Kerala: Kochi and Varkala

Kochi: Fort Cochin and the Keralan Backwaters
10/13/09 to 10/16/09

Kerala is a state on the southwestern tip of India known for its diverse colonial past and slow-paced present. Another effortless flight from Calcutta to Kochi (formally Cochin) saved me about three days travel by train to get there...well worth the hundred dollar price tag. Kochi is made up of a "gaggle of islands" (to quote the guide book) the most attractive of which is Fort Cochin (Actually part of a small peninsula, but you get the idea). With influences from the Chinese, Portuguese, Dutch and, of course, British the old island was a classy- if at times crumbling-collection old world churches and Portuguese buildings with their clay tiled rooftops. Along the northern banks of the island Chinese fishing nets appeared ready to snag the next bounty, though their use now has been largely supplanted by more modern fishing techniques. Next to them, small outboard-powered fishing boats would stroll in at sunset for the nightly fish auction where prawns, squid, tuna and lobster were auctioned off by a vibrant auctioneer to a seemingly disinterested clientele. Supposedly, I could've joined the action and taken my winning bid to a local restaurant to have my meal prepared, but it seemed too much of a hassle.


Being the uber-laid back place that it was, the inhabitants were by far the most friendly people I'd met in India. Furthermore, staying in an old Portuguese house (or at least styled that way), my hotel room the most "luxurious" I'd had. The owners even gave me an informative 30 minute orientation of the island upon my check-in...western-style service at its best!

The biggest attraction in Kerala is boating the backwaters that stretch over 50km from Kochi to Alleppey. There are over 900 km of natural and man-made canals snaking trough the brackish backwaters which are used by local villagers for transporting the the many spices, nuts, fruits and bevy of coconut products produced in the area. One can rent a houseboat to cruise the backwaters for days on end-sleeping under the palm-lined banks and dining on freshly caught fish-but at $100 per night, this was a bit outside my budget. The other option is the one day excursion which most tourists opt for...which I did despite my growing dislike of "tours"( I really despise "tours" but sometimes they are the only way to access these types of remote sites). We started our journey traversing the narrow man-made canals to a small village where rope made from coconut husk fibers were being produced. There were also a variety of spice trees: black pepper, allspice, nutmeg and cinnamon that the locals harvest and transport to market via the waterways. After a mid-day lunch -served on banana leaves-we headed to the largest lake in Kerala where we drifted silently for the next few hours. The boat was man-powered: one man on bow/stern with long bamboo sticks who would push us along from the canal bottom. We traveled at a lazy speed of maybe 2 ft/second...it was intensely relaxing, so much so that I drifted off after lunch and woke up just in time for our disembarkment.

(Pictures: top-Chinese fishing nets. Middle-Our boat navigating the canals. Bottom-shipment of spices)



Varkala: Arabian Sea
10/16/09 to 10/21/09
Not sure where to go next but enjoying Kerala's easy-going atmosphere, I decided on the small beach village of Varkala, some 4 hours south by train. Fortunately, the dramatic cliffs running along the beach (seen pictured) haven't allowed for too much development to spoil the atmosphere (no rickshaws, no horns, no touts, and just a few shops), which meant my days consisted of waking up, going to the beach and staring off into the Arabian Sea for 7-8 hours. I rented a bamboo hut for 300Rps ($6) per night which was a lazy 40 second stumble up from the beach. At night I would eat fresh seafood and have a beer at the Rock n' Roll bar with my drinking buddy, Benny-a guy from Switzerland I'd met before in Fort Kochi. Varkala will certainly not be the last of my beach-side stops, but what a great place to drift off into to la-la land. It was also good to finally get to use my swimsuit. Now all of my clothes are officially dirty and stinky: the modus operandi of a backpacker.

Calcutta: Remnants of the Raj

10/11/09 to 10/13/09

The plan was to go south...and not 4 days via train south, but by air south. That's what one bad experience on a train from Agra to Varanasi can do to you. My options for airports were Delhi and Calcutta (now Kolkata) and since Calcutta was only 14 hours away as apposed to 18, well...there I was. Let me start by saying that I have no pictures or great experiences to share for the simple fact that after 1.5 months of travelling, food poisoning finally caught up to me. It was inevitable. Furthermore, my two 1.5 days there were only meant to be a connection point for my flight to Kochi in the south. I didn't stray too far from my hotel as a result but what I did see wasn't too bad. At least better than what I had heard. Calcutta is the second largest city in India and previously the home and center of operations for Britain's East India Co. The wide boulevards, ample sidewalks and architecture evident of a city spawned by1st world ambition. Noticeably absent were the auto rickshaws. Apparently they are only allowed to travel set routes, leaving them basically irrelevant. I was, however, introduced to the man-powered rickshaw of old and the yellow painted (and ever-present) cab, a la New York. Whether it be a lack of touristic sights or a jaded view of foreigners by the Bengalis, Calcutta seemed to be disinterested in tourist activity...at least that was my very limited take. On to Kochi.....

Varanasi: The Sacred Ganges

10/07/09 to 10/10/09

Without ever experiencing a place first hand it's natural to develop a snap-shot in your mind of what daily life might look like there. Few places turn out to be exactly what you imagine; not necessarily disappointingly so...just different. Varanasi has proved to be the exception to the rule...at least in my version of it. This was the stereotypical image of India that I had imagined. What reminded me most of my pre-conceived notion was the colors: the sarees, boats, buildings, people, face paint, and the sunset bouncing off the Ganges. Varanasi, situated on the Ganges River is said to be one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the world, dating to more than 1000 BC. Though not the only city on the Ganges, the city of Shiva is by far the most holy. Hindus from across the country journey here to bathe and pray in the many ghats along the muddy waters [A ghat is basically a set of stairs leading down to the river] of which there are over 80. Some serve as burning ghats where the recently deceased are cremated. Hindus believe that by dying in Varanasi and/or being cremated along the Ganges one is relieved of the cycle of reincarnation. As a result, there are many hospices where Hindus from around the country come to spend their final days. Anyone can watch the cremations, which continue uninterrupted for 24 hours...so I was told. Women typically don't attend the cremation and the men overseeing the burning display little emotion. In fact, there are so many random people there that it's hard to tell who's family, and who's a bystander-like myself. The bodies are tightly bound in what appeared to be a gold metallic paper and then bathed in the Ganges before being placed on the wood for cremation. It takes 3 hours for a body to burn completely and over 2000kg of wood is used in the process (not sure on the Kg, as I might have misunderstood my informant's English). It is common law that pictures not be taken of the process out of respect for the deceased and family members. The main ghat, Dasaswamedh - pictured above, is the most active for bathing/praying and plays host to the nightly ganga aarti ceremony. I'm not exactly sure what the purpose of the ceremony is but it's safe to assume that it somehow pays homage to the mother Ganges and Brahman (God). It began with some poor singing followed by the twirling of sandalwood incense and burning cow shit in what looked like a genie's lamp. The performers are pilgrims (seen in orange below) or priests-in-training that have come to perform the ceremony along the banks of the Ganges. Looking out at night one can also see the release of dozens if not 100's of tiny lotus flower boats carrying lighted votive candles thought to bring good Karma to one's family. The old city near the main ghat is a maze of narrow lanes not passable by motorized vehicles (theoretically) and crowded with hotels, silk shops other tourist bait. I chose to stay away from the hustle of the old city, instead resting at the southern-most ghat: Assi Ghat. My clean, comfortable room and quiet surroundings definitely made the 30 minute daily walk to the old city and main ghats worthwhile. The tourist thing to do is rent a boat before sunrise and float along the Ganges as the masses make their way down the ghats to bathe, pray and pay homage to the rising sun. At only 100Rps, and despite my early morning moodiness, it was well worth the trip to have an all-encompassing perspective as my previous viewings had been only land-based.

Of course there's two sides to every coin as not only is Varanasi the holy city for Hindus but it is the capital of touts for tourists. I really enjoyed Varanasi. I could have loved it but for the constant hounding by shop owners, rickshaw drivers, boat drivers, post-card selling kids, and drug dealers. They were the most persistent and conniving that I'd experienced in India and there was no avoiding them. It's a shame that such a colorful, holy, culturally rich and diverse place has to be tainted by this kind of activity...hopefully my memory of it will not be. Still, Varanasi proved to be well worth the stop and a great representation of Hindu culture.

Morning prayers

Agra: The Taj Mahal

10/04/09 to 10/06/09

Thankfully, my flight from Srinagar to Delhi was effortless. News now of 7 LeT terrorists on the run in Kashmir and a bombing foiled in Srinagar probably means I got out of there just in time. Not wanting to stay in Delhi too long - though it would be my last visit in the foreseeable future- but needing to stock up on some provisions, I booked my hotel in Delhi for the night as my train would leave to Agra the following morning. At just over a month, my short stay in India has already turned me into a veteran in the arena of tourist-vendor relations. I remember first arriving in Delhi and politely sustaining conversations with "friendly" Indians, only to find they had nothing more than monetary motivations. Now I can see them approaching a mile away and shake them off before a word is uttered. Juliana also taught be the value in a hard bargain. Before our meeting, I would happily pay 500-700 Rps ($10-14) for a room without question. I now rarely pay more than 350 Rps ($7) for a comparably equipped room. I digress...

Prior to arriving, I had heard from many travellers that Agra was a one day stop and it wouldn't take long to figure out why. Taj Ganj, the tourist area surrounding the Taj Mahal, is a crumbling, trash laden, and frequently powerless (literally...no electricity) mess. It's especially surprising considering this is the site of an international icon and India's most popular tourist attraction. I guess I had become somewhat spoiled by the north's noticeably cleaner streets, scenic surroundings and slower pace.

To avoid the hassle of constantly going to each individual train station to book each leg of the journey from Delhi-Agra-Varanasi to Calcutta (Kolkata), I reserved my spot for all 3 trains in Delhi. The plan would've been perfect but for the sudden arrival of poor weather. It had rained the day I arrived in Agra and my train to Varanasi would leave the next night, meaning the rain would need to clear up the next morning for me to visit the Taj. Granted, one can visit at any time, but I had this idyllic vision of how my visit to the Taj would be and it didn't include rain (or overcast skies for that matter). I woke promptly at 5am to get to the grounds for sunrise only to find that it was pouring rain outside my hotel. With a groggy head and a mere $5 dollar loss to change, I re-scheduled my train for the following day in hopes of better weather. Then back to sleep.

Fortunately, and despite the lacklustre of Taj Ganj (the aforementioned neighborhood surrounding the Taj), my hotel's rooftop restaurant had an intrusive view of the palace...seen in the top picture. It almost felt illegal to be so close without having to pay the hefty tourist entry fee. Despite all the pictures I'd seen, my first glimpse of the Taj in person was nothing short of stunning. Sometimes in lengthy travel like this, I get discouraged by (ultimately irrelevant) nuances of travel and somewhat jaded by all the temples, forts, monuments etc. All it takes is the first-hand sight of an Angkor Wat, Machu Picchu or Taj Mahal, however, to reinvigorate one's interest. At the same time, I've seen structures much older and equally adorned here in India and I have to think that part of my awe was influenced by the fact that I was star-struck. Not to take away from the Taj...it is a well preserved, perfectly planned, intricately decorated monolith, but its world-wide fame can't be denied.

I woke early again the next day only to find more overcast skies and a light drizzle. Oh Well. I took the requisite portrait from within the grounds of my tired mug with the Taj in the background, but it wouldn't be until later that afternoon when the sun finally peeked through the clouds at sunset that I was able to get a decent picture...yet only from afar. At 750 Rps ( $16), the entry fee is by far the most expensive in India and does not allow for repeat visits. I could have purchased another ticket in hopes of getting that perfect picture but 750 rps is almost 3 nights worth of hotel rooms. I know a quality experience is much more valuable than a picture, but this was definitely one instance where I wished to have both.

It was great to see the Taj up close but its value in relation to the whole of my trip amounts to only one of many a growing number of great experiences/sights in India.

Northern Exposure: McLeod Ganj, Manali, Leh and Srinagar

McLeod Ganj: Tibetan Gov't in Exile 9/19/09 to 9/22/09
(Speaking of anomalies) At an elevation of over 5300 feet, McLeod Ganj's much cooler temperatures and location amongst the foothills of the Himalayas (they look more like mountains to me, but I guess compared to the real deal in Leh, foothills will suffice) would be enough to dispel the misconceptions of India as a sweltering hot, flat wasteland . Moreover, the small village of mostly Tibetan refugees was perpetually cloaked in a white mist of Himalayan clouds almost intentionally isolating the small village from the rest of India. It is here that the Dalai Lama resides and continues his governance /guidance over the Buddhist government in exile. Indian faces and accents were replaced by distinctly East Asian features and tongue. In fact, the only (native) Indians I saw here were, like myself, tourists who had come to this quaint village in the foothills to experience yet another dimension of India. There was also a large contingent of ex-pat volunteers here- in some way contributing to the many NGOs serving the refugee community. I had a fleeting desire to stay myself, but for the selfish urge to keep exploring while I can. I have a feeling if things don't work out state-side, I might find myself back in McLeod Ganj to rack up some Karma points (tangent: don't ask how the village got it's obviously British-influenced moniker...I honestly don't know, nor does it seem of great import in lieu of the plight of the Tibetans residing here). The temple and housing complexes of the Dalai Lama themselves aren't overly extravagant, though I wouldn't expect them to be considering the simplicity of the lives lead by the inhabiting monks. It's rare that a tourist gets a chance to see the Lama in his natural (albeit displaced) habitat and I was not the exception; though I did take the opportunity to spin a few prayer wheels at his holiness' abode. McLeod Ganj was noticeably slower, and completely different than anywhere else I'd been in India...a true break from my own preconceptions.

Manali: Gateway to the North and The Motorcycle Dilemma 9/23/09 to 9/26/09

After McGanj, I headed to Manali-a largely tourist (domestic and foreign) town further up in the foothills and the jumping off point for the overland route to Leh in the Himalayas. Nothing really exciting happened for me here, especially due to my being under the weather for most of the time. For a brief moment however (less than 24 hours) I owned a 1998, 350cc Royal Enfield motorcycle (pictured) that I purchased for around $750. I struggled with the decision for a few days before finally convincing myself to partake in this once in a lifetime opportunity. Royal Enfields were imported to India by the British and since their departure, the bikes have been manufactured domestically using the same specs as the mid-40's model (with minor upgrades, of course). I had purchased a luggage rack and 2 jerrycans for extra fuel and was ready to embark on what could've been the most memorable experience of my life. It seems some other force was acting on my behalf, as not 30 minutes after purchasing my first motorcycle, I met a local mountaineer who climbs the mountains surrounding Leh in the summer. Upon hearing that I was planning the moto trip to Leh the following day, he strongly urged that I reconsider. He explained the passes were very difficult to navigate this time of year, and that snow had recently fallen on said passes the previous week. That evening, at dinner, my waiter echoed the mountaineer's concern and added that a friend of his who had just returned via moto said the road was in bad condition. Heartbroken by what I had heard, I was forced to re-evaluate the situation. Ultimately my being alone, coupled with the suggestion by many locals that the weather could turn at any moment this time of year, and the fact that driving, (as opposed to train or air travel) will add many days to my already tight schedule, quashed my cycling dreams. Fortunately I was able to re-sell the bike to the same vendor the next day, loosing only $50 in the deal. Though most likely a "once in a lifetime" opp, I decided it best to continue my journey through India via the much cheaper and reliable train and bus systems....although I certainly wouldn't rule out a better planned moto trip through the Himalayas in the future.

Leh: The Death Road 9/27/09 to 9/30/09
With my motorcycle woes sorted out, I booked what would become a harrowing bus ride to Leh in the state of Ladakh. Leh, at 10,500 ft., is accessible overland via a rocky, dusty, hair-pinned "road" that snakes through multiple high-altitude passes, the last being the 2nd highest motorable pass in the world at 15,984 ft. Crammed in with 7 others in a "bus" (think brown VW bus, if not smaller) with no suspension and a maniac driver kept me on edge for most of the 18 hour journey. Though the motorcycle would've no doubt taken longer to navigate, I am certain that my chances of falling off one of the many Himalayan peaks would've been reduced. It was a trip that will undoubtedly be remembered for the rest of my life, but one that I would never want to do again (and one that would directly influence my near-future travels). As expected, Leh was scenic and very quiet. Nestled in a valley surrounded by the Himalayas, the small town is a mix of Tibetan refugees, Kashmiri Muslims, Indian honeymooners and the occasional backpacker. As with most places in the north, the main reason to visit is the scenery and the slower pace of life. Not to say I didn't enjoy my time to relax, but I was ready to get back to the "real" India. Oddly enough, I actually wanted to be amongst the car horns, dust, cows, touts I become accustomed to in Delhi and Rajasthan. I wanted to feel the pulse of India again. But that would have to wait..a bit. I had purchased a ticket from Air India to fly back to Delhi but, of course, a strike would halt all Air India flights leaving Leh. With no other flights available for at least a week, and my refusal to relive the horrors of a bus ride back to Manali, I decided to head west to Srinagar where I could find a flight out in a few days time.

Srinagar: "Moving Through Kashmir" 10/01/09 to 10/03/09

Another winding, yet smoother 16 hour journey by "jeep" found me rolling into Srinagar, complete with Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" blaring in my headphones. My reluctance to come to this city of almost 1 million in the heart of Kashmir would soon be unfounded, though I didn't receive the warmest of welcomes. (If you a nervous about me travelling alone in a foreign country, skip the next paragraph - i.e. Mom)

Srinagar is the capital of the Muslim-dominated Kashmir region in northern India. Though my stay was peaceful, tensions run high in this once tourist (and now-supposedly- terrorist) hot-spot. It seems Pakistan claims this region to be rightfully their own which, at times, lends to the occasional "terrorist" attack in the form of car bombs or attacks on local buses from renegade Pakistanis. Add to this, that most Muslims living in Srinagar wish not to be governed by India or Pakistan, but rather lobby (fight) for an independent Kashmiri nation-state. This activity, albeit dispersed and infrequent, has understandably driven tourists away over the last few decades. I followed all the golden rules of a conscious backpacker travelling in a politically sensitive area: stay away from large crowds, government offices, banks, and claim my citizenship to a neutral, if not sympathetic country to the Islamist cause (my choice: Argentina, of course). Once again, faces and languages changed; Namaste (Hindi for "hello") was replaced by the Arabic "Salam Alaykum", as men donned topi and fez caps (Muslim prayer hats) providing a glimpse of what I imagine life in Pakistan or, to a lesser extent, Afghanistan might be like. Walking down the street I was met with frowning faces and suspicious stares. I've become used to the staring in other parts of India, but usually they're spawned out of curiosity and are always accompanied by a shy smile when I catch the owner's gaze. Unless talking to a vendor or autorickshaw driver, most conversations were one sided (my side if you can believe that) and cold. I certainly wouldn't frame this experience around all Muslims in India. In fact, those I met in Rajasthan were the friendliest, happiest, and most helpful people I've met in India thus far. But the tensions of daily life in this region were palpable; the stares, the defensive posturing in conversation, and the posting of AK-47 toting Indian infantrymen on every street corner. At one point, I counted 12 heavily armed soldiers on one block. The fact that I've been to Kashmir, for better or for worse, intrinsically adds value to my trip. I certainly didn't plan to come here, but the real dangers of my falling off the side of a mountain if I were to take the bus back to Manali from Leh (realistically my only other option) outweighed the very slim chance that I would be the victim of a terrorist attack.

The (once) big draw here are the houseboats strewn across Dal Lake (pictured above), and the multiple Muhgal gardens throughout the city. Be it the sheer number of boats that have crowded the lake or the fact that staying in one turned out to be a hassle, the whole lake houseboat thing was over-rated in my opinion. The gardens weren't much of a thrill either, though I did take the opportunity to play the roll by dressing up as a Muhgal King and strolling through my domain. At 100 Rps, the costume was easily the cheapest and most exciting thing I did in Srinagar.

Goodbye to my friend
To avoid arousing false assumptions by those reading this blog, I've intentionally left out the fact that, since Udaipur, I've continued to travel with my Argentine friend-Juliana. Her travelling alone for the first time (the two other Argentines had left for New Zealand after Jodphur) and my travelling without a plan made it seem natural that we continue onward together. We had a great time together, and though I am naturally the independent-solitary type, I've valued her company these last few weeks and will miss having a travel buddy going forward. Buenos Suerte, Juliana.

Amritsar: Golden Temple - Border Ceremony

9/16/09 to 9/19/09

The Golden Temple

After my leisurely stay in Udaipur, the last of my stops in Rajasthan, I decided to head to northern India after hearing multiple positive reviews from fellow travellers. Though not in my initial plan, my successful stay in Rajasthan (also unplanned) had convinced me to explore what is quickly becoming an anomaly in the north. My first stop would be Amritsar-in the state of Punjab-after a 24 hour train ride from Udaipur with a short lay-over in Delhi. Supposedly most of what Americans experience as Indian culture in the US is largely influenced by the culture in Punjab; specifically in Indian restaurants, though I can neither confirm or deny this claim. For travellers and Indians alike, it is most known for being the site of the "Golden Temple"; the holiest shrine in the Sikh religion and the ultimate destination for pilgrims of said religion (think Mecca for Islam, Bethlehem for Christians, or-the as yet to be visited-Varanasi for Hindus). It was here that Guru Nanek, the founder of Sikhism, decided to settle his followers in refuge from the persecution of the Islamist state in Lahore, Pakistan (I think). The Golden Temple also houses the original text of Guru Nanek. Upon entering the temple complex, one must remove shoes, wash his/hers hands and feet, and have the head covered. The covering of the head is most stereotypically portrayed by the colorful turbans worn by the Sikh men, as one requirement of their devotion to Sikhism is to maintain unshorn hair. I think most of us who have never been to India imagine a Sikh male to be the image of an average Indian; complete with tightly bundled turban and robust beard. This is hardly the case, of course, though in the state of Pujab, their presence is hard to miss. Entering the grounds is other-worldly, especially at sunrise and after sunset when the morning/evening prayers commence. Thousands of devoted followers enter the complex, bow their heads to the marble flooring, and then start the clockwise progression around the shrine before forming a line to entire the central chamber of the Golden Temple. Photographs are not allowed inside the temple, but the small room houses four priests who keep up a continuous chant of the Sikh holy book, 24/7 as it's broadcasted over PA systems around the complex. As I approached the central chamber, the devotees bowed to the holy book, wept, offered gifts of food or money and then shuffled around the narrow corridors to a line of steps descending into the pool surrounding the temple to once again bathe their feet. Surrounding the temple is the aforementioned sacred pool where followers bathe, which is then encased by a marble walkway and free housing complexes on all four sides for pilgrims or curious tourists (though many Sikhs opt to sleep on the marble walkway at night). Though smaller than I expected, the temple impresses in the early dawn...the gold plating almost blinding as the thousands of devotees chant the morning prayers. I was never overwhelmed by any religious rites and felt welcomed as a tourist amongst the thousands in their holiest of places; evident by my multiple visits to the complex. But as I learned, this is the Sikh way: one god, no adherence caste systems or distinctions between race, religion or gender.



Hindustan VS. Pakistan


30 Kilometers outside of Amritsar is the only operating land-border crossing between India and Pakistan. This wouldn't seem overly interesting but for the daily border closing ceremony that has become an interesting mix of community dance hall, sporting event and theatre for international bravado. On either side of the border, passionate citizens and their military representatives alike try to out dance, out goose-step, and out cheer for their respective homelands. "Hindustan Zindebad" was the cheer shouted from the Indian side (long live Hindustan) orchestrated by a rock-starish M.C. Of the 5000 or so in attendance (Indian side) only about 100 were tourists, so you can imagine the fervour in each cheer. As the stands began to fill (separated by tourist, male, female, and families) dancing commenced in the street while Indian flags were waved in proud defiance towards the Pakistani followers. The ceremony began with what I can only describe as an introduction of the starting lineup (military personnel who would march to the border gate) followed by a shouting contest between the two countries to see who could hold a "uhhhhhh" longer. Funny. Then, one by one, soldiers elaborately adorned in their traditional military costumes would aggressively goose-step their way to the gate while being mirrored by their counterpart across the border. Tensions have been high of late between the two countries and their mirrored, theatrical movements were ironic considering they could one day just as well be dressed in combat gear, peering at one another down the barrel of a gun. As the final soldier had his chance to flail arms and legs toward his counterpart, the Pakistan and India flags where diplomatically lowered, always remaining at the same level, and the border gates locked for the night. I really don't have the patience to sit here and explain the whole ceremony, but I hope my videos will give a good representation of this hhighly entertaining event. Unfortunately you'll have to wait until I'm state-side, as pictures alone pain enough as it is to load on this page.

( Above-Black dressed Pakistani solders vs. Beige clad Indian soldiers. Middle: The Fervent Indian Fans. Bottom: Indian Soldiers poised for the march-off)

Udaipur: The Lake Palace

9/12/09 to 9/15/09

I don't necessarily consider myself a "world traveller" (yet), especially after having met dozens of backpackers who've spent years jumping from one continent to the next, stopping occasionally to work or volunteer. I would like nothing more than to take off for a year or so to follow in their footsteps, but alas, I have to be satisfied with what I've been able to do thus far. But to the point; of all my travels, of all the cities I've been, Udaipur might be the most scenic. As if it were the setting of a Bond film (and is was...see Octopussy), Udaipur's Lake Palace mysteriously rises out of the middle of Lake Pichola, surrounded by mountainous terrain, royal palaces, bathing ghats and the sounds of tabla-driven Rajasthani music. [Certainly pictures will never do justice to what can be experienced in person-and though somewhat artistic, photography has somehow been bereft of me-I will add pictures when I have access to a faster Internet connection]. Udaipur served as a place for me to kick back a little. Not that I didn't enjoy the conversations with my new friends Mangu and Apoorv-owners the Lotus Cafe I frequented-or the majestic scenery, friendly citizens and somewhat cooler temperatures but I didn't experience much to write home about with regard to Indian culture. Just a good ending to what turned out to be a great experience in the state of Rajasthan. Besides...my next stop, Amritsar, would provide all the cultural stimuli I could want in a given day.



A bit of (possible) foreshadowing: At my hotel, I met two Swiss gents who've been motorcycling across India on their British-designed Royal Enfield motorcycles. In researching India prior to my arrival here, I had read about others who had undertaken the same adventure; purchasing the used bikes in Delhi, then reselling them to other tourists when their journey had been completed. Though initially interested, I had dismissed the option due to the lengthy process of acquiring and registering a newly purchased bike. My discussions with the Swisses have resurrected my desire to see India from the saddle of a vintage motorcycle, and my next stop, Manali, coincidentally is a hub for re-selling tourist-ridden Royal Enfields. Add to this that the route from Manali to Leh (in the Himalayas) is said to be one of the most scenic in the world; evident by it's UNESCO World Heritage distinction. What do you think? Let me know by voting at the bottom of this page. I look forward to the (ultimately irrelevant) results!