Mumbai - time for indulgence

The cab driver who took us from the airport to the hotel didn't quite believe us when we told him the destination. Do we really look like cheapskate tourists? I know I don't carry the Burberry bag that i never bought everywhere and Arne's fashion style does not really match Ralf Lauren's latest collection but please... Do people really need to show off? I guess I am low key. The kind of person who doesn't really care and (according to Arne) walks around looking like a student and therefore is not taken seriously. The good thing about India is that my attire is still light years ahead of the local 1970's fashion of flare pants and safari suits. After three weeks on the road living like 'quasi Indians' we thought we'd totally deserve a 5 star hotel at some point in our passage through India. It should be said that most hotels in Mumbai cost a small fortune and have nothing to offer but critters and grime so we though we might as well pay a little more and enjoy the benefits. Unfortunately we didn't go the whole way, meaning no room at the Taj Mahal where you get a private concierge 24/7 to while your royal bottom, but it was enough to make us feel loved. The staff make you feel welcome and the service is excellent. Where the hell else am I getting my room made three times a day?!   Back to the hotel... waking up early for a gym session and having a breakfast fit for a king makes anyone happy, except off course if you are the Michelin man and trying to loose weight... But even then the friendly trainer is there to make you sweat (do i smell last night's curry?) those extra calories from all the things you were not supposed to touch! And yes, a swim at the end of the day to unwind was just perfect! Inside the hotel we almost forgot we were in India!  Outside is a different story, the gateway of India was one of those experiences you don't really wish to do more than once; hundreds (if not thousands) of people standing almost shoulder to shoulder, some trying to take photos of you and then sell them to you, others selling general rubbish that nobody needs and some doing what many Indians do best: just hanging around and doing fuck all...or maybe possibly also holding hands with their best manfriend if they feel like they're up to the multitasking. And If you think you are going to get the famous tourist shot (gateway of India with the Taj behind) you have to get there before everybody else because by the time the first boat departs the place is already is already as crowded as a can of sardines.  Sunday we ventured ourselves to do the typical Indian weekend family trip and went to Elephanta Island. According to the lonely planet a must do to see ancient caves carved out by priests with too much time on their hands. As expected hundreds of people queuing all over the place. Not one of them had an idea where the queue started, what it was for or how they ended up being in it. But all of them off course following the good old indian tradition of pushing and shoving around without a clue that they were invading my personal space with their sweaty body parts. This time we played locals (when in Rome..) as we ignored the "helpful" tour guide who said waiting time was about 2 hours (therefore we should follow his advise and do a city tour with him instead) and immersed ourselves in the crawling mass of nutters. No organization whatsoever, idea where its moving and push and the results were incredible! Instead we managed to get on board after only 15 minutes! WOW, now I know why people do it... Off course when everyone try's to be a smart ass like yourself it turns everything into chaos (which is what happens most of the times). Taking about queues and chaos, if there is something that Indians totally need to think about is to learn how to drive and behave on the road. Italians bad drivers... Seriously? Indians take driving skills (or lack of) to a totally different level. Two lanes that suddenly become six, pushing their way in even then the traffic is stopped and there's no way to move. No worries, let's just buzz and piss off everybody until someone few kilometers ahead can hear and eventually move 1inch. And... let's not talk about taking over other vehicles, pedestrians, motorbikes, cows or any other moving object if your buzz is louder is because you are better (for sure)! So next time make sure you take your vuvuzela or any other means of making noise with you or otherwise you will be reduced to your human insignificance. Make sure you take some ear plugs too, because sometimes the noise is constant and it really gets on your nerves.

Udaipur - the touristy India

Hey what is this!? Fuck me I paid for a ticket to the obtrusive, beautiful, revolting, stinky, dirty, grimy, poor, noisy, inefficient place that calls itself India. The Disneyland where you pay to be harassed. The one where you can't revenge on the cow who's doody you just stepped in because it's ass is holy. The one where to remember what blue, clear sky looks like you have to buy a pen from one of those annoying little not-in-schoolboys and draw yourself a picture. Not to worry though, they're not great negotiators. The price will drop from 250 rupees for one pen to about 100 by just repeating "no" for twenty one and a half times. After that do the walking away trick and they will suddenly cost 50 rupees each.  Anyway, I'm losing the plot. We found ourselves in Udaipur. The center of the city seems only 12.39% as dirty as any other city we've been in over here, we can see a blue sky and all those looneys-on-wheels seem to have lost their ability to honk their horns at anything that does or does not move. On top of that the guy at our hotels reception admits he likes soccer better than cricket. Apparently out here they even let him keep his passport for saying that out loud. What's more they work efficiently through the check in process by showing Sandra two available options for the room and letting me sign in while they tell me about what to avoid, what to see, where to eat and the password for our included wireless interweb. Before we knew it we were admiring the room's view to the real big star of Octopussy... the lake palace.  Refreshed we venture into the city. Our naturally built up tourist reflexes alive and kicking. "hi sir how do you do?" Ignore. Must ignore. Look straight, keep walking, turn corner and.... pfff breathe out. Successfully avoided another persistent shopkeeper or scammer or whatever he was. In fear of spending our days going from one shop to his brothers buddy's shop to their uncle's dog's we unfortunately hardly get to mingle with the locals. "Hi sir which country?" " Australia. " CRAP! I answered! Okay what is the fucker selling? How do I get away from him? "sy-d-ney! Good day sir!" he says and walks on leaving me dumbfounded. WTF!? Hey come back I didn't pay for this! Come on draw me into your shop! Want my money? Hey where you going!? What is this place? Friendly non persistent shopkeepers, friendly locals, fresh air, beautiful lake, not too hot... We asked the locals. They call it Udaipur. Just to make it more authentic we took the boat to the other lake palace and were happy to be overcharged for a disgusting pink strawberry and green chilli mocktail. Aaah that's the life!

  



Jodhpur to Udaipur

Ready to resign our lives to the ability, or likely disability, of a driver who told us that after six months of going to the driving school every freaking single day hoping to get some lessons he finally managed to resolve the situation by handing over a small fortune in exchange for the much wanted license, we got into his boss´ small car all excited to begin our road trip to Udaipur. This is the way to travel we thought as the car even had an air conditioning button! Yes, just a button. Since the difference between its on and off state was scientifically found to be non existent. We were still sweating like a lama in April and stuck to the seats good and proper. But believe me, anything better than the deluxe bus we caught between the last two stops which made us believe that the concept of cleaning hadn´t as yet arrived in India. Actually we looked up the word “deluxe” in the Indian dictionary. Here´s what it means: “deluxe (d´lux) : anything where you are less likely to have a goat on your lap or people´s body parts rubbing up against you. Does not include clean, tranquil environment or a properly working a/c nozzle that isn´t blowing fucking cold air into your face for the duration of your trip. Also not included is driving on the correct side of the highway.”

So fortunately, as you might be able to tell from me posting this story, we did survive this trip. And not only that. Not only was our driver, Avi, the nicest guy in our car but also a good, very polite and knowledgeable driver.

He told us how he came to work for his current boss while growing up in a very small village close to Jaisalmer that you could only reach by walking or by riding one of the two village camels. His future boss at the time was doing a 4 wheel drive tour with some very white Frenchies and got stuck not far from his village. Avi as a twelve year old found them, crapped his pants when he saw the white aliens smoking like chimneys and ran back to the village to tell his mommy. Needless to say the whole village came out and deliberated to either help them or turn them into a nice curry. After getting them unstuck, Avi´s father convinced the tour operator to take his son to where ever he came from. That´s parental love. Entrusting your 12 y/o to somebody you met 5 minutes ago. But really it is. Avi now has a much better future than he would have had in his village. And with all the rupees that Avi sends home  the village is now contemplating building a Deathstar to rule the universe or fill up their water reservoir for the hot summer. They´re not sure yet.

Okay back to our trip. The good thing about having your own transport rather than the public one is that you get hot and sweaty like a one month old reheated curry in much better style than those poor people on the bus. And coincidentally you can stop where and when ever the fuck you like and take the nicer route as well. No excuses for the tightarses even since the 300km trip cost about as much as a taxi from our apartment to Sydney airport. Avi was kind enough to take us past an ancient Jain temple which contained a thousand hand carved stone columns (we took their word for it) and a priest with two thumbs on his left hand. Handy when you want to give someone the two thumbs up with one hand. Otherwise…not so much.

Other beautiful sights followed: a fortress with a 38 km wall around it and countless villages that couldn´t be bovvered to catch up with the rest of India and move into the 19^th century. The road with all its corners and scenic landscape through the hills made me yearn for my motorbike. “Wow! I have to come back here one day to ride!”, I kept thinking. That is until Avi told us what happened to him on that very same road on evening… As he was happily cruising along singing his favorite bollywood tune gypsies came running out of the bushes naked as the day they were born and covered in slippery oil.

“HOT!”, I can hear you think, “This could get kinky! RRRrrraw, yeah baby yeah!”

Avi wasn´t that lucky. This wasn´t a hippy free love get together. He had to beg for his life as they not only wanted to take all his worldly possessions but end his life right there and then on top of that. He was fortunate enough to be merely beaten over the head a couple of times and his car half pushed over the edge of the cliff. Mental note: come back for motorbike trip, bring Darth Vader for protection.

Rn

Avi next to the shrine for the motorbike holy person mr Om Sai

 The Jain Temple

1000 columns...that´s one more than 999!!!

check out fatso.

38 km of wall for a fortress...

...big enough for two elephants to pass eachother

villages

this is not a chicken

the local bus. get on it. there´s still a free spot on the front bumper.