Slumdog Billionaire

Mumbai, India

In this blog: I see what the British left behind, visit the slums of Mumbai, and see the most expensive house in the world.

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6 months on the road... the route so far. Large map here

So first of all, a brief side note in that my arrival in Mumbai marked six months on the road. I'd like to say it's been awful, terrible, the worst experience of my life. But obviously I can't. I'm thoroughly enjoying the amazing experiences, unique sights and various wonderful people I meet, all often at unexpected moments. Sure, occasionally it feels a bit pointless, and making every decision on your own can be a bit draining, but it's all character building. I've learnt a lot about the countries and places I've been to, as well as assorted history I probably should have learnt at school, and have a broader understanding of the rights and wrongs of the world. And it goes without saying it's been a lot of fun! India itself has been a surprise as well; much more tolerable than expected, and full of excitement, chaos, and life. In fact the two months I expected to spend here have long come and gone, and I'll be here at least another month.

It's been a rollercoaster - but a good one - lots of excitement with the odd moment of feeling sick.

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I'd been a bit apprehensive about visiting Mumbai, but it took a while to actually realise this until I realise I'd been putting off visiting. I wanted to go but at the same time I didn't, I guess I had preconceptions that it was a huge overcrowded city, gridlocked, full of slums, dirty, noisy and unpleasant. In fact, it had elements of all of the above, but is overwhelmingly a modern, clean and developed metropolis and the source of half of India's tax income thanks to being the finance centre. In fact it turned out to be quite an endearing place, and I ended up quite liking it.

I arrived in the city mid-morning on a sleeper bus though can't say I was able to sleep a lot, and experienced straight-off the gridlock I'd heard about. Like Manhattan, a lot of the city is built on a peninsula, with too many people and cars in too small an area, and also like Manhatten were the hundreds of skyscrapers present, often surprisingly modern. Contrasting with this, the mass slums in various areas were also very apparent. It struck me straight away I was about to experience a very different India. 

The commuter trains at a quieter time of day

It was a lovely warm morning thanks to being much further south, and with the bus stopping far uptown, I took the urban train further south to the affluent Colaba district, witnessing packed commuter trains travelling with people hanging out of the wide doors that are left open all the time, a striking sight that took me back to Slumdog Millionaire which was filmed here. Partly thanks to people falling out said doors, Mumbai rail is the most dangerous in the world with a shocking 2,700 people dying every year - nearly ten every day. Property prices, and therefore accommodation prices are high in Mumbai, so once in the Colaba area I ended up taking a tiny windowless room on a fifth floor backstreet building, which sounds grim but was actually very clean and tidy so I didn't mind too much. Except for the urinal blocks they liked to put in the communal bathroom sinks to keep them fresh, which made me want to vomit every time I brushed my teeth. What a strange idea.

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I went for a stroll round the local area, which was cleaner, much less chaotic and generally more 'normal' than I've been used to of late - one of the most obvious differences being that there were actually pavements to walk on. Oh the little things. I reached the waterfront and saw the Arabian Sea for the first time, a refreshing feeling when you've not seen the sea for a good couple of months. A shoeless child of about seven followed me along the waterfront begging for money, the most persistent I've yet encountered - but as mentioned before it's not wise to give to them, cruel as it sounds, as it encourages dependency on begging, and often the money goes straight to discretly-hidden gang leaders instead of the kids anyway I understand. I passed India gate, an arched monument built by the British long ago, and beside this, the luxurious Taj Mahal Hotel where the devastating Mumbai terrorist attacks happened in 2008. I stopped nearby and tried a Kulfi Falooda - a desert of a soft dough with almonds and cherry, drizzled in pomegranate seeds and milk, pretty nice. 

British colonial architecture - the high court

Mumbai, or Bombay as it was then, was very important to the British back in the day and consequently retains a lot of relics from the Raj era. I walked to the district known as Fort, passing cricket pitches, grand museums and art galleries, the university, cathedral, fountains, parks, and the old city hall. All of these were crafted from local stone in a hybrid of British and Indian styles, but looked unmistakably British in origin. 

That night I met up with Shaun, an Australian who I'd been hanging around with a month or so before in the North Indian town of Rishikesh. We'd got on well and stayed in touch, and fortunately our travelling plans coincided in Mumbai, and so began a few evenings of beer and banter, starting at Leopolds, a place I discovered the next day was one of the other locations of the Mumbai terrorist attacks, oh joy. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place though, or so I hoped. Shaun is a long-term traveller of about eighteen months, and supports himself by doing copywriting for businesses and websites based back in Oz - he can work anywhere in the world as long as he has an internet connection, a dream job some would say.

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Thursday 16th Jan

Victoria station

The next day I took one of the old and characterful Mumbai cabs uptown, and set off around another part of the city. There were more relics of the British Raj - the rather grand Victoria Station which was more like a cathedral inside, some government buildings, the Central Post Office, and Crawford market. The latter was huge, and the speciality here seemed to be pet shops, where cages were stuffed often uncomfortably full of rats, mice, pigeons, cats, dogs, gerbils and brightly coloured birds. Not all together I must add, though that would be quite exciting to see. 

Further up the peninsula, I stopped as I walked past a university which was having some sort of games afternoon, and smiled whilst watching them do a tug-of-war competition in, of course a very Indian way. I spent the rest of the late afternoon at Chowpatty beach. It was a surprisingly impressive clean and pleasant stretch of sand, bang in the heart of the city, and was the perfect place to be in the late afternoon sun. Women sat on the sand in saaris and burkas, whilst chai-wallahs walked by carrying kettles continuously chanting 'chai, chai, chai' to the obviously tea-starved public. Not even tea-mad England has a cuppa on the beach.

Chowpatty beach

Mumbai is the home of Bollywood - the Indian film industry, and so there's cinemas everywhere. That evening, with not much nightlife going on locally, me and Shaun went to see Grudge Match, starring Robert de Niro and Sly Stallone, which in fact was American. The first surprise was to find that when you ordered food beforehand, they delivered it to your seat during the film. A great touch. The next was having to stand, along with the rest of the audience at the start, for the Indian National anthem which I decided wouldn't win any awards for catchiness. The cinema itself was fantastic, with a quality of picture and comfort of seat better than anything at home. Interestingly, despite being an American film with the dialogue in English, which many middle and upper-class Indians speak as a first language, it was also subtitled... in English! I guess some find the American accent unclear. Half-way through, the film abruptly stopped, and it was soon apparent it was for an interval. So old-school, I love it. It's funny how something as simple as going to the cinema can be so subtly so different in another country.

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Friday 17th January

Mumbai is sadly associated all over the world with it's slums, and the British-Indian movie Slumdog Mlllionaire gave us all an insight into what they were like. However, like many movies this portrayal was a little skewed as I've since found out. 

Dharavi Slum from the railway station

About half the population of Mumbai live on just 6% of the land in such slums, and Dharavi, filming location of said movie, is the largest. In fact it's the second largest slum in Asia. When I first heard a while back that companies do tours of the slums for tourists, I thought it sounded pretty low - turning people's misery into an almost circus-freak-show type attraction. When I looked deeper though, I learnt the company doing the tours aimed to build awareness of the reality of the conditions, gave eighty percent of the profits to community initiatives in the slum, and don't allow photography. It then sounded a bit more dignified and respectful, so inteagued, I decided to go along on one of the tours of Dharavi.

On the half-hour train journey there, I was surprised to see an Indian ladyboy (news to me) poncing around the carriage making strange sounds, then touching people on the shoulder and demanding money, followed by supposedly 'cursing' them if they didn't oblige. Fortunately I was out of range, but it was a peculiar sight to witness. Our tour group arrived at the station right beside the slum, and the thirty-odd people split into groups of seven. Our guide was a local chap and was very good at what he does. He was keen to emphasise that the aforementioned movie portrayed and exaggerated the bad sides of the slum, without pointing out the good sides. Good sides I thought? He led us into the nearest area, where the main business is recycling. All sorts of stuff is recycled, and is mostly done painstainingly and dangerously by hand. Plastic, paint tins, and drugs containers, all ripped apart manually without any safety equipment, and processed by cleaning out, burning off, dousing in chemicals etc, before putting through small electric-powered shredders and crushers, made in the slum. Some of the waste is from India, and some from abroad I understand. After all, those container ships bringing shiny goods from India to Europe can't go back empty, so why not pass our waste onto more desperate and less safety conscious people to deal with eh? The sad way the world works unfortunately, and we're all part of that chain whether we like it or not. You have to admire their ingenuity in making money from nothing, but the conditions these people were working in were pretty dismal. They seem to be tolerated out of a combination of desperation, and the lack of knowing the real consequences, earning each of them between £1.50 - £2 a day (150 - 200 rupees).

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Further on we came across some sewing workshops, where groups of about ten men sat in neatly laid out rooms making shirts. To be fair they looked reasonably content and the conditions didn't appear too bad. A lot was for the local Indian market, though the guide said some items were for Lee Cooper, via a middle man of course. The way that game often works. The surprise was that far from the local population wallowing round in piles of dirt and faeces, the paths round the slum were mostly concreted, everyone had a legal electric and water supply (I say legal - people used to tap in and steal it), there was a market, shoe shops, pharmacy, restaurant, hotel and butchers. We continued into this maze, past a guy being given a cut-throat shave whilst sat on a barrel, then some kids playing on the ground with medical waste. 

We were led into the very densely packed residential area, down very dark and narrow paths past houses, ducking below sagging overhead cables, and being careful not to get lost. The houses were almost all brick-built rather than tin shacks, and families mostly lived in single room homes about the same size as the average bathroom at home. Whilst it was obviously a completely inadequate standard of living in this day and age, at least they appeared to live with at least some dignity. The government are slowly doing something about it, bulldozing some areas and rehousing people in tower blocks, though not nearly fast enough. We continued on, looking in a small leather processing factory, watching women making pappadums on baskets laid on the street, kids playing cricket on the edge of a rubbish tip, and a very dirty looking river. We stopped at a community centre and saw the projects the charity was funding and organising which were all very positive.

It was a fascinating tour, though the whole way round I felt as if we shouldn't be there. We were obviously just generally interested, but it felt like they saw us as the rich people looking down our noses. That said, everyone was either friendly or indifferent towards us, so maybe this is just my imagination. Instead of coming away feeling a sense of despair, I saw a real sense of community, people working hard to better themselves, better sanitation than I imagined, and a good basic level of infrastructure. Yes, it all looks a bit inhumane to an outsider, but if you don't know any different do you see it as bad, or just normal?

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Antilla - a house in the shape of a tower block

Once the tour had finished, I left the group and in a complete contrast to what I'd just seen, caught the commuter train a few miles south, and walked to a very posh part of town to see Antilla. Worth over US $1bn, Antilla is the most expensive private residence in the world, and owned by the richest man in India. It's hard to believe the two areas I'd visited that day are so close, but such is the diversity of India. Built in 2009, it's been controversial ever since completion, with some saying it's an icon of the city and an inspiration for people to work hard and dream big - 'look what you could achieve'. Others say it's disgusting, and completely insensitive to build such a place when so many people live in such squalid conditions, and I tend to agree with the latter. The easterly windows even look out over Dharavi slum just a few miles away. The whole area was a surprising contrast to the previous two months of India, with Mercs, Golfs, Skodas, Hondas and Beemers cruising around, big posh houses and trees overhanging tidy streets, and I really questioned if I was still in the same country. 

Mumbai was a happening place, so more tales follow in a day or two. 

The chaos around Crawford market. The guy with the basket is a freelance delivery man, India's version of FedEx maybe?

Traditional Mumbai taxis

Crawford market

Pull!

High As A Kite

Ahmedabad, India

In this blog... I go to the world's biggest kite festival, spend a day in the homes of five local families and see a truly amazing night sky.

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Tuesday 14th January

By chance I'd found myself in Ahmedabad for Uttarayan - the world's biggest kite festival. It's a two day public holiday for the city which everyone spends with their family and friends, stood on the flat rooftops of their homes flying kites, eating food and having fun. With no central event as such, it wasn't at all obvious how I would be able to see or join in with the festivities, with neither the internet nor hotel staff shedding any light. I decided it would likely be a spectacle just being out and about, and rather than roam aimlessly, walked across the city towards another stepwell nearby, to see what happened on the way. 

About a mile along the road I first saw the extent of the celebrations, with kites filling both the sky and every nearby tree, and people flying them from every available open space. Walking beside a main road, a local guy enthusiastically called me across and encouraged me to fly his kite, much to the delight of him and his family, none of whom who could speak any English. Despite being obviously being quite poor - I'm guessing they lived on the street, they were all smiles. There's something I love about the Indian passion for kites - it's so simple and innocent, and accessible to anybody which is refreshing in the world of today.

The guy who dragged me 

across the street to fly his kite

Kites everywhere

I continued on another half mile, and took a short cut through an side street, beside densely packed, poor-quality housing. The quality of housing and the crime rate don't usually seem to go hand in hand in India. A guy of around fifty was stood by the road with his group of friends, gathered around a motorbike. 'Hello, how are you?' he said, surprised to see a foreigner, and after a minute of chatting invited me up to his rooftop to fly a kite. I was caught off guard by the invite, but thought why not, and so began a day of some of the best hospitality I've ever received. 

Climbing the almost ladder-like stairs of the typical three story home, and passing tiny one-room concrete homes, I was on his flat rooftop, and saw for the first time the most amazing sight - a panorama full of brightly coloured kites and rooftops full of people as far as the eye could see. I was once again given the kite strings, and introduced to a few of his local friends and children. A nineteen year old lad, I think called Nirali pointed to another rooftop nearby where his friends were, and asked if I'd join them, so I thought why not.

Reaching the rooftop of house two, I was greeted by extremely loud Bhangra music, and a throng of about twenty mostly late-teenagers with the odd uncle, grandad and young kid thrown in, all of whom immediately wanted to know the usual questions. I'm now convinced the Indian government issue the population with a 'questions to ask foreigners' guide sheet, such is the consistency of questions I receive. I was immediately accosted with a blur of camera phones, with arms pulling me this way, that way, come here, go there, eat this, do that. All spoke over the top of each other, completely oblivious that the others exist and fought for my attention. Once again, I must point out before I'm accused of egotism, that this is not in any way a reflection of me but typical of the way Westeners are received in India, though less so among more educated people, for whom the novelty is often long past. Despite only being 11am, the music blared non-stop, and I had little choice but to a oblige when they started dancing, Indian style and got me to join in. There wasn't even any beer involved, since it's illegal throughout the state of Gujarat. I soon picked up the basic moves and had a whale of a time. After a while what with this, and all the attention I needed to take a rest, at which point I was well fed and watered with home-made sugary snacks. Nirali could see I was struggling with the sun when holding the kite strings, and gave me his sunglasses to use, then refused to take them back afterwards - 'they're yours now'.

House party number two. Not sure 
what forced that daft expression!

After an hour or so, Nirali pointed to his home, about five houses away, and told me to wave to his family who were looking my way, after which they ushered for me to visit them. This was turning into quite a day. I arrived in their family home, which in their case took over all three stories of this building, and was simple, colourful, clean and pleasant. I met his sister who is a bit of a taekondo champion and proud of it, his Mum who immediately brought me some chapattis and curried mixed veg, and his Dad - Mahesh who works in accounts for the government, and is a civil defence volunteer as well. All could speak a bit of English, but only the daughter was fluent. All sorts of neighbours, cousins and uncles soon arrived from nearby, who were all extremely friendly, and once again I was accosted with camera phones and demands to dance with them in a group, hilarious. By this point I'd given up all thoughts of doing anything else with the day, feeling like I'd struck gold already with these excitable locals. There is a saying in India - 'the guest is god' and they certainly follow through on the claim.

House party number three. Mahesh is on the right.

After a couple of hours, Mahesh, who's around 45, kindly offered to take me on a tour of the area, so we went off in his little Maruti-Suzuki car - an Indian made machine. It was a bit of a strange tour in that we went a few miles across town first stopping off to see his office block, which was closed for the celebrations but impressively clean and modern, then onto another rooftop party where his boss was spending the afternoon. Arriving at house number four, I was led into the living room where the family were having lunch, which in the traditional manner was sat on the floor cross legged, with a range of dishes and accompaniments on the tiles that everyone helps themselves to. I was plied straight away with food, then we went up to the rooftop where some of their other friends were flying kites. I met Mehesh's boss Pinakin, and heard stories about his six months in England in the eighties - playing cricket and working. Interesting guy. After an hour or so, Mahesh then drove me back to base.

The fun continued as Mahesh dropped me round to his neighbours across the street, house five of the day, then disappeared after a few minutes leaving me on the rooftop with yet another extended family. I chatted with the son and daughter who's names I forget, who were well educated and talkative, him being a lecturer in mechnical engineering and her an IT professional. Once again, the cameraphones were out in force, I was passed a kite to fly, and I was served a range of sweets - thin slabs of caramelised peanuts amongst others. Kite fighting is part of the celebrations, where people purposely try to take each other's down. This is done by buying string that is coated in very fine particles of glass, so therefore when the lines contact and rub each other, one of them is going to break. Unfortunately this results in many injuries each year, both to passing birds, and humans, who often sustain cuts to their throats from stray strings, and fall off rooftops whilst concentrating too hard on looking upwards. Three hundred people were injured and eight died at this years festival (article here). Only in India.  

I may have mentioned before that you don't normally see that many women out and about in India, it's often a real old-fashioned man's world where women are usually hidden away as housewives, or work  on farms or building sites. There are exceptions of course such as in the previous paragraph. Therefore being in so many homes over the day gave me the opportunity to actually meet some women for a change, who were all very pleasant but struck me as overwhelmingly shy. Times are changing, and many young and educated women now go out to work, and live more western lifestyles, for better or worse.

House party number four

My new buddy Mahesh returned around fiveish, and decided to drive to show me a nearby Jain temple. Jainism is a minority religion in India, practiced by about 2.5% of the population (which is still 30 million people!), and based on Hinduism with a twist from what I can work out - they have some interesting views including not killing anything at all, insects included. I'd not come across one of these temples before, but to be honest couldn't really tell the difference with a Hindu one, as they all vary so much anyway. We then drove back across town to where we'd been earlier - house number four. Can you keep up, cause I can't, it was non-stop! Pinakin, the boss, then immediately loaded a few of us in his car to go and get some supplies for the evening. One of the guys bought me a panipuri to try from a streetfood vendor - a hollow pastry shell, filled with cold veg and water, whilst someone else bought me a bottle of water. All of this without asking, such amazing kindness. Unfortunately upon returning to the car, he realised he'd locked his keys in the ignition! After twenty minutes of trying to break-in, he abandoned it for the night and hailed us an auto-rickshaw home.

Four families enjoying Uttarayan 
together - at house party number four

It was now dark, and most of the kites had been packed away for the night and replaced with something even more spectacular. Back at his house I walked up the steps onto the roof, and my jaw dropped at the sight that lay before my eyes. The sky was absolutely full to the brim with Chinese lanterns - those cresch paper balloons powered by candles. There were literally tens of thousands of them, set off by people from rooftops all over the city. The photo below really doesn't do it justice, it was one of the greatest sights I've ever seen, second only to the a Northern Lights. Of course, this sight would rightly never happen in a developed country, because of fears over fire, rubbish and cows choking on the remains, so it felt all the more special because of it and we joined in by lighting a few ourselves. It was then dinner time, and the four families who comprised the party sat cross-legged on the floor and served a type of rice dish called hotchpotch with a khichdi masala curry. With a nightbus to Mumbai to catch, at eight I had to say my goodbyes and thank you's, and Mahesh offered to drive me back to my hotel.

Now there my friends is real hospitality. Over the day I'd met so many amazingly kind, welcoming, curious and friendly people. I was absolutely bowled over by the experience, and all I did to make it happen was it was go for a wander. The way all the best things seem to happen!

The amazing night sky full of Chinese lanterns.

Streets of Ahmedabad

Typical rooftop scene throughout the day

House party number three - looking like a plonker whilst being taught to dance Bhangra style

Kite reels

Mehish taking me on a tour across town

Dinner time at party number four

Gandhi's House

Ahmedabad, India

In this blog... I go to Gandhi's house, visit a step well and, errr, eat a pizza.

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After the lake cruise at Udaipur, I took a mid-afternoon bus to Ahmedabad, about five hours south. Ahmedabad is a typical Indian commercial and industrial city, and not really a common stop off for tourists, but I wanted to break up the long journey south to Mumbai, and there were a couple of things worth stopping a day for. Which ended up being three. 

Saturday 11th January

Motorway services

As ever, there were a few interesting happenings on the dual carriageway on the way. The road was well built and fast, and we passed along scrubby hills, later followed by flat arable land. A jeep overtook our bus, and despite doing sixty miles an hour down the outside lane, had four people sat on the roof and one sat on top of the spare wheel, which certainly made me double take and smile. A cow walked up the fast lane towards oncoming traffic which swerved around without eyebrows being raised. Brightly painted lorries overtook, hooting their two tone horns. We braked hard for a very out-of-place and unmarked set of speedbumps on a fast section, presumably there to slow everyone for the corner - what's wrong with using a sign?! At late dusk, a tractor with a trailer packed full of people, pulled across the centre of the road, and onto our lane with no lights on. Lights seem to be very much optional until needed here, only used when you can no longer actually see.

Our driver was typically lacking in skill as well, constantly swerving out violently to overtake and therefore making the bus lurch to one side. At one point something hit the roof, possibly a tree branch, and immediately after, strangley the whole cabin filled with smoke, which soon dispersed when everyone slid open the windows. For some peculiar reason the bus terminated about eight miles outside of Ahmedabad, which annoyed me greatly since I'd booked a bus to Ahmedmabad, and not 'eight miles north of Ahmedmabad by a hardware shop'. I took a conveniently-waiting rickshaw for the final leg, with him trying to scam me as usual, until I asked the bus driver the distance and worked out what it should cost, finally agreeing the right price.

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I found a hotel in the very noisy city centre known as Lal Darwaja, and after moving to the second room since the first was missing an entire window pane (fairly handy in a city as noisy as this), I checked in. This process in India is always typically beaurocratic, requiring you to fill in a 'foreign guest' form followed by a separate guest book, both requiring every conceivable detail including your age and marriage status, followed by them photocopying your passport and visa and submitting it to the Police. Here in the state of Gujarat, I interestingly also had to give my left thumbprint as well, apparently a security precaution, but gave the feeling of checking-in at jail. That night, I was still recovering following a week of 'irregular bowel movements' and couldn't face Indian food, so went to a nearby pizza shop. What they cooked up wasn't a bad effort, though Indians are definately best at their own food - though at £1.50 (150 rupees) I couldn't complain too much. Just as I went to bed at midnight that night, what sounded like a live drumming ensemble, or possibly a crew of jackhammers, started up on a street nearby, but thankfully stopped after half an hour. Indians are so tolerant to noise (read: totally oblivious) and seem to have no understanding that their neighbours might want to sleep.

Sunday 12th January

The guys at the bus stop in Gandhinagar

I was heading for Adalaj step well, about fifteen miles north of town and walked to the local bus station to find a way there. There's never any signs to tell you which bus to get on, so I asked around until a conductor told me I was on the right one. Which it actually wasn't it transpired. I ended up another five miles north of where I should have been in the city of Gandhinagar, and was pointed not across the bus yard, but to a dusty car park along the road for the connecting bus. Once there, a group of about ten guys were sat around some shacks idly chatting, and enthusiastically called me over, with one of them turning out to be the conductor. In broken English they asked the usual set range of curious questions, and kindly provided a chai (masala milk tea) in return. Friendly bunch. 

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Adalaj step well

I eventually ended up at Adalaj step well. A step well is exactly as it sounds - a well, with a stepped embankment surrounding it, built in a range of styles. This was a particularly grand and impressive one, built from sandstone in the sixteenth century by a king in honor of his wife, with extremely detailed carvings and mouldings. An.interesting sight, and pleasing to see that it was well preserved. After an hour I walked back to the main road and a local lad helpfully hailed the right bus back to the city. It was so jam-packed, as they often are, that I had to sit right by the windscreen on the engine cover, facing backwards and grabbing the handrail. The hot seat you might say. I stopped for lunch in a fairly smart looking restaurant (though still a bargain) and tentatively tested my stomach with a thali - a set lunch comprising a range of spicy soup, curries and accompaniments, washed down with a lassi - basically a glass of yoghurt by my reckoning. I didn't really enjoy the meal for once, and wasn't sure whether to blame that on the food, or my still recovering intestines. Probably the latter.

Gandhi's bedroom and living space

I walked to Ghandi Ashram (Sabarmati), where Ghandi himself lived for thirteen years between 1917-1930. An ashram to remind you, is an Indian concept, a spiritual commune where like-minded people live, pray, study and work. The ashram is now closed and preserved as it was, with a fascinating museum within on Gandhi during this period of his life, and the display of his bedroom made it clear to see the simple and unmaterialistic life he lived, whilst devoting his life to freeing India from a British rule. His approach was through protest and non-violence, and really struck a chord with the world. And worked, for India was set free from Britain in 1947. I was quite taken by what I'd learnt about the great man, an inspiring figure around the world.

I'd planned to catch a night bus to Mumbai that evening, but back in the room just felt shattered, and lacking in appetite, eventually having another small and boring pizza. Funnily enough, the illness and therefore delay of my departure, had a silver lining a couple of days later as you'll see in the next blog.

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Monday 13th January

With nothing else I wanted to see in Ahmedabad, I took the opportunity to catch up on writing my blogs, but not until I'd spent an hour sat in a cafe waiting for my breakfast to turn up. Despite complaining twice and being told to wait, after an hour it turned out they'd not actually written down nor passed the order to the kitchen - the second time in as many weeks this has happened. Writing down orders here is rare. Delirious from hunger, I walked out in disgust and instead ate chapattis with veg curry next door. The rest of the day was spent sitting in my hotel room with the windows wide open, letting in the glorious warmth. I realise sometimes I pack too much into my time without a break, so it was good to relax for the day and just write. And after a couple of months of often being in the cold, the heat was a pleasant change. 

The chaotic city markets

Around 5pm I was done, and decided to go for a stroll round the nearby street market; as usual hectic, noisy and dirty, and full to the brim with clothes, housewares and every bit of tat you could possibly want, as well as the usual crowds of thousands of people with motorbikes ignorantly beeping to try to pass between. I was a both a bit shocked and amused (does that make bemused?) when I found a guy sat on the pavement, legs dangling in the rubbish filled gutter, whilst another man sat alongside, cross legged in the lotus position applying a tattoo to the guys forearm, using just a little battery powered kit. I then realised this wasn't just one guy, but a whole line of around twenty of them - an extra-hygienic pavement tattoo parlour. He asked if I wanted one. Funnily enough I declined.

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A strange perculiarity was the amount of belt shops nearby to my hotel, there must have been over twenty of them. Having made do with a crappy plastic belt since loosing mine in Germany months ago, I took advantage of this and ironically despite the huge choice, bought the simplest brown leather one I could find for just £3 (300 rupees), which the owner even tailored for me by cutting to size and putting an extra hole in.

I was looking at going to Alang the next day, a town six hours away where the world's largest ship breaking facility  can be found, a place where old ships from mostly developed countries come to die due to the much lower cost. This is due to both the low labour cost, and the blind eye often turned here to safety and environmental implications that couldn't happen at home. Passing your own problems to someone else basically, at a big cost to their health and environment - manynpeoplemdie there every year. It comprises a six mile long beach, where they intentionally drive ships at full tilt into the sand to allow them to be dismantled. I've seen a documentary on it before and it looked an amazing place to visit, but because of said issues, security is now very tight so I wouldn't have seen that much given the long journey. I consoled myself by reading some great blogs on it, by a retired American captain who goes there to buy salvaged goods to sell on, and also a backpacker who visited in 1998. Both very interesting. 

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Having a TV in my room for a rare change allowed me to flick around the Indian Sky TV channels that night, which were mostly in Hindi with the odd US import, and on the whole pretty cheeses and rubbish. After some time without seeing a movie, I was pleased to find and watch the Sly Stallone movie 'Lock Up' though, which despite being in English, had English subtitles - maybe Indians struggle with the accents or something. 

After a bit more reading about the city I was in that night, I found by chance my timing coincided with a big event, so despite not really liking this particularly dirty and noisy place, decided it was definitely worth adding yet another day. 

Getting a quick tattoo done... by a guy sat on the pavement

Sick As A Prince

Udaipur, India

(Route so far here) 

In this blog... I get ill, go to afternoon tea with a 'Prince', cycle to a mountain palace, and see the world's largest turban.

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It was going to happen eventually. Being exposed to some many different foods, people, germs, and in India, standards of hygiene, meant that I was bound to get some sort of illness sometime, and in Udaipur it finally happened. I'm just surprised it took six weeks in India for it to do so! In one hit this week, I've been suffering from a spot of Delhi belly, a cold, a fungal infection on my finger as well as having to have another anti-rabies jab following the dog bite the week before. Surprisingly, with the exception of one day, I've managed to function fairly normally through all this and it hasn't hit me too hard. 

Monday 

So back in Jodhpur, and with no direct trains to Udaipur I reluctantly took the bus south, a seven hour journey. I'm beginning to hate buses, but they're a necessary evil sometimes. The scenery on the way was nothing too special, lots of scrubby hill land, with a few flat patches in between where vegetables and rapeseed were being grown. A couple of times we passed people living in makeshift tents beside the road, fashioned from scavenged wood and tarpaulins, cooking outside on the street using small stoves. Sadly a sight you will see somewhere most days, but at least they have a bit of space and hygiene, unlike the big slums of Mumbai. 

Despite being a long distance express bus, the driver had no hesitations in suddenly slamming on the brakes to pick up people as he went. The roads we took varied completely, sometimes dual carriageway, sometimes dirt track, and at one point a very steep and windy minor road that wound up through some hills, with many langur monkeys hanging out in the trees by the road. In some of the villages we went through, people gathered round the village pump, and women carried home large containers of water in their heads. We passed a fairly smart looking horse breeding farm, some lovely dry stone walling, and a few large marble quarries. After this, there was mile after mile of nothing but marble sales yards, selling huge slabs of the white cut variety. I've never seen so much of the stuff.

Arriving at Udaipur, I shared a rickshaw across town to the hotel area with two British girls here on holiday, who were also on the bus. We were so overloaded with ourselves and bags, that with them stuffed in the back, I had to share the seat with the driver, him sat off-centre holding the handlebars (being part-motorbike), whilst I held on tight to keep myself both on the seat and in the vehicle! It was hilarious, but given the slow speed, not as dangerous as it sounds. There were a lot of hotels on offer but I struggled to find what I was after, with them either being too busy, too grubby, too expensive, or lacking in other guests. I usually take the first or second place I find, but here I turned into one of those hotel snobs you see on TV, and looked at seven different places before I found the right one. It was worth the effort though, having a fantastic rooftop cafe overlooking the beautiful Lake Pichola and the royal palace, and for the remainder of that afternoon all it seemed fitting to do, was sit in the warm sun looking at this amazing view, reading my book and drinking a beer. In fact I ended up sitting in the same spot for nearly eight hours!

The stunning Lake Palace, Udaipur

After some food, I chatted to an English guy on the the next table, him having been in India for a couple of months to volunteer and travel as a break from work. He was bored of his marketing job, but also bored of traveling, and whilst he was nice enough, his misery was infectious. I hate negative people. Two Russian girls sat on the next table along and we all got chatting for a while before Mr Happy disappeared off. I'm very intrigued by Russia and have been for a long time. The first group of Russians I met in Munich a few months ago upheld the loud vodka-swilling stereotype, but here Natasha and Natasha were the opposite. Their English was extremely good and accent quite soft, and they were friendly, polite and good fun. We had a good chat about all sorts, and I asked hundreds of things about Russia that I'd always wanted to know. 

Tuesday

Hot wheels

I've not ridden a bicycle for two months. Thinking about it, it's probably the longest I've ever gone without. I'm a bit of an addict and have missed cycling a lot, so the next day when I found that Udaipur had a hire shop I was straight there, paying £0.50 (50 rupees) to take a typical old-fashioned Indian bike out for the day. There really is only one main style of bike in India, and this was it - extremely heavy, a huge frame, one fixed gear, slow steering, swept back handlebars and terrible brakes. It's an awful design, and they're all way too big for the average Indian who rides them, but as with everything in India, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. It was a lot of fun to ride though, and I headed out of town, experiencing the chaotic roads first hand for the first time, drawing funny looks and remarks along the way from all the locals, who thought it was hilarious to see a foreigner on a bike. I rode round the beautiful Lake Fateh Sarah, and came across Shilpgram, a rather touristy re-creation of a rural village typical to the Rajistan area of India. As I was passing anyway, I decided to go in for an hour or so, stopping to watch the paid musicians burst into life and play when tourists walk past, then demand a tip. The buildings were mildly interesting to see but a bit fake and cheesey - real-life is much more interesting.

Half-way back I was cycling back around the lake, when out of nowhere came alongside me an Indian guy in his late twenties, riding an eighties road-bike and wearing an eighties shell-suit, and so began a truly surreal experience. With no introduction, he blurted out the usual 'what is your country sir?' in the very formal and old-fashioned English commonly used here, and he proceeded to chat away and ask various questions. He asked my name, and I asked his - he replied 'Prince Kamakhaya Singh'. 'You're a prince?' I said, slightly surprised and a tiny bit suspicious. He went on to tell me how he lived near the lake and cycled round for fitness every day, but his family home was the palace 'Devi Garh' around thirty miles away. As time went on he started to seem increasingly crazy and arrogant, yet remaining very friendly and inquisitive. He then started coming out with some truly ludicrous statements, with no hesitation that they might be seen as anything but normal. For example - he said he's started over seven religions, is the best polo player in the world, and is the living reincarnation of over two hundred people. Okayyyy! He seemed harmless though, and when he invited me to his house for a cup of tea, I obliged out of curiously of this strange person.

Prince Kamakhaya Singh

Having afternoon tea at the house of Prince Kamakhaya Singh

A short while later back in Udaipur, we cycled up a steep hill to his reasonably large suburban home overlooking the lake, and he pointed to a plaque above the gate which indeed said 'Prince Kamakhaya Singh'. I asked if he lived alone, and learnt he lived there with his parents, and I was given a seat on the balcony whilst his mum prepared tea and biscuits. I found myself talking in a similar style to Louis Theroux - asking seemingly innocent things but underneath thinking 'you madman'! I probed him with more questions and the truth started slowly revealing itself. He was legally allowed to use the title of Prince, but it appeared that he bought the rights to do so and registered it with the local government. He'd also bought the rights off the internet for £0.10 a time, and then had approved by the local government, to legally be known as the reincarnation of Bruce Lee, Roger Moore and Spiderman amongst others, as well as a few Hindu gods! It transpired that the palace somehow left his family during his grandfathers time, possibly due to debt, and he was now in litigation with the current property group to claim back the rights of ownership, the grounds of which weren't apparent. The statement that really told me that he should be institutionalised, was one that made me bite my lip and hold my chest in, trying my hardest not to laugh. He told me straight faced and without hesitation, that he is the legal owner of the universe. The entire planetary system of the universe...

It was one of the most bizarre encounters I'd ever had, and with the daylight drawing in, I politely said goodbye and cycled back to the hire shop. But not before he took down my details, and told me he'd send an invite to his wedding when it happens... despite not actually having a girlfriend, nor wanting an arranged marriage.

Udaipur was the location for the 1983 James Bond film - Octopussy, with much of the film being set around the nearby lake palace, and city streets. People of the city are very proud of this, and many of the restaurants play the film every single night to lure in customers. After thirty years I would guess they must be pretty bored of it! I went to one such place near my hotel and watched it that evening, noting whilst watching that the streets and fashions of India look exactly the same thirty years later. But I felt a bit off my food, and couldn't even stomach a bland pasta, so went to bed early after my Bond fix.

Wednesday

I woke up feeling a bit offish, after a few days of not being quite right, but after breckfast went for a wander anyway, having a look around nearby Bagore-ki Haveli. An eighteenth century Haveli, it's best described as an Indian version of a mansion house, and now preserved as a museum. I enjoyed looking round for an an hour or so, especially seeing the collection of turbans which included the world's biggest one - too big for even an elephant. But I felt sluggish when I left, with every beeping horn and pushy shopkeeper driving me up the wall much more than normal. I gave in and, feeling drained of energy and feeling pretty rubbish, turned back to the hotel, spending the rest of the day either on the toilet, or lounging in the sun in the rooftop area, reading my book. 

Bagore-ki Haveli

Thursday

After a good sleep I felt more back to normal, and not wanting another day around the hotel, yet again hired a bike and set off out of the city. I chose a mountain bike this time, knowing I needed some gears, and lugged this heavy bit of kit slowly up the steep hill to the Monsoon Palace - a now empty building a few miles out of town. The views were terrific, and only interrupted by a group of Indian lads who wanted my photo taken with them at seemingly every photo opportunity. I've mentioned before this is a fairly common occurrence in India, I guess 'foreigners' are a bit novel to some of them. Whilst it can be fun for a while, their approach can be downright rude sometimes, when they just shuffle alongside and take it without actually asking, or more often when you're ordered into their picture, and can become a little grating after a while. I cycled back down the hill, then out through some very interesting rural villages, where their grasp of English is understandably less good, and for the first time I saw some terrible teeth. I guess dental care comes second to just surviving for many. Twenty miles later I was back at base feeling completely ruined - definitely still not my normal self.

Friday

Saheliyon ki Badi gardens

I'd planned to leave town this morning, but ended up spending the whole morning in an Internet cafe trying to sort out some things for the next few weeks, and indeed next few months. After lunch, like a junkie, I had a craving to get back on a bike again so hired an old-school Indian bike again, and headed out to some beautiful gardens - Saheliyon ki Badi - before cutting across town to a special graveyard. Using Google maps with the GPS on my phone proves to be very handy to find your way around unfamiliar places, and I passed through all sorts of interesting parts of town I doubt many tourists would ever find themselves venturing. 

Ahah centopaths

I reached Ahah Centopaths, noted as an attraction but rarely visited from the looks of it. I never thought I'd describe a graveyard as amazing, but this royal cemetary, where rulers from previous centuries were laid to rest, was truly something else. I was the only visitor at the time, and was amused by the corrupt security guard who upon entering said 'cameras are not allowed, but if you give me twenty rupees you can take photos'! There were around two hundred and fifty exquisitely carved Centopaths - marble monuments, all set tightly together; some big, some small, and together the layers of detail built a spectacular view. A real unexpected find - I really enjoy places unaffected by tourism or hype, where you can see them for what they really are. Even if they're graveyards.

Cycling on the roads of India is very different to anywhere I've ever ridden. There is no consideration of other road users, no indicating, and you don't let people out, stay in lanes, or wait for people. Instead, I found that everyone pulls out of junctions without even looking and expects the traffic to just stop for them, and they'll cut you up and force you into the back of parked cars if you don't ride assertively enough. It's each for himself, and total chaos! I was soon back in town in the shopping area.

I hate shopping and particularly hate useless souvenirs, but force myself to buy the odd few things knowing I'll appreciate them in future. I stopped to buy some paintings, all originals and quite nicely done for not a lot of money. In one of the shops I visited I couldn't help but be transfixed by the ears of one of the artists I met - on the outer edges of the flesh he had great tufts of black hair growing where I've never seen it grow before, it was amazing. One of those situations where you have to wrestle your eyes back to where they should be!

Saturday

The center point for Udaipur is the lake, and having not visited the most obvious attraction yet, I decided to take one of the boat cruises out around the beautiful white palace in the middle of it. It was a nice way to spend the morning, and on another island that we stopped at nearby, I chatted to two older tourists who had Indian heritage, but had lived their lives in South Africa and I noted just how different their mindset was because of this. They were hilarious to chat to and quite modern, if not a little racist, and I had a proper good laugh with for a while.

 

Lake palace from the boat

It was time to move on. I'd felt a bit shoddy for the whole time in Udaipur, but it was never enough to ground me, and spending the time just resting wouldn't really have helped. I'd met some interesting locals, but was disappointed not to have met more fellow travellers at the hotel after the first day. Sometimes when this happens it's just me being lazy, sometimes the layout of a place makes it a bit unsociable, and other times certain places attract certain types of people, so I'm not sure which applied this time, possibly the latter. I'd thoroughly enjoyed the beauty of the lake and surrounding buildings, even if the rest of the city was typically grotty, noisy and chaotic, and it had been fantastic to get out and about on a bike again.

 

Still makes me cringe everytime I see this happen, and it's all too common

 

Shilpgram model village, a bit cheesey for my liking

Countryside near Udaipur

 

Local farmers I saw whilst cycling

The monsoon palace