India

Useless Travel Guide 1997-3

India

1 Delhi

"Meg's retiring" said one of her colleagues
"I've heard her called a lot of things but never that" replied another.
She actually went into semi-retirement on March 31st but had her leaving do on the 20th and we flew to India via Jordan on the 22nd. Compared with our Cuban experience the flight was comfortably dull, the only technical failure being the earphones.
Delhi airport had a variation on an eternal theme. Standing by the baggage carousel marked RJ192 proved unproductive until someone spotted our cases already unloaded from a Kuwait flight. There was a hoard waiting to meet arrivals and a stream of what looked like 1950's austins but were actually Indian built ambassadors. We were allocated luxury rooms in a swish hotel and grabbed 3 hours sleep. Rik, our guide arranged an afternoon tour of old Delhi. I thought the third biggest mosque in the world was a bit of a con as most of it was in the open air. The route was fascinating, lots of cows straying on the main roads "reincarnated traffic policemen apparently. Motorised rickshaws and cars honk and dart about suicidally. 300 have been killed on the roads in Delhi so far this year, 70,000 a year in India as a whole. We doff our shoes at the gate of the building. From its elevated walls, one can overlook waste ground on which 20 cricket matches are in progress. The roads round the mosque are narrow and throbbing with life. One section sells tools, another fish, another meat including live poultry. another car parts. Rik informs us that 1 hour after your car is stolen all its components will turn up here.
We learn about the history of Delhi, the influence of the Turks, the Mongols, the Hindus, the Moslems and the British. We got a particularly bad press at one stage when we visit what must have been one of the most fabulously rich palaces on earth. The site of the peacock throne was in one of a series of marble buildings. They were decorated by inlaying precious stones into the marble. The British army had prised out every stone. Thousands of them. What is left is a pock marked marble surface. The Koh in Nor diamond, now set in the British crown was part of the loot. I am finding the bird life fascinating. I am frequently falling behind the party as Vultures, black kites, parakeets, mynahs, crested warblers, hornbills, hoopoes, something like an oyster catcher, and a blackbird sized grey bird with a powerful beak and piercing yellow eyes draw my attention. In the evening, ten of the group take Rik's advice on a restaurant, the Chor Bazzar but ignore his warning to avoid spicy food for a few days. The cars use their horns continuously. Follow that taxi instructs Mike as we took two taxis. It turned out to be bad advice as we got lost and drove past the restaurant several times. Still we did enjoy a convivial meal.
More tombs and temples. The tomb is majestic, set in 4 gardens. It is strangely quiet for such an obvious tourist attraction. Fattened bullocks tow the lawn mowers. They get to eat the results of their labour. Their drivers earn more from the tips of tourist photographers than they do from lawn mowing. The lawn nearest the path is shaved almost smooth. The next temple is more hectic, with vendors offering peacock fans, pregnant elephants and sandalwood chess sets for £2. Meg buys 14 elephants and a pack of postcards
The palace of Qutb Minar? Has a tower of 70 metres high but they have closed the staircase. It has a solid iron column 200 years older than the iron age. Being 97% ferrite it does not rust. You are supposed to be blest with good luck if you can stand with your back to it and encircle it in your arms. With my gorilla like arms I just manage. I get dihorrea, ah that sort of luck. My Delhi belly is self inflicted from an even more convivial meal at the Gay Lord Mike, one of the party promotes communal ordering and sharing the bill and the evening gets well out of hand. Rik knows nothing of our plan to leave the tour at Agra or our staying the week at the Clark Shiraz or picking up the following tour next week. He borrows our fax and gets on the phone to Jules Verne.
India makes more films than any other nation. Three per day or a thousand a year. There are always 2 on the multi channel TV. They look like TV soaps. One channel is devoted to Indian dancing, very styilised and contrived. However non of them are working this morning as Meg blew the fuses with her hair dryer yesterday most of the fourth floor is out by all accounts. We visit a Kashmiri carpet shop and listen to the difference between hand made, hand woven, hand knotted single knotted and double knotted. Carpets range from £250 to £500. They are glorious. Tony and Mavis buy one, several others waver. Meg seriously considers a scarf which I think a bit too pale. I like her in a sweater but she decides against it. Cashmere comes in three grades.
Goat's hair
Goat's hair taken only from the belly
Goat's hair taken only from the throat.
We have the usual cocktail of human life traveling with us. Mike an Eileen Mike is a computer contractor and the self appointed social organiser of the group. Eileen a Nurse.
Another Mike who sounds like an academic but is in fact a dentist, not that the two are mutually exclusive. Tessa and Sonia, mother and daughter, Tessa is a teacher, Sonia is studying History and Italian at Leeds, she plays rugby. Hugh and Zoe are elderly, like us, retired, like Meg. Been to India before, were here in fact in 1948. Perhaps a retired looter.
Tony a civil engineer and Mavis a teacher. Mavis is from Sunderland but they now live in Bingly. They have a daughter at Newcastle University and a son doing A levels. Tony is into cycling and Mavis, yoga.
Yet another Mike and Susan a systems analyst
Tonight our social secretary gets carried away, leading several of his flock including me with him. Dinner at the Gaylord is more expensive and poorer quality than the Chor. We order far too much and much too spicy. Rik did warn us. Next morning I have deli Belly as do about a third of the party. Mike is unable to leave his bed. We cannot follow the itinerary today as it is a paint throwing holiday and Rik is afraid to go out. Outside the hotel the taxi drivers are soaking themselves in water and throwing paint. An occasional Bangra drummer adds to the frenzy. A small party, mainly women, daringly taxi into town. The come back unpainted; apparently the town centre was quiet. I would have liked to join them but the distance I was prepared to move from a hygienic toilet was still less than 200 metres. However by mid day we fancy some action and visit the impressive area round the government buildings. An elephant strolls past. It does not appear to have an owner. How can an elephant not belong to anyone? There are 50 cricket matches in progress on the large grassy area. Genuine fast bowling on very rough ground. The batsmen are wearing pads and all are in whites. I am invited to join in but settle for having my photo taken by someone I shall read about getting a century at Lords some day. At 4-Pm Rik collects us for the 5 hour drive to Agra. Naively he says things will be better when they complete the dual carriageway. He hasn't heard of the M25.
The journey is full of interest. In Delhi the locals ride 2, 3 or 4 to a scooter. Rik claims to have seen 8. Babies are carried very casually, no one wears a helmet. Traffic drives on the left but gives way to the right, like the French used to do. Camels pull large trailers of straw. The industrial sector is composed of thousands of small businesses. Single storey, ramshackle, goods stored outside. Corrugated shanties outnumber breeze blocked apartments in town both give way to straw buildings in the country. Giant pizza sized cow pats seem to be a prized possession. There are thousands of children, some very tiny, pottering about on bikes. After dark driving becomes even more hazardous as many vehicles do not have lights and don't always keep left. At the state boundary there is a ten minute delay while the driver pays the road tax. India has five railway companies and would be well advised to keep them in good working order. We arrive in Agra and go our separate way to the Clark Shiraz, very swish, but the TV does not work. It takes four men to fix the aerial. The buffet is poor but as I am not eating it is Meg who suffers. The hotel has its own team of Jules Verne staff who seem very pleased to see us. I have a bad night.
At 08-00 Rik collects us for the last time and takes us to the Taj Mahal. Shah Jehan had the standard number of 4 wives and n concubines, but Mahal was his favourite. She only left his side to bear him 13 children. She died bearing the 14th but on her deathbed asked him
1 to build a memorial to her
2 not to remarry
3 to sort out their argumentative sons.

He scored two out of three. Taj Mahal, the Palace of Mahal, Mahal, the jewel of the court, the palace of the Jewel. She got the most wonderful memorial. Sparkling white marble, it is much bigger than I expected. Beautiful proportioned. The majority of the decorations are relief's cut into the marble. He did not use precious stones, anticipating the British Army. Built of the banks of the river Yamua he calculated possible flood levels accurately for 400 years. Rivers in India move, but a wall on the far bank ensures the Taj stays on the river bank. The entrances are decorated in prayers from the Koran. The size of the script increases with wall height so it all appears even. The setting in three gardens with a rectangular lake is heavenly. Sitting and contemplating is a most uplifting experience. The paint throwing delay means that Rik has no time to take the party to the Red Fort but can still make it to the marble selling emporium. Ah the power of commission. They do make some beautiful stuff, an employee demonstrating semi precious stone making smuggles me a small heart but the shop does OK because we buy three items. We bid the party farewell and start on our 7 day time out. Rik has stressed that 1 day is more than sufficient for Agra.
Its Tuesday, Steve and Karen are not expected until Friday we dine on the hotel's poor international; buffet and watch old movies. Meg's bed has been too hard so we swap. Mossi nets are superfluous to requirements. Breakfast is better but not really up to exploitation due to the fact that we are making an early start walking to the Red Fort that Rik considered hardly worth a visit. The fact that we intend to walk is beyond the comprehension of the rickshaw, mororised rickshaw and taxi drivers who kerb crawl alongside us for the entire two miles. To be honest though the walk is easy it is also quite unpleasant. We pass an arid golf course en route.
Rik was in error! The Red Fort is massive and magnificent. Kilometres of double and treble sandstone fortifications protect a series of marble temples recessed and inlaid extravagantly, but the result is elegant rather than baroque. There is a courtyard in which they used to fish in ponds and canals. Another paved in octagonal marble on which the Shah played a board game using dancing girls as pieces. A monkey tries to snatch my carrier bag. The only attempt to rob us so far. The area facing the Taj Mahal is where Shah Jehan was imprisoned for the last year of his life by his youngest son after he had killed all his elder brothers. Keeping a careful eye out for monkeys we meet three Indian lads who want their photo taken with Meg. We evade the disbelieving rickshaws and stroll back through the park. The Mugal restaurant in the Clark-Shiraz is one of Agra's finest, on the only rooftop with a view of the Taj. However as they do not floodlight the Taj it is only visible in daylight. The standard is good but I still cannot appreciate it, expensive too.
Meg wants a 04-45 call to go and see the Taj at dawn. We auto rickshaw down and join the handful of humanity queuing at the entrance.
It is simply magic. One of the things you must do if at all possible.
We rickshaw round the bazaars and probably make our driver deliriously happy by buying Meg a star ruby pendant. The star ruby is a stone only produced in this part of the world. In light a bright pinprick of star like light glows inside it.
We take a put put to Itmah-Ud-Daulah the tomb of Mirza Beg and designed by his daughter who later was the most powerful woman in Mogul history. She did a good job and its style and elegance would be far better known if it were somewhere other than up stream of the Taj Mahal. In fact I remember the journey to it more than the tomb itself. The put put speeds along unmade roads generating clouds of red dust. We cross the river Yamuna by a single track bridge several hundred yards long exactly how the priority is determined remains a mystery. We cut swathes through the population but give way to the animals. It is the nearest thing to a James Bond chase we have ever experienced.
We loaf around the pool after lunch chatting to other tourists when suddenly Karen and Steve appear one day early.
We seriously disturb the peace of the sunbathers with our exuberant greetings. They look very fit but apart from that, exactly as they did when they set off on their honeymoon in September last year. The news flows thick and fast in disjointed and soon forgotten fragments. We will take it all in at our leisure later. In our room we consume the beers acquired for the occasion and realise we will have to rise early to visit the Taj at dawn again tomorrow. We stroll the 100 metres to the local restaurant. Saleem a rickshaw driver tracks us all the way and asks if he can drive us though the gate as the restaurant will give him a free drink. I suspect they will give him free meals for a week. Which as it happens is more than they will give us because they are full. They park us in the garden for ten minutes where we feed the mosquitoes until a table comes free. Between the 5 power cuts we have a good meal costing 860 for 4 which is a big improvement on the 1700 for 2 we paid last night.
We are rickshawed to the Taj and repeat most of yesterday's photographs. You can put a rose on Mahal's tomb for the one you love. Standing by the wall overlooking the river we see a procession approaching involving a highly decorated elephant. It is one of Bollywood's 1000 a year films in the making. We rick to the Red Fort and do that again. Karen and Steve, jammy buggers have chosen the day when both are free. Several Indians want their photo taken with Kaz. The rickshaws are expensive especially when you consider that I had to get out and walk up the hills. . Saleem will be displeased; he did not come this afternoon. Steve explains the driver's persistence with us. By carrying locals they can make 5 annas, they can charge us 10 times that but that is chicken feed. If they take us to a restaurant they get a meal, if they take us to a shop they get a hand out, if we buy something really expensive they get commission. We are walking lottery tickets. We lunch at S&K's Agra Inn on a terrace overlooking a garden I find the food delicious. Perhaps it is the company or euphoria about the end of the dihorrea. The manager is perplexed. If we are really rich enough to stay at the Clark-Shiraz we would not allow our children to stay at his hotel. If we can afford to eat at the Clark-Shiraz why are we eating at his? We explain that we like his food; it is more interesting and tastier than the C-S. He walks away shaking his head. Karen shows us their room and I understand his paradox. We lend them our mosquito net. Steve wants to visit a recommended veggie restaurant called Zorba the Buddha. The put put driver says it is closed. Our book says it is open. He tells us no tourists go there. We tell him we are going there. He tells us the food is bad. He tells us they don't sell alcohol. We realise they don't give free meals to rickshaw drivers. He takes us. Zorbas is sparklingly clean and the food very tasty. 640 for 4. A day of rest by the pool is cancelled due to light rain and becomes a half day of rest in our room watching sky movies and sport, reminiscing and dozing.
Steve has arranged a taxi to Fatehpur Sikri. Once again the journey is fascinating. Lots of animals, lots of people sitting around, storks in the fields. Fatehpur Sikri was built by Akbar a little earlier than the Taj, mainly in sandstone. Akbar made a game try to unite the religions. He took 4 wives, 2 Moslem 1 Hindu and 1 Christian. All 4 have separate palaces. which are decorated with three out of four symbols. Moslem, Hindu, Christian and Buddhist. Very laudable attempt doomed to failure by too many vested interests. The palaces were extensive and worth suffering the incessant peddling, they are desperate to turn over stock. 1 Knife 200 becomes 3 for 50 very quickly. We area very poor market. Lunch at the Akbar is just as good as before; the chat is aimlessly pleasurable before the cheapest meal yet at the Kwalite. 510 for 4.
He also played ludo with concubines. A marble screen is the finest we have seen; people tie coloured threads to it and make a wish. A parrot and an elephant have their own tombs. The elephant used to trample to death unsuccessful appellants in the hall of public audiences. Here symmetry is not the order. The palace of the winds is 5 storeys high and built like a wedding cake. , each layer is decorated with different style columns. We lunch on the terrace of the Akbar and dine for 500 at the Kwality. Tonight's film is Muriel's wedding followed by the final stages of the Brazilian Grand Prix. It is Easter Sunday; Karen phones pat to tell her that we are spending it together.
Our rest day by the pool starts with a trip to the bank to use plastic. I rickshaw to the bank via a market which makes the bazaar look like Meadow Hall. The bank of India is a big hall with a lot of desks scattered around and a lot of people carrying pieces of paper from desk to desk. It reminds me of a tram shed in which independent traders have set up in business Desks, hundreds of them are scattered randomly about the huge hall. There are up to three people at a desk, though some are empty. The desks are linked by human runners. I watch, fascinated for 5 minutes and then find they don't do plastic, but the Bank of Bhopal can. An official already dealing with an Italian invites me to sit down and join them. There are so many bits of paper that he can deal with my2nd form while the Italian is filling in his 4th. The official makes entries in three books and exchanges dockets with a colleague two desks away via a runner. The intervening desk is vacant. During the process several other runners present dockets from unseen desks which he stamps or files without losing track of whose form he is on. At some point he gives the Italian a metal disc and the Italian departs. The official settles to the task of dealing with my Visa. He completely fills the transaction record with neat handwriting. My passport number, place of issue, home address, hotel, date of birth. My address and passport number are now on 27 pieces of paper and in three books, I have signed two forms three times. I get metal disk number 14 and go to find a cashier. I find the Italian standing by the empty cashier's desk. I count 9 men in the same room all doing nothing. After five minutes one of them enters the booth. He watches the others for a further 5 minutes until another approaches the booth whereon the first individual firmly closes the door in the second ones face. He takes the Italians disc and starts filling in forms. Other people come to the window and push dockets under his nose. The Italian gets a lot of money in small bills. He has to pay a fee and remind the cashier about his change. I get my money in small bills, pay my fee and remind the cashier about my change. The whole process took 90 minutes but did not involve a queue.
Back at the pool, the lazy day is in full sloth and so it continues until we revisit the Taj at sunset for the last time. Today, Meg's retirement is official so she gets to choose where we eat. At Zorba the Buddha we eat twice as much as last time for the same price. We bid out put put driver farewell and the kids see us off to Jaipur the following morning. PK, our new guide is collecting his cut in the marble shop. This lot are buying tables, not just boxes. We get a minute tour of Fatehpur Sikri before a terribly jolty coach journey. However it includes a huge bonus. Dinner is to be at a bird sanctuary. I bolt down a beer and collar the guide who is waiting while the JV gang are lunching. He takes me on a private foot tour pointing out grey partridge, pied robins and green Bee eaters. With the rest of the group we rickshaw through the wetlands painted storks, purple moorhens, herons various, white fronted woodpeckers, white bellied vultures, Indian robins. Back on the joltmobile it is after dark when we reach the Mansingh in Jaipur.
We inspect the palace of the winds and the water palace on the way to the Amber Fort. Queuing for the elephant ride we are at the mercy of the frenetic peddlers. I try to put off one guy selling tiger eye for 1500 off by offering him 50. He comes down to 1300 and I point out to him there is an unnegotiable chasm between us. He persists and I make a big move to 200. As we draw near our turn in the elephant queue he comes down to 200. Well I never. Our new party is notable for its fatness. It must average 4 stone more than the last lot. It is 4 to an elephant and is spite of my fancy footwork we are fated to join two fat ladies. They take the starboard seats and Sabu turns his elephant round. There are about ten square centimeters for us to squeeze into. Cawis our elephant rolls into motion; the road to the fort has a steep drop on the port side. I clamp the safety bar down and would like to think the strap holding the howdah had BS something or other stamped upon it .My fat lady cedes another cm and I narrowly avoid getting my knees crushed as we pas through an arch about the width of an elephant. Other elephants overtake us; one carrying 4 Japanese is bounding along. The Amber fort is the most complete of a series of forts in the area. In addition to the usual features we have come to recognise is a hall decorated in mirrors. Tiny pieces of mirror from a kaleidoscope when viewed by candlelight in a darkened room. The decoration is in stucco rather than inlaid marble. The fort is on a ridge surrounded by a Great Wall of China with lookout towers. These used to house drummers who sounded a warning. The fort is plagues with monkeys, we are plagued with vendors. We jeep to the coach and pause to photograph the water palace. Meg legs it to a better vantage point while I watch the birds. PK is hurrying us to the jewelers for his last 30%. Meg and I compete to find the most tasteless item. The competition is stiff. They feed us pop then a little later stiff rum, probably to those who have not bought anything yet. We want to do some real shopping. PK is not inclined to permit it but we insist on being dropped by the bazaar. We buy saffron after beating the salesman down from 150 to 9 but he gives us a present so we know it was still too dear. Meg wants a skirt but though he does not sell them he has a relation that does. A younger member of the family leads us through a warren at high speed. Skirts rain down on Meg but she is unimpressed. Two bedspreads for 650 catch her eye. We are escorted through more dark passages and up dingy stairs to even more skirts, alas not full enough. We eat at LMB authentically decorated in 50's décor.
£20 has been removed from a wallet in our suitcase. They obviously tip themselves at the Mansingh.
Jantar Mantar is an observatory built in the mid 1700's it contains 18 instruments built to cast shadows on tables that are triangular or circular or semicircular. The gnomon of the main sundial is 27 metres high and accurate to 2 minutes. It tells Jaipur time which is different from Indian Standard time. It is used to produce the Hindu calendar. Other instruments relate to the movement of the planets or the monsoon season. .

As we leave the Mansingh the management assures us that the theft will be thoroughly investigated. Others have had their luggage tampered with.
The drive to Delhi is not as bad as feared because Meg has secured stable seats early on. One stop for tea half way, much bird and camel watching en route. Our bus encounters an army convoy 100's of vehicles long. After overtaking about half of them, our driver switches to the wrong side of the dual carriageway to overtake the rest. Twice we are confronted by a full carriageway bearing down on us. We arrive at the Siddereth but they are full. They say they will find somewhere better but we protest because S&K are meeting us here tonight. As compensation they give us the executive suit in the rather swish Continental but we taxi back to the Siddereth to meet our childer. We have supper together and meet up with them again at 11-00 the following morning. They have sorted out their visas and their route home.
Lucknow. Katmandu, Bombay, Cairo, Alexandria (a stop which is destined to effect all our lives) Athens and Mantua.
By coincidence. Had we been going to Karditsa as originally planned we would have been in Athens at the same time as them. The bazaar at commodore square is a shoppers paradise, but our cases are overflowing and funds are low Meg buys papier-mashie moon and stars for Adam and a cat for Catherine. We walk to the observatory which is not as good as Jaipur then back to the continental. I am queasy but visit the gym while the others pool lounge. I also skip the last meal to be on the safe side. We say our good byes for the second time and take the last few photos. We try to override out 03-00 wake up call, but are knocked up at 02-30 and we are at the airport by 03-49. I am writing up this chapter at 06-42 listening to the safety talk. We queued for the entire of the intervening period. 1 Hour to check in though we were at the front of the queue. Worth it though because they upgraded us to business class. I cannot reach the seat in front. The second queue was painfully slow. We completed a blue form, passport number, place of issue, flight details, destination, and address in India etc. A guy checks every detail ticking it. A second guy repeats the process requiring clarification of my address in India. He keys all the data into a computer and stamps every form in sight several times. W queue to be x-rayed then searched, then the hand baggage is searched, good job we did not prise any precious stones out of temples. The guy in front was opening paint tins to inspect the paint. Who buys paint on holiday??
06-49 we are taxiing.

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