8 itchy feet

Beauty in the ruins

Published on April 2, 2016April 2, 2016 by 8itchyfeet2 Comments

India is a handful. There is so much to take in that it will take some time to process – to work out what to make of it all. We approached India with some trepidation. When my fears ran away with me, as they sometimes do, I imagined India chewing us up and spitting us out. I had visions of being so uncomfortable we would end up hating it, and each other in the process. Emma had worries about us all being consumed by stomach bugs and curled up in bed for days on end.

These worries were not baseless as they sometimes are. I did visit India with work nine years ago. I went to Ahmedabad, where the air quality was so appalling you couldn’t see more 100 metres and where slums stretched as far as the eye could see. Others we meet, that have travelled to India, also invariably have tales to tell about Delhi belly.

This however has not been our experience. The sky has almost invariably been blue and apart from the odd rumble, our stomachs have been fine. The place is gritty and dirty and ramshackle and crumbling, but there is beauty in the ruins. I found it in Bundi, a town of colourful walls settled at the foot of another imposing old palace and fort.

In general, Bundi looks as though it has been constructed from the kind of materials we keep stored in the lean-to at the side of our house. Open drains abound, carrying grey water through a complex mish mash of alleys, lanes and streets. The water drains to a central lake so rich with nutrients it has turned an unnatural shade of green. Sound appealing? It’s not, unless you can also see the beauty it creates.

In amongst the drains and flaking walls, there is a texture and colour which is unique and captivating. As we walked the streets in search of step wells, forts and palaces I found myself happily snapping photos of the endless supply of intriguing walls, doors and windows. Every twisting turn presented new and beautiful sights.

Indoor beauty also – staying at Bundi Haveli (Haveli translates to mansion)

Our little family of four however walked the streets of Bundi and had four significantly different experiences. It all depended upon what caught our eyes and imaginations. In Bundi I started to revel in our celebrity status. I also begun to feel comfortable, if not at home, walking the streets. Travelling in India I decided is not that dissimilar to elsewhere, its just not presented in such a glossy package.

Not everyone felt the same. Oliver made a throw away comment as we left our hotel one day to the effect of, ‘now I really appreciate good drains’. Bundi’s plumbing clearly came as a shock to him and it became a feature of his experience. It will, reasonably, take some time for him to become accustomed to this and for his focus to shift elsewhere. Emma and Amy were still struggling to different degrees with the heat, smells, noise (they really do honk way more than is necessary) and constant attention.

The attention we all continue to receive almost everywhere we go is itself an ongoing riddle. It is almost impossible to know what the basis of our daily interactions with the local people will be. To so many people we are little more than walking ATMs and we have found ourselves on many occasions politely talking our way out of unsolicited diversions into shops, navigating our way out of services we didn’t ask for and studiously, if uncertainly, declining requests for a handout.

Not everyone however is out to lighten our wallet. We met some wonderful people who didn’t treat us like a walking rupee. Tony, his wife and sons from the Lake View Garden Restaurant in Bundi were among our favourites. The Lake View Garden is a small place with a crumbling kitchen and plastic tables and chairs weathered by the sun overlooking the unnaturally green lake. The food was incredible and cheap and we ate there three times a day.

By the end of our stay Amy and Oliver were roaming the gardens with new friends almost like they were visiting a school mate on a weekend. Tony and his wife were so lovely and so unassuming it was a pleasure to pay over the odds for the food they served.

Amy having henna done – the kitchen is in that little door

Then there was Mr Kukki and his son Kukki Jnr (aka Bunty) – amateur archaeologists working out of Bundi. Mr Kukki is globally renowned for his discovery of ancient rock art (think aboriginal rock art such as in Kakadu) in the hills of Rajasthan. His story is a most inspiring tale. In short Mr Kukki moved to India from Pakistan as a refugee. As a young kid he started scratching around in the hills to escape work at his fathers shop through which he built up a handy collection of ancient coins. Not that he knew it.

He grew up some more and opened his own highly successful business and became a wealthy man (yep India has them too). His archaeological hobby however proved too much for him and he sacrificed everything he had to pursue his passion. He soon put together a collection of priceless ancient artefacts by scratching around in the hills in withering heat which he then donated to the national museum. He squandered a fortune to follow his passion and just when he had his ticket back to financial freedom he gave it away based on a principled decision that the artefacts he had found belonged to all of India.

Today the Kukki’s make enough rupees during the tourist season, by showing people like us a few of the ancient rock arts sites, to keep fossicking the rest of the year. When we asked how much a day out with the Kukki’s would cost, Kukki Jnr’s reply was, ‘that’s up to you. I’ll show you around, we’ll have a good day, and then you can give me a few rupees if you like’. It is a tale of dedication, passion and a calling triumphing over self interest.

Seldom do you have the pleasure of meeting such a man of principle who purpose in life is more clearly known. What a joy to be doing what you love, loving what you do and content and happy as a result. I hope one day to find this too and while I enjoyed the rock art, hidden out in the wilds on the edge of a gorge with vultures circling above, I enjoyed the Kukki’s enthusiasm and story more.

Leaving our mark (temporary graffiti – rain will wash this off)

Another Indian fellow interested in more than a rupee cut my hair while we were in Bundi. Growing my hair was fun, but I’m over it. I think it was a mild mid-life crisis and a hankering to break out of the Commonwealth Public Service mold, but the reality is it was bugging me. So I wandered into a tumble down little hobbit hole of a hairdressers unsure quite what to expect.

The haircut went as expected. A snip here a snip there. It was what followed that no one could see coming. At first I thought the man had mistaken my head for scone dough as he started slapping and pulling and kneading my scalp. Head massage, I soon cottoned on. Nice. Then I felt the strange sensation of fingers twisting in my ears. Did that feel nice? I’m not sure. A face massage, with special attention to the eyes, was followed a shower from a water sprayer which ran all over my face and down the front of my shirt.

‘Does everyone get this treatment?’ Emma asked as she, Amy and Oliver watched on. I don’t think she got an answer before he started on the chiropractic work, grabbing each of my arms in turn and wrenching them back as he simultaneously pushed me forward. An arm massage followed that and a knuckle cracking after that. A few slaps to the head topped it all off.

How much I asked him? ‘As you like it’, came the answer. The price of half the services in India is a matter of ‘as you like it’. I paid the equivalent of $3, which according to our driver Naresh was probably about $2 too much, but I’d do it again just for fun!

We moved on from Bundi to Ranthambore and the Ranthambore National Park. We came to Ranthambore hoping to see a tiger. Not in a cage. Not in a zoo. In the wild. A real, live, wild tiger. Yep, that’s what we came for. We were not however expecting it to happen. People make many safaris into Ranthambore hoping to see a tiger and while the sightings are frequent enough to keep you hoping, people are more often disappointed than not.

We agreed to book whatever safaris were left through our hotel and hope for the best. We had tried to book in advance on line – three hours of Emma’s life she’ll never get back. After checking in I went to pay for a private ‘Gypsy’ (4WD) ride into the park but it wasn’t that simple. An Indian man with limited English guided me to the front door told me to wait and soon returned on his scooter. I got on and off we went, a little nervous because Emma had no idea I had gone.

We whizzed through the usual Indian chaos before arriving at the safari booking office, a fair sized concrete building packed full of locals desperate to get to an inadequate number of ticket windows. Into the fray I descended, urged on by my man from the hotel, pink safari slip in hand. I made the ticket window after some effort and pushed my safari slip through to the harried soul on the other side where upon I was told to wait until my name was called.

Which I did, sandwiched like a sardine with Indian men pressing up against me on all sides. It may have been unpleasant except I couldn’t help think what a wonderful cultural experience it was. What a spectacle of disorder. After thirty minutes I received my prize – four seats on a ‘canter’ in zone 5, one of the lucky zones for tigers.

The canter picked us up later that afternoon and we rumbled into the park. We whisked past spotted dear, samba dear, monkeys, peacocks, crocodiles and other creatures without more than a fleeting, bouncing, sideways glance. We were on a mission to get deep in to tiger country. These other curiosities were being reserved as a consolation prize on the way back.

When we reached a cool, wet, grassy, green gorge in the dusty, rocky hills the canter halted and the guide did his best to keep everyone quiet while we sat and waited. I tried not to be disappointed. I knew it probably wasn’t going to happen. Alas, no tigers for us. The engine started up and we did a u-turn to head for home.

And then. And then. And then. And then there were three other canters and a few gypsys all stopped up ahead looking into the grass. We stopped too and cast our eyes around before locking onto an orange, black and white stripy head protruding from the grass. My heart leapt and Amy jumped a little with excitement beside me.

A tiger. It was a tiger. IT WAS A TIGER!! I couldn’t believe it. It sat there, in a pond of water fringed by grass, looking magnificent without really trying to. It just sat and watched oblivious to the 60 people staring at it, jaws dropped and cameras firing. For thirty minutes we watched as it swatted away insects with casual flicks of its head and paws before it slowly stood, turned and walked back into the tall grass. All eyes followed for as long as possible before it simply disappeared.

We didn’t go on any more safaris. They are not cheap and we couldn’t see how the experience we had just had could be topped. We took the next day off. Playing in the pool, throwing a frisbee, doing school work and watching with amusement as the hotel staff used a hammer to smash the padlock off our hotel door when the key refused to work.

Is this a theme? – hotel staff and door lock issues

The next day was Holi. We didn’t really know what to expect or even if we were in the right place to observe any of the goings on. We walked out into the streets hoping to see some colour and movement but unsure what we would find. Within minutes we were coloured from head to toe by different groups of young men all eager to help a family of foreigners experience the fun.

We never expected India to be an easy place to travel. I think that Emma and I felt it was a place we ‘should’ visit, if only to deepen our appreciation of the life we lead at home. I’m not sure that Australians, by and large and without wishing to generalise, do always understand what they’ve got. It would however be condescending to suggest that we have it better all round. There is beauty and vibrancy and life in this country which we first found so different and strange.

It has been hard on occasion observing the discomfort felt by Emma, but more particularly Amy and Oliver – but does that mean we shouldn’t have come? I don’t know what Amy and Oliver will take from the experiences we have had so far, whether they are also taking in the beauty in the ruins. They have however now had exposure to how differently more than a billion people in this world live and this I hope will give them a broader perspective to chew over in the years to come.

Visiting…

Published on March 25, 2016September 19, 2018 by 8itchyfeet6 Comments

Nine years ago Emma gave me a Christmas present. More than one no doubt, but one of them was a little different. A World Vision sponsor child. It was premeditated. We had conspired about it beforehand.

I didn’t think too much of it after that other than sending off the occasional birthday or Christmas wish or claiming our tax deduction. When this trip came along however we knew that one of the things we would really love to do would be to visit Ramlekha. I liked the idea of making ‘real’ a person and a place that existed, for all intents and purposes, only in my imagination. I also liked the idea of making a connection between our two vastly different lives.

The visit became something of a marker point for our year. We wanted to get here before Rajasthan becomes unbearably hot. Temperatures from April sit well above 40 and regularly push 50, or so we are lead to believe. Our travels in India too are really an add-on to make the most of the visit with Ramlekha. We are fortunate she lives in the same state as so many of India’s famous attractions.

Ramlekha’s village is around 50 kilometres outside the town of Baran. Baran lies 70 or so kilometres beyond the city of Kota and Kota is about 250 kilometres south of Jaipur. The further we travelled from Jaipur the more unusual we became. Not many tourists visit Kota and I’m pretty sure no tourist ever visits Baran. All eyes in the busy cross roads at the centre of Baran fell upon us as we alighted our Innova out front of the Surya Hotel. It wasn’t long however before Mayank from World Vision appeared and we were in good hands.

I had trouble sleeping the night before the visit. No sponsor had ever visited this particular village. Only one other had ever visited the region. ‘Does the community know we are coming?’, I asked at dinner earlier that evening. ‘Oh yes’ Mayank answered. ‘They are very excited’.

We set out early the next morning. The plan was to get there around 8am so the people of the village could spend a couple of hours with us before they returned to the fields. It was harvest time and forgoing a day of harvesting wheat by hand in the hot sun to spend time with us would mean forgoing a day’s wage. All of $3.

The drive was pleasant. Rural India is quite a contrast to urban India. No dirt, minimal litter, no putrid puddles of water. Fields of wheat were the norm in the hot, parched and steadily baking landscape – a landscape eagerly awaiting the next monsoon. We crossed dry, rocky river beds and passed other little villages, like the one we were destined for.

My excitement grew as we drew nearer and I felt a little nervous. What would we say? What would we ask? What would be the common ground? Emma was equally unsure. The more I extended my mind the greater the blank it drew so I let it go and decided that what would be would be, that we would react in the moment and trust in the genuine intent that had bought us here.

Of course when we got there it was not at all what I had expected. It never is. The first sight to greet us was a large purple and white tent like marquee set up as the staging point for our visit. We were ushered in by the World Vision staff accompanying us, there were about 5 of them and they all seemed thrilled at the chance to show off their work. A man was beating a drum and there were loud bangs of fireworks to welcome us.

Inside we were seated as guests of honour at a table set up at the head of the area. The tent soon filled with a few, then a few more and before long the entire, hundred or so strong, members of the village. The women sang songs of love and gratitude in honour of our visit. Individual and small groups of children took turns to dance for us or to sing more songs. We were then welcomed by the head of the village. Red dots were painted on each of our foreheads, Emma was wrapped in colourful scarves and flower garlands as were Amy and Oliver while my head was wrapped with cloth to form a turban.

Ramlekha herself was dressed in what I’m sure were her finest clothes and appeared a little overwhelmed. Not surprising. We felt much the same. The whole experienced exceeded any expectations. This was a most extraordinary reception. As we later told our hosts, the strength of gratitude that the people felt because of the work World Vision has done was palpable and it was being lauded upon us just because we had come to visit.

After all the welcoming, speeches, songs and dance we were ushered off for a private meeting with Ramlekha and her family. The World Vision folk did their best to facilitate this but the fact of the matter was that the village as a whole would not be dissuaded. We were followed by everybody on our way to Ramlekha’s house, highly curious eyes tracked our every movement, staring with curiosity, grinning and shying away if you made eye contact but popping back to keep ogling as soon as you looked away.

The village itself was simple and neat. There were no outward signs of poverty and unlike the Indian urban environments we have seen, the whole area was clean. Ramlekha, her parents and three siblings live in a colourfully painted mud-clad stone house not more than two metres wide and about six metres long. It was dark inside and significantly cooler than outside but there was also no light by which to see, I did notice a simple clay stove built into the ground. The front courtyard had been decorated with a coloured powder welcome sign for our visit. Though it was neat, it was also poor. Not poor in spirit, but poor in resources in a way I have not come across before.

Imagine having have to choose between taking a day off work to take a sick child into town to a doctor (if in fact it was possible to get there at all) and not earning a day’s wages which would mean you couldn’t buy food to feed the family that day. That kind of poor. Ramlekha will spend her entire life in that village, the only time she might travel further would be for serious illness. The aspirations of the village families are for a light in their house or things of that nature.

Malnutrition for children in communities such as this throughout Rajasthan runs at a staggering 98%. Well it does for communities where organisations such as World Vision are not present. The Indian government does what it can, but remote communities can apparently be beyond their reach or resources or both. World Vision’s intent to focus on those communities was genuine and moving. The reality is that people suffer and die out here and there is no support, no voice to advocate on their behalf, until World Vision or another NGO steps in. World Vision has recently commenced an ‘ambulance’ service to ensure that people can travel for help if it is needed – it is apparently used daily.

It is hard to wrap your head around the wealth hierarchy that exists within India let alone between India and other parts of the world. By Australians standards we are well off but not, I wouldn’t have said, obscenely rich. Yet here, I felt like Rupert Murdoch or James Packer. Even our comparatively wealthy and well off World Vision hosts could, I think, barely comprehend that we could travel the world for 12 months. They said little but their faces betrayed their thoughts.

Elsewhere throughout the village was tangible evidence of World Vision’s work in the form of water tanks and filters, toilets and bio-gas systems so that cooking by dried cow dung could be replaced with gas. Solar powered street lights were also scattered around and have apparently significantly improved safety, especially for women and children.

A water tank, with a climate change message and a solar light on the right

The installation and use of this infrastructure represents a hard won trust and relationship that has been established between the World Vision staff and the communities. We have been brought up knowing that sanitation and clean drinking water keep us healthy. The communities here have not witnessed this cause and effect and World Vision works diligently to develop their understanding which leads to acceptance and better health outcomes.

After a short tour of Ramlekha’s home we got down to the business of meeting each other. My mind still raced and I remember turning to Emma and asking, ‘what do we say?’. Face to face, and confronting the reality of how different our lives were it was really hard to know where to begin. But for all that, it wasn’t uncomfortable. The overarching joyful mood of the family along with the helpful World Vision staff to translate made for a fun interaction.

I think I asked a few inane questions to Ramlekha’s younger brother about school and what he liked studying and then had a go at asking them to teach us some short Hindi phrases, knowing that our clumsy efforts to repeat them would probably cause amusement – which it did.

Sport, it then occurred to me, is a fairly universal language and so we asked if they played cricket. Doesn’t everyone in India? Well no actually, these guys knew the game but not the rules. They were however appeased when we made clear that really didn’t matter. The cricket bat and ball we had given as a gift soon appeared and games followed.

A few brave souls leapt forward to play with us while the rest of the village lined the make-do pitch like spectators lining the finish of a Tour de France stage. Oliver bowled politely to our new friends and viciously to his father, but gaining ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of admiration when the chair offered for stumps was knocked clean out from behind me.

Before we knew it our time was up. We gathered in front of Ramlekha’s home for photos where Ramlekha’s dad really caught my imagination. His happiness was so vivid as he stood proudly by our side. Ramlekha herself still seemed overwhelmed and so we did not try to force interaction. The rest of the village, still hovering all around, provided more than ample opportunity for it not to matter. We walked back to the cars lead once more by the beating drum and followed by our admirers and before long we were on our way. It was a special day for us, and we hope for Ramlekha, her family and the village as well.

It can be hard when deciding from home which charity or international aid agency to support. You want to think that your money is doing some good on the ground and not being wasted on excessive administration. Goodness knows we filled out a mountain of paperwork to make this visit possible, but that could just be requirements of India’s bureaucracy which we have also grappled with elsewhere.

Despite the paperwork, the commitment and passion of the staff that accompanied us on this visit was undeniable. The Christian ethos underscoring the World Vision operation was real and heart warming in a way my skeptical views of the church at large is not. I can vouch for the tangible, on the ground infrastructure which is all there only because of World Vision’s work.

More than all that I know that an entire village forewent half a day’s wages that they could ill afford in order come and see us and express their appreciation. We are only one of 45 sponsors for this village but we may have well been paying for the whole lot the way we were received. If you can, sponsor a child. If you already have, sponsor another. We will be. You’re doing a world of good.

Fish out of water

Published on March 19, 2016 by 8itchyfeetLeave a comment

Like fish out of water. That’s us in India. Flip, flop, flap… gulp. Official sources on such matters (the Cambridge thesaurus) suggest that fish out of water feel awkward because they are in a situation that they have not experienced before or because they are very different from the people around them. One might have thought it was because they can’t breathe.

In any case, we landed in a nice comfortable goldfish bowl at Kolkata. The airport was modern and the immigration officials friendly, jovial even, as they processed our visas. Thanks to Emma’s intelligence gathering we even felt confident as we found the pre-paid taxi window and purchased our taxi voucher avoiding other touts and ‘helpers’.

Our taxi had character and I was initially enthused. It looked decidedly British which I guess makes sense given Kolkata is an East India Company town. It was battered and bruised and shook like an aftershock as it rumbled us off into the night.

Colours swirled, lights flashed, sounds blared and unfamiliar smells intruded through the open windows. We four fish had jumped out of our pond. I don’t think I can quite describe the sensation associated with this taxi journey. It was disarming. I felt like a babe in the woods as we rattled through the streets.

And then there was a really loud BANG! The front right hand side of the car dropped. Our driver said nothing, but pulled the steering wheel to the left as the car limped off to the side of the road. I jumped out with him to inspect the damage, hoping like mad that this clapped out old car had a spare.

It did and our driver silently got stuck into to affecting the fix. Nothing unusual here. Old tyre off, I inspected the cause of the ‘pop’. Tyres don’t usually just go ‘pop’. This tyre however had nowhere else to go. It was completely bald. Like someone had sanded the tread to make it smooth.

Tyre changed we dashed back off into the night. On and on we went. Amy and Oliver snuggled into Emma in the back seat for support as we swerved, dodged and scraped our way down roads and through tiny backstreets and lanes, the traffic governed by no discernable rules and therefore more chaotic than Hanoi’s river like flow. We could have been headed anywhere.

An hour and a quarter later and with a collective sigh of relief we turned a final disorienting corner and saw another goldfish bowl. Our hotel was serene and western looking. We hurried in, took a deep breath, ate dinner and quietly contemplated what on earth we were doing here (at least I did) before dropping off to sleep.

The next day started slowly. No one was rushing back onto the streets after the previous night’s taxi ride. India is a little bit different to Australia. Just a little. Early afternoon however we ventured forth – metaphorical aqua lungs on. Amy clung to my arm like she hadn’t since our first day back in Bangkok. Oliver appeared less phased. Emma summoned internal fortitude and moved bravely on although I got the sense she would have been just as happy to remain in the hotel. How wonderful I told myself that there are still places where just stepping outside is an adventure!

The scene was less chaotic than my imagination. Daylight has a way of slowing things down, or maybe the street just moves more slowly in the light. We gained some confidence, or at least I did, I’m not sure about the others. The streets of Kolkata bear no resemblance to home although it is quite beyond me to describe how. Urban India has a texture about it that is dirty, gritty, colourful and enthralling all at once. To our foreign eyes there is a constant abundance unfamiliar sights, and many more moving parts than we are accustomed to. The streetscape, for example, includes pigs, horses, cows and the occasional camel, all equally a part of the place along with the usual motorised vehicles.

We soon happened across an Indian ‘Thali’ restaurant that looked like the kind of place four Australian fish might take a breather. It’s a good thing we are all so good-looking because otherwise it could have been awkward when all eyes turned curiously towards us as we were shown to a table.

Thali involves a small sample of may different kinds of curries and breads and other bits and pieces and was a culinary treat. We may be fish out of water but we do like the food. After lunch, and with what air we had left in our lungs, we explored Kolkata. Strolling through parklands on our way to the Victoria Monument, we stumbled across dusty cricket games, kids flying kites high above the city, other kids doing head stands on bikes and locals racing up to us on horse back to offer us rides.

Many many cricket games in Kolkata open space

We flew to Jaipur the next day where we met Naresh, our driver for the next two and half weeks and undoubtedly the best decision we have made about travelling to India. Naresh’s white air-conditioned Toyota Innova is a like a goldfish bowl on wheels, moving us through the Indian landscape without quite being part of it. Naresh also knows where all the foreign fish like to eat and what we like to see. He says you need three things to drive in India. ‘Good luck, good brakes and a good horn’. Naresh has all three and in his capable hands we all started to relax into our Indian journey.

We were a little less like fish out of water at Jaipur’s highly trafficked tourist attractions, although on one occasion a group of cool looking twenty something’s sidled up to us phones out and snapping selfies by our side. On another, I flashed a smile at a group of ladies in brightly coloured saris sending them into a huddle of giggles. Nothing unusual here of course, I have that effect on all the ladies. On a couple of other occasions, we turned the tables on our Indian admirers requesting our own photos of them.

The truth be known, it is Amy and Oliver that are the stars. There are other ‘western fish’ here to be sure, but very few of them under the age of 30 and many more in the grey nomad age bracket. When Amy and Oliver decide they have had enough being the centre of attention and opt out of a photo shoot a look of disappointment invariably passes the face of their adoring fans. I dutifully offer myself up as a consolation prize but a consolation prize probably best describes how I am received.

Jaipur’s list of attractions was unexpectedly wonderful. The Amber Fort is perched halfway up a hill on the outskirts of the city. It was the main hangout for Raja Man Singh the first and his twelve wives. Man Singh was the Kacchwaha or King of Amber, a state later known as Jaipur and when he wasn’t off conquering other lands spent his time entertaining his twelve wives, and a bunch of mistresses by all accounts, all of whom seemed bound up within the strict limits of their status and gender.

One of Man Singh’s wives loved gazing at the stars but rules dictated that it was not appropriate for her to sleep in the open air. Humans are so random. Anyway, instead of changing the rules the Man Singh put in a mail order for the very finest glass tiles available which just happened to be from Belgium. Ten months later they arrived and Man Singh built the ‘Sheesh Mahal’; a stunning bedroom plastered with thousands of sparkling glass fragments. Just one candle is enough to make the whole hall sparkle like a starlit night.

Today, shining an iPhone torch on the ceiling of the Sheesh Mahal creates the same star-lit night effect, even in the middle of the day. Our guide showed us how to take some tricky photos with the mirrors that other tourists just couldn’t figure out.

Original paintwork made from crushed gemstones

The king would sit in the middle watch musicians and dancers

Working on getting the kids in the photos

At the Jaigarh Fort we played round two of a new game that is emerging for us as we travel. We call it, ‘How to ditch the dude’. Round one was played back at the Beng Mealea temple back at Angkor where we unwittingly picked up a local who appeared intent on inserting himself into our little party as a guide. It was a little awkward because we really weren’t looking for company on that occasion. Unsure quite how to avoid making a scene we sat quietly as he moved on ahead urging us to follow. As we sat we quietly discussed, ‘how to ditch the dude’.

At the Jaigarh Fort we turned a corner in the maze like interior corridors of the huge complex and were again picked up by an unsolicited helper. This may have been fine except that 15 minutes before yet another helper had already taken it upon himself to explain to us the history of the ‘worlds largest cannon on wheels’. This was great but when the unsolicited tour ended it became abundantly clear it was not free.

‘Tip, as you like it sir’, he indicated to me confidently. ‘Oh, oh ok’, I said as I fumbled through my wallet for some rupees to buy our freedom. The same thing had happened back at Kolkata airport with a guy who jumped in uninvited to load our bags into the taxi and when we were boarding the train to Bangkok back in Thailand. We still haven’t mastered the best way to approach the whole unsolicited help thing yet.

Worlds largest cannon on wheels – towed there by 4 elephants

We followed our next helper along, quite unsure whether he worked for those charged with looking after the Fort or not and just what this bit of guiding was going to get us into. We all looked at each other and whispered something under our breath about another game of ‘how to ditch the dude’. It turned out to be easier than we expected when drums started beating elsewhere in the fort and he dumped us and ran off without a backward glance. We did an about turn and retreated the way we had come before he re-emerged. Another dude successfully ditched without diplomatic incident!

The Jaigarh and Amber fort’s are really part of the same complex despite being built some 500 years apart. Perched high on the hills above Jaipur, Jaigarh is around a thousand years old, Amber roughly 500. Even today they evoke the romantic image I have in my head about India of bygone times. Gorgeous archways frame magnificent views over the countryside and Great Wall of China style defences encircling the complex for 12 kilometres below. These were halls of royalty, wealth and privilege and visiting them even 500 or a thousand years later felt like taking a sneak peak into the goldfish bowl of the Indian elite from another time.

Looking up at Jaigarh Fort from Amber Fort

The Jaipur City Palace I found to be somewhat less impressive although there was a snake charmer at the front entrance. I couldn’t quite believe my eyes. Really, I thought. They actually do that? Apparently so, because there was a live cobra, hood extended and twirling away out of a little wicker basket as its master played his Indian thing-a-ma-jig. I couldn’t help but snap a photo although I’m not really sure I ought to have been encouraging the practice.

Four days in Jaipur done, on our next stop we will be further from the goldfish bowl than ever before. We’re off to Baran to meet Remlekha, a girl we have been sponsoring through World Vision for the last nine years. We will be the first World Vision sponsors to visit her villiage and I’m really excited to meet her.