On Breakfast, Booze, Beauty and Barfing

For breakfast, you can have pretty much anything you want on the Palace on Wheels, and it's served in a small lounge area in your car, so you share with the other 3 couples. If you ask for cereal, you get muesli with warm milk. I'm not a fan.

Udaipur, the White City, is the cleanest we've seen yet, with the exception of Simla. It's a city of 500,000, with 2 million tourists/year, surrounded by mountains and lakes. We start the day with a tour of the grounds of a haveli in the embassy/up-class section of Udaipur. The owner's daughter remarked that she loved the rain, but just didn't dig the clouds that came with it, so he built a series of fountains to please her. Later in life, she became a drug addict and a serial killer and wiped out her entire family, starting with Daddy. OK, I made that last part up.

Next, we go to (wait for it) a Fort. It's huge, it's spectacular, it's really astounding, but I'm on the lookout for places I might be able to use as discreet Barf Stations. I have the Restroom Radar on full alert Super Doppler Mode, as thundery developments are forming in the South, and I want to be ready.

We take a lunchbreak at the Fort's sumptuous restaurant, complete with good entertainment - music and Rajasthani dancers. I have 2 scoops of ice cream for lunch, Max even less, then it's onto a boat for a tour of the adjoining Lake Pichola. We circle the Lake Palace, where parts of Octopussy were filmed (it's a beautiful white palace seemingly floating on the lake), drift past the new Oberoi Hotel where you can get a room that starts at $1,500/night, and dock at a lesser palace for tea and biscuits. It's been almost 2 hours since we had lunch, so nourishment was essential.

I'm feeling like the Goodyear Blimp on steroids and search out a rest room. It's a very classy restaurant, with seating on a patio area overlooking the lake, and when I enter the rest room, there's an attendant with a disinfectant aerosol in his hand, pointing me towrds the toilet. Only problem is, the toilet has a very thin plastic seat, covered in some sort of grime. He's probably had that aerosol can in his hand for months. I exit immediately.

We have tea with Nathan and Bill, two gay guys from the train, who are both artists - one is a graphic designer, the other a teacher at George Washington U. Very interesting conversation about life in the Capital.

Before we return to the POW, we go downtown Udaipur to the City Palace, the largest palace in Rajasthan. It's actually a complex of several palaces covering an area of 5 acres and built or added to by 22 Maharajahs. Fortunately, we only do an acre or so, but it's still extremely interesting. Part of the complex is a park that has several astronomic sculptures, for want of a better name. These are huge sun dials and other instruments (you can climb all over them) that accurately predict several cosmic events.

Back at the Palace on Wheels, we pick at our dinner, hardly eating at all. Our appetite has disappeared after eating at 5 star restaurants for 4 weeks.

A word about alcohol: If you want a 1.5 oz. scotch on the POW, it will cost you about half the cost of a bottle at a liquor store ($11). I bought a bottle of unremarkable (but also un-Indian) chablis for the table one night and it cost $60. Imported booze is expensive, Indian booze is repulsive. Take your pick. I want to believe the non-drinking Hindus (yeah, right) overcharge as a means of discouraging consumption, but that would be too cool. It's all about taxes. Stick to Kingfisher Beer, if you go - a pretty good beer.

Listening to Indians talk can be amusing. On the other hand almost everyone speaks better English than I do Hindi. For example: our laundry didn't get done in Jodhpur because there was no "electra-city". The Lake Palace was used for weddings by "cele-britties" with the emphasis in both cases on the last syllables. The funniest example of Indian English will take place in Agra at the Taj Mahal, but that's another story.

See how I keep the teaser thing going?

Only Human

Here we are in Rajhasthan, on a train built for the Maharajahs, and we are being treated like kings and queens ( or as closely to that as possible considering that there we are traveling in a "royal group" of 100 persons). We do not have to handle any money for entry fees or search about for a safe place to dine. Every meal that is not consumed on the train is at a five star hotel and is a lavish buffet. But those little buggies can travel anywhere and Tucker is down and out for the day.

We are awoken at 5 am. Udesh insists on Tucker downing some kind of salts that will replenish the bodies liquids, but it looks mysteriously like the same type of "salts" one would use to purge oneself before a certain type of lower intestinal exam. I will be on my own today. I dress in as many layers as possible. We are given a "snack" that we will consume in the bush, as the tour begins at 6 a.m. sharp. We are taken by motor coach to the game preserve and then are loaded into trucks that seat about 20 people..... that seating is "sardine style" and I am sitting right above the back wheel. It is foggy. Our guide is almost impossible to understand. The indigenous plants and birds were the most interesting wildlife that we would see. The truck bounces and slides around the wet and slippery tire tracks that pass as "roads" through the bush. We arrive at a clearing and are informed that we will have our breakfast here and are informed that there are "toilets" for the women somewhere over a hill. The men are advised to choose a tree.

I pass on the outdoor relief. Our breakfast consists of bread and butter sandwiches, two oranges and a juice box. Pretty benign. But I have suddenly lost my apetite and the bread and butter isn't going down easily. I begin hoping that it will rain because the clouds have not lifted. I just want to put my weary head down and rest.

No tigers to be seen today. When we finally arrive back at the train, my poor husband is still in the grips of the Delhi Belly. I am cold and tired and get into my wee bed for the rest of the day. At five o'clock, Umesh invites himself in and proclaims that he would like to see us get up and try to take some dinner. Tucker flatly refuses. I get dressed and promise to bring him back some naan bread, some rice and more water. I pick at dinner, find young waiters that are falling all over each other trying to prepare a care package for Tucker and excuse myself from the table before the last course is served. I have resigned myself to the fact that I will be joining my husband in the sick room tomorrow.

We both awaken on the next day feeling better. In fact, I feel like my old self again with only one exception. I have lost my apetite (and will not regain it again until we arrive home in good old Greenfield Center). Tucker is fine as long as food is not even mentioned. And it is going to be another 6:30 am excursion this morning.....into the bush on bicycle rickshaw to view the birds at a special sanctuary. I have actually been looking forward to this. And we will not have to deal with breakfast until we return to the train.

But the Travel Gods have spoken loud and clear that life just isn't that easy. Much like the camel ride, we get about as far away from the entrance to the park as one can get and then the heavens open up with another thunderstorm (a rare occurance at this time of year). We have been given tiny umbrellas as insurance but they are all but useless. We arrive at the bus soaked to the skin. The members of our "bus group" take it gracefully because we now assume that we are the jinx.

Breakfast of tea and dry toast and off to Udaipur. Just eating very small amounts seems OK. Then I realize that we are spending more time sitting than walking, that we have only had a week to try and get our bodies to accept that dinner is served at 2 am our body time, and that all Indian food dishes are created with the same seasonings. I'm beginning to crave lasagna and boeuf bourgignon. We are used to more variety in our diet, smaller portions and only two meals a day. I could not handle Maharani life if it meant huge feasts of food spiced with garram masala every day. I'm only human.

The Only City Named After a Pair of Pants

Feb. 10th, 2007: In today's news, there is a front page colour photo in the Hindustan Times, showing the foot and a half blanket of snow covering Simla. When we were there, we had temps in the 60's and they'd had no snow during the winter, same as at home in Saratoga. Highly unusual in both cases. The other weather news was a complete summary of weather conditions throughout the nation - yesterday's weather, no forecast. Also, traffic was brought to a standstill in Delhi because of rain and there were frequent blackouts. An electric utility spokesman explained the power outages as being caused by "moisture in the air." The only other news of note was that about 800 cops in Kerala State were written up for a variety of no-no's, including rape, murder, torture, sexual abuse, that sort of misdemeanour. I privately hoped that the "writing up" would show these bad boys the evil of their ways.

Were getting a little rain in Jodhpur ourselves. This is the Blue City, with many houses painted that hue. The reasons for this are either 1) blue is the colour of the Brahmins, the highest caste and everyone wanted to suggest that they were high class dudes or 2) a blue wash was believed effective in keeping mosquitoes away.

The 700 year old Mehrangarh Fort rises above Jodhpur on a 410 foot rock and is the most flamboyantly decorated fort in Rajasthan. The rich detail in every one of the rooms of the Royal Apartment give you an idea of just how wealthy the wealthy were.The Blob Sisters stayed in the bus after taking a look at the daunting anti-gravitational effort required to see the Fort.

Lunch was at the Umaid Bhavan Palace, a spectacularly gorgeous modern structure built in 1929 by an Indian Prince and sporting 347 rooms, including 8 dining halls and a vast underground swimming pool. The owner, Maharajah Umaid Singh commissioned it to provide work for his famine-stricken subjects and it took 3,000 men working for 15 years to complete it. They were working on Indian Time, of course (soon come, Sahib), but nonetheless...

Back at the Palace on Wheels, I'm feeling a little dodgy at dinner and spend the night in the bathroom of our stateroom. The dreaded Delhi Belly has struck. No sleep, so I stay in bed while Max gets up at an ungodly hour the next day to take a cold, bumpy jeep trip into the Tiger Sanctuary, but no tiger is seen.

We both skip the excursion into Chittagarh that afternoon, and reports from the returning tour members are mediocre, so we don't feel too bad. Tomorrow is Udaipur.

Soul Searching

It is hard to even guess at what will stay with you after a long journey to an exotic place. It is hard to explain to people who ask you, "Why would you want to go there?"

Looking at the photos that I have chosen to include in this journal entry, one has to notice that America is missing something. We may have architecture that captures the spirit of newness and modern invention, but we do not have the opportunity here at home to internalize the history of Mankind through ancient masterpieces. We don't have the same grounding that an Asian, African or European enjoys. Travel can be a way to find one's roots.

I find my "ancestors" in the details carved on a bracket or etched on a wall. Just look at the ceremonial care taken to embellish a doorway or embroider a fabric. The need to make Art. The Human Touch. The Mother of Modern Invention. Whether it be Emperor or Pharaoh or Rajah or Shogun or King, one has to be thankful that they left something behind for the rest of us. They may not have been democratic in their use of power, but they gave testament to the intelligence and ingenuity of Man throughout time. India's national treasures are some of the most beautiful and spectacular we have ever seen. They reflect a civilization with the creativity and grandness of ancient Egypt or Japan or Renaissance Europe or any Chinese Dynasty. You just don't get the same feeling from a log cabin or a quilt. (and will pine and poplin stand the test of time?)

The ancient world still resounds in the human soul. Foreign travel is the authentic Antique Roadshow. It's the Time Machine Trip. It's the Big Wow that lasts forever. It is humbling. Makes you think about what future travelers will say about America in 3000 years when we rightfully take our place among the Old Sages. ( I hope everyone wants to go there.)

Jaisalmer, The Golden City

We wake up in Jaisalmer, a city that many consider the most interesting in Rajasthan. I like it because it's smaller than Jaipur, and, because we spend all our time in the ancient walled city/fort that is surrounded by the more modern Jaisalmer, it is more laid back. About 3,000 people still live in the walled fort and walking the streets is a fascinating exercise, as there are no 4-wheeled vehicles allowed and it's almost possible to believe you're back in the days of the Rajput.

We walk (OK, the Blobs take a motor rickshaw) through the Fort gates and through narrow cobblestone streets to a Jain Temple, one of many in the city. The Jains believe they cannot harm any living animal, including insects, and can be seen wearing face covers to avoid the inadvertent inhaling of an insect, sweeping the ground in front of them as they walk to avoid insect fatalities, etc. They even avoid eating root vegetables, in case the uprooting causes an accidental slugicide, or whatever.

The temple has ornate marble carvings, some quite erotic, on the interior walls

(see photo). We remove our shoes, as usual, before entering.

At one point in our city wanderings, we pause while some rogue cattle from our group are rounded up, having apparently made a wrong turn at some point. We enjoy the chance to just observe what's going on in Jaisalmer. A hundred yards away, we see a group of women squatting with their kaleidoscopic saris covering their heads as they mourn the passing of a friend's family member (see photo). While waiting on some steps, we look down and see fecal matter passing by in the open sewer. A colourful Ganesh is painted on a nearby door to bring luck to a newlywed couple.

Jaisalmer is famous for its havelis. Havelis are the homes of the super-rich of the Rajput dynasties. They have intricately carved screens and balconies on their golden stone facades and are overwhelming in their beauty (see photo).

After another lunch that is absolutely fabulous, it's Camel Riding Time. We're bused out into the far western reaches of the Thar Desert, not far from the Pakistani border, keeping a keen eye out for Osama. We're loaded onto camels, two per. Ahead of us, a 75 year-old lady from our bus is paired with a 65-70 year-old male from Germany. As the beast rises to its feet, it galumphs forward and then back (or vice versa, I'm not sure). At any rate, the heads of the two riders smacked together rather loudly. Things would get worse.

Once on the camel, we lurch out into the dunes, led by a young lad, our Camel Meister. Just as a public service to any of you out there who may want to do this in the future, I would advise you, if you're a male/female couple to say the hell with gallantry and ensure that the female take the stern mount. If you're a male who has never been castrated, this position is a tad excruciatingly painful. I'll delicately leave it at that.

Near the end of the 1/2 hour of torture, the darkening clouds that have been teasing us break out in all the fury of a desert rain/hail/sandstorm. We dismount and head to the bus, not able to raise our eyes to get our bearings for more than a second at a time, and stagger onto the bus having been totally soaked, then dipped in a coating of sand batter. But we were the lucky ones.

The two elderly riders mentioned earlier were on a donkey that was spooked by the thunder/rain/sand/hail, causing the man to partially fall off the camel, causing the camel to spook even more, causing the 75 year-old woman to fall off, but with her foot still in the stirrup, and be dragged across the sand.

She was taken by the POW/camel ride people to a crude hut near our bus and then just abandoned. The two guys from our train car, John Kennedy and Bill Cannon, go into the hut after it's clear she's being ignored by the staff, and carry her onto the bus. She's sustained a broken ankle, pulled ligaments, etc. He's got a collar bone with two fractures. And we're 'way out in the desert.

After an hour trip back to Jaisalmer, she's taken into a crude "clinic", with no medical facilities to speak of. Bill Cannon and a nurse from England on our bus spent many hours for the remainder of the week looking after her and ensuring she got taken care of by her insurance company. She ended up staying on the train until we reached Delhi 5 days later, then being flown home 1st class with a nurse accompanying her.

That night we eat at a wonderful restaurant with decent entertainment. Another full day.

The Pink City, The Sisters Blob & Other Stories

Readers of this blog from the beginning will remember (or may not, it's been thousands of words and you are to be commended), that I was initially enticed by the naan wallah in Saratoga to board the Palace on Wheels (POW). So here we are. Each car has 4 staterooms, as Max mentioned. I meet the guys from 2 of the other staterooms on the station platform B4 we leave. They're having a cigar. One is John Kennedy, the recently retired CEO of Johnson Controls, the other, his buddy Bill Cannon, a corporate lawyer, both from Milwaukee. Both are great guys and will show their common concern for their fellow travelers later in the trip in dramatic form (this is called a teaser, to encourage continued viewership of this channel).

In the bar car, we sit beside Ian from Glasgow. I mention my mother's town of Airdrie and he knows it well. He reminds me of several Scots I know, white-haired and full of life, always joking. We move on to the Maharani Dining Car (the other is the [wait for it] Maharajah Dining Car) and are seated next to an elderly (more elderly than us, anyway) (I'm really enjoying the parentheses thing 2nite) couple. They live in California, but he was brought up in Greenwich NY, a town Max taught in for 2 years. The coincidences will continue throughout the trip, as I discover 2 more Tuckers ON OUR BUS the next day.

It's Thursday, the 8th of February and that means it's Jaipur Day, the Pink City. During the night, we have traveled into the Thar Desert, where we'll be spending the next 6 days exploring Rajasthan, one of the most interesting and colourful areas of India. This was the region once ruled by the Rajput Princes, who built breathtaking forts and palaces.

Today we will see one of each. The Hawa Mahal, or Palace of Winds (see photo) is a magnificent structure that is a tiered 5 story edifice of balconies and perforated stone screens, but only about 10 feet deep and with walls only 8" thick. It was built to allow the harem ladies, in purdah, to observe the goings-on in the street below without themselves being seen.

Personalities begin to emerge from the people on our bus. The Blob Sisters are two females who are gravity-rich entities encased in clothing by Omar the Tent Maker and topped with baseball caps. During the trip they will refuse to climb any stairs taller than Mickey Rooney, and will constantly request climate changes in the bus that are contrary to those desired by everyone else. To their credit, they will work hard to maintain the image of the Ugly American, a heritage we are all proud of. We also have Dr. No, an elderly psychiatrist who is constantly negative and verbally abuses his psychiatrist wife at length during the trip. They both need counseling.

At the Amber Fort, the Blob Sisters actually throw themselves onto the back of an unfortunate elephant for the ride up to the Fort. Dr.No is right behind us, muttering about how he wishes he were back in Texas. We all silently concur.

The elephant ride is a hoot, and the view of the fort and the environs is spectacular during the 20 minute ride. The stone work in the various courtyards astounds us, but we'll be seeing much more of this in the next few days. The fort is interesting, and although some people who have taken this trip are bored with the many forts and castles they are taken to, in retrospect each was unique and beautiful in its own style and history.

We're taken to a fabric emporium, but Max is 'way ahead of this game, and we spend our time on the street while the others shop. We see a school out for recess, the kids in their uniforms, a pig rooting for garbage scraps just out side the school door. A few feet away is a lean-to of sorts, some tarpaulin stretched over a fence and a couple of poles, with a family living inside.

Later that evening, we have dinner with Neil and Sareena, a gorgeous young couple from Manhattan who work for Goldman Sachs. Sareena was brought up in Paris and gets us up to speed on the upcoming French elections. She says the woman candidate is a whack job.

One of the criticisms I came across in my research into the POW, was that for $750/day/couple, it was expensive. If you wanted to see Rajasthan, they said, rent a car and driver for $12/day and stay in expensive hotels and eat in expensive restaurants and save money. Except, you have to assume you will find a reliable driver and guide with a reliable car who will reliably take you where you want to go, not where they want to take you. You have to assume you won't mind the hours of driving through the desert on questionable roads, meaning you will take several more days of unholy discomfort to cover the same route we did. You have to assume you won't be cheated in many ways, as you work to arrange your schedule, your entry fees to the various sites, your lodging and meals - everything will be a gamble. India is not an easy gig.

But tomorrow, we'll be within rocket-launched-grenade distance from Pakistan. In Jaisalmer, the Golden City. Stay tuned for the Great Camel Adventure.

The Palace on Wheels

We awake at the Claridges. This is not the Imperial (we are so spoiled) or the Oberoi Cecil (I am missing True Love already). This is an excellent hotel with a face lift that means to dazzle you with electronic upgrades. The room card must fit into a special slot or none of the lights or air will work. There is a special console next to the bed that controls everything in the room, including the ability to open and close the drapes as well as dim the lights. Houston, we have a problem. There are so many buttons and so many options that it takes us SEVERAL minutes to learn how to manage the few functions we require. We repack everything again so that we will only be bringing one large suitcase to Rajasthan. The sweaters and heavy shirts will stay here until we return at the end of the week.

It appears to be a sunny-smoggy day in Delhi and we have to go in search of a liquor store. We came prepared from Hawaii, but our stock is gone. The price of a mixed drink in any hotel in India is astronomical. We've read that it is super out-of-sight on the luxury train we'll be boarding later today. We will learn later that this was, indeed, a wise move.

We were picked up at the hotel by our driver at 4:30 and are waiting just inside the station until he can get us our "official" boarding pass. A few yards away, seated on a platform, are three men playing a rousing welcome tune that must have been the fanfare used to greet the maharajahs when they entered town. Drums, cymbals, a sitar and a whiny pipe. Beautiful Indian women in saris are placing marigold necklaces around the necks of the guests.

When our ceremonial "tickets" arrive, we venture out onto the platform. The female guests receive a traditional scarf and the male guests are fitted with a turban. Tucker tells them that they will probably not have one to fit his head. In a vain attempt to prove him wrong, the gentleman settles for handing it to Tucker to carry. This pomp and circumstance will be repeated at every city we visit. It seemed a bit tiresome to us after awhile, but each city seemed to be very proud to show off for the rich visitors and we did our part to look appreciative. Anyone in India that found out we were taking the Palace on Wheels was in awe. They consider (or imagine) that this is the most luxurious thing a person could do in their country.

Each of the cars on the train called the Palace on Wheels is given the name of a city in Rajasthan. Ours is Jaipur. We are greeted by our "khidmatgar", Umesh. Umesh is supposed to embody the manservant that would be appointed to make a guest of the court most comfortable. In fact, Umesh was always in complete control of his ducklings. He was soft spoken, kind, handsome and extremely good at his job. We followed along and were happy to do what we were told was "best". Umesh showed us to our cabin, explained about the locking cabinet, told us about how to "turn on" the heater for hot water 10 minutes before requiring it, suggested the proper way to use the shower due to the limits of water, lent me a hair dryer that would work on the train and demonstrated the function of the five buttons on the wall that would work lights or summon help. Two minutes later, Ram arrived with hot steamy towels to refresh ourselves and a full bucket of ice. Ram is Umesh's assistant. In fact, it became clear as the week progressed that Umesh needed an assistant because he was second in charge of the arrangements for the entire train.

Our train car has four cabins. We are joined by two couples from Milwaukee and a Canadian couple with two small children (2 and 4). Umesh calls a meeting in our small lounge and all things become clear. There are about 100 guests aboard the train. Each evening we will be given a seating time for dinner, each morning we will be awakened to have breakfast in this small lounge and we will be given safe bottled water & umbrellas before getting on the bus. We will always be assigned to the BLUE bus. Our seating time for dinner this evening is 7:00. Tomorrow it will be 8:30. Tucker and I look at each other and know that it is definitely time to break out the Scotch! We were prepared for the fact that this was going to be the "tour" part of our adventure, but this was feeling like Girl Scout camp. Neither one of us is very good with tour groups, but this is the only way to see all of Rajasthan in a week. Travel at night and leave the driving to them.

The bar and the dining cars were over-the-top opulent in the style of the old kingdoms. The menu included some Continental and some Indian dishes. Food was served by white gloved, uniformed wait staff . They visited each table with a tray of one of the menu items. You could take or refuse anything offered. We found the food to be good, but not the outstanding quality of cuisine we were accustomed to at the fine hotels. Eating will be a challenge only because both of us are still recovering from jet lag. An 8:30 dinner will still translate as 2:30 AM, body time. Curried breakfast, basically.

Tucker and I "do the dance" in our wee cabin as we try to undress, brush teeth and pour a "closer" with only two feet separating our beds. We turn out the lights, open the curtains and enjoy India T.V. as the train rumbles through the countryside. We can peek into homes lit by electricity or fire light. Workers traveling home late at night stare back at us when we pass through a station. This is luxurious. And sleeping on the train is delicious.

The Toy Train

Back at the Cecil Oberoi, we go down to the lounge for Kingfisher beers and spicy peanuts, while we update our journals and purge our cameras of the less spectacular shots of the day. After daily purging, we have a total of 324 pix for the first 17 days of the trip, virtually the half way point. We opt for room service, something we will live to regret, though the food was wonderful. We are in bed at 7:30 after walking several miles of up and down streets.

When we check out, we notice we have been charged for the room service. Because we ordered it at 5:30, we were outside the regular serving times for both lunch and dinner, both of which were included in our package. So we paid for three meals and got one meal. Very Indian. They don't like messing up the established commitment with the introduction of a little logic and reason. It's an oxymoronic twist to the service we've been raving about.

We are picked up one hour before the Toy Train is scheduled to depart, and take the 2 minute ride to the station, down very vertical, winding streets. Thank god we made it on time. We're on car C1 and the coolies (it's OK to call them coolies in India) get us on board. We're the first ones on, but the car quickly fills up. The seats are not generous (it's the Toy Train, afterall) and with the thought that the 5 hour trip might be a tad uncomfortable, Max suggests we buy 2 more seats, just so we can spread out and enjoy. The fee for the first class 5 hour trip is a whopping $4.75, so we figure we can afford the luxury.

I seek out the Ticket Inspector, who inspects my ticket and informs me that I must go up (everything's up or down in Simla) to the ticket counter and buy 2 "general tickets" to Kalka, then bring them down to him and he'll upgrade them to first class. I trudge up and back with the new tickets and present them to the Ticket Inspector, who is lodged in a tiny, windowless room, dark except for the fire on the dirt floor and empty except for him and his two cronies who are busy spitting in the vicinity of a brass receptacle. When they realize I don't have two more passengers, I only want more space, they engage in a spirited debate and then tell me to move to C3 and take seats 1-2-3-4 or 2-3-4-5 if I preferred. We move into C3. We're the only ones on the car for almost the entire trip.

Which is a good thing, if you have to use the bathroom, because the toilet is a hole in the floor with two footpads to ensure uniform positioning (see photo, above).

The ride itself is like being on a roller coaster while on drugs that reduce everything to super slo-mo. We're going 20 miles an hour through the most dramatic scenery you could imagine, with drop-offs two feet from the tracks that are easily one thousand feet deep. We pass through 103 tunnels, some only a few yards long. At times, we see two or three track switchbacks below us as we descend the 8,000 feet to Kalka. The 5 hours pass quickly.

We're on board the Kalka-Delhi train at 4:30 for the 4 hour trip. We notice the Millers from the train ride down from Simla (they were in the crowded car), discover they're from Brisbane and have a lovely chat, actually.

The ride itself was boring. For the price of $12, however, we get a 4 hour train ride, including lunch, a hot dinner and two snacks. People are talking on their cells, listening to their I-pods, etc., completely different from Simla. The guy across from me is reading a Sidney Sheldon novel, about 800 pages long. He opens it up and starts reading chapter 3, turning the page about every 10 seconds. Within the hour, he's at chapter 32, near the end of the book. Then he flips here and there, then back to chapter 22 for a minute, then all over the place. Max thinks he's using the book to learn English. I think he's a freakin' nutcase.

Finally, we're back to Delhi.Our driver and guide help us to the van through a rain, very rare at this time of year, and the parking lot is chaos, even at 9 PM. One woman slaps the hood of a taxi about to run over her and screams "Are you crazy?" Cars manouvre within inches of each other to exit the parking lot.

Seeing Delhi at night is pretty exciting. Around the train station are dozens of restaurants, eager to feed the travelers not sated with the 2 meals and 2 snacks in 4 hours of train travel. They are all called "hotels" but are completely open to the street and only have a couple of rooms on the 2nd floor. Lots of light, sound and smells. Very alive.

The bags we left at The Imperial have been transferred to The Claridges, but the check-in is interminable. We have some other issues getting all our luggage to our room and the whole impression is "It's not The Imperial". The room is small, but trying hard to be technically wonderful with a bedside console for opening the drapes, etc. The next morning the disappointment continues, with no room at the breakfast table, then a request that we share a table, then our request that we move to a real table from the booth we were seated in (the booth table was neck high). But a great breakfast, once we were seated, and of course the concierge was fawning all over us for the inconvenience we had suffered (though we hadn't complained) and told us the b'fast was on the house. We didn't have the nerve to tell him we had already paid for it.

Out on the street, we're headed on foot for the ever-elusive Khan Market. It seems that everyone in Delhi is trying to steer us away from this market, telling us we don't want to go there, for a variety of reasons. On our walk we are engaged in conversation by a man named Sharma, who walks with us and tells us the Khan market isn't open until 11 AM, and directs us to another market, where Max buys some fabulous (absolutely) paper for her collages. We walk back through Lodi Gardens and change for the afternoon trip to the Palace On Wheels (POW). We have a wonderful lunch at the hotel and retire to the lawn where we update our journals and watch Delhi pass by from a tented table. There is a security guard with a mirror on a pole, meant to search under incoming cars for bombs, etc. He merrily waves every vehicle through, never using his security device.

This reminds us of the "security" we experienced while boarding the train to Chandigarh a few days earlier at Delhi Train Station. There was a wooden "metal detector" looking thing with no lights or indeed any evidence of any metal part or electrical hook-up, that some of us walked through, while others walked around it. Next to it were 4 "security guards" seated at a table, in military uniforms, watching us all pass by.

We check out and take a taxi to the forbidden Khan Market, which turns out to be quite wonderful in its ordinariness. It's where real Indian middle class people shop and we vow to return after we get back from the POW. The taxi drivers in Delhi cover the meter with a washcloth. I ask ours to remove it, but it's back on by the time we get back from shopping and drive back to the hotel. I ask about the fare. 100 rupees. I ask him to remove the wash cloth. 53 rupees. I laugh and give him 100 rupees (about $2). Time for the POW.

Shangrila

There appeared a British woman at breakfast the last two days who has been studying us intently. She has a terrible cold and is alone. We "bump" into her as we begin our Mall Walk. It is a discover-the-wonders-of-Simla-on-your-own-day. She is the first wonder.

Her name is Winona and she is from Aberdeen, Scotland. We immediately chatter about the commonality of her heritage and all of Tucker's family. I remember my favorite castle, Dunnatar Castle, not far from Aberdeen. We stroll along together for a bit. She is a music teacher and is en route to Tibet to teach there for 2 and 1/2 years. It seems exotic to her and she feels she is ready to "give back" to the poor what she has enjoyed all of her life. She has done this in other places as well. A real travel soul. Her journey today is to WALK UP to Jakhu Temple by way of the footpaths used by the locals. Tucker and I look at each other because we are simutaneously remembering the ride yesterday. A very vertical climb. And she is sniffling and stuffed-up. At 7000 ft. above sea level. We said, "Good luck!" and watched her begin the trek. We never found out if she made the temple.

Please refer to the photos above to glean more detail for yourself. Simla is a marvel. It is safe, friendly, cleaner than most of India, located in a spot of breathtaking views and bustling with local activity. Scandal Point boasts a statue of Indira Ghandi as well as Mahatma Ghandi. But the sight of the snowcapped Himalayas behind them is the thing worthy of a standing ovation (and I believe I clapped my hands together in delight...you can't help it...you are feeling the wonder of childlike discovery again). There were all kinds of people milling about or sitting on benches talking. Just talking and enjoying the sun. Young, old, oldest, Sikh, Hindi, workers, school children, women shopping with strollers, young men sporting jeans and cell phones and needing to show them off, and the quiet local "taxis." You see these human taxis carrying everything in and out of the shopping area because no other traffic is allowed. Any other traffic couldn't negotiate the vertical climbs up narrow stairways. We saw a man carrying a refrigerator on his back with the help of a leather strap wrapped about his forehead.

I stop in a shop on the very top of the Mall ridge and buy a silk scarf for my friend Marcia and inquire about where I could get a salwar kameez made up for me. Within a half hour the fabric and style were selected, measurements made and the garment was delivered to me by 9:30 that evening. Now that's what I'M talkin' about!

We take our time walking the Mall and end up at the Clarke Hotel. This is the hotel where Tucker stayed 20 years ago when he made his first trip up to Simla. We go in and ask if we can have some tea and reminisce. The hotel clerk was dressed in a white pajama-like uniform which had a green cumberbund and the most fantastic cloth turban with a pleated fan arrangement. And he did better than tea. We got a tour of the room that Tucker had lived in for almost a week. The hotel was old and a bit seedy now. He said that it had been sold and was due for renovations. I hope so because the view from that room was a look right down the mall.

We descend sloping ramps and stairways in order to get to the market. Locals laugh to themselves when I swoon after looking over the edge of a landing. Sanjeev said that he did not know of one incidence of acrophobia among the locals born here. Good thing.

The market was the most colorful and alive place I have been to in a very long time. We were the only foreign faces that we could see. The shopkeepers were happy to see us and wanted pictures taken. We did not feel at all threatened in any physical way and yet we were squeezing and oozing along the narrow alleyways entwined with the masses, much like a crowd going through the turnstiles at Fenway Park. Except that every square yard offered a small treasure to look at or feel. And you had to keep moving or dodge into a "shop". The shops are no more that a concrete "garage" filled with carefully displayed wares. The displays themselves were eye candy. Vegetables, fruits, cloth, yarn, bottled this, pickled that, men sewing, men butchering, men fixing appliances, men deep frying delicious smelling food. It is the County Fair of Everyday Life. It is the Treadmill of Disney Fantasyworld. It is fabulous. ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS.

On the way back to the hotel after a day of sensory gluttony, we stopped at a coffee shop (we were so surprised to find a true coffee house in Simla) to rest our weary legs. Walking back up from the lower streets is a task. And then there was one of those weird moments when you believe that you have been beamed onto Zorlon via Starship Enterprise. Watching saris pass by at a sidewalk table next to a restaurant that claimed to serve Mexican food... waiter delivers a cafe' mocha.... Fernando, by the group Abba, is playing in the background....monkeys hopping across the tops of park benches.....strange languages spoken all about you but noone talking to you.....

Loved this day. We have to leave tomorrow and I'm not "done" with Simla yet. Too much to relish and not enough time or energy today. Good night, Gracie.

Golf and the Super Bowl, at 9,000 feet.

In the news today, it's reported that a documentary film about a civil protest of some sort had been approved by the government for public viewing, but the Indian Mob had let it be known that any theatre showing the film would regret it, so it was not being shown. Also, there had been 4 killed in a Delhi traffic accident, and it was feared that this year was going to surpass last year's count of 2,000 traffic deaths. In Delhi alone. Vehicles in Simla have no rear view mirrors because of the Horn Factor (driving by ear) and the fact that the narrow streets and roads guaranteed they would sooner or later be sheared from the vehicle by passing traffic.

Max left us hanging out in the Himalayas, having our box lunch on a deck overlooking the spectacular range and valleys. We're seated at red plastic tables at the Indian/Chinese Restaurant and Dining Hall. Next, it's off to the golf course, about 500 yards away, right next to the billboard warning us not to feed the numerous monkeys we see leaping about.

Naldehra Golf Course was established in 1905 (or 19-zero-5, as Sanjeev more correctly put it), by Lord Curzon, no doubt missing The Country Club back in Jolly Olde and looking for a few extra yards on his drives at the 9,000 foot high site. After paying a 15 cent entry fee, we climbed the 30 degree 300 yard slope to the Pro Shop and gazed out on a wasteland of a course with 2 cement pond water hazards surrounded by fences on the opening hole. We could have played the 9 holes twice for $6, but opted for the souvenir instead. When we finally located the Pro and asked to buy something, he grudgingly took us into a large walk-in closet called the locker room and told us he had a shirt and a hat. We bought his entire stock (a shirt and a hat), paid our $13 and headed back to our hotel, which we could see 'way the hell over on the other side of the valley, but which was actually a one hour car ride away.

Back in the room, we hear a loud beeping noise and Max goes out to see what's going on. The hotel is 5 stories, with all rooms looking down into the Lounge/Atrium (see picture). She sees a hotel employee a couple of stories down and signs a question to him about the noise. He gives her a reassuring sign back that it's nothing to worry about. By the time she gets back in the room, the telephone is ringing and the employee is explaining it's only a test of the fire alarm. Service like we've never seen in North America.

We head down to The Lounge (see picture) for a Kingfisher beer and nibbles while we work on our journals and purge our cameras of the less spectacular pix of the day.

Dinner was astounding and I won't bore you with the details, but if I were a potato, and was promised to be made into what we had that night I would dig myself up and volunteer my tuberous entity for the cause.

Monday, February 5, 2007

It wouldn't be an early Monday morning in February without a Super Bowl Party, so we turn on the TV at 6:30 AM in time to see The Artist Formerly Known As Prince singing Purple Rain dressed in purple, bathed in purple light, in the rain at the half time show, live at the Super Bowl. We get in the Super Bowl Party mood by pouring ourselves a bracing Nescafe' instant coffee and wait for the sun to come up over the mountains as we watch the game.

After an Indian b'fast of spicy pancakes and mint honey yoghurt, we ask where the billiard room is, and are instantly given a guided tour of the entire hotel, including play rooms, gym and heated indoor pool, each with its own attendant.

Our plan today is to walk the entire length of The Mall, visit the hotel I stayed in in '86 and then head into the Lower Market. It's another crisp, warm Himalayan day in the lower 60's and we're ready for a guideless day of exploring Simla.

Just as a side note, if anyone wants to see any of the pictures on these blogs in a larger format, just click on them twice. To return to the blog, use the back arrow. I just discovered this myself, and have decided to try posting more pix in a smaller format as a result.