rarely got home to see family. His stories were interesting, but I'd long ago learned to take everything I heard with a healthy grain of salt.

We continued west until noon and stopped for lunch. According to Bob, we were only about thirty kilometres away from the Pakistan border. Curious I suggested we continue on. We couldn't I guess. We didn't have the time nor did Bob want to risk getting picked up the border patrol. I learned after I returned to Deepak that it was highly unlikely we had ever gotten that close.

That afternoon we traversed north along the same line and made camp along the dunes around 5.00 PM.just a few kilometres fromj a small village. It was a busier location than the night before. Several other groups had set up in the same area. After dinner Bob wanted me to join he and his friends for "special lasshis"(yogurt coolers laced with pot) over in the village. Having been pressured all afternoon for how much "baksheesh:" I would give him as a tip, I figured the last thing I needed was to get stoned and have him help himself. I stayed at the camp and kept an eye on the camels.

By the morning of the third day I was finally easing into the saddle a bit better. I probably would have enjoyed a fourth day, but there is only so much desert a person can see without a clear destination in mind. We turned south east so that we could rendevous with the jeep. It was a busy route. Groups of women in their saris moved with us and past us, many of them carrying huge water jars, as they went about their daily chores.

Around 10.00 AM we stopped at a watering whole. It seemed to be a central gathering point for everyone. The women cackled around one pool as they collected water. Children ran around playing games awith friends as they waited to start the long walk back. Though I'm sure they had seen foreigners, there were many stares, pointing fingers, and shy smiles in my direction. I just grinned and returned the smile. The long necks of the camels leaned down to replenish their supplies. When they had finished we resumed our trek.

We reached an oasis at about four in the afternoon. It was hear that the jeep would pick us up. Bob had been relentless all afternoon about his baksheesh. So much so that he had pissed me off. Though he hadn't given me a figure, I had the impression he expected about 100 rupee a day. It was the only sour point to an otherwise great experience. As we waited for the jeep I walked around the water and sat on the far side watching some kids float homemade boats in the water to avoid further dispute. After about 45 minutes the Jeep arrived. Before getting on the jeep I handed Bob 150 rupee tip.

Back at the guesthouse I voiced my displeasure with Peter. He was quite apologetic and offered me a room free of charge for the duration of my stay. In retrospect, the fact that I travelled solo for two days of the safari probably contributed to the pressure tactics. I'd recommend travelling with a group just to share the experience, and also to defray the isolation and the costs of settling for the services rendered. I wouldn't hestitate to go again if I had the chance.

I stayed in Jaisalmer for three more days. Most of it spent soaking up the desrt sun and the atmosphere of the fort. There are beautiful havalis, old stone mansions, within the fort walls. Walking around the wall perimeters offers an amaing view of the surrounding area. The markets outside the fort with tapasties, leather goods, jewelry, and lace. If you have patience you can negociate some great deals. I spent most of my time talking with other travellers, relaxing, and enjoying the quiet.

Like Pushkar, even more so, nothing pushes the pace in Jaisalmer. You feel so removed from India, and everything, that time just drifts by. Only the nagging sense that there is something else to do, somewhere else to be, finally forces you out of your reverie and back onto the road. Still you know as your boarding the bus that you're leaving a place you would much rather stay.

On Saturday, December 20th. I left Jaisalmer for the long trip down to Mumbai. The trip, by bus and train,figured to be about 22 hours. Due to delays it ended up being closer to 32 hours. I made use of the time reading and talking to a group of college students heading back to Mumbai from Agra. I savored my last bites of train food and joined in on an impromptu festival of song. It was fun , but I didn't get much sleep.

It was 5.00 AM when the train rolled into Mumbai. There was activity inside the station. Piles of people lined the floors, sleeping and waiting for trains. Outside the streets were deserted. I hailed a taxi and asked the driver to take me to the Salvation Army hostel down in Colaba. Colaba is the travellers hub in Mumbai and the Salvation Army was supposed to be a reasonable hostel with dorm beds. Unfortunately the hostel did not open until 8.00 AM. I looked around for a cafe to slip into, but everything was closed up. Finally at about 6.30, dead on my feet I checked into a small mid-range hotel, the Cowie, that was just opening its doors. I managed to negotiate a half-day rate with the promise I would stay for at least two more. When I got into the room I showered, collapsed on the bed, and slept until until two in the afternoon.

Mumbai is actually an island. Historically known as the "gateway to India", it has rich British colonial ties, and was the hub of trading and shipping activity for the British East India Company for close to three centuries. Today an arch stands in the heart of the Colaba district as a symbolic representation of this era. I spent the afternoon down in this area watching the ships come and go to Elephanta island. I also looked in to the status of my plane ticket. It was December 14th. At this point I was thinking, I might not make it home for Christmas. I wasn't getting my hopes up.

I phoned El Al, only to find out that the flight was still not confirmed. They told me to check back regularly over the next week. In the meantime I checked with several travel agencies for other flights. The cheapest thing I could find was a one way ticket for $1400.00 US. Goa was beginning to look like the better option.

That evening, after a day of walking through the various streets and sights around Colaba, I stopped for a late supper at the Cafe Mondegar. There are several trendy places to eat along the Colaba Causeway serving an assortment of dishes, Indian and western. I crashed back at the hotel and watched TV for the first time since I left Bangkok.

The following morning I started early. I caught a boat out to Elephanta island in the strait between Mumbai and the mainland. Elephanta, once a guarded fortress, is home to four stone-hewn temples dating back to the fifth century. The climb to the temples, actually caves, are a challenge early in the morning, but make for good exercise. Huge sculptures and carvings of Hindu gods occupy the walls of the caves. It is not difficult to feel dwarfed by what you see and amazed by the the feat of what was accomplished. I experienced that sensation many times during my trip. The history and the antiquity of the site is quite overwhelming.

I returned to Mumbai, checked my flight, again no luck. That evening, during a walk along Back Bay, I came across an open air Christmas concert. Here I was on a beach in India listening to "Little Town of Bethleham" and "Jingle Bells" wearing shorts and a t-shirt and eating samosa. I couldn't help but get into the Christmas spirit.

Unfortunately I felt tied to staying in Mumbai until I could finalize my flight plans. I had decided to stay until December 20th. If nothing worked out, I'd make arrangements to fly in January, call home to break the news, then head down to Goa. Fortunately the next day things came together. The airline released all the remaining seats for the flight. The special offer was no longer available though, so I had to settle for a one way flight departing on the 18th.

With a few days remaining, I decided to make one last stop. When I was Agra I had taken account of the time I had, where I could go, and what I could see. The Ellora and Ajunta caves up in northern Maharashtra sounded fascinating. They were close to Mumbai and I thought I could fit them in. After I confirmed my trip home though, I didn't have the time to take the train up, nor to see both areas. So I decided to fly to Aurangabad and day trip to Ellora. I booked a flight which would put me back in Mumbai about three hours before my international flight. It would be tight.

I arrived in Aurangabad late in the afternoon on December 16th. I had just enough time to locate a hotel (there was not a big selection) and gather some information about buses for the next day before the sun went down. I made plans to set out about 7.00 AM in the morning.

As I walked back to my hotel, fortuitously named Ashiyama, I passed by a shantytown. There were probably 20 to thirty tents composed of makeshift materials, plastics, cardboard, and discarded panelling, There were a few fires lighting relatively quiet camp, and I noticed small groups of children and women coming and going as I walked by. It brought back to me one more time that as much of an experience the last five months had been, all that I had seen and done, it was quite a different story for many of the people living in these countries. I had seen wealth in many places, but I had also seen a lot of poverty. But the strength, determination, and the wealth of spirit of the people I had met was also common everywhere.

Early the next morning, the shops were just opening when I reached Ellora so I took some time to have breakfast and chai. at one of the street stands. I also picked up a small local guidebook and browsed through it a bit before I headed up towards the caves. I climbed to the top of the hill and found a ridge about two kilometres long where the entrances to the caves were carved. Very few people were around at the time and I was able to explore in relative silence for the first hour.

The caves are divided into three different groups: the Buddhist group(600-800AD), the Hindu group(650-900), and the Jain group(800-1000). Each group exhibits the style and stories of its culture. Several of the caves are multileveled with balconies and paths, and staircases leading from one level to the other. The facades on the exteriors the caves are intricately carved. Representations of religious mythology.

I spent most of the day at Ellora. There were thirty-four caves to see. Each was unique in their own way. Some exhibited fine sculpture and detailed stonework. Others created an impression by their shear use of size and cavernous interiors. Exploring the caves before the large crowds arrived was half the fun. One word of caution, though. If you venture deeply into any of the caves wear a hat. Bats find the cool, dark, damp environment very appealing. They literally line the ceilings in rows in the darkness. They don't attack, they just constantly swoop overhead.

I had wisely saved the best until last. The centrepiece of the whole Ellora group is also the most grandiose. Like something out of an Indiana Jones movie Kailasa, a Hindu cave, covers over 3800 square metres and is surrounded by walls over 30 metres high. Two huge elephants guard the entrance to the cave. Inside a huge courtyard and a temple dedicated to Siva the god of destruction and reproduction dominate the space. The foundation of the temple is supported by a legion of elephants. A bridge on the second level crosses over the courtyard to the outer walls where galleries hued into the rock display panels fine carvings detailing the stories of the Hindu belief. It apparently took over 150 years to build this temple alone. It is estimated over 200,000 tonnes of rock were removed in the excavation of massive structure.

On the way back to Aurangabad I had planned to stop at Daulatabad, a fortress in the hills just outside the city. I hopped the wrong bus by mistake and ended up heading travelling about 40 kilometres in the opposite direction before I could change direction. By the time I got back it was late. I had dinner with a group of Australians I met on the bus. They had just arrived in the country and were planning to head down to Goa for Christmas. I was a bit envious, but I was also out of time.

I spent my last day seeing a few of the other sites around the city.There was a small reproduction of the Taj Mahal, Bibi-ka-Maqbara, in the north part of town. There was also a smaller gruop of caves --- worth a visit, but not as impressive as Ellora. I did get out to Daulatabad. It was a good hike from the base of the hill up into the inner palace. It was worth the walk.

Before I left Aurangabad I stopped into barber. Over the last five months amongst everything else experienced, I had found some of the most reasonable haircuts in the world. They averaged about one to two dollars in every country, though I had one for about 50 cents in Cambodia.

When I entered this particular shop the barber greeted me warmly. I could see that he did not speak English. No matter I figured, and gestured by pinching my fingers together for him to take off about half an inch. Thirty minutes, a great shoulder massage, and an unexpected neck ajustment later, I looked in the mirror to see that all he had left was about half an inch. Oh well, nothing I could do about it. I just grinned, paid and thanked the man. Little did I know where that short cut would lead. But that's another story.

Three hours later I was on my way back home for Christmas. The fact that I looked more like a navy SEAL than a out-of work English teacher as I boarded the plane would lead to a whole new adventure as I travelled west via Isreal to Canada. But that's a whole other story in itself....