Where Sleeping Dogs Lie

By Tess Kamara

Taj Mahal

India is such a vast country that you can only see highlights on a two week holiday – in this case the golden triangle of Delhi, Agra and Jaipur. It was basically a whistle-stop tour of north India taking is some of the country’s most famous monuments such as the Taj Mahal. You don’t need many clothes for the trip – I wish I’d taken out half the clothing and filled the suitcase with Imodium and Dioralyte. The hotels are very luxurious but once out in public the sanitation and facilities are somewhat basic, to put it mildly.

Old Delhi is a maze of narrow streets pulsating with humanity, mostly male. India’s population is around 1.2 billion and most of them seem to spend their time outdoors. Nothing is finished – there were broken paving stones and piles of new stones waiting to be laid everywhere. Street drainage is minimal, if in fact it exists.  Everyone seems to have a job, no matter how small – shoeshiner, fruit and veg seller, newspaper vendors selling to drivers stuck in traffic, self-appointed tourist guide and so on. Men with little stoves squat on every street corner, making and selling chapattis. Even one-legged beggars could earn a few rupees helping foreigners cross the road. There are no crossings even on the main roads and the only way to stop traffic is to walk straight into it. Our guide advised us to walk like a cow – move steadily and without hesitation so the oncoming vehicles could decide which side to swerve round you. I tried to cross the road by myself once to get to an ATM and after about ten minutes wavering on one side of the road, I followed an elderly Indian lady as she strolled sedately into the path of a truck. The “cow walk” worked.

There was an inordinate number of stray dogs everywhere; not at all feral but rather placid, they were lying sprawled out in energy-saving style on the hot pavements. For strays they looked very well kept, although on the skinny side, and we were told the locals consider them lucky and like to feed them. I find it remarkable that people who can barely make a living can share what they have with stray animals. Whenever we went to visit temples we would see puppies – presumably the bitches liked to give birth in a quiet sheltered place out of the sun.

Traffic in Delhi is very dense and drivers seem to be able to do what they like. Officially they drive on the right in India but everyone weaves in and out, tooting furiously. I thought it was out of impatience but our tour guide said beeping the horn was considered a polite way to let the driver in front know which side you were overtaking. A feature of traffic is the ubiquitous green and yellow tuk-tuk, or motorised rickshaw - little three-wheelers that look like something Del Boy Trotter would drive. They are only supposed to hold two passengers but you would see seven or eight men in one, sitting on each other’s laps or clinging to the sides like barnacles.

Large animals amble through traffic everywhere – domestic cows, huge white Brahma cattle and water buffalo. They would wander back and forth across the road wherever a grass verge caught their eye and graze away, completely oblivious to the traffic roaring past them. I found out that cows very rarely got hurt in accidents – if you hit one you would have to pay its value, and were also subject to a heavy fine and possible imprisonment.

Old Delhi is home to the Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India, built by Shah Jahan. On special occasions and religious festivals it can hold 25,000 people. It stands right in the middle of an old market in a warren of very narrow streets – I still can’t work out how the coaches get down there. Dangerous electrical wiring was strung precariously across the buildings and our guide remarked drily that in Delhi everyone pays the electricity bill, they’re just not sure whose bill they’re paying.

There are little shanty settlements all over old Delhi known officially as slums. That seems a bit unfair because the inhabitants don’t have any social security safety net – they have to scrape a living where they can. They are clearly resourceful because they could make a shelter from almost anything – cardboard, corrugated iron or a blanket slung between two trees. Delhi is extremely crowded and any nook or cranny between buildings was turned into a dwelling. We even saw a little house on the side of the motorway made from doors. In a country with so many poor people, nothing is really wasted. There were rubbish tips everywhere which looked unsightly but in fact were recycling centres. Vegetable waste was put on one side and the cows would come by and eat old fruit and flowers. Kids would look through the tips for things like sim cards and batteries, then the real waste would be burned. At one tip I saw a stray dog chewing determinedly on withered string beans.

The new part of Delhi was like another country. Government buildings are surrounded by well-appointed blocks of flats in tree-lined streets occupied by civil servants. Government employees get free housing and medical care until retirement, by when they will have saved enough to make their own provision. Normally tourists can photograph the government complex but security was tight due to a visit from the Israeli foreign minister, and our bus was turned away. Undeterred, the driver went round the roundabout several times so we could get pictures, each time held at bay by a guard with a bayonet. Security is generally tight in India and every hotel, monument and temple had metal detectors and armed guards conducting bag searches.

We visited the nearby India Gate war memorial, which looks rather like Marble Arch. It commemorates some 13,000 Indian soldiers who fell in World War 2. Opposite the gate is the George V Canopy, a relic of colonialism. The statue of the king was removed leaving just the canopy, accessorised by the inevitable sleeping dogs.One of the legacies of the British Raj was to give India a single unifying language, since the country has 22 official languages and about 16,000 minority languages. Most road signs and hoardings were in English, Hindi and Urdu. Some of the English business signs lost a little in translation, such as Harsh Services, Hovel auto shop, and my favourite, NIT (North India Technology) University.

We set off on a long drive to Jaipur in Rajasthan, the largest state in India, passing the headquarters of Tata Computer Services, a massive space age building in the town of Harayana. Evidence of Tata’s business interests is everywhere – trucks carry the livery of Tata Transport, we stayed in a Tata hotel and I even saw a sachet of Tata coffee next to the kettle. Harayana is known as the town of huge call centres that serve clients all over the world. In contrast to all these skyscrapers you’d see warthogs and water buffalo scratching around on the side of the motorway. Apparently the locals don’t eat pigs but they make handy waste disposal units. Buffalo dung is collected and left to dry in little patties that will be used later as fuel briquettes.

Just beyond Haryana there is a large monkey colony. Truckers stop to feed them because they consider them to be the embodiment of Hanuman, the monkey god. The monkeys are a real nuisance, break into houses and ransacking them, but the locals are reluctant to cull them.

On the way north we started seeing pairs of elephants on the street, being driven to weddings. Apparently February this year was a lucky month so as many couples as possible were getting hitched, and we were kept awake at night by wedding parties. The owners like to decorate their animals – many of them had painted toenails and makeup on their faces.

We spent two days at a resort in the Ranthambore game reserve in north India for a tiger photo safari. I thought it would take place from the safety of enclosed vehicles so was a bit shocked to find that we were being driven there in open sided jeeps. I was reluctant to go because if I can see a tiger, then a tiger can see me. We all soon got carried away with the wonder of it all and when we saw two of them close up, I was practically hanging out of the jeep taking pictures like everyone else. There was plenty of other wildlife to photograph such as monkeys, lynx, antelope and peacocks. Even when surrounded by five or six jeeps, the animals completely ignored us. At one point a tiger stalked majestically past two feet away from us, patrolling its territory. I didn’t even feel in fear of attack, reasoning that an animal with big juicy antelope and deer at its disposal wouldn’t bother with canned meat. At this stage, the party started to come down with the inevitable stomach upsets. Two women became violently ill, which they put down to the bumpy ride on the jeeps. By the time we got back to camp, there was a mass stampede for the toilets.

Arriving in Agra, we took an evening spin past the Taj Mahal on the banks of the Yamuna River to see it in the dusk. Traffic was terrible but the Taj looked impressive even in the gloaming. February 15^th had been declared an auspicious day so all sorts was going on – wedding carriages with decorated horses trotting by, processions celebrating the festival of Shiva, and cremations by the riverside. By now I’d succumbed to Delhi belly like everyone else but I was still up at 4am for a dawn visit to the Taj Mahal. Pictures don’t do justice to it but we were snapping away as it gradually emerged from the mist. The Taj is built from white marble with specks of mineral in it that shimmer and sparkle as the sun hits them. Of course this didn’t show up in the photos but at least I have the memory of it. We also posed for the classic tourist “Diana” photo, depicting the day she told the world about her failing marriage by sitting all alone on a bench in front of a magnificent monument to one man’s love for his wife.

By now some of us were so ill with dysentery that we had to call a doctor to the hotel. We’d been advised by the tour operator to use hand sanitiser gel after handling money but most of us hadn’t, and that was probably our downfall. It was unlikely to have been food poisoning as we only ate in recommended establishments where the food was delicious and obviously fresh. In fact if it hadn’t been for illness I probably would have come home a stone heavier. I assumed I’d be making an insurance claim but the doctor’s visit was surprisingly cheap – the equivalent of about £12 including antibiotics

We took a trip to Varanasi (formerly Benares, which the locals still call it) to take a boat trip on the Ganges. February is the month of the festival of Shiva so the town was crammed with devout pilgrims in orange robes. A lot of them are rake thin and have walked for hundreds of miles barefoot. The ceremonies take place at dawn and after dark so it was another 4am start then a rickshaw ride to the riverside, as the roads are too narrow for buses to get through. It was very atmospheric - processions of musicians drumming and chanting, hawkers everywhere selling food and flowers and the red dot or bindi on the forehead. It was extremely crowded and someone put a bindi on me before I could stop him. Then he asked for money, when I had no rupees on me. He followed me for a while shouting "Dollar! Euro!" We took a boat ride and were immediately followed by rowing boats laden with tourist tat. One rower pulled alongside us and called out hopefully "Supermarket?" 

Swimmers bathe in the Ganges, which looks very murky, but apparently nobody ever caught anything from it. There were dobie wallahs on the bank, washermen who pound laundry on the rocks then spread the washing out to dry. Again the banks looked muddy and murky but due to the miraculous powers of the Ganges, the blankets end up clean. They also burn bodies because devout Hindus want their ashes scattered on the river. There are men building huge pyres all along the bank but you don't really see anything apart from smoke and mist.

Even though the trip was somewhat marred by sickness, it was still a marvellous experience, the highlight of course being the Taj Mahal. I’d recommend it to anybody but I’d say make sure you have all your injections and take along the suggested medication. Don’t forget your best friend, the hand sanitiser gel. Oh, and learn to walk like a cow.

Pink and Blue by Rail

by David Gourley

India, as all know, is a vast sub-continent and by no means did we go round all of it. Our travels were in the northwest, mainly in the State of Rajasthan with an add-on to Shimla, up in the Himalayas. It is still a huge area. We had a twofold reason for selecting this particular holiday. Firstly we had never had a holiday purely in India itself, though we had passed through it going to and from Nepal or Bhutan. Like Peter Sellers’ legendary doctor, we had been to Delhi and Darjeeling (“from New Delhi to Darjeeling / I have done my share of healing .... I remember how with one jab of my needle / In the Punjab”) but to little else. Secondly I hankered after a trip on the renowned Palace of Wheels, the luxury train (or so I thought) that takes one around Rajasthan. One of our most enjoyable holidays had been our trip on the luxury Pride of Africa train, run by Rovos Rail, between Cape Town and Victoria Falls. I fondly imagined that Palace on Wheels would be similar.

We flew to Delhi with BA. A pleasant surprise awaited us at the airport. We had upgraded to Premium Economy. All one gets for the extra money, which is not insubstantial, is extra legroom, which rather matters to me given I am over six foot. Stingy BA do not even throw in a glass of champagne (according to current advertising, Air New Zealand, by contrast, serve their Premium Economy passengers the Business Class food and wine). We were informed that – for the very first time – we were to have a further upgrade. So we ended up in Business Class.

We stayed for our first night in the splendid Imperial Hotel. In the frenetic life of the city, this is an oasis of calm, but the bustling street activity is there to be had as soon as one passes through its gates. We went for a stroll and, immediately outside, had to run the gauntlet of traders trying to interest us in their wares. It was all however very unthreatening. We found ourselves on a road named after Leo Tolstoy and wondered why a Russian novelist should be so honoured in India: there is a connection since he was a friend, albeit only through the medium of correspondence, of Mahatma Gandhi.

Our package included tours of New and Old Delhi, respectively before and after the Palace of Wheels trip. Previously we had only had time for a New Delhi tour though we went just over the boundary into Old, to visit the Gandhi Memorial. The tour took in the fine Government Buildings. These have some similarity with the Union Buildings in Pretoria – no coincidence since the British architect Herbert Baker was involved in building both. We then travelled out of the city, once more past the striking memorial, also to be seen on the way to and from the airport, to the Salt March, Gandhi’s non-violent protest about the British-imposed salt monopoly. Our destination was the Qutb Minar complex. The Qutb Minar itself is a huge tower, sadly no longer open to the public, but there are a number of other interesting sights, including the Iron Pillar, which is a mystery to scientists as it has not rusted in some 2000 years. It is said that if one can encircle the pillar with one’s hands whilst standing with one’s back turned, one’s wish will be fulfilled. Since there is now a barrier, we could not put this to the test.

For our train journey we were departing from Delhi Cantonment, entailing another traipse past the Salt March Memorial and out into the southern districts. I don’t know why the main train station isn’t used. Maybe it is because of the heartrending poverty that one is bound to see there though one does not entirely escape this in Cantonment. In fact when we first started serious travel, India was not really on my wish list because I feared I couldn’t cope with the poverty. However, as veteran Indian correspondent Mark Tully has observed, it is the poor themselves who have to “cope with” poverty. One cannot avoid it, however cocooned one might be in five-star luxury. Tibet excepted, the poverty is the worst I have seen. One is told by the authorities and by tour companies not to give money to beggars, but occasionally we disobeyed.

The visitor to India cannot, and indeed should not, avert his eyes from the poverty but this is not of course the sum total of the country. This is a beautiful country with enormous vitality among its people. At the other end of the scale India has the world’s largest middle class, on the basis that the population is around a billion and a tenth are middle-class. In recent years the economy has boomed as India takes its place among the Asian Tigers, and one must fervently hope that this benefits all, including the very poorest.

It was apparent straight away that Palace of Wheels was to be nothing like Rovos Rail. At Cape Town we had been given a glass of champagne as we boarded the train. Here there was a scruffy tent at the entrance with orange juice the only drink on offer; we declined it having observed someone wipe inside a glass with an ungloved hand. The train had something of a dog-eared look, with no feel of luxury, although the company’s website extols its virtues: it is “exquisite”, “exclusive”, “has luxurious cabins” and offers “almost everything that could comprise heaven on earth for seven days”. If only! It prides itself too on its personalized service with a Khidmatgar (personal attendant) assigned to every half-dozen or so passengers. Ours was a surly individual. Fortunately he was with us only for the first leg of the trip, to Jaipur. His replacement was better, but that is not lavishing praise on him.

The meals were a disappointment. We love Indian cuisine and had looked forward to poring over a menu and making our selection. But this was buffet food without a buffet, a succession of dishes brought, with no great panache, to one's table on a take it or leave it basis. It included Western as well as Indian dishes, not what we wanted. I am very partial to roast lamb but it’s not something I’m going to seek out in India. To be fair, much of the food was tasty and there were pleasant smells wafting out of the kitchen as one went by. On the Pride of Africa, Bruce the genial train manager was very hands-on, not thinking it at all beneath him to top up someone’s drink if he noticed their glass getting low. On the Palace of Wheels, two managers stood around looking important, but it was not apparent to me what value they were actually adding. A Belgian lady informed us that she would never travel on the Palace of Wheels again “even if it were for free”. But our disappointment did not stop us from enjoying India. With train travel mostly at night, there was plenty of time to see its sights and the excursions were usually good, with a VIP welcome, elephants et al, at the various stations.

Our first port of call was Jaipur, the Rajasthani capital. It is known as the Pink City, the buildings in the centre being of this colour, a custom dating back to the visit of the Prince of Wales in 1853, when they were painted in his honour. We started with a brief walkabout, which took us past the city’s most famous building, the Palace of Winds, which is basically a facade. Its original purpose was to allow the royal ladies to view everyday life in the street outside without being seen themselves. In photographs it looks serene and isolated, but it is in a busy street. Just opposite, we saw our first ever real-life snake charmer.

We were then taken a dozen or so miles out of the city to the magnificent hilltop fort of Amber. We ascended in traditional manner, in a howdah atop an elephant. Animal welfare groups have no issue about elephants being used for this purpose (they only carry people up the hill). They are, though, concerned that the animals are stabled in Jaipur rather than in Amber itself, since this involves a long and wearying trek at the beginning and end of each day. 

We returned to Jaipur. Leaving behind the hustle and bustle of its streets, we were taken to the peace and quiet of the Rambagh Palace Hotel, where we had a good buffet lunch. This is the one-time residence of the Maharajah of Jaipur. At the time of independence, there were, in addition to the areas ruled directly by the British, a number of princely states, a fair few of these being in Rajputana, as Rajasthan was then known. To entice their rulers into the new India, they were provided with “purses” i.e. regular subsidies by the State. In 1971, Indira Gandhi, not unreasonably it might be felt, decided this was not a good use of the state’s money in a country with such enormous poverty and the payments ceased. As a result a number of princes turned to tourism as their main source of revenue and former royal residences, such as the Rambagh Palace, became hotels.

Returning to the city in the afternoon, we first visited the City Palace, a huge complex. Then we crossed the road to the Jantar Mantar, or Observatory. I had not heard of this and surmised it might be a mildly interesting building. We were in for a surprise. It is not a building at all; rather, it is an amazing outdoor collection of architectural astronomical implements, the largest stone astronomical observatory in the world. There are fourteen major geometric devices whose uses include measurement of time, predicting eclipses, tracking stars in their orbits, and ascertaining the declinations of planets. The world’s largest sundial is here, telling the time to an accuracy of about two seconds. It is one of five such observatories built by Maharaja Jai Singh, the founder of Jaipur, another being located in Delhi, fairly close to our hotel.

The next leg of our journey took us to our furthest flung destination, Jaisalmer, located in the Thar Desert. One is here getting quite close to the Pakistani border. This was drawn across the former Raj in somewhat arbitrary manner, separating towns on either side from large areas of their natural hinterland, Jaisalmer being an example. Tourism in places like these tends to be affected by the relationship between the two Asian giants. At time of our visit these were on an upswing; as is often the case with supposed enemies, ordinary Indian and Pakistanis were finding that they rather liked each other if actually allowed to meet. One can only hope that the recent terrible bombings in Mumbai don’t foreshadow any serious renewal of tension between these two nuclear powers.

Jaisalmer is a city of great charm, with its amazing warren of medieval streets and distinctive local dwellings, the havelis. The main attraction is the Fort, which commands fine views of the surrounding area. Uniquely, people still live in the fort, around a quarter of the city’s population in fact. Breaking from our usual pattern of having dinner on the train and lunch elsewhere, we returned to the train for lunch, then headed out into the scenic desert. Here we were to go for a camel ride in the Sam Sand Dunes. I rather baulked at this. Emboldened by the fact that Paul Merton, in his recent TV series on India, has made a similar confession, I will own up to not liking animal rides (unless safely inside a howdah as on the previous day), being convinced that I am going to fall off. So I opted out of this adventure. Then, chastising myself for my wimpishness, I changed my mind and mounted my camel some few minutes after everyone else had departed. I ended up with a rather more challenging ride than anyone else, as the boy leading me took it into his head that he wanted to overtake the rest of the party, which we duly did, charging along at a rate of knots. The scenery was splendid, but I took little of it in as I was so focused on staying on the wretched animal. 
The evening was billed as one of cultural entertainment. Once again we were to be unimpressed with Palace on Wheels. After an indifferent buffet dinner in a modern hotel of no great character, we went outside into a courtyard. We were looking forward to a show with authentic Rajasthani dancers and singers. It started with a long talk about musical instruments which was not especially interesting but OK, I thought, if it was a prelude to good musical entertainment. Instead of this, a couple of English-speaking comedians appeared who went on and on and on and were excruciatingly unfunny. There was nothing else. It was like being promised an evening of English folk songs and country dances, and then being entertained, if that is the right word, by Jim Davidson.

During our overnight journey from Jaipur we had passed through the city of Jodhpur and this was now our next stop. If Jaipur is the pink city, this is the blue city, for reasons evident when we gazed down at it from the vantage point of Mehrangahr Fort, strikingly located on a hill above the city. From here the city, with its blue dwellings, looked beautiful, but we didn’t get the chance to view it at close quarters for, after our visit to the Fort, we were whisked off for lunch at the Umaid Bhawan Palace. The Fort, which is one of India’s largest, is magnificent and there is an eclectic collection of exhibits ranging from howdahs to royal cradles. We were shown round by a genial local guide, who looked imposing in a uniform that included the trousers to which the city gives its name.

We had, without realizing it, espied the Umaid Bhawan Palace from the Fort, a large building on the horizon which looked rather ugly and out of keeping with the city. Closer acquaintance did not improve it. This is another converted royal place constructed, a trifle optimistically it might be thought, over a 15 year period to 1943, when it must have been obvious to pretty well anyone but Churchill (usually blessed with marvellous foresight, but curiously myopic over India) that the Raj did not have long to go. Lunch was good but it struck me as a cavernous, rather soulless place.

Next port of call was the Ranthambore National Park. It was morning, but still dark, when we arrived and our local guide pointed out the planet Venus. This Park is packaged as the place where one can see tigers but a lot of visitors must go away disappointed since on most days, apparently, there are none to be seen. And in India such parks do not offer the huge variety of wildlife to be found in an African game park, where the visitor is unlikely to go away disappointed, even if no elephants are seen. We were in luck. A beautiful tigress presented herself and, quite unbothered by the presence of a number of jeeps, strolled through the forest as we drove alongside. It was almost as if she was putting on a show for us. Wonderful! But when we got back to the train, the Belgian lady was angry. Her group had noticed that other jeeps were all congregating some distance away and had urged their driver to join them. He had taken no notice so they hadn’t seen the tiger.

For a change we now had a long train journey by day so, for the first and last time, were able to enjoy a few hours of looking out at the Indian countryside. Our destination was Chittorgarh where, for the first and last time, we were to be stationary overnight, as the next day’s visit was to Udaipur. This city is served by the Indian rail network but, because there is a different gauge, the Palace on Wheels was unable to take us there. There is not a great deal in Chittorgarh itself to detain the visitor, other than the Fort with its impressive Tower of Victory. It has had a turbulent history, including the ‘Jauhar’ of 1303, when the women of the court, taking their lead from Queen Padmini, leapt into a huge fire rather than submit to conquering invaders, leaving the men to carry on the fight to the death.

We transferred to Udaipur by road. It was a fast road, so there was not really the chance to look close up at rural life in India. We were now at the southernmost point of our tour and here in southern Rajasthan there was at the time of our visit a serious drought. We had lunch in the historic Lake Palace, now a sumptuous hotel, so named because it is on a small island in the middle of Lake Pichola. In the classic photographs it is thus surrounded on all sides by water but much of the Lake had dried up, with grazing animals suggesting that this was not just for the short term. We were just about able, from our starting point near City Palace, still to do the journey by boat. We enjoyed a very good lunch in splendid surroundings, and wished we had the wherewithal to end right now our journey on the Palace on Wheels, and stay here for a few days. But back to the train we had to go, first touring the City Palace, the largest palace complex in Rajasthan, an amazing and beautiful warren of courtyards, pavilions, terraces, corridors, rooms and hanging gardens.

Our final full day on the train took us out of Rajasthan and on to Agra, which is in the State of Uttar Pradesh. There were two stops en route. First of these was a visit to the Keoladeo Ghana bird sanctuary near Bharatpur. This was a rewarding visit. We had an excellent guide whom we commended on his good knowledge of English. Clearly a man without pretensions, he volunteered that he only knew what was necessary for him to do his job as a guide in the sanctuary. We had been annoyed with ourselves for not bringing binoculars but, no problem, he straight away produced a pair, all part of the service.

We did the remainder of the journey to Agra by road. Heading away from the bird sanctuary, there was wildlife that we had no wish at all to see: at intervals along the road were dancing bears with their owners. There is a law against this practice but seemingly people can ignore it with impunity. This was just about the poorest looking area that we saw in India. Our second stop was at Fatehpur Sikri. This is an abandoned city which, for a brief period in the sixteenth century, was the capital of the Mughal Empire, the Brasilia of its day but a failed experiment. It is well preserved and is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Agra is a bustling city with a population approaching 2m. It is of course known above all for the Taj Mahal. We had had a day trip here from Delhi on the first of our two previous visits to India. Sometimes a second visit can disappoint but the opposite was the case here. We were all the more captivated by its beauty. Clichés cannot be entirely avoided: it is one of the most beautiful buildings in the world and it is at once very romantic and very tragic. Completed in 1653, it was built by the emperor, Shah Jahan as the final resting place for his beloved wife, Mumtaz. For the final years of his life the Emperor was imprisoned in Agra Fort by his own son, Aurangzeb. From there he could look across at his masterpiece.

We had lunch in Agra and a visit to the Fort, the city’s other main attraction. This too was our second visit and on the previous occasion we’d encountered monkeys with attitude. No sign of them this time, thankfully. We then boarded the train for the final leg of our journey, back to Delhi. Usually it is with feelings of sadness that we finish a trip, but we did not feel in the least bit sad as we got off the train the next morning. It had failed completely to find a place in our affections. We were looking forward to another night at the Imperial and thus to the luxury promised but certainly not delivered by the Palace on Wheels.

The trip was not completely over, for there was still our included tour of Old Delhi, complementing the Tour of New Delhi that we’d had on our first day. We first visited the Gandhi Memorial, which, as mentioned, we had also visited during our previous Delhi tour. Again it was a moving visit. Mahatma Gandhi was undoubtedly one of the great men of the 20th century. He was dedicated to the cause of independence from the British, to be achieved however not through violent struggle but through Satyagraha, or non-violent protest. This inspired later heroes of the last century, above all Martin Luther King. He also championed the cause of a single, united and secular India, a lost cause given the determination of Moslem leaders to create a separate state of Pakistan. It might also be remarked that his influence helped to ensure that nationalism in India, unlike in China or Vietnam, did not fall under the sway of communists. Sadly he only lived for a few months after India achieved independence: this man of peace and religious tolerance was felled by a bullet fired by a Hindu extremist. But his legacy lives on, the world’s largest democracy.

On our city tour of Delhi during our first visit to India, our guide had seemed somewhat embarrassed when we’d asked who a statue was of. It was a statue of Tilak, a militantly anti-British campaigner for independence. Not for him the Gandhian willingness, if his face was slapped, to present the other cheek for slapping! We saw no reason for embarrassment: one has to face historical facts as they were and the British did on occasions behave shamefully in India. But one must be careful too not to judge the past by today’s standards. Satyagraha worked because the British in India were at least half-decent; it would never have worked against a Hitler, a Stalin or a Pol Pot.

This same guide made a point, when mentioning once or twice Mumbai, of translating it for us: “or, as you say in English, Bombay”. But, as in this article, we too call it Mumbai. I question though whether we should. It’s understandable if the Indians want to Indianize the names of their cities but do we really have to follow suit? We do not talk about going to Venezia, Firenze or Roma and the Italians clearly don’t mind. I’m sure Indians would be equally happy if we carried on talking about Bombay instead of Mumbai, Madras instead of Chennai, Calcutta instead of Kolkata. I understand that many of the locals still call their city Bombay.

Other attractions visited in Old Delhi were the Red Fort and the huge Jama Masjid, the city’s principal mosque. When India and Pakistan went their separate ways, a lot of blood was spilt with huge transfers of population in either direction. But many Moslems remained in India, making it one of the largest Moslem countries in the world. Intercommunal strife is hardly unknown in India but by and large the different communities rub along fairly well and all came together to mourn the victims of the Mumbai bombings. Because of the religious sensitivities, one is most unlikely to find either beef or pork on restaurant menus. If it’s meat that one wants, it will invariably be lamb or chicken. India may be the most vegetarian-friendly of all countries. Even I, unreconstructed carnivore that I am, could get by, for a while at least, on the delicious vegetable curries.

We were not finished with the railways yet. As an add-on we continued to Shimla for three nights, returning to the Imperial for our final night in India. Located nearly 7000 feet above sea level in the Himalayas, Shimla, or Simla as it was then known, was the summer capital of the Raj. It is said that it was the real power centre of the Raj, since summer could stretch to eight months. To get there we travelled on the celebrated toy train. This is an amazing feat of Victorian engineering. This narrow gauge (2’ 6”) railway ascends over 4½ thousand feet during its journey of 60 odd miles, passing through 103 tunnels and across an astonishing 864 bridges.

We had on a previous visit seen, but not travelled on, another celebrated toy railway, the Darjeeling Himalaya. Shimla is, I would say, the greater engineering achievement. The Darjeeling line closely follows the main road. We had in fact driven alongside it for virtually its entire route, from Darjeeling itself down to Siliguri in the Bengal Plains, where we turned right for Nepal. The Shimla line by contrast takes it own route through the mountains. We reached it by way of an ordinary train which took us from Delhi to the southern terminus, Kalka. I had had one worry about the toy train. I will confide, within the four walls of Visa, that I need to relieve myself somewhat more frequently than the average person. I had read in a rather odd guidebook that there no toilets on the train. How was I going to manage for a five hour journey (which turned out to be closer to six)? I was not much taken with the guidebook’s suggestion that one could hunt for convenient bushes at intermediate stations. I had no confidence at all that the train would in such circumstances wait for me. So I was delighted, when I boarded, immediately to spot a toilet. In fact there were two in our carriage.

The journey was through some of the most breathtaking scenery anywhere and we hugely enjoyed it. Admittedly towards the very end it did get a bit boring as we were about an hour late getting into Shimla and it was by now dark and there were long stops at stations on the approaches to the town. Shimla is very much associated with British power in India but, if our trip is anything to go by, tourism nowadays is almost entirely domestic. In fact we didn’t see any white faces on the train journey. This was fine by us: India might be exotic but for us it never feels foreign, for the ties between our two countries are so strong. However when, just once, we espied a white couple in Shimla, who turned out to be from Solihull, the four of us, in very unBritish fashion, made a beeline for each other, just to say hello and compare experiences.

All was commotion when we finally made it into Shimla but amidst the seething mass of humanity a chap from our hotel, the nearby Cecil, found us straight away and transferred us there. This is a historic hotel, part of the Oberoi chain, and we had a great stay, always eating well and making use of its leisure facilities. We had an excellent check-in but at first were disappointed when we were led to our room as it was on the ground floor and there are several storeys. Disappointment didn’t last once we got inside, for the hotel is build on a ridge and we had one of our most spectacular views ever from a hotel room. Security in India was not much of a concern at the time of our visit (2005) so it was with sadness that I read on the hotel’s website that “in light of the recent incident in Mumbai, the security at the Oberoi Cecil, Shimla, has been intensified. Amongst the measures, strength of security personnel in and around the hotel has been increased and periphery patrolling has been enhanced”. The Cecil’s sister hotel in Mumbai was targeted in the devastating terrorist attack in that city and has yet to reopen.

These few days in Shimla were, in the main, spent chilling out. We did just one excursion away from base, which took us a few miles out of town to Kufri, still higher up and offering stunning views of the Himalayas, including into Tibet. We had lunch at the Wildflower hotel, also part of the Oberoi chain. It is more expensive to stay there, but I would not myself consider the extra outlay to be worthwhile. It is gloriously located, true, and we ourselves enjoyed a good al fresco lunch amidst the scenic splendour of its Himalayan surrounds, yet it felt a bit soulless, maybe because there were few guests at that time, and one is rather marooned since it is in a standalone location high in the hills whereas we had the town on our doorstep.

Otherwise we enjoyed ourselves exploring Shimla. The centre, around The Mall with its panoramic views and Christ Church, still has the feel of the Home Counties, for all that the days of the Raj are long gone and there are few British visitors. We attended a service at Christ Church. It was in Hindi but recognizably similar to a C of E service back home. For an Indian city, Shimla is easy on the conscience: we saw just one beggar. Indira Gandhi is something of a local heroine and there is a statue of her on The Mall. Under her auspices the separate State of Himachal Pradesh was established, with Shimla as its capital. The State also includes Dharamsala, the Dalai Lama’s place of exile, but unfortunately going there in the limited time available was a non-starter. It was formerly part of the Punjab which in bygone days covered a huge area of the Raj. Now much of it, including the one-time capital, Lahore, is in Pakistan and the residual Indian state is small in terms of size, if not importance, having spun off not only Himachal Pradesh but also Haryana.

First published in VISA issues 84-85 (Apr-Jun 2009)

The Golden Triangle

by Tina Hammond

The experience started with first obtaining a visa which meant two separate days at India House, Aldwych.

Day 1 was to join 300 others with the same idea and collect a raffle ticket giving a number with a-b-c-d-e-f prefix, and wait your turn - which came after two hours maximum wait - then another queue to pay the cashier in another room. Clearly the days of the Raj were not wasted, as the Indian population have taken the duties of Civil Servant very much to heart. Day 2 to collect the visa was even more of a lottery, in first finding which window was likely to have your passport with completed visa, and then those with the longest reach (myself included) were most fortunate in having attention drawn to our request.

Next the inoculations (free with our local nurse, although this may not always be the case). Finally, the all important purchase: to buy the anti-mosquito cream and malaria tablets, quite foul tasting, but essential. We were ready for Day 1 and the flight to Delhi via Amsterdam...
Day 2 - Delhi Arrived at Delhi 2.30 am local time almost 24 hours after the drive to Stansted and flights to Amsterdam, then Delhi. First experience of India at Delhi Airport: strong smell of sewerage as we leave the plane for the main body of the airport lounge. Delhi airport is currently under reconstruction, even at this early hour. A quite amazing reception: vast numbers of people all appear holding show cards with passengers' names on. Several hundred yards later, we track down our courier, who guides us to the bus and our first night at the Hyatt Regency Hotel.

6.30 am. First light view out of the hotel window overlooking the main entrance and tree-lined streets. Many feral pigeons around, which are regarded in the same way as sacred cows here (just considered a nuisance in the UK, especially to farmers)! A first class hotel with a meal to match, we eat breakfast in The Cafe. The ceiling is 30' from the floor, with an indoor waterfall and wonderful displays of fresh flowers everywhere.

We tour the old city aboard the coach, along back streets looking up alleys only just wide enough to touch both walls if you were to stroll down the centre. Visit a very colourful shopping Bazaar area, called the Chandni Chouk. A Souk is a market place in Muslim countries. Totally congested day and night with vehicles and people.

Drivers honk their horns furiously at the slightest excuse. On the main highways (3 lanes wide) drivers heedlessly change lanes to avoid cyclists, cycle rickshaws or three wheeled motorised drives, otherwise known as 'taxi transports'. Overtaking is done at a full blast of horn to indicate, 'watch out, I am coming through'. The rickshaws are used to carry an amazing and diverse amount of merchandise: rolls of chicken and fence wire, sacks of onions, garlic piled precariously - and often dangerously - high, wooden stakes, boxes, wrapping paper and a great variety of vegetables, many defying identification.

A fascinating visit to the old walled city of Shahjahanabad, where self-employed Muslim tradesmen wail the call for work, selling anything from a vast variety of nuts / bolts / screws and car parts, to live fish and chickens - prepared for sale whilst you wait. NOT the place to leave your new car for any length of time, and expect it to be in one place when you return!

The Mogul empire was very short-lived, but magnificent. Guides appear from every corner to show you everything, apparently free of charge, then ask for a present meaning, in their terms, a tip of cash. One appears very disappointed with the R10 donation (20p) he receives: all part of the Indian experience learning-curve: that man now knows that ladies are not always the soft touch they first appear to be.

To the Red Fort, built by Shah Jahan, who wished to move from Agra. The main Lahore gate of the Red Fort faces west toward Pakistan. The Red Fort and Jain Temple really are a revelation in contrasts: people trying to sell view cards, miniature chess sets, peacock feather fans and a lot more. We are not yet to know that this is just a small taste of the similar hassles which are to come at every stop of the bus. Pay R50 (£1) to take the photo of a snake-charmer: he had originally demanded £3 for having his soul captured on film. The monument to Mahatma Ghandi, after he was shot dead by Hindu fanatics in the home of the Birla family, is here in the Raj Ghat, and there is a small square platform where he was cremated. The flowers are quite beautiful.

A sit down formal lunch is taken about 2.30 pm at a restaurant recommended by the guide. We dine on soup of sweet corn and very finely shredded carrot, followed by fish with a lentil and pea mixture.

Visits to Humayan's Tomb, and the old Islamic Qutub Minar (under repair). Humayan's Tomb is a miniature of the Taj Mahal, and like the Qutub, a tree-filled green swarded flower filled series of gardens. The grounds of Humayan's Tomb also holds the grave of five of the engineers who built it, as a tribute or memorial to their work. The wider streets of New Delhi are in marked contrast to the narrow roads of Old Delhi. Dirty, smelly, run-down, generally clapped-out, but full of character.

We visit Connaught Place, which is a large British designed roundabout, marking the business and tourist centre of New Delhi, and the India Gate, in similar size and style to the Arc de Triomphe. A visit to a Kashmiri Carpet Factory (where we are given Cardamom herb tea) wraps up a hectic and enjoyable day.

Day 3 - Delhi - Samode Motorway driving to the Samode Palace (140 miles). En route we see several accidents - a way of life here - lorries nearly always just manage to give way to each other. Birds galore at the roadside, little egrets almost as common as sparrows in the UK.

The state of Rajasthan is famous for its delightful conversion of palaces into hotels: Samode is a good example. Here the Palace has been used as a hotel since 1982. A walk with Singh (local lad) up 365 steps to the Hill Temple provides a good view of the valley and hotel. See a black winged stilt on the lake. The Far Pavilions was filmed at Samode. We have a camel cart ride through, and around, the immediate environs of the village. A great deal of agriculture here, large allotment-like fields intensively cultivated, a very fertile area.

In the evening we watch a sitar player and young dancer entertaining a group of locals from Jaipur having dinner on the roof - gatecrashed by uninvited monkeys - accompanied by a firework display. Our own Foreigners dinner is served indoors, followed by folk dance entertainment. We join in a Morris Dance with sticks.

Day 4 - Samode - Jaipur 9.30 am start. Visit to the Samode village market, vegetables in abundance for sale. Saw a dentist with samples of his work. Visited a carpet maker and a textiles factory with reputedly 1,000 workers. Women weavers with their very young children beside them are carding wool for carpets, and others doing tie / dye printing. Blue rock pigeons are everywhere, and regarded as sacred.

Sounding the motor horn becomes standard as part of the daily driving performance. Notices 'HORN PLEASE' are on the rear of most lorries.

2.30 pm, arrived Jaipur Sheraton. Upon arrival, we enjoy an hour of rest until 3.30 pm, with a 'British' lunch of cheesy biscuits, half an orange, and Irn Bru (all brought from home). Spot a possible Sharma bird in the grounds of the hotel. Light wind, 70' of heat, very pleasant. We observe sparrows with light eye stripes in the Ram Nivas Gardens, and shady trees being enjoyed by the black faced, or common, langur monkeys.

Jaipur, with its broad shopping streets, is like the Mile End in London. Piles of coloured powder for sale for the forthcoming Holi-day festivities. Holi is the annual spring festival in northern India, when lovers - and others! - spray one another with coloured powder and water.

An obligatory visit to the Palace of the Winds (Hawa Mahal), which turns out to be all you see in the tour brochure photographs: just a terracotta pink sandstone facade. The Jaipur rock is naturally pink, and changes colour with the season and time of day. Much more impressive - but yet to come - are the workings of the Amber Palace, including an internal natural wind-cooling system, and a hydro system turned by miniature waterfalls. A somewhat long-winded stern-featured man is the local guide for our tour of the Indian Art and Weaponry Museum, and Astronomical Clocks at Jai Singh's Janta Manta Observatory.

Palace of the Winds

There are charges of R50 (£1) for a permit to take photographs, £2 for video recorder use, to which I take strong objection, and opt out, Howard opts in. I have no problem about charging for entry, but a photographic rights waiver is something quite different in my book. Howard cheerfully pays the fee...

Evening meal is at the Rambagh Palace, Jaipur, the top hotel until the Sheraton was built in 1994, and previously the property of Jai, the Maharaja of Jaipur until 1947. We have a pre-dinner drink in the The Polo Bar, one of the Rambagh Palace Hotel's main attractions, with a pleasant garden lit up at night. Prince Charles once played polo here, and was allowed to win. The Special Polo Club Cocktail, which is sampled by all in the party, is generally considered pretty poor value at £5. The food nutritionist in our party was the only one to get food poisoning after remarking that we should remove the fruit, rather than the ice, from the cocktail!!!! Dinner is £9 each - we opt for the hot buffet - and is, in comparison to the Cocktail, superb value. The decor in the Rambagh Palace dining room is well worth waiting for. These splendid surroundings are shared with members of the Australian cricket team, former Australian captain turned commentator Richie Benaud and various officials.

Day 5 - Jaipur - Amber - Jaipur The city shops and surroundings are a reminder of Alperton and the markets in this part of north London. Cricketers abound: Richie Benaud and South African officials are staying in the hotel. Back at the Mogul Sheraton we observe the New Zealand Polo team with a splendidly garbed driver in 'national' dress.

Our entry to the city of Amber (Hill Fort and former palace) is intended to be by elephant, but all elephants have been commandeered for the Holi celebrations. Instead, we go up the hill at great speed by Jeep, with much hassle from traders when we stop.

The Official India Brochure for the Tourist states that the Amber Palace, which Mark Twain described as a 'soft rich tint of strawberry ice cream', was actually painted for the visit of the Prince of Wales, later to become Edward VII.

The advice given by our guide here is not to agree to buy anything, not even to hint at possible purchases later. Afternoon spent at the hotel poolside. Vultures drift in heat spirals overhead, with the occasional buzzard and other raptor, continually disturbing the rock pigeons, who merely take off, circle, and land back on their temporarily adopted hotel window ledges again. 4 pm We take a cycle rickshaw ride to see the elephants being decorated for Holi.

Day 6 - Jaipur - Fatepur Sikri - Agra - 2.30 am. Very early start to Fatepur Sikri to avoid the coach being stoned or splattered with paint from drunken Holi celebrants. Driving through the very early morning mist, many cyclists appear out of the ether, many carrying milk churns strapped to the back of their bikes, always one large and one small one. People walk miles from any village, giving the impression of a Chinese painting. Many trees line the road, three to four deep.

Had a tea/coffee break at 6 am at a wayside cafe, quite a disgusting taste, possibly responsible for the 'Delhi belly' after we had returned home. The guide had to wake up the proprietor to enable us to be served.

Fatepur Sikri is a royal palace, built 1570-1586 in red sandstone, the natural material of the locality. A very hard material and most buildings are still in a very good state of repair, quite unlike sandstone in European countries. This is a perfectly preserved replica of a Mogul city, when Moguls were at their ascendancy.

Legend says that Emperor Akbar the Great was without a male heir, and made a pilgrimage to the area where Sikri now stands to see the (Saint) Shaika Salim Chisthi, who forecast a son would be born to him. In gratitude, the son was named Salim, and Akbar transferred his entourage to Sikri, which became his capital city. Akbar was a very tolerant person - himself a Muslim - and held audiences with other religious peoples here.

A Banyan tree in the courtyard of Fatepur Sikri is used by the populace to clean their teeth (locally, the people have free dental treatment, hence most have wonderfully clean white teeth).

Forty to fifty vultures are seen in a group on a rooftop nearby in the palace, not far from two puppies, one becoming stuck in a water gutter, giving concern to some of the women in our party. Greeted in Agra by a snake charmer with a cobra / python (which I held), and a mongoose nearby.

Another truly superb hotel in Agra, we have an attractive ground floor room overlooking the Gulbatan Gardens - very attractive gardens with a tree planted by Peter O'Toole - enabling bird watching from our bedroom window. We stayed at the Mogul Sheraton Hotel here, a very plush place. Internally long and wide corridors, floored with marble to make it feel, and be, cool. The hotel is built in bricks resembling Fatepur Sikri.

Peter O'Toole had,on another occasion, planted a tree just to our left, with colourful dahlias in the garden ahead. There are more parakeets here than sparrows. March is the last month of the Indian winter and early spring, so many people are in short sleeved sweaters. Squirrels are in the hotel garden and on the hotel walls, 200 feet off the ground. We do not see any lizards (very common on most of the tour).

The Mogul Sheraton is not far from the Taj Mahal, which can be seen from climbing the stairs of the hotel tower observatory floor. The Taj Mahal is surrounded on all sides by houses of poor quality. Holi confines us to the hotel until 2.30 pm, by which time it is all officially over. Roads are still blocked off to stop traffic, enabling people to hurl their paint or load it in a tube with water: it does not wash off for two to three weeks when this is done. During our period of incarceration in the hotel, Joan finds a Collins Bird Book in the hotel book shop. Many bonfires are seen through the night in celebration of Holi, lads making holes in the tarmac of the road to provide the central pole for their version of Guy Fawkes.

Day 7 - Agra to Delhi 8.30 am, Mogul Sheraton Hotel. The morning mist rises and burns off quickly in dawn's early light. Briefly visit the Taj Mahal - about which, all has been said many times before - and Agra Fort. Espy some hoopoes in the Taj grounds. En route to Delhi, we see some 40 white back vultures eating a dog, which is thought to have been killed or maimed in an accident on the motorway. We break at a superb restaurant midday. An adjutant stork is seen on a wayside pool.

Day 8 - Delhi The Hyatt Hotel, Delhi, then home.

Thoughts on the tour staff everywhere have been most helpful, could not have been more so. Everyone speaks English (after a fashion), but do not necessarily understand what they say. Certainly all of the Indian staff appear to have phenomenal memories for faces.

First published in VISA issue 45 (spring 2002)