The day had come. We were heading home. This was the final leg of our around-the-world trip.
We took a nearly-five-hour, non-stop Blue Star Ferry from Paros back to Athens at 10:45 a.m. We spent the time on the ferry reading, downloading photos, writing, and staring out the window. Our long-dreamed-about trip around-the-world was coming to an end. And we wondered, what’s next?
Back in Athens
We arrived in Athens on time, and checked into the same hotel, the Acropolis View Hotel. After freshening up, we went for an evening walk around the Acropolis and to find some dinner. We said “hey” to Boss the dog, sleeping inside the closed gates of the Acropolis. We dined at “God’s”—high expectations with a name like that–and filled up on delicious risotto-stuffed tomatoes, fava, and wine.
On the morning we left, we used the last of our traveling coffee packets, and sat out on our balcony, soaking up the sun and staring at the Parthenon. It’s tenacity seemed a fitting ending to our trip, and a reminder of home for us Nashvillians.
A panorama of Athens and the Acropolis. Greece.
And then, we flew home: ATH – LHR – ORD
First, we had a taxi ride with Michael to the airport. The car windows were down and open to the sunny sea air, and the Foo Fighters, ACDC, Supertramp blared from the stereo. Everlong will forever remind me of flying through foreign streets: “…If everything could ever feel this real forever, If anything could ever be this good again…”
The four-hour British Airways flight left Athens at 1:30 p.m. BA ran out of vegetarian meals by the time they got to my seat. And because one passenger on board had a peanut allergy, no snacks with nuts were being sold and we were asked not to eat the peanut M&Ms we’d brought onboard either. BA also charged for water, payable by credit card only. And with that, British Airways officially became the least favorite of all the airlines we’d flown around the world.
It was a brief stop in London, and as we got to the gate on this dark, rainy night, we were asked some strange U.S. immigration questions before boarding the American Airlines flight. It was nine hours to ORD–plenty of time for a meal, a movie (the tearjerker, “Coco”), some reading, and some quiet time to reflect on our trip. We landed at O’Hare around 7:30 p.m., and were back at home by 9 p.m. We’d gone all the way around this big old world! It was good to be home. And yet, I’d go again in a heartbeat.
Around the world
28,000+ miles
6 countries, plus 4 more touched in transit
Our 7th (and 8th!) continent
Big planes, little planes, scenic rails, overnight trains, taxis, buses, bicycle rickshaws, remorks, tuk-tuks, small boats, big ferries, and miles of walking. From glaciers on the 8th Continent to the Great Barrier Reef, to the Taj Mahal and Angkor Wat, to Mt. Everest and the Parthenon…here’s to all the sunrises and sunsets, smiles, laughs, beautiful animals, crazy sights, tasty meals, and Nescafe along the way.
Select photos from our trip are available on Etsy.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
We arrived into Varanasi around noon, after a 13-hour overnight train ridefrom Orchha. Men had just carried our suitcases up the stairs from the train platform, and now our bags were loaded onto a tuk-tuk for the quick ride to the hotel. However, our group of 12 plus Khush walked the two blocks to City Inn–together, in a wobbly blob. After the long night train ride, and the longer morning without coffee, we held on to each as we crossed the chaotic traffic-teeming streets of Varanasi.
Across Varanasi to meet the Mother River Ganges
After coffee, check-in, coffee, showers, coffee, and lunch, we gathered again in the lobby. Wifi, then we divided into tuk-tuks for rides to the river where Khush had arranged for us to take a sunset cruise on the Ganges.
Dolls and toys. Varanasi, India.
Eventually, our tuk-tuks dropped us off and we walked through a crowded market. Cows ambled along beside us. People looked at us. We saw vendors selling dolls and toys wrapped in plastic, and stacking fruit we couldn’t name. There were sari shops, one big bowl of green peas sitting nearly in the street, stalls of bronze bowls and bells, and shops draped in beads and colorful yarn. Hot pink cotton candy trees bobbed through the crowd, beggars sat with tired eyes, and black and white posters of people showed up on just about every wall–were they missing, or found dead? Bulls and dogs laid peacefully in streets–cleaving the traffic like it was the Red Sea. Eventually we came upon steps–lots and lots of steps–down to a wide, ash-blue river. This was the Mother River Ganges.
Varanasi’s Ghats
Varanasi’s 88 ghats and the river Ganges are the spiritual capital for Hindus worldwide. This was one of the busiest and most important: Dashashwamedh Ghat. We saw men on cell phones waiting, holy men praying, dogs sleeping, goats eating, monkeys screaming along the tops of the buildings, a cow sitting in smoking ashes, kids running, groups of women in colorful saris holding the hands of their grannies. People were jovial, joyful, festive. We came to a plateau where a dozen skeletons of umbrellas hung with flags, garlands and bells. And then down more steps down to the boats, and to the sacred water of the river Ganges.
Visual gluttony. A sugar-high for the eyes. A little dizzy, shaking and dazed, I followed our group down to the water, to a sunny wooden boat. A monk-orange cloth draped the seating ledges. Little bouquets of orange and magenta flowers with candles gathered on the table in the middle of the boat. Our pilot, an older gentleman with graying hair and a bright smile, took my hand as I stepped up and into the bow. A young man with an inquisitive expression assisted us down from the bow and over to seats. And then they pushed off with long poles into the current of the great river. First, we motored north, then east, over to the sandy beach across the river. All the while, Khush telling us the story of the Mother River Ganges.
Boarding our boat for an evening ride on the Ganges River, Varanasi India.Roses, mums, and candles in candy wrappers sit on brown paper “boats”, prepared for us to light and offer to the River Ganges.Our pilot for a sunset ride on the Ganges, Varanasi India.
“The Mother Ganga takes and gives.”
The Divine Mother, the River Ganges or Ganga, is sacred in Hinduism. Pilgrims come to pay homage–wading in to their waists, bathing, swimming, cupping the holy water in their hands, lifting it, and letting it fall back into the river, and drinking it. It is common to offer flowers and floating candles, and to take water home. The water is said to have healing properties, and to be self-purifying.
Many consider it safe to touch or drink, despite the fact that sewage empties into the Ganges. Also, people do laundry in this holy water, wash their dead loved ones in it before cremation on the banks, and bury people in it. Five types of bodies are not cremated, but instead are sunk in the River Ganges with stones: kids under age 5, pregnant women past the seventh month, snake bite victims, leprosy victims, and holy men.
“To drink the water, having bathed in it, and to carry it away in bottles is meritorious. To be cremated on its banks, having died there, and to have one’s ashes cast in its waters, is the wish of every Hindu,” Eric Newby in Slowly, Down the Ganges.Three men on a boat in the Ganges. Varanasi, India.A view of the ghats on the River Ganges. Varanasi, India.Camel and piles of clothes on a beach, across the Ganges from Varanasi, India.Horse on the beach across the River Ganges from Varanasi’s ghats. India.Our G Adventures Group on the River Ganges, Varanasi, India.The ghats get crowded in the evening, as people come for the daily Ganges Aarti ceremony. Varanasi, India.
Cremation on the banks of the River Ganges
Hindus believe cremation on the banks of the Ganges River frees the soul from the cycle of death and rebirth. It is said that those who are lucky enough to die in Varanasi, and are cremated on the banks of the Ganges, are granted instant salvation. The river absorbs the ashes, and forgives.
Only in Varanasi and Kathmandu can cremations take place 24 hours a day, every day. And here in Varanasi, there are two cremation ghats on the Ganges. As the sun went down, our little boat passed and then turned to pull close to one of them: the Manikarnika Ghat. It was twilight, but still we saw smoke swirling up to the darkening sky from the many fires. Eleven cremation fires burned at once.
Slowly, we drifted way from the cremation site. Then, we lit our flowered candles, leaned over, and set the candle boats gently out onto the river with our wishes, prayers, and tidings to the dead. I touched my wet hand to my head and watched our flames float away, all together as if they were holding hands into the dark waters of the Mother Ganges.
Manikarnika Ghat in Varanasi, India. My flowered candle boat floats away on the River Ganges. Varanasi, India.
Ganges River Aarti at Dashashwamedh Ghat
After watching our little flames drift away, the boat turned back the way we’d come. Our pilot motored up beside other boats back at the Dashashwamedh Ghat. The ghat now looked like it was ready for a carnival, brightly lit with throngs of people and boats waiting. Boats continued to come close, crowding in to “park”. A commotion ensued each time a boat pulled close, a scrapping sound, splashing water, admonishing and advising pilots, and a grabbing at lines to steady the boats.
Dashashwamedh Ghat is the main ghat in Varanasi on the Ganga River. Built in 1748, the evening ritual of Ganga aarti–offering prayer to the Ganges River–is held here everyday at dusk. Priests perform this ritual simultaneously under the lit skeleton umbrellas and flood lights. There is music and chanting, as the crowd swarms on the ghat and the boats bob in the water.
We sat there for about an hour. Watching as vendors walked across the water, boat-to-boat, selling candles, souvenir postcards, prayer beads, and brass trinkets. The chanting and music was accompanied by the sounds of wooden boats rubbing together, the Ganges lapping and splashing, cameras clicking, soft voices talking, and people slapping at the biting mosquitoes.
A man walks boat-to-boat offering candles and souvenirs for sale at Dashashmedh Ghat, Varanasi, India.Hundreds of boats, with hundreds of people, sat in the River Ganges watching the aarti ceremony in Varanasi, India.
The Ganges at Sunrise
Before dawn the next morning, we were back with our little boat on the Ganges for sunrise. Like others, we soaked in the extraordinary meaning of this place.
Boats push off into the Ganges for sunrise. Varanasi, India.Sunrise on the River Ganges, Varanasi, India.A man takes a morning swim in the River Ganges. Varanasi, India.Morning walk through the narrow lanes behind Manikarnika Ghat. Varanasi, India.
Manikarnika Ghat
We returned to Manikarnika Ghat where many of the night’s fires still smoldered. One fire was blazing–newly lit. Only in Varanasi and Kathmandu can cremations happen 24-hours a day. In other places, bodies are burned only in daylight hours so they don’t turn into ghosts.
Wood and scale. Near the Manikarnika cremation ghat, Varanasi, India.
Our boat motored to steps near the cremation ghat and we got out to walk through the narrow alleys. A pile of cloth puddled at the lip of the river, the water lapping at the rainbow of colors and swirling ashes. Men walked waist deep in the water separating cloth from wood, and pulling water through big bowl strainers. Dogs and cows lay in the ashes to stay warm. The air was dusty. If there was a smell, I didn’t register it. Stacks of wood and large scales to measure the ~1.5 kg needed to cremate a body lined the narrow lanes.
Stacks of wood line an alley near the Ganges cremation site. Varanasi, India.
We viewed the Manikarnika Ghat from above. One of the holiest ghats along the River Ganges, it is believed that an earring fell from Shiva here, making it especially sacred. Named in writings dating from the 5th Century, Hindus have long believed that a soul finds instant salvation when cremated here. The sick and elderly often come to spend their last days here, walking along the edges and absorbing the charisma of the ghat, pondering life and awaiting death.
Death Rituals in India
Khush explained that when someone dies, the body is taken home for cleaning and dressing by the women in the family. The men of the family then carry the body to the cremation site, while the women stay home to clean the house of negative energy. Sometimes dead bodies and their male relatives have to line up into the alleys, to await their turns for cremation. That morning, we watched as a body was unwrapped of her fine red cloth–down to a plain white muslin shroud–and placed on a pyre. Two men stacked wood on top, then balanced sandalwood and incense on top of that. A man began to circle the body clockwise, preparing to “give fire” with oil or butter. Out of respect for the dead and the living, we left before they lit the fire.
In India, death is considered a gateway to another life received as a result of our past actions, also known as Karma. A body takes about two hours to burn. Afterwards, the family collects some ashes in a terra cotta pot and mourns for 12 days, to give the soul enough time to reach heaven.
Vendors sell plastic and terra cotta containers for pilgrims to take home River Ganges water and ashes. Varanasi, India.
Contradictions
I read, “There are two types of people in the world — those who have been to India and those who haven’t.” At first, that seemed arrogant and exaggerated. Now, I get it. India is beyond incredible: astounding, vivid, dirty, crowded, colorful, and conflicting. It overwhelms the senses. Every hour, every moment.
And India overwhelms the emotions. Incredible poverty. Humanity and the closeness to death. The sad state of the animals, the water, the air. We walked and walked that morning. By the time we saw the dead puppy on the ghat, I was in some state of stunned stupor. All I could think about was how we are nothing at all. A blip. A whiff. A thin trail of smoke. Vapor. A breeze. Dust. Why does anything matter? Why does EVERYTHING matter?
Dogs in the morning sun on a ghat in Varanasi, India. A dead puppy was behind me on the steps, a stream of ants still arriving and covering his little body.Morning. Varanasi India.Laundry. Ganges River,Varanasi, India.Morning rituals. Ganges River, Varanasi, India.A dog sleeps in a fire pit, Varanasi India.Sleeping along the banks of the Ganges River, Varanasi, India.Barber shop. Varanasi, India.A cow looks over the fruit, before the man hits him with a stick. Varanasi, India.
In Varanasi, life and death both seemed so close. The tuk-tuks helped with the craziest rides of all–thrills of a lifetime and frights like it was the end. One night, each set of our group entered the restaurant exclaiming a version of: “Oh my god, that tuk-tuk ride! I thought we were going to die!”
Bulls and cows stampede into the street. Varanasi, India.In a decked-out tuk-tuk. Varanasi, India.A dog waits, while we wait for a repair. In a Varanasi tuk-tuk. India.
Walking out of India
On the day we left Varanasi, we were also leaving India. First, we had a 6-hour early morning train ride to Gorakhpur, then a 2-3 hour bus to the India-Nepal border.
As we got closer to the border, we saw gobs of the colorful Indian semi trucks lined up for miles and miles. Khush told us that they are often stuck waiting at the border for 24-48 hours. Our van crossed to the wrong side of the road to pass the line of semis, dodging oncoming mopeds and trucks with all horns blaring. Loud India.
Approaching the border, we got out of the van while our pilot and co-pilot packed our bags onto 2 rickshaws. We waited outside a small building as the officials stamped our passports for departure. Then we walked out of India, across the no-man’s land separating India and Nepal.
In India, it is said that “Everything is written.” We follow an inevitable path. I hope that path someday returns me to incredible India.
Also, if you’ve been to India, please leave a comment about your favorite memories and places! One day I will go back and would love recommendations.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
After Holi and a couple of days exploring Orchha, we were going on the overnight train to Varanasi. The plan was to eat dinner at a cooking school in Orchha, before taking tuk-tuks to the train station at Jhansi. From there, we’d catch the 10:30 p.m. overnight train to Varanasi.
Rajni’s Cooking School
Rajni at her teaching kitchen. Orchha India.
We were doing some adventurous eating with the Indian curry, dal, paneer, masala, tikka, and naan. For this vegetarian, Indian cuisine offers many nutritious and savory meal options. Plus, I’ve been told that turmeric–a key ingredient in curry–is a good natural elixir for arthritis and other ailments of people our age. Bryan and I talked about incorporating our favorite Indian dishes in our meal rotation back home. Perfect, because on this night, we were headed to Rajni’s cooking school for a lesson, some recipes, and dinner.
Emily assists Rajni at our Cooking Class in Orchha, India.Using a stone mortar and rock pestle to grind ingredients. Rajni Cooking Class, Orchha, India.
First, she made us Masala chai and served it in delicate cups. As we sipped the spiced tea, we watched as she and her helper ground the curry ingredients on a stone mortar with a rock for a pestle. They cut and seasoned eggplant, then fried naan, heaping it into baskets to pass around. Rajni explained the process and ingredients to us, and invited us to sit with her and help. At last, the food was served on divided metal plates. Savory. Delicious. Healthy. Yum…down to the very last bite.
Our G Adventures Group enjoying Rajni’s Cooking Class meal. Orchha, India.
Before we could offer to help do the dishes, tuk-tuks came to take us back to the hotel to grab our bags and make the one-hour trip to the train station in Jhansi.
At Jhansi Station
The Jhansi Train Station around 10:15 p.m. India.
Our tuk-tuks dropped us off in a teeming parking lot. Headlights illuminated people walking to and from the station, and squeezing luggage through the metal gates at the doors. Khush got us situated on the platform, with some of us waiting in a women-only room before our sleeper-car train arrived around 10:30 p.m. The station was full of people, some had staked out space and were sleeping on blanket pallets on the platform.
I was beside myself with excitement. I love a train ride! And an overnight ride in a second-class sleeper car in India, well, my skin tingled with the thrill of it.
On the Overnight Train
Khush rallied us just before the train pulled into the station. We boarded the crowded train quickly, found our places, and made space to cram our bags under the seats. All of us were in the same car, but we were split up into trios or quartets. We sat smiling at the six Indians who were sharing the compartment as the train slowly pulled out of the station and swayeded down the tracks.
Not long after the train left, it was decided that it was time for bed. The Indians showed us how to pull down the bunks, pointed out the brown-paper wrapped sheets and pillow to dress the bed, and coached us on climbing up. To imagine the sleeper car compartment, picture a U. The bottom of the U is two longer and deeper bunks. Across the aisle, each of the sides of the U have three shorter, more shallow berths. Thus, each compartment was designed to sleep eight people.
Bryan ended up with one of the longer bunks. I had a middle berth. I stood on the bottom bed to put my sheet on and climb in. It was a small space. My camera bag and a bottle of water needed to be in bed with me for easy access and safety. Clothes and shoes were left on. I squirmed into my space. It was impossible to sit up–the top bunk so close to my face. I nearly panicked. Carina suggested rolling onto my stomach and looking into the open space of the aisle. It worked. Anxiety abated.
Sleeping on the Overnight Train
It was hot, then cold as the train rocked and click-clacked through the night. A thick wool blanket was at the bottom of my berth, but it was a trick to reach it without dropping it, knocking off any of the stuff in bed with me, and without being able to sit up. Eventually, I got covered and slept.
At one point, I awoke to see Simon talking to me from the dark aisle, “Where’s Khush?” The train was moving faster, and everyone was asleep except for a handful of people who’d just gotten on. There was some question over assigned berths. The woman beneath me knew Khush’s berth number–and repeated it three or four times, like a chant designed to remember. Simon nodded and disappeared down the dark aisle.
Carol in a narrow middle berth, night train to Varanasi. India.Bryan, up top, in his berth. Below, a family of three shared one bunk. Night train to Varanasi, India.Early morning on the night train to Varanasi. Taken from the middle berth, looking at the mirror, the curtained window, and the other berths. India.Another passenger, enjoying his phone and window-berth view. Night train to Varanasi. India.
Waking up on the Overnight Train
The train car woke up slowly. Whispers. Shuffles. Squeaky berths being folded up and returned to seating. Some people had exited at early morning stops, and we sat in their empty bunks playing cards, eating our snacks, reading, and waiting for the signal that we’d reached our stop. The only thing missing from this perfect little morning was COFFEE!
I was reading A Long Way Home by Saroo Brierley. When he was only five years old, Saroo went with his brothers to scavenge at their village train station. Little Saroo fell asleep on an empty train car. When he awoke, the train was a long way from home. He was unable to read, and did not know his hometown or his own last name. He survived for weeks by himself on the streets of Calcutta trying to figure out the train that would take him home, haunting stations for food and shelter. Eventually, he was befriended by a trustworthy adult, transferred to an adoption agency, and adopted to a family in Australia. He spent many years exploring the Indian rail lines with Google Earth, trying to piece together his memories and locate his family and hometown. I won’t spoil the ending for you. But please read this powerful story.
Trains in India
The train stations and railroad tracks in India seem to attract people who may have no better place to go. I saw gangs of kids scampering across tracks, tents alongside rail lines, groups of women cooking on small fires near stations. Every newspaper I picked up in India had a section dedicated to identifying people who had been found dead on the tracks. A photo of the dead person’s face was featured, along with the place, date, and time he or she was found. A practice both efficacious and macabre.
The train sat for an hour at Allahabad. Vendors came onboard selling samosas from a yellow bucket lined with a greasy newspaper. And we wondered if we jumped out to find coffee if the train would pull away and abandon us…or god forbid, we get back on a train and it be the wrong train. Thinking of little Saroo, I stayed put. Coffee would have to wait.
Dare I jump off this train while stopped at Allahbad to find coffee? Overnight train in India.Bryan and an Indian lady. In the morning after an all night train ride to Varanasi, India.
Group-Travel Tip Pools and Luggage Men
Finally, we arrived at Varanasi around noon, after a 13-hour journey. We piled out of the train into the bright sunlight with our bags.
Early in the trip, we gave Khush 3,500 INR ($55) each for a tip pool. He used this money to tip on behalf of the group for baggage handling, restaurant service, toilet use, local guides, and the bus drivers and co-pilots. In Varanasi, Khush negotiated with a few men who stood in a close semi-circle near him. Suddenly, they took their tablecloth-sized scarves from around their necks and wound them tall and tight on their heads in one sweeping motion. These three strong men then stacked and carried our suitcases up the stairs ON THEIR HEADS! As with all the money in our tip pool, Khush passed the payment to one in our group, and pointed out the man to pay.
Strong men carry our luggage on their wrapped heads out of the Varanasi Train Station. India.
Also, if you’ve been to India, please leave a comment about your favorite memories and places! I’m dying to go back and would love recommendations.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
After spending the afternoon and sundown atthe Taj Mahal, we celebrated with a big dinner. Tomorrow we would leave Agra via train. We were headed for Holi in Orchha. Tonight was Holi eve, and the streets were active…drums, bonfires, shouting and singing…Oh India!
First, What is Holi?
Holi is the festival of colors celebrating the victory of good over evil, the arrival of spring and end of winter, and is a day to forgive and forget. The festivities last for a night and a day, starting with bonfires on the evening of the full moon day. The next day people throw brightly colored flour-like powder, smearing each other in a free-for-all festival. Anyone and everyone is fair game–friend or stranger, rich or poor, man or woman, kids or elders, locals or tourists. And it can happen anywhere–in the streets, parks, outside temples, train stations, in tuk-tuks…anywhere and everywhere. The Holi color flinging starts at daybreak.
Holi Eve in Agra
On Holi Eve, celebrations in Agra started at sundown with bonfires in the streets, drums and joyful calls of “Happy Holi!” (sounding like “Appy O-lee!”). At dinner, we watched from the restaurant balcony while discussing the purchase of paper-thin, white outfits to wear instead of our travel clothes (350 INR, about $4.50 USD) and a bottle of alcohol to celebrate Holi in Orchha. It was a fun night, sitting there eating and drinking, and jumping up to try on different sizes of white outfits that seemed to materialize in the restaurant. Several of us purchased the long white tunic and pants set for 350 INR (about $4.50 USD). And we collectively bought a bottle of vodka to share.
Taking the train from Agra to Orchha
We left the hotel early the next morning for the train station. Almost immediately after we got to our platform, Khush got hit with magenta by a stranger in the station, his jet black hair now with a large streak of pink.
While we waited, we petted and fed two dogs who were roaming the station. The dogs sat among our luggage, smiling at us and maybe hoping we’d take them with us. And how I wish I could have. Like every poor country in the world, animals in India suffer from hunger, thirst, and cruelty. Please if you go to India, consider taking resources for the animals.
A basic breakfast was included in the train ticket price: “cutlets” (meatless potato sticks), green peas, four (4) french fries, and two slices of bread. An odd combination for me, but when served with coffee while India rolls by my window–I was perfectly happy. That’s the joy in traveling!
Early morning at the train station in Agra, India.A hungry dog at Agra’s train station. India. Stray dogs are common in India. If you are a dog lover, please check out Help Animals India to help.Boarding the train on the morning of Holi. Agra, India.
Tuk-tuks to Orchha
After a 2+ hour train ride to Jhansi, we had a 1+ hour tuk-tuk ride to Orchha. Our group divided into five tuk-tuks and we were on our way. Bryan and I rode with Carina, and laughed like kids as we watched people get hit with Holi colors. All along our route, we saw people splattered with splotches of yellow, green, pink, or purple. It was in their hair, on their backs, and across their faces. Everyone smiled at us with “HAPPY HOLI!” greetings, and gave us mischievous grins as they most certainly were considering sharing some Holi colors with the tourists. Some in our group got a gentle thumb of hot pink color across a cheek and a forehead when a smiling stranger reached into their stopped tuk-tuk.
The tuk-tuk driver takes a call and dodges a cow. Jhansi to Orchha, India.Bryan, Carol, Carina in a tuk-tuk from the Jhansi train station to Orchha Resort, India.
We were on our way to the beautiful Orchha Resort, where some of the rooms are tents. We were anxious to get to our hotel, eat, change into different clothes, put the cameras away, and get colorful!
Happy Holi!
Khush and another G Adventures leader decided it was too risky to take our groups into town where the celebrations were running high octane on alcohol. So we “played Holi” at the hotel. A table was set up in the grassy area just outside our tent, and we all grabbed handfuls of color, chasing and heaving it at each other—running and screaming like kids. Within 10 seconds of walking out of the tent, someone grabbed me and dropped a big handful of green and yellow powder on my head and down my back. Bryan got a handful in the ear. But what fun! And what a holy mess!
As you might imagine, clean up took a long while. Colors stained everything. The white outfit served its purpose and was trashed, and undergarments were permanently stained. Bryan had green powder in his ear for a month. My hair seemed almost blonde with the yellow flour powder. The shower tile turned green and yellow. Pink powder remained on the palm tree outside our tent, and puddles of colors covered the grass the next day.
Happy Holi! Playing Holi in Orchha Resort with another G Adventures group.Bryan and Carol covered in colors after Holi in Orchha, India.Simon stubs a toe at Holi in Orchha. Looked at by Khush and tended by nurse Carina.
Around Orchha
We loved our cozy tent in Orchha. It was equipped with a water kettle for early morning coffee. An AC unit and fan kept it comfortably cool. And it had a bathroom with a big shower. I think I could spend a month of Sundays there.
Our tent at Orchha Resort, on the Betwa River. India. Behind are the Cenotaphs.Our tent at Orchha ResortTypical bathroom equipment in India. Orchha Resort.
After Holi clean-up, we walked to dinner at Ramraja, a small restaurant near Orchha Palace and Fort. They served delicious, home-cooked meals in a cozy, friendly space. Also, they let us lock up our cameras and bags before we went to a temple.
To round out Holi, we attended a Hindu Puja at a nearby temple (Ram Raja). First, we removed our shoes, then walked barefoot into the temple joining hundreds of other people sitting in a courtyard, waiting. The perimeter had grottos with statues encircled by candles. Bells rang, a door opened to a holy man performing a ritual, the crowd chanted “jai ho” with hands up, many lit incense fans, and brought flower offerings wrapped beautifully in newspaper. At the grottos, people received water drops from the River Ganges–the water was placed in their palms to taste and touch to eyes and head. As we left, a line of people pushed through a gated area to get closer to the holy man. And the cries of “Jai Ho” continued.
Orchha’s Cenotaphs
The next morning, we visited the Cenotaphs of Orchha. Cenotaphs are empty tombs built in honor of people buried elsewhere. Here, there are fourteen memorials to the rulers of Orchha, grouped along the Kanchana Ghat of the river Betwa. In this complex near our hotel, we saw nesting owls and vultures. And in the eaves, there were many massive wasp nests–very big…like the size of six-burner-industrial-oven big. As we sat to hear Khush’s stories of India, Hinduism, and the Cenotaphs, we were careful not to sit beneath the wasps…just in case.
Bicycle and Shoes. Entering the Cenotaphs in Orchha, India.Cenotaph in Orchha India.Bryan looks down from a Cenotaph in Orchha, India.Cenotaphs, Orchha India.Panorama from Orchha Palace Fort, India.
Holy Cows
Cows are sacred in India–slaughter is forbidden and eating beef is taboo. Khush explained that cows represent mother, and they are milked even though they wander freely. Despite their exalted status, we saw a man slap a cow in the face at an intersection, and another man hit one with a stick when the cow nosed around the fruit at a market stall. Cows and bulls are everywhere. They stand in traffic, on sidewalks, and roam around in markets. Cows nose through the trash and burning roadside piles looking for food or warmth. They are hungry. Many get sick from eating plastic. The Dalit caste (“Untouchables”), are charged with disposal of dead cows. One night, I dreamed of an endless grass field with freshwater ponds for them–these holy cows.
Cow near a fire burning in the road. As seen from a tuk-tuk. Orchha India.
A Holy Pup and his Not-so-Holy Man
On our way to the palace fort, we came upon a man posing as a holy man with a puppy. The man (who was really more about getting donations for drinking according to Khush) called the puppy “Julie” and was collecting money from tourists for photos.
Later in this very hot day, I saw him walking with the puppy looking wilted in his arms. I asked him if the puppy had water or food. I poured bottled water into my cupped palm and offered it to the puppy. The poor pup squirmed up and raced to drink the water before it dripped away. The old man held his hand beneath mine to help stop the leaking water. I refilled my palm until the bottle was empty. I fussed at the man the whole time…”Take care! This is just a baby. Feed her. Give her water. It’s too hot for her.” I think–I hope–he got the message.
You can’t eat money puppy. Fake Holy Man, Real puppy, Orchha, India.Puppy sleeping. Orchha Palace Fort, India.
Thieving Monkeys
As we entered Raja Mahal, we encountered monkeys…thieving monkeys! They all turned when they heard a plastic bag rattle, and ran at the young man carrying it. He screamed out and tossed his bag of food to another guy to save it. But the monkeys were faster. Two monkeys intercepted the toss, screeching at each other and tearing the bag apart. Snacks rained down. Monkeys mobbed the space, grabbing all they could. A dog ran over, but was one second too late and no match for the monkeys’ greedy hands. Monkeys scattered with their loot. They do not share. One small monkey reached for a bite and was screamed at by the monkey who held the bread just out of the little one’s reach.
Monkey in Orchha Palace Fort, India.Monkey running with his loot at Orchha Palace Fort. India.Thieves! Orchha Palace Fort, India.
Orchha Palace Fort: Raja Mahal and Jahangir Mahal
We spent a quiet afternoon wandering the palace and fort area. The Raja Mahal, built in the 1500s, was where the royals resided until it was abandoned in 1783. It is simple on the outside, but has ornate murals in interior rooms. Later, we sat catching a breeze and watching “holi’d” goats graze at Jahangir Mahal.
Orchha Palace Fort, India.Rachel and Marion with Indian ladies resting in Orchha Palace Fort, India.Everybody participates in Holi. Goat at Jahangir Mahal, Orchha India.A kohl-eyed baby and his mom at Jahangir Mahal, Orchha India.
Later, we watched the full moon rise over the cenotaphs and our hotel’s tents. Tonight we were headed to Varanasi on the overnight train. Stay tuned!
Moon over Cenotaphs, Orchha India.Bryan enjoying morning coffee in our tent at Orchha Resort, India.
Also, if you’ve been to India, please leave a comment about your favorite memories and places! I’m dying to go back and would love recommendations.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
After Jaipur, our next stop was Agra to see the Taj Mahal.
We started our day in our hotel palace, drinking pots of coffee served in proper fine china teacups and saucers and filling up on breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, potato cakes, and a rice curry. Bryan only had a few pieces of toast, still recuperating from yesterday’s Delhi Belly–but feeling much better.
Stepwells
After a few hours on the road, we pulled off to go see the Chand Baori stepwell and the artisan village of Abhaneri.
Khush told us that Chand Baori in Rajasthan, is one of the largest of hundreds of stepwells in Northern India. I had no idea what a stepwell was, so walking up on this gaping hole with steps to the bottom was shocking.
It is a deep open well–very deep, like 10 stories deep–with a pond of green water at the bottom. To access the water for drinking water and bathing, Indians take the terraced, switchbacked steps down, down, down. It is said that flooding on the slippery shores of India’s major rivers was tamed by the construction of ghats, which are long, narrow stairs and landings on the banks. This approach was used to build stepwells to collect precious water in a dry environment. Many of these old stepwells have fallen into disrepair, filled with trash or dirt. But this one survives, though no longer used for water supplies.
Chand Baori, a stepwell near Jaipur, India.Chand Baori, a massive stepwell near Jaipur India.
Bangles
Handmade bangles near Chand Baori, India.
Near the stepwell is the artisan village of Abhaneri. We watched a man work a colorful resin plastic over a thin wire circle, melting and turning it over a small fire until it became a bangle. It is said that it is inauspicious for a married woman to not have bracelets, and multiple bangles are better. Thank goodness for my Cambodian blessing strings and Death Valley ghost beads.
After watching the making of bangles, some of our group tried the pottery wheel at a neighboring shop. Mainly, we laughed. Making a symmetrical pot is not as easy as it looks!
Some of our group shopped for souvenirs. We got some Lay’s Spanish Tomato Tango chips and cokes and settled in for the final leg of the bus ride to Agra.
Making a bangle in India.An artisan shows a nearly completed bangle bracelet, at the artisan village near Chand Baori, India.
On the Road to Agra
Bus rides were story time. And now, Khush was going to tell us the love story behind the Taj Mahal.
Once upon a time, the Mughal emperor, Shah Jahan fell in love with Mumtaz Mahal. He first saw her face when her veil blew up in the wind as she laughed at him. He was bargaining with her in the harem market, and paying a high price to buy a “diamond” of sugar anise cubes. Mumtaz captured the emperor’s heart. They married, she being his first wife (according to history records, she was third). And unlike other women of her day, she went everywhere with him. When she died giving birth to their 14th child, his heart was broken.
Shah Jahan mourned Mumtaz deeply. In 1631, he commissioned the Taj Mahal in her honor and for her tomb. It would be a tribute unlike anything else in the world. It is an exquisite, elegant, delicate, intricate, white-marble confection shining on the banks of the Yamuna River. Khush told us we were traveling on the very road from Jaipur where 1,500 elephants had trudged day and night for 22 years in the 1600s bringing the white marble to Agra for the Taj Mahal’s construction.
We arrived in Agra around 3:15 p.m. and checked into the Taj Heights hotel. After we freshened up, we were told to leave everything behind but our cameras and phones. We were going to the Taj Mahal!
The Taj Mahal
We took a bus to the gates. Khush gave us our tickets, and we waited in long lines—separated by men and women—to go through security. Finally, there it was! We could see the top of the magnificent dome as we approached the East Gate. WOW!–my heart raced, chills ran over my arms, and I smiled all over as I got my first look at the Taj Mahal.
Dream come true: my first look at the Taj Mahal, in Agra, India.The most beautiful building in the world, the Taj Mahal.
Details
The 42-acre grounds are immaculate—clean and lush. There are monkeys living there. And there are crowds, and yet, it’s not really noticed. There’s too much to look at standing before the Taj Mahal.
The building sits on a platform between two other buildings, making large courtyards around the fringes. The foundation is mounted on wooden pillars to serve as shock absorbers in the event of an earthquake, and the four minarets lean slightly outward so that they would fall away from the main structure in a collapse.
There are 28 types of jewels set in the marble, including turquoise from Tibet and jade from China. The symmetrical mausoleum is graced with calligraphy poems, bas relief vines and flowers, reflective tiles, and marble lattice.
Visitors must put footies on over shoes when going into the tomb area. Inside the cool mausoleum, visitors must quickly circle the two faux tombs, placed under the massive dome and enclosed in a cool, smooth white marble screen. Mumtaz’s tomb is dead center beneath the dome. The only thing asymmetrical on the grounds is the tomb of her husband–Shah Jahan was placed beside her. No photos are allowed inside and that is enforced by guards who loudly ask for baksheesh from circling guests. The real tombs are beneath this floor as Muslim tradition forbids elaborate decoration of graves. So the bodies of Mumtaz and Shah Jahan were put directly beneath these faux tombs in a plain crypt with their faces turned towards Mecca.
The Taj Mahal’s minarets lean slightly out intentionally.Calligraphy details on the Taj Mahal.Taj Mahal details–poems in calligraphy, vines and flowers in precious stones.One of the plazas around the Taj Mahal.Pool reflection at the Taj Mahal.The Taj Mahal’s ivory-white marble from Jaipur, carved into decorations resembling wedding cake icing.
Love and Peace
Everyone was in good spirits at the Taj Mahal. Many patiently took turns sitting on the “Lady Diana bench” for photos, and standing at the exact spot to get the perfectly symmetrical photo and reflection. Maybe it was from being around the extreme beauty, maybe it was from the good feelings of the love story, maybe it was the happiness and joy from seeing this amazing structure at least once in a lifetime–whatever it was, the feelings of love and peace were visible. People smiled at each other, helped each other take photos of their groups, and invited strangers into their photos.
Happy tourists at the Taj Mahal.Carol with other happy tourists at the Taj Mahal.Bryan and Carol sitting on the Lady Diana bench at the Taj Mahal.Looking back at the East Gate from the pavilion around the Taj Mahal.The East Gate faces the Taj Mahal.
It is said that grief-stricken Shah Jahan often sat on the banks of the Yamuna River, which runs behind the Taj Mahal, to watch during the 22 years of construction. A rumor circulated that he intended to build a matching black marble structure across from the Taj Mahal. As romantic as that is, nothing substantiates the story.
Panorama of the Yamuna River behind the Taj Mahal.
The Moods of Taj Mahal
I read somewhere that the Taj Mahal is rosy at dawn, pristine white at noon, sensuous in evening shadows, and has a ghostly etherealness under a full moon. We were here in the late afternoon, and stayed through sundown and golden hour.
One of the thousand photos I took of this delicious building.The Taj Mahal goes a little rosy as the sun sets.The light changing on the Taj Mahal. The sun is just down, and the building looks whiter.And the light fades. Good night Taj Mahal.
One last look
We stayed as late as we could, watching the light change, the sun go down, and the full moon rise. I’d once read about a full-moon night tour of the Taj Mahal…and only then did I remember it. How I wished I could stay and walk the grounds at night…and at dawn, at noon, in the rain, maybe all day every day for a spell, maybe eternity. I turned for one last look. Carina and I got a spot—dead center in the alcove of the East Gate—and waited as people exited. We were the last to leave, finally driven out by guards linked in a solid line and piercing our ears with their loud whistles.
Last look at the Taj Mahal.A full moon rises over the Taj Mahal grounds.
On our second day in Jaipur, Bryan woke up early suffering from stomach problems…Delhi Belly! By dawn, he had decided to stay in the room for the day, close to the bathroom. After stocking him up with bottled water, I joined the group for breakfast and a day of touring the Pink City.
To begin, Khush explained that the Pink City was originally yellow. It was painted terra-cotta pink for Prince Albert’s visit in 1876. This “Jaipur Pink” represents welcoming and hospitality, and to this day, is mandated for all buildings in the old city.
Palace of Winds
First, we stopped at the red and pink sandstone Hawa Mahal, or the Palace of Winds. Built in 1799, there are 953 windows with ornate latticework designed to allow palace ladies to watch the street happenings below without being seen. The architectural honeycombs and turrets also allow breezes to pass through, a bonus for the royal ladies during Jaipur’s hot summers.
953 windows were designed to allow the ladies of the royal court to watch the streets below, unobserved behind the delicate latticework at Jaipur’s Hawa Mahal – Palace of WindsIn Jaipur, India at Hawa Mahal – Palace of Winds: The facade seen from the street is essentially an enormous screened porch, one room deep in most places.
Jantar Mantar
Next, we visited the astronomical observatory: Jantar Mantar, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Completed in 1734, this monument is a collection of large astronomical structures. The instruments allow the observation of astronomical positions with the naked eye–measuring time, predicting eclipses, and tracking locations of stars.
Before going in, we met our host, who explained the importance of star study in Indian culture. Next, he went around our circle asking for each of our birth dates and times. With this information, he told each of us a little truth about ourselves. For me: “You rise early, over-think…too much decision? Staying in place is difficult? Yes.” Pause. “But you smile.”
Even on this partly cloudy day, we saw the shadow fall across the world’s largest sundial, the Samrat Yantra—accurately giving the time and date. We watched time pass, as the shadow crept across the stone like an ancient second hand.
The Giant Sundial, Samrat Yantra, tells the time to a two-second accuracy. It stands almost 90 feet tall and its shadow moves about a hand’s width every minute. Jantar Mantar, Jaipur India.Waiting for the sun: some of the G Adventures group and our guide at Jantar Mantar, Jaipur India.Our guide reads Marion’s palm while we wait for the sun.Sun and shadow tell the time at Jantar Mantar, Jaipur India.There are 12 of these smaller structures, one for each sign of the zodiac, Jantar Mantar.Our guide explains the Jai Prakash. A metal plate is suspended over the center of each of the two bowl-shaped hemispherical dials. The plates cast shadows on the marked interior of the bowls, Jantar Mantar, Jaipur India.Detail of the Jai Prakash, at Jantar Mantar, Jaipur India: Steps lead into the bowls and engraved markings coordinate and describe the position of celestial objects.
Arrival at Amber Fort and Palace
After another short ride, we got out of the bus and divided up into jeeps. We were at the Amber Fort and Palace, and we were on our way up to the Lion Gate. It would have been pleasant to walk up, though the incline was steep and the narrow winding streets were filled with traffic. Our jeep caravan stopped in the narrow lane in traffic for about 20 minutes, and kids came out to show us their sparkling, colorful purses and pens for sale.
As we came up to the top, goats were stationed on the rock foundations. Elephants with elaborate face-painting and large platform saddles sadly carried lazy tourists up the hill and into a different gate. There was a wide view of India’s countryside. We walked around the grounds, exploring the alcoves of columns and enjoying the hilltop breezes passing through them.
Amber Fort and Palace and Maota Lake, Jaipur India.Hey Man, enjoying your ride and phone call? Please DON’T take an elephant ride to/from the Amber Fort. Use a jeep instead, or better yet…WALK!Inside the Amber Fort, Jaipur India.Ganesh Gate at Amber Palace, Jaipur India. Workers and tourists in Sheesh Mahal, a pavilion at Amber Palace, Jaipur India.
Into the Rich World of Amber Palace
Moving as a group, we topped the crowded stairs to the shining Ganesh Gate and entered a cool interior. I looked up to see a glowing ceiling medallion. One of the guides explained the design was created from paints made by crushing jewels and stones: the blues are from lapis lazuli, the golds from sulphur and citrine, the greens from malachite, and the oranges from hematite.
We walked around a large, geometric garden. Lush and tidy, and tinkling with fountains, this garden separated the Hall of Pleasure from the Mirror Palace. Built in the 1500s, the Sukh Mahal (Hall of Pleasure) is where the family stayed in hot, humid monsoon season. Water flows through piping and channels to cool the courtyard, and to entertain the harem with the music of the water and the clinking bottles of wine cooling in the streams. Across the garden is the Mirror Palace, used in winter months, when the thousands of little mirrors look like “glittering jewels in candlelight”.
Inside Ganesh Gate, this ceiling design was of paints made by crushing jewels and stones—blues of lapis lazuli, golds of sulphur and citrine, greens from malachite, and oranges from hematite.The ceiling in the Hall of Pleasure. Sukh Mahal, Amber Palace, Jaipur India.Looking over at the Hall of Mirrors from the Hall of Pleasure. Amber Palace, Jaipur India.Inside Sheesh Mahal, Mirror Palace: The mosaics and mirrors have colored foil and glass, and are painted to glitter under candlelight.
A Procession for Wishes Granted
Pots of coconuts and flowers, a procession near Jaipur India.
On the way home, we came upon a loud, happy, colorful procession. Khush explained that these processions were to say thanks for favors given, wishes granted, or prayers answered. First, a truck leads, with speakers blasting music. Then, men and boys follow the truck, dancing and inviting strangers into the procession. Last, a crowd of ladies follows, wearing colorful saris and carrying pots filled with coconuts and flowers. Someone asked if we could stop. Naturally, Khush said yes, and “you will be welcome to join them”. As he said, this crowd greeted us with smiles and absorbed us into their happy midst.
At the head of the procession is a truck blaring happy music and boys dancing. Outside Jaipur, India.Joining the procession in Jaipur, India.Lovely saris, in the back of the procession. Near Jaipur, India.Afterwards, saying goodbye once we extracted ourselves from the procession. Near Jaipur India.
The Water Palace
Next, we stopped at the Water Palace (Jal Mahal) which appears to float like magic on Man Sagar Lake. Built in the 1750s, an astonishing four stories of the palace sit below the water. What magical protection it must have–sitting on the water and not drowning in the lake.
It was here at this stop I met a legless man selling small cast-iron, hand-painted oxen, elephants, and bowls–maybe the India version of the American Indian fetishes I cherish. I leaned over his spread of items, carefully chose one, and he scooted around on his hands to collect my dollar. I picked a small strong white buffalo, painted with a red blanket and face decorations. What strength and fortitude it took for this man to be here, to smile.
The Water Palace (Jal Mahal) floats on Man Sagar Lake
Magic and Protection, Strength and Fortitude
Many times, Khush would bring a few items from street vendors onto the bus as we loaded up to leave a place saying, “Would anyone love to have X for only 50 rupees?” It was a respectful way to support the locals and to give us an opportunity to buy souvenirs. At these times, the vendors stood in a crowd at the door smiling in.
On this day, Khush brought in Raheem—a boy magician. The boy with the beautiful eyes rode with us for several miles, doing shell game tricks on the floor of the bus with three metal pots, a fruit pit, and a clanging metal wand. He spoke a magic spell to pull a coin from Carina’s nose and then one from my knee. When asked, Raheem said he was 6 years old. But, Khush smiled at the boy– doing the Indian bobble-head–while saying “No…he is maybe 8 or 9”. Afterwards, we paid Raheem for his magic show, and the driver let him off the bus a few miles down the road.
Raheem, a boy magician, joined our bus ride for a few miles in Jaipur, India.Similar to an evil eye, many cars have 7 chilis and a lemon strung and hung on their bumpers for protection. Jaipur India.
We were on our way to Jaipur, in Rajasthan India. Our drive from Delhi to Jaipur, known as the Pink City, was a full-on introduction to all the colors of India.
From our big purple G Adventures bus, we watched all the colors of India pass by–how different and boisterous and surprising! Every one of us, glued to a window–absorbing the sights, exclaiming about this or that, and throwing question after question to our leader, Khush. We saw marigolds and perfume bottles sitting on truck and car dashboards, women carrying masses of sticks and wrapped bundles of mustard grass and wheat on their heads, men piled high on truck cargo checking their cell phones and waving back at us, oxen being herded at a rest stop, semi trucks decorated with brightly-colored tassels and “Blow Horn” and “Use Dipper” painted on the back, loud happy music in processions of ladies in red, orange, and yellow saris, indifferent camels, nosy goats, herds of sheep, gangs of monkeys, the Jaipur “bye pass”, and so much more.
Doctor’s Chamber at the crossroad. Jaipur, India.Dog on a park bench, Jaipur, India.
The Bissau Palace Hotel
A few hours later, the bus pulled into a quiet drive and an opulent courtyard. We were checking into the extraordinary Bissau Palace. This beautiful place was built in the 19th century, as the palace for nobleman Raghubir Singhji. The hotel is located just outside the walls of the old pink city of Jaipur. Thirty-six rooms encircle an entrance garden. The courtyard lobby is open to the weather, with seating in nooks and crannies under eaves. Perfect spots for taking tea or coffee and contemplating life. The hotel had a central area with a bar, and a cozy dining room. Old photographs and maps decorated the inner-lobby, accented by the soft glow of a crystal chandelier and lamplight. A library of leather-bound books and velvet-covered chairs and sofas offered a quiet haven to read, and to step back in time.
Panorama of the lobby of Bissau Palace. The Pink City of Jaipur.An old photo of the Raj in the Bissau Palace Hotel, Jaipur, Rajasthan, India.The crystal chandelier at the Bissau Palace Hotel
Room #18
Our room was old, musty, elaborately decorated, and behind dungeon doors. Bryan wrestled with the substantial padlock and the bolt, and finally the several-inches-thick dark wood doors creaked open into a room that was flamboyant, embellished, and gilted in gold wallpaper, hand-painted murals, ancient textiles, old photos, and stained glass. After another struggle with the doors–they had to be fitted together just so in order to close properly–we bolted ourselves in with heavy ornate levers, and got situated.
Room #18 at Hotel Bissau Palace. Ornate wallpaper, murals, old photographs and antique textiles. Jaipur India.Room #18 at Hotel Bissau Palace, looking at the door and stained glass windows. Jaipur India.The door of room #18 at Hotel Bissau Palace. Jaipur. Ornate wallpaper, murals, old photographs. Jaipur India.The door to Room #18 at the Bissau Palace Hotel.
The Old Market of Jaipur
We went for a walk in the busy market area in the early evening until sunset. The contradiction with the world beyond these hotel grounds was clear. The streets were teeming with people and motor vehicles, smog, and haze. Monkeys ran through the branches of trees that bloomed plastic-bag flowers. Dogs nested in trash heaps.
Dogs nesting in the trash, just outside the gates of Bissau Palace Hotel, Jaipur India.Mama monkey chasing her baby. Jaipur, Rajasthan, India.
This was pure senses overload—-a deluge of smells, an abundance of colors, an immersion among so many people, my eyes struggling to see it all at once, my brain grasping to remember each image. No words can describe the assault, the filling up, the discovery, the shock and awe of India at your elbow.
A goat, a man, and hundreds of caged chickens. Jaipur, India.Buying a tray of grains to feed the birds and our souls, a common practice near religious places to bring good karma. Old Jaipur, India.A child grabs an ear of a holy cow in the streets of Jaipur, India.Selling all the colors for Holi. Jaipur, India.Grains and vegetables in the old market bazaar, Pink City of Jaipur, India.Fruit lady and shadows. Jaipur Bazaar, India.If I could photograph smells, you’d be sneezing right now. Peppers. Jaipur, India.A girl stares in the market. Jaipur, India.All the colors of yellow: tumeric grinding in Jaipur, India.
Chai, Samosas, and Death in Jaipur
We saw kohl-eyed kids–the eyeliner is to ward off evil or sickness. We passed sari shops with fabrics in all the colors and every pattern under the sun. Two women sold dung cakes, dried and ready to be used as fuel. Men stood at each tiny shop stall—-each with a specialty–each hawking their wares. We sat for a spell at a chai shop, waiting for its careful preparation while trying to absorb all that went on around us. I looked at our group, every face slackened, all eyes widened, mesmerized. THIS was the magic of travel, found in a moment.
Pink cups in the Pink City. Chai time. In the old market bazaar, Jaipur India.
We passed a street stall selling funeral cots. Hand-held wooden cots the size of a six-foot ladder with shimmering golden cloth hammocks for the bodies to rest. Earlier, we had moved to the side of the street to allow a funeral to pass-—the body wrapped in white muslin and held high on a cot like this. Only men were in the procession. We took no photographs out of respect for the family and the dead person on his/her way to the funeral pyre.
Later, Khush bought us hot samosas from a street vendor. Bryan took a bite and coughed on the intense spice. I gave my intact samosa to the oldest looking of the elderly women sitting on the street curb begging. She took it with both hands and a nod, then gave me a beaming, toothless smile.
Street food in the market bazaar of the old city of Jaipur, India.
Navigating the streets of Jaipur
On the bus, Khush had given us some advice to cross the street in India: “Look left. Look right. Then run for your life.” He wasn’t kidding. At nightfall, we visited a temple and went to a rooftop to look down on a roundabout. With all the honking cars and trucks, shouting rickshaws, weaving motorcycles and bicycles, dodging pedestrians and animals, it appeared to be a moving tangle of madness.
A few minutes later, we joined that madness. Our destination was a garage that had been turned into a dining hall under the stars famous for its tikka. We crossed the street holding hands, and got two-by-two into bicycle rickshaws. Our small loquacious driver randomly screamed out “ooh-la-la” as he peddled and prattled. I counted this as the first of many times we cheated death in India.
Looking down on the night traffic at the roundabout in Jaipur. India.Riding on a bicycle rickshaw in Jaipur’s crazy traffic.
Mornings at the Hotel
We woke early and made our way over to the dining room behind the courtyard. The buffet breakfast served hard boiled eggs, potato cakes, a curry rice mix, jams and breads, and some mysterious fried…meats, vegetables? There were so many things to see in that dining room. I was usually the first one there, and the only one for a while. I wrote in my journal while sipping my way through an entire pot of the very best coffee on our trip. Sublime.
Elephant curtain rod in the Bissau Palace Hotel. Jaipur, Rajasthan India.The best coffee on our trip…at the Bissau Palace Hotel, Jaipur. India.A puppet and the maker, in the courtyard of Bissau Palace Hotel. This puppet came how with us for my Aunt Aline. Jaipur, India.A sweet black street dog in Jaipur, Rajasthan, India.
More to come from Jaipur
There is so much to say about India. All the colors. The smells. The vastly different culture. Please stay tuned for more from Jaipur, the Pink City of Rajasthan India and more from India!
Peeling Coca-Cola wall and fence. Jaipur, India.A motorized rickshaw in Jaipur, Rajasthan, India.
India! The fourth stop on our around-the-world trip was Incredible India. Intimidating India! Crowded, chaotic, contradictory, colorful, captivating, Slumdog Millionaire India.
When we were planning our trip, India was a must. But we wrestled with the idea of going it alone versus taking a group tour. In the end, we decided to take a classic G Adventures small group tour, and WOW!—what a good decision! More on that in a minute. But first, let’s go back to us leaving Cambodia.
Intimidating India
We left Cambodia the afternoon of February 24, with a bit of anxiety. First, we were getting odd responses from other tourists when we mentioned India was our next destination.
“Uff,” one man grimaced like he was watching a car crash, “Cambodia is a party compared to India.” His wife raised her eyebrows nearly to the top of her head while taking a very deep breath, giving a stingy smile and a semi-reassuring, “Dirty place. You’ll be fine. Just don’t get robbed.”
“It’s like the waiter talking to Albert Brooks in Defending Your Life,” Bryan said later, “‘You got 9 days?! Ooooh!'”
Malaysia Airlines
Watching our progress on Malaysia Airline’s seat-back map: Kuala Lumpur to Delhi.
Aside from this omg-we’re-going-to-India anxiety, we were anxious about flying on Malaysia Airlines. In March 2014, one of their jets mysteriously disappeared over the Indian Ocean, and in July 2014 another of their jets was shot down over Ukraine. We sat in the airport in Cambodia and tried not to think about all that.
Turns out, Malaysia Airlines was one of the best airlines we flew on our around-the-world trip. The jet still had that new-plane smell! The on-board stewards/stewardesses were serenely courteous, their uniforms were elegantly beautiful, and the food was filling and tasty. Mecca’s direction was on the flight-info screen for those who needed to pray in the air. We flew for just over two hours from Siem Reap to Kuala Lumpur, and thankfully, no incidents to report.
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia to Delhi, India
During our two-hour layover in Kuala Lumpur, we walked around the posh airport looking for cables to double lock our suitcase zippers (at the cautious advice of a Cambodian traveler who’d been to India). Nada. We managed to order Burger King and a DQ Blizzard despite not speaking Malay, and got a few Malaysian coins in change. I find it disappointing to see the exact same shops all the world over. It takes some of the discovery and surprise out of travel. Globalization — I thanked it for giving me an Oreo Blizzard, and I cursed it for making KUL resemble ORD or LAX or LHR.
On the five-and-a-half hour flight to Delhi, we sat across the aisle from two bearded men dressed in long layered robes–like monks, or Afghan warlords. As they were pulling food and drinks from their suitcases, Bryan got a beer from the steward. The two men stopped and stared, nodded and beamed wide smiles at Bryan, then motioned the steward pointing at Bryan’s beer. A few minutes later, with their beers in hand, the monks waved slices of white bread at us. They were generously sharing their picnic stash. We smiled and gestured to say “no, but thank you” and instead raised our wine and beer cups to toast across the aisle. Toasts, smiles and laughter. That is the joy and wonder of travel. I thanked all those stars in the night sky. All-in-all, it was a wonderful 3,100+ mile day.
Arrival in Delhi
We arrived into Delhi around 10 p.m. We already had visas, so went through a quiet lane of immigration, and walked out into a bright, modern airport. After changing $400 USD to 24k Indian Rupees ($1 USD = 63 INR), we were met by the G Adventures representative, Bhupinder. While waiting for others coming in for G tours, Bryan stocked us up with bottled water and snacks.
I love arriving into a new place at night–it adds an air of mystery. We followed our Women on Wheels taxi driver out of the airport about an hour later, stepping into a smokey midnight. Dogs lay unmovable, curled up and asleep on the sidewalks. The parking lot was crowded and tight. We squeezed in and the young lady driver pulled out.
Traffic was insane, despite the hour. Choking traffic in a lane-less chaotic mess—cars honking to pass, honking when anyone got too close, honking, honking, honking. Overpasses, underpasses, passing trash on the streets, passing crowds walking along the road. In the dark and blinking street lights, I watched the driver’s calm eyes in the rear view mirror–eyeliner, bindi, pony tail. About an hour later, well after midnight, we arrived at Hotel Perfect, in a run-down, dark street.
Hotel Perfect?
At check in, we learned that the hotel had us reserved for two nights ago. We showed our paperwork with this date. He wiggled his head. Was that a no? A yes? Maybe? An impasse? We stood there, tired, no other options. The night manager showed us handwritten notes in a reservation book. Bryan persisted, “Yeah well, we don’t know who wrote that.” The manager made a phone call and gestured for us to sit on the couch in the narrow lobby and wait.
Finally, we got a room. A sleepy, cranky-looking, very thin young man got into the elevator with us and showed us to the room. I got the idea he’d been sleeping in room #313. The twin beds were unmade. The sheets looked dirty, and had an oily feeling. The room reeked of cigarettes. I asked for clean sheets. He left and returned a few minutes later with one sheet and one fleece throw blanket. We improvised bed covers, called home (it was ~2:00 p.m. in Chicago = 1:30 a.m. India), and crashed.
Room #313 at Hotel Perfect, Delhi India.Bryan in our clean Room #205 at Hotel Perfect, Delhi India.
First Impressions of Daytime Delhi
I heard horns and a cooing pigeon. It was daylight and I woke up not sure where we were. A deep breath reminded me. The smell of smoke was overwhelming.
We went onto the roof for the breakfast buffet (200 INR each). The air was hazy from smog. Birds swooped around and chipmunks screeched as they waited for scraps. Bryan talked to the front desk, and we were moved to Room #205. It was cleaner, not smoky, and had more light. Hotel Perfect! 🙂
The books at Hotel Perfect’s reception desk. The breakfast buffet guys at Hotel Perfect. Delhi, India.
Later, we walked out onto the crowded, dirty, colorful, and cooler streets of Delhi. India! Wow! We had drinks and ate spicy-hot pizza at Boheme Bar down the street and had a conversation with a turbaned taxi driver who’d worked in New York City many years ago. We spent that day in Delhi watching the world go by, catching up on sleep, photo downloads, journals, and doing laundry. A wonderful, lazy day in the midst of our long, around-the-world trip, waiting to meet our G Adventures group.
Our local market. Delhi, India.Snickers in India!
Meeting our G Adventures Group
Our G Adventures Group Leader, Khushwant (on the left)
We met our group in the evening of 2/26. There were 12 of us, hailing from the UK, USA, Germany, Canada, and Denmark. Our leader, Khushwant, explained a few things including the likelihood of getting a touch of “Delhi belly”, and how much a little patience and a few smiles would help us enjoy our time in India. Afterwards, we had dinner together at a neighborhood restaurant–with Khush helping us understand the menu. Delicious!
Bryan and I are not typically “group tour people”, but because of how intimidating India was, we signed up for a tour. We chose G Adventures because they had the itinerary we wanted, the timing we needed, a cost we appreciated, and they had good reviews. It was a great group, with a great leader. Khush was a thoughtful, helpful chief experience officer, and he taught us much about India. We’d do a trip like this again in a heartbeat!
India Gate
G Adventures’ big purple bus showed up in the morning to take us to India Gate and on to Jaipur. As we drove through Delhi’s traffic, Khush told us about India–the 6th wealthiest nation and with 1.25 billion people. Corruption and population growth plague India and widen the wealth gap, which is why we see so many expensive cars idling in traffic jams next to families waking up in tent villages under overpasses.
India Gate is a memorial built in the 1920s to honor the 82k Indians who died in World War I. Thirteen thousand soldier’s names are engraved in the stones. This hazy morning could have been today, or a hundred years ago. Crowds arrive. Guards stand watch. Women in orange saris sweep the roads and the grass around the memorial. Dogs wander and some still sleep amidst the people. Men smoke. A snake charmer squats down with his basket and flute. We walked around the memorial, enjoying the sun.
India Gate, a memorial to the 70k Indians who died in World War I. Delhi.A crowd gathers near the Canopy, at India Gate. Delhi.A street dog sleeps comfortably by India Gate on early morning in Delhi.A dog and a street sweeper at the Canopy near India Gate, Delhi.Sweeping the leaves near India Gate.
Delhi to Jaipur
After our stop at the India Gate, we got back on the bus for our five hour bus ride to Jaipur (167 miles from Delhi).
Unbelievable traffic in Delhi, India.Toll booth in Delhi, India.
We passed rich embassy row, and saw more families living in the medians. Street kids with painted-on moustaches contorted and performed like jesters in the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Cows sat on the roads–Khush said the pollution deters flies and maybe makes them a little high. A few hours into our trip, we stopped to use the facilities, at a McDonalds! Later, we stopped to eat lunch at a roadside restaurant. Next door was a small valley, and a hundred cows and “buffs” were herded up and out onto the road as we boarded the bus to leave. Ah India. This was going to be an incredible trip!
Roadside cows and bulls near Jaipur, India.A herder with his cows and bulls on the road to Jaipur, India.Local “bus”. We photographed each other on the road to Jaipur. India.
