P L A N E
T U D A I P U R
This is one of the strangest and most
beautiful planets in India
It was the first early morning flight out of Mumbai...A
small plane, touched down onto the cement runway of Maharana Pretap airport, 22
kilometres east of Udaipur, a lonely and somewhat arid touch down.
The town is ancient and in many parts of this town it
showed…but it is steeped in tradition with grand old buildings...The gateway to
Rajasthan…
A population of around half a million people and an
area covering 37 square kilometres...It is situated east of Gujarat and was
formerly the capital of the Mewa Kingdom and established by Maharana Udai Singh
II in 1559...The town is scattered
around several artificial lakes.
This was going to be an adventure to fill the pages of my diary...early
stillness, slightly chilly and dry air...very similar to that of an early
autumn morning in Oudtshoorn. We were shivering whilst descending the metal
transportable stairs of the plane…but excited and waiting with anticipation for
what we were to experience…it was all so strange and reeked of déjà vu.
The airport buildings, akin to a small town, were of basic 50's style ...straight
rail type lined architecture, shiny and
polished tiled floors, steel beams and sparse Knick knack plastic and metal seats...no
formalities, just a few security personnel standing at strategic corners with
an air of non-urgency etched on their faces…
Maharana Pretap Airport - Udaipur
Ahead of us was the revolving baggage carousel, with a
few belongings already doing the rounds…We were in luck as our bags were in
sight…There were many incidences during our years of travel when our luggage
never seemed to appear leaving us with visions of sleeping in our undergear at
the hotel we had booked.
We loaded all the luggage onto the good ole Avis
trolley and walked out of the airport hall where a young Indian gentleman
brandishing a wild moustache and holding a white placard bearing the ROHLOFF
name…He led us to a slightly clapped out old Tata...that has seen many miles, near
miss adventures, dents and all.
The ride was estimated to take around an hour, through countryside fields, tiny
villages and quaint rustic looking houses dotted all over the hills.
The sun was barely out of bed and many of the shadows
were already evaporating…Outside fires were burning for that morning cup of
chai and some breakfast.
Just when you think that Udaipur was over the hill,
another village greeted you. There was nothing posh about the area…But then why
should it be? However the aroma of plants and air, fresh as a country morning,
enveloped you. Everywhere you looked there was an abundance of trees, bushes
and semi tropical plants. Indian folk going about their chores…washing and
cooking and sweeping…mainly colour-sareed woman of all ages…Kids were already
out of bed and playing with their young mongrel curs, yapping with curly tails
constantly wagging.
We drove on through the western part of the town where
there were many buses of various adornments and signs and colours…Each bus,
loaded with people and their entire belongings tied to the top…they were
preparing to leave town, northwards to another place of hope.
We crossed a semi arched bridge, and over Lake
Pichola…direction, the hotel that we had booked.
The hotel that we were to stay at for 4 nights was
built on the edge of a shimmering lake, peering into the town…all this from our
balcony... The concierge, a young man, welcomed us to his hotel and asked us to
fill in all the necessary forms, peeked at our passports and gave us the key to
our “honeymoon” room on the second floor. We found throughout our journeys over
India ,that the concierges at all hotels were always polite, spoke damn good
English and were always helpful with making a deal, so that both parties came
away feeling good.
We were ushered up the ancient stone stairs, two flights of them, and shown to
our room...The room with half a view...It was hot and sticky and had a cheap
perfumed dampness to it…this was not the room that we had expected...I went
down to the concierge and asked whether they could place us into another room
with a view and not so damp.
We were offered another room (Room 110), this time only one floor
up...magnificent...views and all. The concierge offered this room at no extra
cost (free upgrade)...The crazy bell hop with the funny hair schlepped
our suitcases up the stairs...no lifts in the building...
The Honeymoon suite – with a view...Lake Pichola Hotel
We stood on the tiny and tidy balcony furnished with
two chairs and a small gabled legged table and stared into the atmosphere
that was Udaipur...We were situated on the Southern banks of
Lake Pichola, a
large lake, glinting in the 10 o’clock morning sun...frisky middle aged men
bathing in the lake amongst laundry women folk thrashing their sheets on the
stones with rhythmic precision...They were dressed in their finery, laughing
and chatting amongst themselves...The men with a minimalistic approach to
their attire seemed happy and a little playful.
The full might of the sun had not quite reached the
entire perimeter of the lake...There were still blotches of shadows dancing on
the waters…especially near the overhanging trees.
Early morning ladies thrashing their laundry
The early morning braves
Men and kids bathing
Our Honeymoon suite
To the left of our balcony were two arch shaped
bridges...One was strictly for the folk and the animals, the other for four
wheeled vehicles and buzz bikes...There was a constant criss-crossing of humans
and machine traffic across these two bridges...It was time to put on my
sandals, grab my rucksack that contained all my riches (wallet, credit card,
cash passport, Identity Document, passport and cash (Rupees)),and walk over the
bridge and descend into the ancient town of Udaipur.
The lake was filthy and littered with plastic bags,
take out Styrofoam food containers and bits of multi-coloured paper...even
segments of food that would eventually disappear snatched up by an assortment
of gladiator birds. (note – would birds eat these?)
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Passage to the other side made for humans and animals |
Udaipur, the jewel in the crown of Rajasthan borne
during the era of around 1559 AD…a city that shimmers at night, viewed whilst
eating at a Havel reached by climbing a steep 50 to 60 stepped stairway. Sitting
there, a-gasp at the twinkling lights, lit up hotels which looked like they
were almost floating on Lake Pichola.
The lake dried up 3 years ago and this made getting to
certain places almost impossible.
During that last year, the rains came and the lake was
born again….boats and fish and all…
Whilst spending some time in Mumbai, the crowded and
dirty metropolis inhabited by 21 million living beings…, I noticed how much
shit was on the pavements that was really no more than what could be seen when walking on the side streets of Fulham during the heart
of icy winter. The only difference really was that India had an unsophisticated
feel to it…The excrement stank, whilst the frozen smell of defecation in Fulham
smelled…There were so many comparisons to be made between the two
persuasions…However Udaipur was different…Udaipur fitted the profile of
creating perfect pictures perfectly...We walked the narrow alleyways, seeing old
men enjoying the ever bursting warm sun, trading folk rolling up their shutter
doors, the odd buffalo and goat foraging for food and an old woman staring,
deep in thought, out of a crumbling second storey apartment building...'oh to
be a little younger now, so that I can spend life differently and walk tall.’
Woman day dreaming in the window
Traders in India open their shutters at around 10 or
11 in the morning...taking it easy...and having coffee and some things to eat
with their friends…As I walked past a gathering of clans, young gentlemen sitting
on the stairs, smoking and enjoying the start to this day, I turned my head
towards them, waved and smiled…they waved and smiled back…what a wonderful
feeling that was.
We walked past narrow alleyways with scooters and bicycles hidden in the early
morning shadows. Much of the activity
was still to come. I took many almost intrusive pictures of strange objects in semi
darkened alleyways, washing lines adorned with many colours and all sorts of
gear hanging in the morning breeze and sunrise ladies cleaning the courtyards
with their wispy straw brooms... it was the perfect start to an adventurous day
that lay ahead.
We walked along a narrow side path, with countless one
speed bicycles of a bygone era., whizzing past…loaded with groceries for sale
and children off to school…
I saw no stress, I saw no distress…We walked over the
pedestrian bridge, roadside animal faeces splattered all over...They had as
much right as did we, to amble over cobbled stones of old...We stopped in the centre
of the curved bridge and looked over yonder where we saw our hotel to our right...and
the narrow motor bridge afore it, with Tuk-Tuks, cars and loaded lorries and
vans and the ever popular Tata...criss crossing.
We continued our walk, camera in hand, clicking as we walked…there was so much
to record, so much to take home.
The end of the bridge...turn right into the narrow cobbled streets now faced
with a plethora of choices. We walked alongside the banks of the lake and
looking across the waters, seeing our Hotel with the various balconies and the
folks enjoying the early rising sun…Women hanging out their colourful clothing.
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| Wednesday is washing day and school's out |
The narrow road led to the centre of the town, hugging
the waters of one of the oldest freshwater lakes named after a village in the
neighbourhood called Picholi (circa 1362 AD).
Then came the shops and the cafes and the places of historical importance...On
the corner of one of the very busy streets a stationery shop almost
encroached onto the pavement, selling next year's calendars, Indian pictures,
leather bound and etched diaries, handmade paper books...I just had to buy one
of those to feed my penchant for writing… one for the equivalent of a few
rupees. This was the start to the diaries of Rajasthan...This leather bound
book became the scantily and minimalistically clad stories of the 31 days that
we spent rambling, filled with curiously sated spices of India.
There was the German bakery where a few cows were cruising, the multi
coloured cloth shops with scarves and table cloths and pashminas and wall
hangings and hand bags and things to take back home. Upstairs in the building
were various studios exhibiting local works of art...Silk screens, Pastels,
oils, etchings and an array of carvings and jewellery...There were even
tasteful posters of the surrealistic paintings of Salvador Dali and Max Ernst…
Vegetarian Bakery
We came to a square...to the right a series of steps that
led to a place of worship...many people walking up and down like an
escalator...moving colour...many many women...
Linda and I decided to go to a refreshment centre...(upstairs) where we could
watch the ladies trudging up and down those 39 steps to the Gods...another ice-cold
Kingfisher blue, some sambals and crispy poppadum’s...funny fiercely faced monkeys
jumping from roof to roof...always lurking in the background…Some grooming each
other, interested in the fleas and kin...young ones playing and frolicking on
the red clay tiles of the slanted roof...obviously not frightened of heights.
It was time to climb those 39 steps. The ascendancy to heaven revealed a different world...forlorn looking women crunched into tiny alcoves...almost as
if they were imprisoned in tiny cages…candlelit lighting, representing
different religions and castes...
From the steps we walked into a very spaciously and decorated
religious room filled with the curious and the believers...chanting to the effigy
in front of them. Dark red carpets, Incense, wisps of sweet smelling vapour,
accompanied by tabla and sitar…It was haunting and I felt my heart
overtaking my mind.
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Hole in the wall businessman |
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Always to the gracious |
The chanting went on and on and we were caught in the
frenzy and the cyclical wave...I looked around me and stared at an old woman
whose eyes were shining with delirium…How could you not get enveloped in this almost
hypnotic hysteria...The entire room was surrounded by coloured glass windows, late
morning shadows grinning through...how simple everything looked, how easy and
relaxed it all felt...my thoughts of the office back home was far away...I had
no regrets…
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The claustrophobic trade |
We descended those 39 steps, silently peering down at
the colourful women coming up...
We continued our walk through the main street...thronging with people, traders
of scarves and table cloths and an assortment of ' I have lots more to show
you’…After the bargaining and haggling
over a scarf, I pulled out a few Rupees from my wallet and paid the man,
feeling victorious, thinking of the bargain I had just made...(it shredded to
bits within days)
Another architectural gemstone in this magnificent
town was the ancient 16th century City Palace that overlooks Lake
Pichola...a structured 11 Palace complex with splendid gardens and courtyards
laid in peacock mosaics and glazed tiled floors... the coloured glass windows
glinted in the sun. The red, yellow and blue turbaned gentlemen in smartly
attired uniforms either sitting or standing somewhere strategically, giving us
foreigners a happy shoot for our album...sometimes asking for a few Rupees...but
they were splendid and almost looked like
a scene from “The Last Train to India”... The digital SLR camera has
turned out to be an absolutely wonderful 21st century
invention...”shoot as many as you like and throw away the ones that look out of
focus or not quite right.
It was a perfect day and the Palace open aired
restaurant was gaily decked with an assortment of accoutrements...Sitting
there, seeing the giant starlings hopping underneath the tables, looking for
morsels of food...any food...
We walked and
we walked and we walked...till we came to the waterfront...We purchased tickets
at the wired cage...We were off to board a boat throbbing to the place they
called Jag Mandir Island, home of the majestic 3 storeyed majestic Palace of
Jag Mandir built around the 17th
century...made of marble and yellow sandstone, splendid gables and turrets.
The impressive entrance to this Island, guarded by 3
colourful and sculptured elephants, lapped by the sweet waters.
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The guards of Jag Mandir |
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Raga in the afternoon |
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Hubbly Bubbles for sale |
During 1983 a James Bond Movie called “Octopussy”
was made on this island starring Roger Moore, the hero of the film.
Also on this island is a 3 storeyed palace that was
built in the 17th century. Made entirely of marble and yellow
sandstone and guarded by 3 sculptured elephants..
Inside the wide and expansive lavish slated slabs were
two musicians playing an afternoon raga using a myriad of instruments: Tabla,
porcelain chimes, squashbox, santoor and sitars...(a heap of coins and notes
lay near them in appreciation of their skills)...It was all so dreamlike and at
one stage a surrealistic déjà vu enveloped me casting my previous life onto a plateau of
fields and trees...Unfortunately after a few minutes the déjà vu scene had
evaporated into thin air...I was standing on the edge of the stone wall facing
the fading rose sunset.
Black birds sitting atop bulbous sculptures, red
jacketed smiling Indian gentlemen with generous upturned moustaches, waiting
for their custom, selling a variety of smoking paraphernalia and cloth and
scarves and takeaway tourist gifts...and tourists a plenty milling around
taking multiple self portraits with fingers pointing to the distant hazy
shoreline...Dusk was settling in and with it came a chilly breeze...
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Pigeon on a lamp |
Portrait of a sartorially splendid Indian couple standing underneath an
alcove...In the misty distance shone the landline and drifting vessels.
The glass of frosty beer that I was holding felt reassuring…and I was a little
'beschwipsed'...We sauntered around taking more pictures of cooks and birds and
woman dressed in their Indian schmuck and draping flowing sarees.
The atmosphere mixed with alcoholic euphoria almost
brought tears to my eyes… (silly man)
The bell clanged in the background, announcing that it
was time to get aboard and slowly wend our way back to the harbour on the
mainland...The sun was slowly sinking, colouring the sky with a rose
palette...a slight breeze drifted across the bay...The spray from the waters
brought chills to my body...the buildings on the left and the right of the boat
looked like a film set from the Planet to Utopia...Some people were hanging out
of the seventh floor of the Raj Utopia...some were waving, some were just
staring into the last rays of the sun...Tomorrow we welcome...
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We sail at dusk |
The boat gently bumped against the used
motor tyres car tied to the wall of the harbour wall...the junior boatswain
tied the ropes and set the gangplank for the passengers to disembark...I
grabbed my rucksack and gingerly walked across the planks until land made me
feel at ease once again.
A walk to the Hotel was around three
kilometres.
I saw two chairs overlooking the
lake...the lake, the dying light of the sun and the shadows of the towers
inking the waters...
I could hear the soft
sounds of “Shine on you crazy diamond”
On route we decided to have a grand
dinner atop one of those high restaurants overlooking the shimmering lake and
almost peering into our hotel. The sky with its myriad of stars and galaxies shone
down onto the waters...Thunder flashes and a loud crackling of light blitzed
across the black sky...A fireworks display was in motion...What more could we
want with the most expensive seats in the house....staccato explosions into circles of bright colours.
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Hotel Lake Pichola - from the Restaurant |
Finally our eyes fell onto the menu and two
Kingfishers later we read what was on offer.
Some of the items on the never ending list were
· Manchurian
Gobi and Vindaloo in many voltages.
· And rice and
Naan and Parathas and sambals and the price that you could end up believing you
were on another planet.
· I am not
much of a dessert eater, so I suppose the best for me would always be the Lassi
which is a sweet and salty mango.
I had the usual
Prawn Vindaloo (as hot as hell) and a Manchurian Gobi (spiced up cauliflower
and mushrooms)...Linda had her Kadai Paneer and Basmati rice...
The sky, oh the sky....All along the cluster of small hotels, restaurants, the
lake shimmered with its kaleidoscope of colours. Further inwards the waters
turned pitch black, hiding all the murky secret depths of the garbage...After a
further bottle of that Kingfisher Blue and having teased our palette with all
that wondrous cuisine, we knew that we had to still wind our way back to the
Pichola Hotel, on the other side of the lake...The streets were narrow and
sparsely lit, always looking down to narrowly miss some human or animal debris.
We felt safe and knew that we would not be accosted. The traffic had abated somewhat.
Crossing the bridge of human kindness...standing on
the balcony overlooking the lake, where we had just had that wonderful meal,
your reflections and in a sense, a feeling of déjà vu, times of bygone years, where standing here was
but a mere dream. Standing on Indian soil for the first time and
realising all my conversations with people back home...friends from work and
family...
In the arms of Morpheus with just a gentle lapping of the waters
outside...Revisiting the steps of palace rooms, decorated with the finest of
silk curtains, loud and almost garish hues in typical Indian fashion and
custom...The kids passionately playing cricket in the narrow alleys, street
food better than home cooked, whiffs of an assortment of spices wafting through
the streets...Smartly uniformed and thickly mustachioed Indian guards, standing
at the entrances of museums and palaces...Black birds hopping between
tables and picking up the crumbs blown off from the white linen table cloths...scarves
and shawls and pashminas hanging on rails, in the afternoon breeze...traders
rolling down their metal shuttered doors and going home to their
family...Tomorrow is yet another day...The brown swirling waters, the flat
bottomed craft bobbing up and down, the fresh spray and the white birds
swooping behind the wake of the waters...This was no place for nightmares as I
drifted into room 21 of the Chamber of Intrigue and Meditation.
Sleeping on those horrible beds gave me no trouble...
Bright and cheery and early the next morning, whilst
standing half naked on the balcony of the hotel, I looked over yonder to the
other side of the lake, the women of the waters standing in the waters...cold
waters, washing the clothes. The sun was still hiding and the long shadows of
the night had started to dissolve...older men and their grandsons bracing the
lake...splashing and shouting.
We got ready for the day, tidied up the room, looked a
last time in the long bedroom mirror and closed the door and headed to the
Breakfast room downstairs. The sun had already by now made its’ appearance and
the new day had just been born...We had a light Indian fare, hot and soup and
paratha aloo, sweet chai, small cakes and buns.
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Breakfast room with a view |
We wanted to explore Udaipur which was enveloped by
the Aravali mountains, adjoined to the Thar Desert...We were 800 kilometres
from Mumbai.
We were in luck as Udaipur has an annual festival just
on the outskirts of the town. We engaged the services of a Muslim driver, well
acquainted with the history of the region...He had to be an Ismail and he had
to be the driver of a Dinky Toyed Tata.
To get to the festival Ismail drove up a narrow
mountain pass where everyone had a licence to kill...Bad roads and hairy
drivers taking chances around blind bends...On many of the bends around this
Mountain pass I closed my eyes and tried to drift into Nirvana.
Below us lay the misty town of Udaipur.
Travelling through the pass, Ismail told us about the
festival that was financed by the authorities and the people...
The camels and the elephants waited on the lush green
lawns. The home grown folk standing in the doorways of their stark white and
quaint stone houses.
Laid out in front of their houses was an assortment of
carpets, camel bags blankets scarves and various adornments...so colourful and
tempting you to bargain and buy.
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Traders of Colour |
The place was packed, so parking was a little
difficult but we managed to get a spot within a kilometre or so from the
entrance of the festival. We trundled up to the entrance, paid a fee (There was
always a fee to be paid to the entrances of Museums, parks, festivals, caves
and the like) We walked down a dusty gravel path leading to many tented stalls
with traders bearing an assortment of branded clothing, sweets and copper ware,
pottery, books and pens and schmuck (cheap jewellery), sandals and next year’s
calendars...anything of colour... tourists delight.
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Traders of the festival |
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Lazy stroll to the dancers |
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Pottery bells and weird objects |
We continued, occasionally stopping at a stall, looking for presents and
house ornaments. At the end of the long gravel road, we veered to the left and
entered into a world of fantasy...multi -coloured woven saddle bags slung over
waiting camels, Japanese ladies in their Eastern finery, sweet kids selling an
assortment of artificial candy floss, bubble drinks, long laid out lawns,
people sitting on striped painted steps and old Indian Gentlemen...talking to
each other.
The dream continued...many many beautiful nubile
Indian women sitting around an open circular gravelled arena, Long white socked
young Indian men standing around and waiting for their cue to enter the arena.
Squashbox players, tabla and an assortment of light instruments looking
nervously around for the nod from the ringmaster to begin.
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Beauty, Beauty,Beauty... |
I stood there affixed and staring at the scene unfolding...I
looked at the young girls, shyly whispering into each other’s ears...
The show was about to start...I milled and weaved
between the players and the dancers, taking pictures of the unfolding scene. I
smiled at them and waved...they smiled and waved back...This was so
heart-warming and seemed so worthwhile.
The giggling and a- laughing sweet dreams, covered in their Indian jewellery,
silver, golden bangles and rings,
mirrored cloths and swishing sarees...glistening began their rhythmic swaying steps, hips
circulating and the music, pulsating...Their misty veils covering their deep secrets
and the mystic smiles while they danced away...Any man’s heart would flutter away into the distance.
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A nose flute player of note |
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Dancers |
The assortment of musicians were swaying in time with
their music, playing modern Indian folk songs...every facet, every scene
interlocked with each other.
It was deliberately slow in the beginning, teasing the
audience and in time with the tempo set by the three squatted musicians...Then
the pace accelerated to a canter, laughter in abundance as they clearly enjoyed
the rhythmic pulse...Suddenly it stopped with curtsies and arms flailing
gently.
It was oh so short, and oh so romantic...but it had to
end...
Then out of nowhere came the male dancers, slim and
athletic ,their white Tom Jones mutton leggings, multicoloured turbans and cotton shirts. They could have
come from an Indian football team, adorned in Bizarre team gear...
There was military styled precision to their
movements. Six of these dancers formed a circle, all in keeping with the rhythm
out the tabla players...round and round they danced in a clockwise
direction...then in an anti-clockwise direction...swirling.
Whilst all these movements was in continuance, a
further formation of six dancers formed a circle above the six ever swirling
round and round...a third tier was finally formed, (like a wedding cake), ever
going round and round to the hypnotic pace set by the musicians...
Circular dancers
They danced as if they were all in a trance...Suddenly
the women appeared and joined the men in the finale...a mixture of toing and
froing and the swirl of the material...all very traditional...
Male and female scholars, sometimes in groups of seven
or eight walked around the lawns and steps of this 5 square kilometre
fair...Always light hearted and inquisitive...Many of them approached us to
engage in conversation and picture taking...The questions and the answers and
the expressions...I could never understand why there was this mirth and good
nature...I was never afraid of turning my back on a scene because I knew that
India was not such a place like back home where one has to cultivate four eyes
to protect oneself.
We wearily walked back to our car...it was already
quite dark and a train of painted elephants were on their way home...I walked
up to one of the bigger elephants and touched his trunk...it was a thrilling
and strange feeling, brushing over his bristled trunk...the mahout (trainer)
looking on and smiled
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Going home |
The sun in the west fading and sinking under streaked rose
tinted clouds...”more is nog ‘n dag”
We had bought some tickets to see a traditional Dance and
Light show that was to be held in one of the oldest buildings in Udaipur...We
walked through the entrance, showed our ticket to the keeper and walked into
this strange and huge chamber...a circular formation of the seating
arrangements, a few aisles, dance floor and a musician’s den...
The place was packed, with lots of tourists and locals
alike.
The compere, brandishing a mobile phone introduced the
audience to the Dancers, who were first perform their rituals...It appeared
that the ladies were in their late thirties and early forties...dressed in the
real Indian tradition...fine silk and cotton sarees, slightly luminous and faces
from an era, long long ago...The tempo of the music was frenetic, the music
pitch was haunting and the dancers hypnotically interlaced with each other,
veiled smiles and energetic movements...there was an air of mystic romance to
their themes...magic powder puff...
More dancers were introduced, while some fell away,
always with fresh movements and happy smiles.
While these porcelain like females were entertaining
the enthusiastic crowds, an Indian traditional band consisting of three players
(Harmonium, tabla and sarod) sat cross legged in the background, playing their
traditional tunes...Their music always resonated within you...
A serious lady, a short lady came onto the arena,
dancing slowly and balancing bulbous objects on her head...after each completed
motion, she appeared with another bulbous object, atop the last one, until
eight of these were stacked on her head...while dancing...I found this act akin
to a circus trick and therefore quite tiresome...
It was time to trudge off home to the Pichola Hotel,
for the last evening in Udaipur. On our way back we crossed over the bridge of
motors only and sat down to a meal , underneath the bridge...The food turned
out rather bland, no bite and very little courageous Indian fare...What a
disappointment to end the day at Udaipur, the small and beautiful planet in
India.
Usually when one leaves the hotel, there is always the
packing and the making sure that nothing is left behind...as tomorrow we will
be travelling in Ismail’s Tata to Jodhpur, through the mountain pass on the way
to Jodhpur and Ranakpur, the town with white marbled Jain architectural
buildings...
There was great sadness within me...would I ever see
Udaipur again?
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Namaste |
Footnote:-
2012 was the start to a series of visits to India,
covering the Rajasthan route from Mumbai to Accra and southwards to Khajuraho,
the land of Kama Sutra...Our second Sojourn was a journey from Delhi to Kerala,
the most beautiful lakes in India...Our journey ended in Varanasi, the holy
Ganga, the burial site of the Indian folk...
The third and last visit led us to The Himalayas,
Rishikesh, southern India, Orisha and Kolkata. Most of these journeys that we undertook
were predominantly via a motor vehicle that allowed us much freedom and
curiosity spots...All were documented in the various bound books that I
purchased throughout the thousands of kilometres travelled.
Much of India is not for the faint-hearted...but for the curious and adventurous traveller.
