A Year In Motion

To be honest, Borneo wasn’t even on our list of countries when we left Ireland, and I don’t when it happened, but Ninfa had a moment of inspiration that we absolutely had to visit it. We’d been busy planning in the Gili islands trying to organise our next three months’ itinerary for Asia, which wasn’t easy, but we finally managed to make time for everywhere we want to visit in South East Asia, at least on paper. And the first step of putting our plan into action was Borneo.

Borneo is the world’s third-largest island, and is shared between three states; Indonesia, who control the larger southern territory of Kalimantan; Malaysia, who control two states in the north, Sabah and Sarawak; and the tiny Sultanate of Brunei Darussalaam squeezed in between them. Due to our omnipresent time constraint – we are travelling the world in only one year, after all – we had to choose one region. It was a toss between Sabah and Sarawak, but as Sabah requires lots of advance applications for permits to see its greatest sights, we decided on Sarawak.

Sarawak lies in the northwest territory of the island of Borneo, and is one of the most precious pearls in the crown of Malaysia’s multicultural crown. It is Malaysia’s largest state and enjoys semi-autonomy. With a massive density of tropical rainforest and home to numerous indigenous tribes, it promised a lot. We arrived in its capital Kuching on the evening of 23 September for a seven-day visit.

Having relaxed in Indonesia for a little too long, we were determined to make the most of our time. So we were up at the crack of dawn the next day to visit the Semenggoh Nature Reserve which is home to an Orang-Utan sanctuary. The goal of the sanctuary is to rehabilitate previously sick or captive orang utans for reintroduction to the wild in one of the protected national parks elsewhere in Sarawak. One of the highlights of our trip so far has been all the wonderful diversity of rare and unfortunately endangered wildlife that we have seen. But the orang-utans were one of the highlights of our highlights. Orang-utan means “jungle man” in the local language, and they are only found in two places on Earth – Borneo and Sumatra, the main island of Indonesia. They’re lots of fun to watch as they swing around the trees like hairy Tarzans, pinching fruit from each other, climbing over each other, and peeling oranges and opening coconuts. You can sense a lot of personality in each of the animals, except perhaps for the brooding alpha-male who preferred to eat on his own with twice the amount of food the others have – no wonder he’s so huge. We visited the centre at around 10am for the morning feeding session – the rangers feed the orang-utans about half their daily diet, ensuring that they also develop their natural skills for living in the wild. The feeding centre is very low-key with a few wooden platforms and some ropes around the borders, so it feels very authentic and not at all like a zoo enclosure. On our walk back through the forest, we were greeted by the sight of one of the orang-utans hanging contentedly from a branch with her baby just above us. We were within a couple of metres of the orang-utan who just swung around and made faces and groomed her baby. We were the last to leave, and could have stayed for longer too.

That afternoon we took a stroll around Kuching. Most of the town is centred around the waterfront which is dominated by a modern convention centre on the far bank which looks like some kind of massive crown. Boats constantly criss-cross the river as they ferry locals to and from the (kampungs (villages) on the far side. On the city side, the main bazaar hugs the spacious promenade and is made up mostly of souvenir shops. We strolled further along the promenade to the tourist centre which is housed in a lovely old whitewashed colonial building with carved wooden windows, overshadowed by hanging trees overgrown with orchids. It’s an attraction in itself. Stocked up on the information we needed for the trip, we strolled back to the hotel via one of the old Chinese temples. Other than that, there’s not a whole lot of interest in Kuching, leading us to question the brochure’s claim to be “perhaps Asia’s most beautiful city”, although it is a pleasant place to while away the afternoon hours.

The next day we were off on the trail of more animals, this time the proboscis monkey which is unique to Borneo. We took a public bus to the entrance of the Bako National Forest Park, and then a boat transfer to the park which is located on a headland inaccessible by car. Stepping off onto the muddy beach, we saw loads of small crustaceans, and in the trees around us we could hear the shaking branches and shrill cries of the macaque monkeys. We had brought some fruit for lunch with us, but that didn’t last long – we left it down for a minute to dry our feet and when we turned around, a macaque had made off with the lot before we could say “cheeky monkey”. We set off on our trek through the rainforest – we had chosen one of the shortest and easiest routes, but after a few minutes we were both wet through. The humidity in the rainforest has to be felt to be believed – it could make a steam-room feel cool. The path itself was anything but easy, and at many times we had to grab the long, exposed tree roots to help us up the steep passes. It was rewarding though as we saw all three types of monkey indigenous to the park – the macaque, the gorgeous silvered-leaf monkey, and finally on the way back, the elusive proboscis monkey. The proboscis is instantly identifiable due to its, how do I put it, big nose. And its true, it has a very big nose, and if that’s not an attractive enough feature, it also has a big potbelly – handsome devils.

We had toyed with the idea of spending a night on the park as the night-time treks are supposed to be great. But there were so many insects, we were drenched, and the only remaining accommodation was quite basic, so we decided against staying and instead set off on another trekking route. Bako is famous for having seven different unique types of rainforest and even from our untrained eye we could see the landscape change throughout the trek. Overall, Borneo is astonishing in terms of its natural riches, and all this within convenient reach of Kuching.

We got the bus back to Kuching and decided to take a walk through the Sunday market, even though it was only Saturday evening. Every weekend, farmers from the surrounding countryside come to Kuching to sell their produce. I was tired after trekking and not really looking forward to another market – we’ve seen loads on our trip – but this one was up with the best. Lying so near the Equator and covered in rainforest, the fruit and vegetables on sale were like none I’ve ever seen. We also got to sample the local delicacies of colourful marble cake, grilled fish, and deep-fried bits and pieces of who knows what. The people, merchants and locals, were really friendly and extended us a really warm welcome. And that is one of the highlights of Borneo – no touts, no hassle, and people who are generally interested in talking to visitors.

Other than its natural diversity, Borneo is prized for its ethnic diversity, with over 10 distinct ethnic tribes in Sarawak alone. We intended taking an organised tour deeper inland to visit one of the tribes in one of their traditional longhouses which house numerous families in a largely common living area. We soon changed our mind though given that the journey each way would last most of a day, and the prices were very high – over €200 per person for an overnight trip. We contemplated going independently also, but that would have involved extra time, time which we unfortunately didn’t have in Borneo. So we settled on the convenient option of visiting the Sarawak Cultural Village in Damai, an hour’s drive from Kuching.

We were a little apprehensive about our selection, fearing a Disney-style experience which would be far from authentic, but Ninfa had heard good reports, so with little other option, we went for it. Although it is quite packaged, we thoroughly enjoyed the visit. The village is made up of several specially constructed traditional longhouses, tallhouses and farmhouses. The main advantage of the village is that you get to see and understand a small part of many different tribes, and can see how culturally diverse they each are. The village is home to several different families who live there full-time, and welcome you into their homes and explain their culture and traditions. Each sell some small souvenirs unique to their tribe or ethnicity, and we found that the information offered is often better if you make a small purchase (everything is reasonably priced). Some families play music, others dance, tattoo or carve sculptures, and a couple display some skulls from the days when the Bornean tribes earned their fierce reputation for headhunting. Twice a day, there is a show where each tribe performs music and dance, and it’s actually very enjoyable. The morning show was standing room only, so we waited until the afternoon when most of the tour groups have left and had a much more relaxed and enjoyable experience. The village is home to families of Orang Ulu (one of our favourites), Malay, Chinese, Bedayuh, Iban and more.

Overall, the village is like a culture-buffet, with small tastes of lots of dishes, but enough to satisfy your appetite. On the other hand, if we had had the time, we would have gone deep into the mainland and seen it for real.

Having spent a full day at the village, we stayed in the Damai Puri resort which is just next door. It’s very resorty but has some beautiful views of the South China Sea, Mount Santubong, and a small beach where both locals and tourists come for a dip in the warm, murky waters. I took the opportunity to play golf in the adjoining golf-course – since we left Ireland, I’ve been dying to play, and at €25 for a championship course, I couldn’t resist. Cut into the rainforest I felt a little guilty, and this perhaps affected my game as it wasn’t a score to remember. That was also possibly due to the scenery, the giant lizards, the monkeys in the trees and the crocodile warnings around the pond.

After our relaxation in Damai Puri, it was back to Kuching for one last night and a feast at a seafood restaurant on the top floor of a carpark. Doesn’t sound appetising, but the mud crab, oyster pancake, sea slugs and other shellfish are all now well and truly sleeping with the fishes. Reflecting on our week in Borneo, we both agreed that Borneo had proven a real surprise package, and with so much to offer in Sabah as well, it would have been great to have spent longer. It’s always a good thing to leave a place while still wanting more, and that’s definitely the case with Borneo. But continue we must, so next stop, a complete change of scenery – Asian metropolis: Bangkok!

For more photos, click here. For practical info for other travellers, click here.

Bali means a lot of things to a lot of people. For surfers, it’s the ultimate Asian destination for great waves. For many women, its the place of escape and rebirth inspired by the autobiography Eat, Pray, Love. For a lot of Australians, its beach and booze. For the recently married, it’s the place of romantic honeymoons. For us, we were going to take a little bit of all of those.

We arrived late on the Air Asia flight from Singapore to Denpasar, the main airport in Bali, on the outskirts of Kuta, so it wasn’t until the following morning that we hit Kuta’s biggest attraction – the beach. Kuta beach is lined with locals renting surf-boards, selling drinks and t-shirts, and the sea is full of debutants taking surfing lessons, while further along the more experienced try out new moves. I have surfed perhaps 3 times in the last 10 years, so I was confident I could pick it up without taking a lesson. I watched some of the lessons from afar, and then went to hire my own board. I paid around 30,000 INR (€3) for two hours rental. Full of self-confidence bordering on foolishness, I strode out into the water to receive a 2-hour beating off some of the 2-metre high waves before I eventually came to the conclusion that I needed a lesson.

After my sea massage, we made our way to the Perama Tour company – Perama offer bus and ferry services around Bali and Lombok. As we hadn’t yet booked a hotel for the night in Kuta, we decided to leave town and head to Ubud. There were too many beach bums and beer-bellied boozers around Kuta, and Ubud had a reputation for being the cultural capital of Bali, so we opted for the latter. We grabbed a quick juice before we left, and I forgot our Frommers guidebook when we left. We had to buy a Lonely Planet a few days earlier because Frommers doesn’t cater well for the budget backpacker, so Ninfa thought I had left it on purpose (until she realised I had forgotten my own novel which I really liked too).

On the walk into town from the bus stop, we couldn’t believe the number of temples everywhere, until we realised that these were peoples’ houses! We enquired at a few homestays (lomsen) before settling on Pangkung House Homestay for about 140k INR (€13) per night. Homestays are like bed and breakfast, but a homestay in Ubud has a unique twist. Each house has has its own private temple and stone, shaded verandahs. We were hoping for a rest the next morning but were woken by a ceremony in the house temple – just our luck, they only have the ceremony once every 6 months. At 7am we weren’t in the mood to appreciate the hour-long bell-ringing. Despite that, and the big dip in the bed, we loved the place, and Ubud in particular. Later that evening, we changed our plane tickets to stay longer in Bali. We had originally planned spending 9 days between Bali and Lombok, but we had been pressured into that decision by the Indonesian requirement for Ninfa to have fully paid and confirmed tickets before processing her visa application.

That night, we went to one of Ubud’s famed traditional dance performances. Our host, told us there was one taking place in a street nearby, so we went along. Although the surroundings were not as ornate as what we would later see in Ubud, the dance performance was the best of the whole trip. It was a Kecak performance involving around 50 male chorus members seated in a circle, each wearing their black and white checked sarong tied with a red scarf. The chorus chants a monkey song of ke-ca-ke-ca-ke-ca, and move in synchrony and wave their hands making for an amazing audiovisual performance. Then the show begins in earnest, with two female dancers acting out a story, joined later by other costumed male dancers. But the highlight of the show was the finale, when the chorus left the stage, and a sole performer arrived on board a light wooden model of a horse. A pile of coconut husks was placed in the centre of the stage and doused in fuel. The man, seemingly in a trance, proceeded to dance around it, before charging into it and dispersing the burning shells with his barefeet. There were sparks and smoke everywhere, and the assistants kept sweeping the embers back into a pile, until our hero succeeded in extinguishing the flames and took a well-deserved break. Waoh!

All this made fire dancing had made us thirsty so we made our way further into town to a small street recommended in the Lonely Planet. We have to admit that the guidebook had it spot on. Ubud is generally expensive for restaurants but this little street, Jalang Goutama, had plenty of moderately priced restaurants offering tasty food and cool Bintang, the trademark Indonesian beer.

Over the next few days, we attended another dance ceremony, this time of the Legong Barong tradition. This is more like musical theatre, and although the musical instruments on display are impressive, the theatre can be a little boring. All the stories are based on Hindu legend, and leaflets are distributed telling the story in order to engage the spectators.It’s worthwhile but lacks the dynamism of the Kecak. We saw the Legong Barong in the Ubud Palace which is a spectacular location (although down the street there seems to be a nicer one with a lake-garden down near the Starbucks which we didn’t get to try). Losing interest slightly in our Legong Barong, we noticed an authentic relgious ceremony which was taking place at the same time in the temple next door. Entry to the temple is only permitted to those wearing sarongs, so we had to sneak a peek over the walls. It was amazing as hundreds of children performed a synchronised dance, while musicians played a hypnotic sound for hours on end. We went back the next night, but we were tired and it started to rain so we left early. Ubud is full of music, dances, temples, saronged locals, mopeds and it’s a magical place.

While in Ubud, we took a day trip around the surrounding areas by car with our homestay host. We visited a couple of temples, the volcano at Penelokan and the Sayan rice terraces. The highlight for us were the rice paddies which are built into the steep volcanic hillsides. As for the temples, I actually preferred those in the town of Ubud. The temples in Bali are richly decorated with angels and demons from Hindu tradition, and in addition are generally built from the black volcanic rock. Volcanic rock is also fertile so many of the temples are like long-lost ruins of an ancient people, which gives Bali, and Ubud in particular, a very atmospheric quality. Add to that the fact that most of the inhabitants observe daily rituals of providing offerings to the gods, and you can easily feel in a mystic world. The pavements of Bali are covered with woven palm-baskets containing beautiful fresh flowers and cookies and even chewing gums for the gods. The hens and cats seem to have been given divine permission to share in this feast. We left Ubud after 3 days to go to the Gili islands, but we probably should have stayed longer, as we were unable to find anything that came remotely close to matching Ubud’s cultural wealth.

Another unique find in Ubud is the coffee. I enjoy my espresso, so my interest was piqued when Ninfa pointed out a sign offering cups of Kopi Luwak, the world’s rarest (and probably most expensive) coffee. I paid about €25 for a cup which is produced locally in Bali. Kopi Luwak is very good coffee, but becomes excellent when it is eaten, digested, and by the indigenous palm civet (luwak). Check out the videos for more on how that went. In fact, much to our misfortune, we visited a farm which produced kopi luwak the next day and were offered a taste … for free! We bought some beans to take home. Difficult to say how good it is until I get back and make a proper espresso with it at home.

When we returned to Bali from the Gili islands, we spent two days in Kuta learning to surf. This time I coughed up the money for a lesson, and Ninfa decided to give it a try too. The waves may be high in Kuta, but the water is very shallow. So although you may get wiped out by a 2-metre monster, once it passes over, the water is only waist-deep, so everyone on the beach can see how silly you look, but at least you don’t drown. It’s a great spot to learn to surf. I managed to get standing up on my board on a few occasions, even unassisted, which was great. And Ninfa, the surfing defeatist, managed to surprise herself by catching a few waves too – she was on her board before me! But the surfing can be physical – a few hours getting pounded by relentless waves can be tiring. One day was enough for Ninfa; I went back for a second, but the exertions of the previous day had my body aching and I was probably worse than the day before. The surfing lessons are a good way to meet other travellers and we hung out with two newlyweds, Yasser and Manal from Morocco, during our last couple of days. Last stop in Kuta was at the juice bar where we forgot our books. And guess what? They had it – the Frommers book, but my novel had been taken – people will go to any lengths for a good read. Ninfa was happy though, and my goodwill was now unquestionable – a good day for both of us.

So our time in Indonesia is over. We probably stayed too long but having been rushed into a decision on our time there, and then revising that decision on an impulse, are probably two prime examples of how not to plan a round the world trip. On the other hand, we rested well, organised our travel for the next three months (lesson learned), and got our restless energy back again – exactly what you need for a round the world trip. Next stop the wilds of Borneo!

Budget airlines in Asia are a completely different story than European ones. We took our first intra Asia flight with Air Asia, the most known budget airline in Asia. The service was excellent, even better than most non budget European and American airlines we have flown with. A short flight from Singapore and we had arrived in the mystic land of Bali. Tony was delighted from the start as he instantly became a millionaire when he withdrew millions of Rupiah from the airport ATM.

Bali proved to be all that we expected and more, but that tale will come after this one. Shortly after arriving in Bali we traveled to the neighboring island of Lombok and famous for its Gili Islands. We boarded our big and slow ferry at Padangbai and 4 hours later we arrived in Lembar. Bali is the exception of Indonesia in terms of religion. Indonesia is the biggest Muslim country in the world, but Bali is a Hindu island. That day was the end of Ramadan, Eid ul Fitr, therefore transport was scarce in Lombok, no buses that day. Without a choice, we took an overpriced taxi all the way to Sengigi, our gateway to the Gili Islands.

Sengigi had not much to offer us so next morning we took a local small boat from Bangsal to Gili Meno, where we had planned to spend 3 days, instead we stayed 8. In local language gili means small and Lombok has many gili islands, but touristically speaking the Gili Islands are: Trawangan, Air and Meno. There is no motorized transportation in the Gilis. The way of getting around is by foot, bicycle, or by taxi (a horse carriage locally known as cidomo). Trawangan is the party island, Meno the quiet one, and Air the in between one in terms of size and action.

We wanted serenity so we chose Meno. We got off the small boat (getting our feet wet, no docks in Bali or Lombok) and I immediately thought it could very well be the paradise I was looking for. It was picture perfect: white sand and clear turquoise water, just a few tourists (almost all honeymooners), no touts and very cheap. The weather was perfect and remained like that all the time, sunny and hot and from our island we could see the daily thunderstorms over Bali and Lombok, but not in the Gilis! There is no road in Gili Meno, just a sandy path. This was the first and only time in more than 5 months that we have had to carry our bags in our backs, so far we have only been pulling them as they have handles and wheels. We have congratulated ourselves many times for buying this model, although more expensive than backpacks, worth every penny.

We thought that in the Gili Islands we would have time to catch up on our blog, budget, plans, pictures,etc, but we did absolutely nothing. The longer we stayed there, the more we were sucked into slow rhythm of the island. Gili Meno is very slow paced, power comes and goes, no internet, no AC, most places do not have fresh water and oddly enough most restaurants do not even serve fish.

Meno is very small with approximately 400 inhabitants. In my mind I thought it would be even smaller, about 20 locals, 3 tourists, and just a strip of beach and very far from any other land. It was only one kilometer from Trawangan, very tempting to swim to and from. The ride in the cidomo was quite expensive priced at about 5 Euro a ride, so we walked everywhere. We walked around the whole island once which took us about one hour and a half. Most of our days were occupied by having 3 hour meals (not 8 courses, just very slow service), watching the sunset and yes doing nothing. We made friends with other people, but mainly we hung out with John, a very nice Irish Art student from Dublin. Tony and him played Chess, Football, and did Yoga; while I did nothing. The first day we arrived we thought we would cut our stay to 2 days as there was nothing to do, but instead we kept extending our stay, doing nothing proved to be great. We were not the only ones, most travelers we met had experienced the same. The island sucked us all in. Tony and I are very hyperactive persons so moving at fast pace from one place to another is not a bother to us, but something in the Gilis got us. We easily got in the rhythm of lazing all day in the beachfront bamboo beruga (stilted open-air wooden hut) all places have. I was wondering when it would happen, and it happened in Gili Meno. It was the first time in the trip that I completely lost notion of time. Most of the time in the trip we have to think twice what day of the week and date it is, but it easily comes back; in Gili Meno, I did not know if it was Tuesday or Saturday, and neither did Tony, we had to ask. It doesn’t even matter when you are traveling for so long, except when you have flights booked. We are living 365 Saturdays!

The only main activity we did in Meno was one dive. We went scuba diving to a site called Meno Slope and it was spectacular. If not the best, the second best dive we have ever done. The visibility was excellent, the quantity and variety of fish was abundant, and mainly I found the color and type of coral to be very different than all I have seen before. This dive is a drop into the channel between Gili Trawangan and Gili Meno and descends to the bottom of the sloping reef at 22m.It is the site of a Bounty pontoon wreck. The sunken pontoon is a large intact structure at 12m full of interesting marine life and schools of reef fish.

There is one bad thing about the Gili Islands, its beaches are not good for swimming, although they are wonderfully very warm waters. Going in the water should only be done with shoes or your feet will get hurt. I ventured once and in one minute I hurt my foot badly, causing me to limp for 3 days. Dynamite fishing was practiced much, and on top of that, El Niño hit the islands very hard a couple of years ago, causing a big erosion of coral, which covers all the beaches now.

We were becoming too comfortable in Gili Meno and running out of money. No credit cards accepted, no banks, not even ATM’s. So we decided to migrate to Gili Trawangan (locally known as Gili T). The party scene there is not for us, but we discovered that Gili T has its quiet side also, and much more beautiful beaches. In Gili T there is everything you need to linger indefinitely: ATM’s, credit card facilities, clinic, cinemas, Internet, plenty of accommodation from dorms to high luxury, international cuisine, bars, discos, etc.

In Gili T we fell out of the spell and took advantage of every second there. We hired bikes and cycled all around the island, we snorkeled until sundown, had a private beach barbecue, and for 2 full days we worked hard making plans for the next months as the internet was fast and free.

We had already changed our flights out of Bali once extending our stay 10 more days, so more days were out of the question. I could have stayed in the Gilis indefinitely, but our plan is to see as much as possible, so we waved a sad goodbye to the Gilis and booked tickets on the “fast boat” back to Bali. The price of a one way ticket on the fast boat from the Gilis to Kuta in Bali is about 50 Euros, the slow ferry is less than 3 Euros; but we couldn’t afford to lose one full day traveling, and the fast boat would have us in our hotel in Kuta in two and a half hours, without involving an early wake up.

It was a nice modern boat that we left on. Along with 9 others, we decided to hop on the roof of the boat to feel the wind, get some sun and sight see. At the beginning it was so cool to feel the breeze in our faces and small splashes of refreshing water. Once we got into the open sea, the ride started getting bumpy, extremely hard core. Except for another couple and us, everybody went back in the boat. I am a serious fan of roller coasters and thrills, but this was out of this world. The grade 5 white water rafting we had done a couple of weeks earlier was a piece of cake compared to this ride. We had to hold on really tight to the bars as we were shaken from side to side, up and down, and getting completely soaked meanwhile. The boat crew kept sticking their heads out to see if were all still there. The sea was rough and some waves were so high that the captain had to turn off the motor as we approached them. One of the fast boats had sunk a few days earlier due to high waves. Tony was proud of me as I get seasick often and I was still all right. I almost made it all the way…before I got sick. I had to contain it in my hands, or it would have splashed all over the other couple who were behind me. The other guy seemed to be in a trance, concentrating hardly on enduring and not getting sick. We were masochist enough to last the whole ride at the top, and we made it to the end. We thought we earned at least a diploma for surviving. Next day we had to get serious massages as our muscles were complaining.

Back in Bali! Check out our Gili Islands pics and more here.

Our trip to India started in Kathmandu, with a flight to Varanasi for one day and night, and then on to Delhi. At least that’s what we planned. But then again, the best laid plans of mice and men often go astray, and in India, be prepared to stray more than you have planned. Our Air India flight was cancelled due to “operational reasons”. This reason, by the way, is not acceptable to our travel insurance company, and we believe was Air India official-speak for “not enough passengers”. Afer a few heated words with the airport grandmaster K.K. Kak from Air India, we decided to drop Varanasi and head straight to Delhi the next day. We were both disappointed to lose Varanasi, but given than Kathmandu had provided so much of what we expected to see in Varanasi, it made sense to get back to the plan, rather than go far, far astray so early in our trip. Our spirits picked up on the flight to Delhi though as we perused the pages of a Delhi daily newspaper which was choc-full of classified ads of parents seeking matches for their children. All the adverts were organised by caste, and if you believe what you read, Indian men and women are blessed with bounteous qualities. Arranged marriages – welcome to India.

From the minute we arrived in Delhi, it was like taking a step back in time. The taxis that queue outside the airport are all old Ambassador cars that seem to belong to a bygone era. As we drove in towards our hotel on Connaught Circus, we could see that everywhere the whole city was busy building a newer New Delhi, although the scale of the amount of work was not quite clear until we arrived at our destination. The hotel manager walked with me into the centre of Conaught Place, the centre of New Delhi, which was literally a building site. Excavators, unsurfaced streets, pavements with huge holes – the place looked like a bomb had hit it, maybe only a few minutes before we arrived. “It will all be ready before the Games”, and “Indians work better under pressure” were how the manager reassured us as we struggled to reconcile the time left and the amount of work to be done. “Come hell or high water” was how another described their determination, which as it turns out, is exactly what they had to contend with in the shape of intense heat, and flooding monsoons. While it was disappointing not to see Connaught Place, one of the landmarks of New Delhi, in all its glory, it was still exciting to see India at work on a large scale in a typically Indian fashion that no nation can rival for pure chaos – pedestrians walking right through the building sites, workers sleeping on the ground in the shade of the colonnades, youngsters showering under a hose in the middle of the street. It was crazy and exhilirating, if it weren’t for the intense heat which was to accompany us on every day we spent in Delhi at the peak of the dry season.

The manager showed me to a popular Delhi hangout before we parted company, and so began our introduction to Indian food. Keventers has been popular since almost the day New Delhi was inaugurated back in the 1930s, and therefore adds to the feeling that you’ve taken a step back in time when you arrive in India. All it sells are milkshakes and ice-cream shakes, and there are always crowds there – of people usually, and of huge metal pails of milk, always. I made this a daily stop on my Delhi itinerary. Coming from Ireland, where social occasions often revolve around a drink (of alcohol), I marvel at the fact that a simple milkshake stand (whose milkshakes are nothing extraordinary) can maintain this hold on young people – it’s great! Just around the corner was another landmark Delhi institution – Wenger’s Pastry Shop. Possessing a sweet tooth and being an Arsenal fan, Wenger’s was an instant favourite, and I was not alone. From savoury samosas to mango pastries and cream buns, I could have spent my entire time in Delhi operating within this 10 metre radius of Keventers and Wengers. Extend that by 50m to include the air-conditioned refuge of the hotel, and so could Ninfa!

We were in Delhi on three occasions during our trip, but the longest consecutive stay we had was our first stop there. India was the last country we would visit before heading to the World Cup in South Africa, and Ninfa needed to get a visa. This turned out to be a complicated affair thanks to the combined bureaucratic efforts of the Indian staff, and the South-African counsel. We had to go to the High Commission on three separate occasions before they accepted the application, and while frustrating, it at least gave us an opportunity to see more of the city along with our soon-to-become regular chauffeur. Tingko. Tingko’s prices got consistently lower on every journey as we became more savvy with the going rates, but it was still fun driving around in the back seat of a slow, old taxi which doubled as Tingko’s bed during his off-duty hours. When we finally ended up getting a new taxi driver to go to the train station, it ended up being Tingko’s cousin, Ragu! Delhi’s such a small place after all.

On one such day, Tingko dropped us off in Old Delhi. We were coming to see the famous Red Fort, but when we got there, we were told it was closed every Monday, so our luck was out. So instead, we went off to visit the nearby Jama Masjid which is the largest mosque in Delhi. Ninfa hates the heat as it can trigger her migraines, and constant attention from touts and hawkers and street merchants gives her a headache anyway. On the other hand, I quite enjoy most of these things, although admittedly Delhi stretched my appreciation to the absolute limit. When we got to the Jama Masjid, we were hassled about using a particular entrance and paying lots of different people for tickets, robes, guarding shoes and anything else that came into their heads. Ninfa had had enough so she went to cool off in a cafe. On the way back, I decided to avoid the simplest route, and get lost a little in the web of streets in Old Delhi. And lost is exactly what I was; no matter how many turns I made differently on each occasion, I always ended up at exactly the same point at the end. All roads lead to Rome, but in old Delhi, they all lead via the Jama Masjid, which fortunately is where I was headed anyway. However, the walk did give me an opportunity to see some fantastic street scenes of trading, eating, tea-drinking, in narrow, colourful and crowded streets with monkeys playing on the electricity wires overhead, and goats parked alongside motorbikes.

When I got back to the Jama Masjid, I managed to avoid one or two of the supposed costs of entry, and was given a huge robe to cover my shorts, and left my shoes with the doorman. The worst thing about having no shoes was the burning heat of the sandstone floor which was torture. They had some rope carpets leading across the floor, so I hotstepped it over to one of those and strolled around at my ease within the confines of the carpet lines. As I walked around, I ducked out of the way to avoid appearing in a photo that a young Indian man was taking with his camera-phone. But I was a little puzzled when he tried to take the photo again – focussing on me, not the mosque. As I continued, I noticed I was being tailed by about 10 young Indians, and this in a shaded part of the mosque where one was not confined to the rope carpet. One of the boys finally plucked up the courage to approach me and ask me my name, where I was from, and if he could have his photo with me. Once one of them had broken the ice, it melted in a flash, just as it probably would on a sunny Delhi afternoon, and the others flooded over to smile for the camera. And it wasn’t just the young guys, but one middle-aged man asked me to have a photo taken with his father. Of all my stalkers, there were no more than 10 words in English in total, but it was a very photographic experience, and both parties seemed to enjoy it and left with much satisfaction at having their photo taken with perfect strangers from halfway around the globe. One of the boys did guide me over to a side tower in the mosque where a “guide” took me up one of the minarets for some fantastic views over the Jama Masjid, the streets of Old Delhi, and the nearby Red Fort with the Indian flag flying over the famous Lahore Gate. I tipped him the sum he proposed and headed back to meet Ninfa.

It was now approaching sunset, and was probably a bearable 40C as we walked down the crowded Chandni Chowk. We took a quick stop at the Famous Jalebiwallah, who is famous for making Jalebis, deep-fried, sweet, dough whirls served with honey – a messy and tasty treat! In India, you just add wallah to a word and you have a profession. For example, I could be a computer-wallah or a business-wallah, and Ninfa would be a diplomacy-wallah or a law-wallah. We continued on past the hordes of shirt-wallahs and chai-wallahs until we got to a Sikh temple, full of Sikhs (not Sikh-wallahs – a rare exception to the rule). Sikhs are easy to recognise as they invariably have long beards and a big turban, as it’s considered a sin for them to cut their hair. We walked around the temple with our guide, who inquired if we were interested in converting, perhaps to bolster their numbers from the small but important 2% that they make up of the Indian population. We declined, but much enjoyed the music and welcoming atmosphere. Even the chief priest would look over at us and smile for the camera when we were taking photos, right in the middle of his ceremony. One of the cornerstones of Sikh religion is charity, and as such each ceremony is ended by giving water to the celebrants as well as a sweet dessert-type paste in a huge bowl, which is dished out by hand by one of the faithful, and which it is considered offensive to refuse. Although the manner of serving did not appeal to me much, I ate both Ninfa’s portion and mine.

In the end we did not see everything we would have liked to in Delhi, and in fact one day, we gave up and went to one of India’s most modern malls – all in pursuit of some respite from the formidable heat. One thing the mall did provide was a look at modern India – the fastest growing economies in the world. From one perspective you could be anywhere in the world with the same omnipresent brands everywhere – McDonalds, Starbucks, Zara etc. A mall’s a mall, but there was a lot of confidence and a lot of money on show from the people here, and you get the feeling that they’re happy to live life their own way, away from the restrictions that their culture may previously placed on them. I still wondered, however, if these were the same people I had read about in the newspaper on the plane. Take a taxi away from the mall though, and its not long before you realise that these are the elite few (if few is a word that can be used when talking about India). Anywhere in Delhi, you’re never far from homeless families sleeping under motorways with not enough money to even clothe their children. The shackles of convention are easily thrown off with wealth, but the shackles of poverty seem harder for the booming economy to shake.

Although we sometimes travelled by taxi, as our main means of transport in Delhi, we took tuk-tuk. Coming from Donegal in Ireland, I had a personal fondness for Delhi tuk-tuks, as they are all painted in the Delhi (and Donegal) colours of green and yellow, and they all bear the Delhi (and Donegal) registration DL. This was all becoming a bit confusing as I began to think I was spending an Indian summer in Donegal, rather than an Irish summer in Delhi.

Of the sights of interest that we visited in Delhi, Humayun’s Tomb was probably the most impressive. It’s a huge tomb built for a former Mughal ruler of India which was built by his wife. It is similar in many respects to the Taj Mahal, but a less ornate version, and built in red sandstone, as are most of the monuments in Delhi – Delhi has a red feel. Upon passing through a grand entrance monument, there is a long promenade which is dissected by a long fountain and lined by gardens full of little squirrels. In the surrounding gardens are some smaller tombs which are less maintained that the Humayun’s Tomb, and their partial state of ruin adds to their charm. Other monuments we visited were India Gate which is right in the centre of the wide and long Rajpath avenue. It’s a great place to go at night as there are thousands of locals who come to walk in the pedestrianised area around the monument and fly kites, play badminton and racquetball, and buy snacks from the mobile traders. India Gate and Rajpath during the day offer some beautiful views of the Indian Parliament and showcase the immaculate planning of the city of New Delhi – it’s great to arrive on the Rajpath all of a sudden and take in the magnitude of the view, and the numerous official Ambassador limousines with their government charges.

There were a few monuments we didn’t see in Delhi which are probably well worth visiting, but the truth is the heat defeated us. Having visited Rajasthan after Delhi, I think there is a lot more to see outside Delhi than in it. Delhi is really an opportunity to see the organised (?) chaos of an Indian metropolis, the contrasts between rich and poor, and the grandeur of a former Mughal empire, British colony and developing economic powerhouse. It was tough going on many occasions – the first experience of India is a rapid education for anyone with many a tough test along the way, but breathing deeply (just as our yogi advised in Udaipur) and with lots of air conditioning we saw it through. We loved the chaos, the curiosity of the people (like in Jama Masjid), their accents, the way they can nod their head side to side so quickly and effortlessly (which means yes, no, I don’t know, and loads of other things), and the carpet salesman who could have talked for weeks! We disliked the chaos, the heat, the constant attentions of the touts and hawkers, and the dust from all the building works around Connaught Place. But it’ll all be ready for the games …

We stayed overnight in Agra to visit the Taj Mahal on our next to last day in India. We had not booked in advance a train so getting there and back proved to be a bit challenging. The previous day we had done the Jaipur – Delhi leg of our trip by bus, and although we did it in the best category of bus in India it was something we were not willing to do again. The comfort was ok, but the time in a bus from one place to another is too long, as the traffic jams in the highways are pretty bad, just getting into the center of Delhi takes up to two hours. Train is definitely a better option provided you have booked a decent class and there are no delays.

Tony spent hours online trying to buy the train tickets, but the Indian Rail site is not so strightforward; so he went directly to the station, which was also quite a task in itself. He had to talk to six persons and none of them could explain to him why they could not sell us tickets for an air conditioned compartment even though they were available. We knew that most of the time you can get an “upgrade” from the conductor, so he purchased the regular class ticket. As expected once in the train we got the upgrade and we were once again in the best cabin in the train, the private spacious compartment for 2. Why you can’t buy a ticket at the window when there are seats available is beyond our comprehension. I have stopped trying to comprehend the Indian way because it is too consuming, you can’t change it, so it’s better to accept it from the start.

In 3 hours we were in Agra. The logical thing would have been to go see the sunset over the Taj Mahal, but the World Cup was being inaugurated at the same time. No brainer, we bought beer and pizza to watch it from our room, the World Cup that is. As a friend pointed out to Tony, “The Taj ain’t moving anywhere”.

Next day day we headed to the Taj amongst the crowds. I can’t imagine high season, because this is low season and the crowds are huge. We entered through the South Gate and took a guide. He recited the same facts we all know, plus the usual myths (the black Taj) and other stuff we will never know are true or not, but it was worth paying him as he showed us with his flashlight the colorful encrypted stones in the Taj that compose all the decoration, which are not obvious to the plain eye. Many colorful flowers adorn the Taj, and they are not painted as one would think, they are precious stones sculpted in the marble. Inside the Taj it is very dark, so without the guide pointing that to us we wouldn’t have appreciated them.

The moment you enter through the gate and have the Taj in front of you is an unforgettable experience. Breathless. It is exactly as the pictures, but you have now been there, not everyone can say that. We have seen the most beautiful construction on earth, hard to top that. The areas inside which are accessible to the public are limited, dark and crowded, the highlight is definitely the view of its exterior from the front. We will never forget that precious moment when we first saw the Taj Mahal.

It was time to go back to Delhi and conclude our India trip before moving on to South Africa for the World Cup. Of course we had no train ticket and had to buy a general class, the lowest class on Indian trains. Well this train was not only delayed for many hours but was packed beyond comprehension. No upgrades available, there was hardly any standing space on general class even. We had run out of luck this time. The only option we had was to squat outside the AC compartment next to the toilet. Two older German women on the same situation joined us. The conductor was a very unfriendly man and wanted us to move out of there and go to general class. We refused so he brought a heavily armed soldier to move us. We refused alleging the “Women Only” compartment was full of men, which was true; but Tony had to comply and move out. Fortunately this was only a four hour journey and boy for once was I glad to be back in Delhi, as it meant we were leaving India and World Cup bound!

24 hours in Pushkar and we were ready to move on to the last city of our Rajasthani tour: Jaipur, better known as the the pink city. We hired another taxi and in less than three hours we were there. Definitely not as much as Delhi, but Jaipur was also very chaotic, it felt more like a city than the rest of the places we visited in Rajasthan.

On our first night in Jaipur we met an overly friendly tuk-tuk driver (who called himself Mr. Hot Stuff) with comprehensible English who offered to take us to the best of Jaipur the next day. After hardly negotiating for a fair price and clearly telling him that there would be no shopping stops in the itinerary or other unplanned services we finally agreed to hire him for the day and told him to meet us at our hotel at 10 am next morning. He told us not to worry about any of that and even invited us to his sister’s traditional Indian Wedding next day.

There are far too many taxis, tuk-tuks and rickshaws in India, which makes it hard for them to make a living in this occupation. We learned in Jaipur (and saw it with our own eyes after a late night out) that a lot of these drivers do not even have a house or possessions. They come from deep in the countryside to big towns or cities to work and only go back to their hometowns to their family a few times a year. They sleep (and live) in their taxis, which is not bad, compared to the tuk-tuk drivers who have to sleep in their tuk-tuks; and even worse to the poorest of all, the rickshaw driver (just a bike with no motor attached to a seat for a passenger) who sleeps in it. Their only possession is a bag with a few pieces of clothes. It touched me even more to see that some of them have dogs, who wait for them in the street during the day and at night sleep next to them. I was extremely moved by this scene when we saw it late at night all through Jaipur. There we were: a taxi had just dropped us at our fancy hotel guarded by high security, and just outside the hotel gates were many drivers of taxis, tuk-tuks and rickshaws sleeping and dreaming that tomorrow would be a better day, that tomorrow they would get some custom from the tourists in the hotel, from us.

Next day came and Mr. Hot Stuff did not show up. He probably found other tourists more shopping material than us. So much for the Indian wedding… So we took an offer from one of the many tuk-tuk drivers that hang around the hotel. After having seen the previous night the conditions they live in, we agreed to pay him more than a fair price, we did not have the heart to haggle. I wanted to take rickshaws only (as they are the poorest), but it really wasn’t an option for long rides, especially in the heat and occasional rain. Our tuk-tuk driver was exactly the type we aim to avoid. Every 5 minutes he asked us if we wanted to go shopping, if we wanted to go to the government bazaar, if we wanted to go to the industrial zone, etc. etc. We kept saying no, then he started offering us other stuff: mushrooms to start, progressed to bhang, by the end of the day he had offered us heroine and opium. He tried to persuade us to other activities as massage, fortune teller, restaurants he knew, etc. He persevered at the end, as Tony agreed to visit a cloth/tailor shop in the industrial zone. As expected, it did not turn out well. Tony got two shirts made at a not so bargain price (10 Euro each). The cloth looked really nice, but the shirts did not fit him well, two sizes smaller, even though they took his measurements. He does sweat a lot in Indian heat, but not that much to lose 2 sizes in a day.

At least the tuk-tuk driver got his commission. Even with that he started getting nastier, rushing us in and out of places, and increasing the fare price a couple of hours before the agreed hours of service, alleging the negotiated fare was for one person, not two, so we should pay him double. By then Tony’s long patience had been exhausted so he told him to get lost and we would only pay him proportional to the hours passed. Of course he didn’t, in fact we paid him so well that he would be waiting for us at the hotel every time we went out.

Back on the subject of Jaipur…we visited the main attractions in the city. I thought that the pink part of the city was not really pink, but tending more towards orange color, a peach shade; judge for yourself in our picture album. We visited the famous Hawa Mahal (Palace of Wind), which is a really beautiful building, and from its top you get a bird’s eye view of Jaipur. As most buildings in India, the Hawa Mahal, has a beautiful story behind it. It was built in 1799 by Maharaja Sawai Pratap Singh as a continuation of the City Palace and dedicated to the Hindu god Krishna. The beautiful facade with countless small windows faces the street market. The legend says that it was constructed with so many windows so that the royal ladies or all the Maharaja’s wives could see the action in the street and in festivities which normally took place in that street, as they were subjects of purdah, the practice in which men are not allowed to see their faces.

I paid a visit to Dr. Vinod Shastri, a very well known Indian astrologer, to give me some insight of what to expect in the future. More than anything it entertains me, but to Indian culture, astrology is a very important part of their lives, and they live their lives according to it from the moment of birth. There was a big queue of people waiting to see him, locals and foreigners. You choose to learn about the next year in your life, the next 5 years, or your whole life; according to how much you are willing to pay. I chose the second option. He told me about my present and future life according to my exact birth moment, complemented with a reading of my palm. He was right about many things in my past and present and I hope he is right about the future. He said I would live a very long life, over 80 years old and I would be very rich. I laughed and told him that he probably told everyone that. He said I was the only person that day whose astrological cards showed richness. The reading also specifies lucky days, lucky numbers, gemstone, metals, liquids, colors, etc, and Indian people live by them.

While I was there, Tony opted for looking at the stars himself, by visiting the Jantar Mantar (literally meaning calculation instrument) Observatory next door. It encompasses a collection of 14 astronomical instruments, and built by Maharaja Jai Singh II between 1727 and 1734. The instruments are used to tell time, predict eclipses, movement of stars, planets, celestial bodies, etc. It is the largest stone observatory in the world and it is inscribed as a Unesco World Heritage Site.

While in Jaipur we saw many elephants in the streets, always a highlight. No makkania lassies in Jaipur, but we couldn’t leave without paying a visit to the original “Lassiwalla” who has been making delicious fresh lassies served in disposable clay pots for decades. Besides food, we also enjoy tasting the different kinds of massage each culture offers. In India we tried Ayurvedic massage and we both which we hadn’t as it left us not only unsatisfied but with a big dent in our wallets. So far, it’s the only massage we have not enjoyed, Ayurvedic massage is too soft for us. It consisted of a sesame based oil which was poured on our foreheads for the whole duration of the massage and then rubbing softly your whole body with it. As you can imagine after 90 minutes we had sesame smelling shiny bodies. The taxi driver had to put plastic over the back seat before taking us back to the hotel.

The highlight while visiting Jaipur was probably going to the famous Raj Mandir Cinema. The last time we were at the cinema was more than 2 years ago as we are no fans of it; but Anne, Tony’s sister, had recommended us so much to go to this cinema that we did. And what a great tip that was! There are three classes of tickets, and not knowing what to expect we bought the best “Diamond Class” to see the much awaited and controversial (too similar to real people and situations in India) political thriller “Raajneeti”. The Raj Mandir Cinema, was more of a theater, it is a beautiful building built in 1976. We took our seats in the upper tier. 15 minutes after the movie started floods of people started coming in the lower tier. Maybe they sell at half price the tickets after 15 minutes? The big surprise for me was that the movie was in Hindu! I never thought about that, I thought it would be in English. It did have subtitles, in Hindu as well…Regardless, the movie was easy to follow. It was about violence and corruption in government, we don’t need to understand the language, as the political situations portrayed are universal. I thought it was quite interesting, but Tony differed, he was hoping to see some Bollywood dancing. What an experience the cinema is in India! The people in the low tier enjoy the film as it were a football match. They start yelling at the characters what to do, or what they think of them, they whistle and make funny noises in romantic scenes, and in violent scenes they cheer for their favorite character. There is an interval halfway as in theater, and Tony took advantage of it to ask the locals about the film, to see if we were on the right track.

This time we decided to take the bus back to Delhi, in “Diamond Class”. If that was diamond, I can’t imagine what simple stone class would have been. They told us 4 hours, but it took 7. After seven sweaty hours of congestion in India’s highways we were once again in Delhi. We had to go back to Delhi to pick up my South Africa visa, then we would had to Agra, and back to Delhi for our South Africa bound flight.

Check out all our Jaipur photos here.

On the morning of our final day in Jodhpur, we were greeted not with clouds of dust, but clouds heavy with rain, and shortly after I set off to the train station to cut a deal with a driver for the next leg of our journey, the heavens opened. Absolutely drenched, I eventually got a driver with a decent car, a good price, and even seatbelts!

We were hooked on blue, and we were heading back east to one of the few Brahmin cities in the Hindu world, Pushkar. Pushkar is the second of our lake cities in our tour of Rajasthan, and to our surprise, this time there was still some water in the lake, albeit not that much. We found a hotel near the centre of the small town, and I headed off with our driver to find an ATM to pay him. On second thoughts, it would have been much better to do that in Jodhpur as the only ATM accepting international cards in Pushkar was on the blink. It took me 10 minutes to perform a routine withdrawal as either the machine or the connection was painfully slow, but with some patience and a lot of hard button-pressing, I succeeded where the three in front of me in the queue had failed. Back at the car, some locals tried to persuade me into paying a parking charge, but convinced I was being scammed (no ID, scraps of paper etc), I left it to the driver, who got a little excited with his countrymen but ended up having to pay it.

Pushkar occupies a special place in the Hindu religion. According to Hinduism, a demon killed the god Brahma’s children. Brahma exacted his revenge, killing the demon with his weapon, the lotus flower, the petals of which fell at three places, one of them Pushkar, where a lake sprang up in the desert. Bathing at the ghats in Pushkar is thought to be more important than at any other place, and it is said that the people who bathe here are relieved from all the sins and go to heaven after their death by the grace of Lord Brahma. It is said that it is the only place in the world to have a temple dedicated to Lord Brahma, and is therefore an important sight of pilgrimage. As such, alcohol, meat and all animal products are forbidden in Pushkar.

Hinduism is well-known for the sacred cow, said to be a reincarnation of the goddess Lakshmi, but many more animals are sacred also. It is perhaps for that fact that parts of Pushkar, including the balcony of our hotel, were overrun with monkeys! After hanging out with these locals for a while, we set out to discover Pushkar. After only a few minutes, we encountered what we realised afterwards to be an impressive scam. The Puja is a blessing that is given at the ghats around the lake in Pushkar as part of the pilgrimage. During the ritual, a red band is tied around your wrist, and you see these on many people throughout India. The puja is also known in traveller circles as the Pushkar passport, and until you have this wrist band, expect to be targetted by scams or potentially even genuine brahmin priests. Barewristed, we were walking around a temple when a nice chap started talking to us about Pushkar and being very friendly without being pushy. He offered Ninfa a flower, and insisted he expected nothing in return. In our opinion, this flower is a marker for the next link in the chain.

Just around a corner, a man approached us and offered to arrange a puja for us. We couldn’t really shake him, and sooner than we realised, we were introduced to a priest (very young, we thought), and before we realised, we were walking down the ghat to get our passport. Scams generally happen like this – they’re over before you have time to think. We had left our hotel with the intention of getting our passport, so we weren’t altogether disturbed by falling for it. Ninfa bowed out at the last minute though, as she refused to take her shoes off to walk down the muddy floor leading to the ghat, but I was touched by Brahma and I followed our young sadhu down to the water. He proceeded to chant, which I had to repeat, and we went through a long list of Hindu deities. In the end, we offered flowers, coloured powder and rice to the lake as an offering, and I received my bracelet and a nice thick lump of red rice on my forehead. At the end, an offering of your choosing is suggested – I gave him 100 rupees which was probably more than required, but it won’t be the turning point in our budget at the end of the trip.

The power kept cutting in Pushkar, so it was handy that I brought my little Swiss Army knife torch. We met some other travellers and took it easy eating some nice vegetarian food in the dark. Indian cuisine has its regional specialities everywhere, and the speciality ingredient in Pushkar is bhang. Bhang is supposedly only permitted for Hindus to use in religious rites and is only available from state stores, but this law is very loosely applied. In fact, our hotel manager discreetly offered me both alcohol and bhang when we arrived. It’s even marked on menus in most cafes as bhang or special lassi, which could potentially dupe an innocent lassi connoisseur. Bhang, if you haven’t guessed already, is marijuana.

We spent the rest of our next day strolling around the town, past the bhanged-up sadhus with their empty tins begging alms, and the merchants busily tumbling their prices from the ridiculous to the fair. There’s lots of blue again in Pushkar which makes for a pleasant walk, and on a bright sunny day, the place is alive with colour. We found a perch on a rooftop cafe and admired the market scenes from above – multicoloured turbans, twirly moustaches, sequinned saris of bright yellow, and all the animals and scooters and bikes.

That afternoon, we arranged a car and driver to Jaipur, our last stop before returning to Delhi.

When we were in Udaipur, we took a tour around the city with a tuk tuk driver who, in typical Inda fashion, seemed to be able to organise anything and everything for us – clothes, transport, souvenirs, you name it. We took him up on the offer of transport and we ended up hiring a car and driver for 2 days for the journey to Ranakpur (overnighting there) and then on to Jodhpur – all this for €50. Everyone in our hotel in Ranakpur was jolly, with big moustaches and full of chat (as in conversation, and probably also the bean curry that is eaten in copious amounts throughout India).

So after our visit to the Jain temple in Ranakpur, we headed north with our driver for the next 150km to Jodhpur. Jodhpur is known as the Blue City and we were there to see the famous blue with our own eyes, as well as visit the huge Mehrangarh Fort, and continue our gastronomic and stomach-burning tour of Indian cuisine. Rajasthan is covered by a lot of desert, and the further west you head, the more desert there is. It was a windy day in Jodhpur when we arrived, and there was a thick blanket of dust in the air, so much so in fact that by the time the tuk tuk from our hotel arrived in the central Clock Tower Square we could not even see the Mehrangarh Fort (which is ususally unmissable from any part of the city).

The central square with its wide web of alleys and side streets is the centre of commerce in Jodhpur. On the other hand, there’s not a sniff of blue. So with no fort, and no blue, we decided to get busy eating. Tiptoeing around the stalls, carts and the cow-dung we ended up at a small stall surrounded by crates of eggs reaching right up to the overhead sign claiming to be the often-imitated, original Omelette Man of Jodhpur. With his henna-dyed hair, a big smile, and a load of eggs, the Omelette Man whipped us up a delicious snack of masala omelettes on toast.

Now I have a sweet tooth, I love mangoes, and yoghurt, so one of the things I was most looking forward to in India was the abundance of mango lassi (like a yoghurt shake). But Jodhpur’s claim to fame in the highly-competitive lassi landscape is the Makhania Lassi. And in Clock Tower Square, the only thing more competitive than the claim to be the original Omelette Man, is the claim to have the best Makhania Lassi. Our research had led us to determine that the best lassi would be found in the Shri Mishrilal Hotel right by the square entrance, and it didn’t let us down.

Makhania Lassi is a saffron and cardamom based lassi, and in the Shri Mishrilal Hotel, a steady stream of men and women, young and old, sit under the approving gaze of Gandhi and Nehru scraping their glasses clean of this delicious, creamy, cool yoghurt, topped off with a generous spoonful of unflavoured curd. In the less than 48 hours we were in Jodhpur, I visited the Shri Mishrilal 4 times. There’s so much to India, but so much of it could be found in this small space, it was wonderful – the setting, the workers on their breaks, the colourful sari-clad women, the cricket on the TV, the fried chilli snacks, while outside a procession of Muslims was setting off on a pilgrimage by foot to another city to much banging of drums and blowing of trumpets. By the time we left, I knew the staff quite well, and we all had a good laugh when I reminded them of how Ireland had beaten Pakistan at the last Cricket World Cup.

The next day we took a tuk tuk up to Mehrangarh Fort, the Citadel of the Sun, which was previously the primary fort in the region of Marwar (land of Death). The fort was built in the 13th century by Rao Jodha (who gave his name to the city), and it is just as much fort as work of art. You can easily imagine how formidable Mehrangarh was in its heyday, with its steep walls stretching high above the sheer cliff-faces on which it is built. These once impenetrable walls can now be breached for a small fee, and as you pass through the huge battle-scarred gates, musicians in rainbow-coloured turbans play traditional India flutes and drums for a slightly lesser fee. On one of the gates are a set of numerous small handprints which belonged to the wives of one of the Rajput leaders who was killed in battle. His wives, obeying the Hindu tradition of sati, threw themselves onto his funeral pyre to die with him, which gives a fascinating insight into the status and sense of duty of these leaders and the society they had inherited. Further on through the fort are the battlements with the cannons pointing out over the city, and the many courtyards overlooked by the intricately carved balconies which once hid the Raj’s wives from public view. We both hired audioguides which were well worth the money for what they added to the experience. The whole fort is a maze of beautiful courtyards housing museum exhibits and state rooms of pearl and stained glass.

And there at last, from the balconies of the fort, was the Blue City. It’s an amazing sight to see this festival of colour standing out against the red, sandy, desert landscape. The Blue City essentially demarcates what was traditionally the Brahmin area of the city. In Hinduism, the Brahmin are the highest of the castes, the priests. Their holy colour is blue, and their houses are painted in beautiful shades of pastel blue, and mixed with doors painted in pink, or shutters in green. It’s like walking through a painting. We strolled around the area getting lost in the labyrinth of climbing alleyways and twisting sidestreets, catching a wonderful glimpse of everyday life, before climbing into a tuk tuk to direct us out of the maze.

We spent our last night in Jodhpur in a bar-restaurant called On the Rocks which has loads of military-looking staff and decent food, but the highlight is in the bar area after dark when nimble young Rajasthanis warm up to the pumping banghra music, which provided us with much mirth. Overall, Jodhpur was hot, hectic, colourful, intense, infuriating and thoroughly enjoyable – in a nutshell, India.