Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Updates from Jodhpur

Udaipur to Kumbhalgarh

Little more than 24 hours ago, with energies waning, we wondered about the wisdom of riding any further, as the road seemed to increase in elevation at each twist and turn, and there seemed to be no end to the short, very steep hills. Having made the earlier decision not to stop for lunch in Rajsamand at around 11 a.m., and eating opportunities virtually nil, it was becoming obvious that we were hitting the proverbial wall, a combination of challenging riding and the lack of caloric input. But by two p.m having covered 20kms of easy riding on a two lane road with even a shoulder, the last 20 kms was a single lane road which was fine for two motorcycles passing, but large trucks, carrying massive cubes of marble, to be sliced and polished closer to town, required the entire road surface, which meant getting off onto the gravel shoulders in a hurry.

Just as we were nearing our limits, and having no plan B, since the traffic dwindled to an occasional car or motorcycle, and no sign of habitation in what is essentially a rocky desert, with flashes of green along dry riverbeds, as if a mirage, a small cross-roads stop with a couple of vendors was exactly what we needed. Freshly made fragrant chai, served in tiny glasses and dry biscuits were sufficient to allow us to revive and continue to balance of the journey of some 20kms which as good fortune would have it was mostly down hill. We chatted to the locals and photographed women clad in an array of brightly coloured saris, men in intriguing turbans with curled and twirled moustaches and headed towards our destination.

Perhaps it was this sense of euphoria that influenced me to stay at the first hotel we came across, costing a small fortune compared to our usual expenditures on a room, or a large one in local terms, but when you have expanded nearly all your energies, the comforts of an international class, brand new resort, with rooms carved into the hills, with a cascading infinity pool and a commanding view of the hills below, with a small army of staff to carry bags to the room, and a manager who gave us a very generous discount on learning about my aspirations to organize bicycle tours, is as close to perfection as one can aspire.

Our destinations, the fort of Kumbhalgarh is only four kms from where we are staying, and we decided to spend the day here and enjoy two nights in luxury which gave us nearly a half day to explore the fort itself. Even from the distance, the long winding walls of the fort are evident, and they stretch a distance of 36 kms which apparently is the second longest fortification after the Great Wall of China. The first close view of the fortification can only be described as WOW, fantastic and breathtaking. Situated on a hill at about 3300 feet above sea level, constructed in the 15th century, its like something surreal, and might be a creation of Walt Disney Studios. The walls and ramparts cover the hill and turrets like giant chess pieces shaped like rooks, (no wonder chess was invented in India), against the brilliant blue skies is truly magical. On entering the main gate, it becomes clear that this is a massive settlement, with temples and a series of fortifications within, with spiraling walls and a series of massive gates designed to withstand the forces of elephants, leads one to the top where the royal quarters have the proverbial breathtaking view.

I write about the last day since its freshest in memory but each day is filled with the wonders of the sights and people of India, one as uniquely memorable as the other.

In Udaipur, we decided to walk to Saheliyon-Ki-Bari, an ornamental garden, which one could find in Versailles, built in 1710 for 48 women who were part of the retinue of a princess. This oasis in the hustle and bustle with its flowing fountains is one that was well appreciated.

From the gardens, a rickshaw took us to Ahar, where a security guard opened the entrance to an earily quiet cemetery, at least there were no signs of anyone else, especially tourists, where for the last 350 years, all of the maharajas and princess were cremated, and their lives, commemorated, according to their status, in 250 cenotaphs each an elegant testimony to the person who's life its designed to celebrate. Each is covered with a large white dome, (with a couple of exceptions where the estae ran out of money to complete the monument) supported on intricately carved columns, and they range in size from a one story building like a large a frame to multi-story complexes like mini Acropoli, all densely built against each other. Not since Bagan, Burma, have there been so many monuments in one place, albeit, Ahar is much smaller in scale and the monuments very closely packed, but its impact is equally moving.. Just as were were nearing our solitary walk amongst the monuments, a young man appeared, who as it turns out is the fifth generation descendant of the person who is responsible for the cremations, and he not only gave us a detailed description of the death ceremony, but took time to show us some of the details of each cenotaph, and the history of some of the more significant ones, the largest being for the maharajah who died in 1620.

The road out of Udaipur was eventful only to the extent that the traffic was manageable, and the for a distance of about 20kms it seemed as if was lined solidly, on both sides, by places selling and/or fabricating marble of various colours, ranging from white, black, greens, pinks and browns. The prevalence of marble, and one can only assume that its inexpensive explains why marble seems to be a common construction material on floors, tables, walls even in simple retail kiosks and in the places where we stay.

Eklingji is a temple complex of 108 small shrines, which was started in 734, but the extant part is from the mid 15th century. Its a walled mini-complex of worship and education, each shrine uniquely carved and of various shape and size. As is the custom at each temple, offerings of freshly woven garlands of flower are sold by women at the entrance for the equivalent of about 5 cents and are given as offerings.
I could not help but to smile as I noticed that the offering were collected, and they were discreetly handed to a person through a small opening in an elaborately carved wall made of solid silver, to be rushed to the front of the temple. Clearly, conservation through recycling has a long history.

In Nathdwara, which barely deserved mention in Lonely Planet, we discovered a very vibrant spread out community that draws thousands of pilgrims to its 17th century temple, which is open only for a half hour a few times a day, and the anxious supplicants wait patiently at the entrance, to rush in when open, the crushing sea of humanity is not unlike the pictures of crowds emerging from crowded subway stations in major cities. The chanting and singing is as intense as the desire to enter this place of worship. This temple being off the tourist path, is surrounded by a maze of narrow streets with merchants offering colourful momentos to the locals and blissfully ignoring foreigners like us. While wondering through the narrow streets, a wedding procession lead by a clarinet playing pied piper took us to a colourful ceremony,

In Rajsamand, we enjoyed a similar temple to Nathdwara, as well as the tranquil lake which resulted from a damn being erected by one of the local rulers. The object of worship is a black Krishna image which is housed in the temple built in 1669. The priests treat the black Krishna like a beloved child – bathing it, feeding it, dressing it and waking it from its siesta at 3:30 which is the busiest time to visit.

Tomorrow we head towards the lowland town of Ranakpur, and whatever surprises that lie ahead.

Namaste, which is a common respectful greeting here. As is 'ta ta', which dawned on me is also the name of TATA one of the largest industrial enterprises in India, which I just read now earns 65% of its revenues outside of the country.

The magic and mystery tour continues.

Love and Peace

Kumbhalgarh to Ranakpur

Two nights in the comforts of a luxury hotel, and the benefit of an immense buffet breakfast, the ultimate boon to cyclists, did not seem to be sufficient prelude to tackle the hills as we left in the morning, and in fact it appeared that the hills were getting steeper and longer, not an uplifting way to start the day.

It also did not help that both of us have been fighting minor ailments. Within a week of arrival in Mumbai, I developed a sinus infection, which each day I had hoped, with the help of antihistamines would abate, but with the constant in and out of air-conditioned buildings and buses, the dust and fumes along the road, seems to have gotten progressively worse. Now that we have been in the clean mountain air for a couple of days, I am hoping that I will start to feel better, since I don't need any help of drugs at the end of the day to fall asleep. Alison, has also developed a sore throat and some congestion, but is starting to feel better.

After about 20kms mostly climbing, and arriving at a town not on our maps, it became clear that we have reached a peak, and the road for the next 25kms was like a tightly wound coil with twists and turns, all heading down hill. It was early afternoon when we reached our destination, the famous Jain Temple, called Chaumukha Mandir, built in 1439. On arrival, tired and grimy after a challenging day of riding, we were told that the temple is only open between noon and 5 pm, so with rented lime green pants to cover our legs, we entered the temple to once again be awestruck by magnificence. At the risk of being repetitive, once again the adjectives were insufficient to describe the effect of the temple, built entirely of milk-white marble and a series of soaring domes supported by 1,444 columns, non of which is alike had on us. Each pillar is intricately carved with various human and animal shapes and themes the totality of the effect of which is like any of the major cathedrals of Europe, except that this edifice is older and much more compact and ornate, without the feeling of being kitsch. There are also idols, brass bells and drums and the cool serenity and the simplicity of the structure is truly captivating.

The second,much smaller temple in the complex was equally interesting and provided an appealing backdrop to the main temple. As the day was coming to an end, with sunset around 6 pm, and dark descending quite precipitously, we began a search for the night's accommodation. The first place while very near the temple which I already decided needed a second visit, was too institutional in feel, the second, while highly recommended by Lonely Planet seemed disjointed, and the third, set in a lovely garden with a central eating area looked inviting even from the road. Ours is a huge room with white granite floor framed in emerald greens and the walls painted with elephants and some local scenery. At one fifth of the price of our previous night's stay, its not only appealing but highly affordable. The service once again was impeccable, with four young men competing to carry our gear and one insisting on riding one of the bikes up to our room, which overlooks a small terrace and abuts the garden.

As we are in a valley the vegetation is more abundant and families of monkeys are all around, as are countless birds and parrots of various colours and shapes and to our surprise, numerous peacocks with full plumage. The main road is covered with a canopy of eucalyptus trees and of course there are the ever present cows, bulls and and sunset, herds of them and goats are shepherded home. Altogether a very idyllic setting and we spent the day riding to the nearest settlement and visiting the temple in the morning and evening light. The night sky is brilliant with stars and a skinny mood, with no nearby city lights to dull their effect.

The temperature during the day is in the low 30's but as yet does not feel that hot, since there is a cooling wind, a lingering effect of the cool mornings, which my thermometer indicated was about 12 degrees. As such, its ideal sleeping temperature, with no cooling of a fan or air conditioning required.

Tomorrow we head towards a town called Pali, not on the tourist circuit, but with some input from a very enthusiastic, warm, gracious local businessman who not only drew roads that are not on our map, but suggested places to stay, not only enroute, but in Judpur in a hotel owned by his uncle we are well prepared for our journey over the next few days. In the true spirit of tribal hospitality, he gave us his cell number and urged us to call if we needed any help during our stay and to visit him and family in a few days time when he expects to be home. He also gave us a written introduction to his brother, who is the Deputy Inspector General of Police, of a nearby city, which reads “Mr. Andrew is known to me personally. If they happen to have any need or are in any difficulty, please do the needful....”

Jodphur 1

If there is one overriding impression of India, is that its a constant of contrasts and one can never anticipate how events my change, almost instantly. Perhaps it all began when we were briefed by a Canadian trade official, who described India in similar terms, including the slums that are very much evident in Mumbai, as being pretty bad on the outside, but that they are quite nice on the inside. This statement might be true, but I suspect that this official was never inside the “home” of a slumpdweller, and since I have only cycled past them, its possible that the inside of dwellings made of scrap pieces of metal sheeting, plastic tarps, or cardboard boxes have a simply more attractive on the inside, but not having personally looked at these from the inside, I cannot attest to their state, but can make an educated guess.

We were also told by a number of people, that the government build houses to relocate the slum dwellers, but that the people who lived in the slums, move to the new housing and continue to rent out their slum dwellings. Its also told that some slum dwellers are simply awaiting to be bought out by developers who are about to build gleaming high-rise offices or condos and that some slum dwellers, or the mafia organizers, are paid as much as $300,000 to move and permit such new construction. I can well imagine that some or at least a few have been paid such large sums, but given that 70% of the people in Mumbai live in slums, it would make them incredibly wealthy if all their dwellings were worth such a large sum. So, after a while as a traveler one becomes accustomed to seeing gleaming new buildings next to paper shacks, shinny new cars with chauffeurs in the midst of shoeless pedestrians, modern factories with high security fences and proclaiming the latest ISO standards in the midst of arid agricultural tracts with a farming implement being pulled by hand or an oxen.

Yesterday, we were within about 20 kms of Jodhpur when I earlier described seeing a sign to fort about 9 kms off the main highway. What was not said is that the highway in places had an endless stream of trucks and buses each trying its hardest to pass the other, and relying on the request on their backs to “honk OK” or “please honk” etc. The constant occupation of both lanes of the highway means that as a cyclist, the prudent thing is to get off onto the soft shoulder to avoid the fate of roadkill. After a while, and with constant attention, the skills of avoiding passing traffic coming directly at you, becomes routine and acceptable, and all in good spirits, since each passing vehicle, in both direction gives a celebratory wave, flicked of the headlight and/or smile, wave of the hand and/or a loud blast of its horn as it passes by, as if we have just been inducted into their realm of surviving road warriors.

The contrast that I am pointing to is not so much the expectations of riding in my country, with its own hazards of the road, where cars travel at much higher speeds and cyclists are usually not acknowledged any way, but the side road leading from the main road. This was a one lane affair, with virtually no vehicular traffic at all and the hazards to contend with were herds of cattle, goats and the occasional stray cow, dog or peacock that decides to checkout the foreigner cyclists. The peace and serenity of riding in silence, with people in the fields waving, saying hello is like entering a quiet sanctuary from a battlefield. The riding is effortless and arriving yesterday at the restored fort, converted to a fine hotel just added to the feeling serenity.

Jodhpur, famed for its fortification, that dominates the entire town, built into and on top of its hill in the 1500s, is probably the most chaotic and polluted place on the planet that I have had the displeasure of experiencing. It did not help that arriving around noon, with the blazing sun, checking out the international tourist bureau at the train station that had no useful or otherwise information and that four or five hotels were either full, had room only for one night or were not inviting, such that it took about three hours of fighting heavy traffic, noise and unbelievable pollution, before finally settling on a small hotel, sufficiently removed from the core, to provide some peace and a bit of air to breathe and all along, having had nothing to eat. Then, just before its closing time of 5 pm we decided to inquire at the other tourist office to again experience receiving virtually no useful information, but a couple of good maps and as the sun was starting to set, we were mysteriously drawn by the red sandstone clock-tower in the distance, with its chaotic, vibrant Sadar outdoor market, nourished only by a small packet of roasted peanuts, we walked the streets and only as the sun was setting that we finally settled on a restaurant, nearly 12 hours after breakfast. But such is India, that despite all the commotion and lack of food in our case, it is so captivating that eating somehow becomes secondary to the totality of the experience.

November 25

Jodhpur 2

India continues to amaze and in particular the fortification of Mehrangarh, started in the year 1459, which we first got a glimpse of in the dense smog, yesterday afternoon. Today the air seems to have cleared a bit and approaching the fort from a motorcycle rickshaw, we were immediately struck by the immensity of the edifice, as it grows organically from the rocks on which it was built and the actual scale of the construction only becomes fully apparent, standing in front of its main gate, feeling like a small ant, facing a giant dwelling. The hill is some 400' in height and the sheer wall and the massive fortification, and the intricacies of its construction is truly mesmerizing. The actual battlements are from 20 to 100 feet high and there is a clear view of the 5km winding road leading up to the entrance, putting in perspective how the fort dominates the entire azure blue town below. As if needing a reminder a sign said “to breath the clean air here” in between breaths of awe.
It took over three hours to follow the excellent audio guide through the fort and the palaces of the maharajah above. The fort was never taken in battle and the entire experience transported us to a time when no time, money or energy was spared to build a lasting testament to living in safety, in honour and of course luxury. Words and time prevent a fuller description and perhaps some of the photos to be posted later will capture the experience more fully.

Quick Notes
One obvious and striking feature of riding in Rajasthan, especially through the desert and near desert in the dry season, is the stark contrast between the arid, and often colourless landscape of yellow and browns with a smattering of greens and the brilliantly coloured clothes of the women, who wear saris of reds, pinks, yellows and brown, and are usually adorned by jewels and their head is covered from time to time, and men, with bright red, orange, yellow and white turbans, which are radiant against their faces which often sport long curly mustaches, and flowing white beards.

I passed a bit of a milestone, when my computer turned 65,000 kms a 1000 multiple of my age. It makes me wonder, since I am unlikely to reach the age of 100 how much cycling I will have to do to reach the 100,000 km mark?

A couple of days ago, we passed through the small village of Rohet, which according to our guidebook is where Bruce Chatwin, an eccentric Englishman wrote Songlines, one of my favourite books about the Australian aboriginals and how they have a way of navigating through features on the landscape and recording the oral history through songs. I can imagine that the similarities of the land and its features might have accounted for Chatwin selecting this small village with a converted heritage hotel.


Monday, November 23, 2009

In the desert

I still cannot post updates from my memory stick, but the journey continues and each day is a revelation.

This very brief update comes by way of a cell phone connection and a very sticky key board, but the journey is as exciting and exotic as i could every have imagined.

About 20kms from our intended destination, Joghpur, a small sign said 9kms off the higway is Fort Chanwa Luni, and inquiries from the truck stop where we were having a simple lunch of rice and dahl confirmed that it had rooms available.

A brief phone call confirms that this is ultra luxury with prices to match but my negotiating skills with taxes, meals included, made it affordable.

and what  place it is. As the sign said, its 'a jewel in the desert' a 200 year old pinkish sandstone fort restored with modern facilities, including a swimming pool!

Before this trip I had business cards printed, to indicate the seriousness of my business of bicycle touring, and gave myself the title Chief Explorer and this trip, with decisions taken on the spur of the moment. I am starting to feel, I am living up to my own description.

Wishing you all, your own journeys and exploration,


Monday, November 16, 2009

Mumbai to Udaipur

I fully intended to do an Andrew & India, a la Julie & Julia which I saw and thoroughly enjoyed while flying over the Atlantic or was it the Arabian Sea, the experience of which has now faded into some almost forgotten recess of my memories, since so much has happened and it seems that the alignment of the stars is not auspicious for me to maintain anywhere near a daily journal that I would like.

This morning we woke in Udaipur, and the fact I had to ask Alison whether it was our first or second nights' stay, is just one indication of how consuming the experience of traveling is and the futility of trying to keep the sounds, smells, tastes and the ambiance in focus and then to recall it so it has some coherence on some regular basis.

Perhaps its like all the electronic gear that we are carrying, netbook, cell phone, two cameras with spare batteries, all of which seem to get drained much faster than anticipated such that the logistics of finding enough converters and plugs, and their timing, is a challenge not unlike that of eating, sleeping and finding time for the psychological recharge of ourselves after only a couple of days of being away from Mumbai. As well, the netbook, with only 256mg of RAM and a small memory bank, is processing the experience as slowly as I am given the amount of information that has to be processed and stored.

Not that I am complaining, as I am typing these notes on the roof-top restaurant of our hotel with a commanding view of the city and the eastern walls of the City Palace, the building of which started in the 1559 and which is at 244m the longest palace in Rajasthan. The palace is like a fairy tale castle with turrets, terraces, pavilions, courtyards and endless room, built of mostly marble and decorated with frescoes, tiles and mirrors, as impressive as anything I have seen, and so captivating that we, quite uncharacteristicly hired a guide and then went back on our own in order to try to absorb some of the details on our own. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Perhaps its the contrast between the opulence of the palace and its solitude, that stands in contrast to the the rest of India. Everywhere there is an overflow of energetic activity, organized chaos like a Jackson Pollock painting. The rooftops are of all sizes and shapes and colours not like the blue fringed white buildings one seas overlooking the Mediterranean, or in Obodos, Portugal. But if compensation were needed, there are large curly tailed monkeys jumping from trees to trees to roof and doing their daily grooming.

The roads despite the apparent chaos has its own flow and order. Most cars and truck, three wheels motorcycle rickshaws, have no side view mirrors, which have been folded, broken or taken off, to permit close passing in the heavy trafficked, narrow streets. AS well, many trucks carry “please horn” or “horn ok please” indicating the expectation that the vehicle in the rear, would honk if it intends to pass. Of course, everyone is in a hurry, and the honking rises the more pressing the need on the part of the driver in the back to get ahead.

On arrival at our luxury hotel in Mumbai, dressed in our best cycling and train travel gear, we got some inquisitive looks from the staff, which turned into warm smiles when I produced the receipts for our two bikes and one very large suitcase and a bag. With three hotel staff helping with our gear, we descended to a fairly sheltered and secluded driveway on the side of the hotel, and within an hour, much to the amazement of a large group of onlooking staff, who could only smile and shake their heads in disbelief when we told them of our plans, we were ready to ride. They were clearly appreciative of our plight when I procured a couple of 200 ml bottles of drinking water, as they produced about a dozen similar bottles on their own for us and helped fill our four large water bottles.

Heavily loaded, the bikes felt like unruly horses, which after a few minutes of riding become much more comfortable and the 10km ride to the Bandra Train Terminal seemed nearly effortless. The ride itself was easy; finding the termianl with the “help” of various locals, who seem to point left and indicate right etc. less so, but I had been expecting this, since on the business portion of our trip, with a bus driver, a helper, a representative of the tour company and a native Hindi speaking Canadian businessman on the bus, we were a half an hour late to a well-known landmark building, due to directions such as the building is “just behind” etc.

The train ride from Mumbai was also eventful, not so much for the fairly comfortable sleeping arrangements, with two sleepers above each other, but as always the sites, the people and the food.
A young group of business men and women going on a company environmental effort to plant trees were more than happy to use their English and exchange views on lives etc. wirh us.They renamed us Asha and Anand, hope and happiness respectively. Incidentally, our new names come in handy since it gives us a degree of familiarity with the locals, whenever the question “what's your name” or “where are you from” is used as the opening gambit of a sales pitch or a genuine effort on someone's part to know where we come from.

While there is no official dining facility on the train, at each stop, and there were plenty on this what we thought was a one stop express train, a group of vendors offered drinks, scalding hot chai, iced juices and water and snacks of various types. And once I figured out that the train like an ocean liner gives a loud blast on leaving, and accelerates rather slowly, there were kiosks offering the most fragrant samosas and other similarly fried dough with fillings ranging from aromatic potatoes, lentils, chick peas the names of which escape me and cost the equivalent of 5 to 10 cents each. Only once did the train leave without fanfare but fortunately I was able to hop on the moving platform.

Uncharacteristically again, I had pre-booked three night's accommodations in Udaipur with an international travel agency and again after assembling the bikes, we found, after considerable effort, the right place only to be told that they had no record of our reservations, that the hotel was full and that it was for Indians only. As is the case in most situations, we had at one time four people calling the booking agent when out of the blue a well-dressed young man on a motorbike arrived and told us to follow him to the right hotel some five minutes away. Weary of touts, I am still not a hundred percent certain that we have not been scammed, but the place has most of our requirements: reasonably clean, beds with mattresses, hot water, a European style toilette and even a TV WITH remote, which we have yet to use.

We have also yet to turn on the AC as we slowly buy into the notion that its winter here and if we needed a reminder a couple minutes from our hotel is a seasonal outdoor Tibetan market selling heavy woolens, coats, hats, etc to the clambering locals who can be seen early in the morning and evenings wearing their winter woolen sweaters, jackets, ear muffs in 20 degree weather. During the day it is brilliant sunshine, with temperatures in the low to mid 30's

As hot as it is in the sun, I have now had to move to a cooler shady corner of the restaurant to be near the electric plug to charge the machine and to have my second cup of hot chai to energize me.

As for Udaipur, its a bustling city with narrow curving streets with countless stalls of merchants any unsuspecting tourist could dream of. The town is painted a rainbow of pastels and has the feel of mid-eastern bazaar from the middle-ages, with traffic of cars, motorbikes, buses, bicycles whizzing in each directions, interspersed by cows that amble along like bored shoppers, donkey carts and occasionally a camel rider with fluorescent turban and even an elephant from time to time. The street is where everything takes place:trading, to cows urinating, dogs fornicating, pigeons dropping. The resulting noise, dust and the attending aromas are part of the captivating aura.

From Clark Kent, to cyclist, it now feels as if I am making a minor transformation to Hemingway, but there is far more to experience than the inclination to write, but there will be more including hundreds of photos to be sorted and processed.


But its really the people that make the place. A smile always begets a smile, even from a beggar, and a brief no to a sales-pitch meets with no resistance, and all is well.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

From Mumbai

Why is this trip different from all of the the other trips you might ask as I sit by the open window of a six story building with a commanding view of rooftops and the sea, almost at the southern most tip of Mumbai, as we are experiencing the spray of rain and the cooling effect that comes with it, which is not only what the locals call a post monsoon rain, supposedly an extremely rare event, but a genuine cyclone named Phyan. Perhaps the main message that is continuously being reinforced for me is that one should always expect the unexpected and as a rule this seems often to be the case and that this is a land of surprises as well as one of constant contrasts.
The “business” portion of our trip ended successfully, early this morning and we can now look forward to shortly, getting on our bikes. But as I look back, I am less clear about the future and how and in what direction our travels will take place, as I am acutely aware of being in India.
As an example of what I am stating think of as Indian influences, is that we left our last meeting in Pune at 4 pm anticipating to arrive in Mumbay, after a 25 minute flight to cover 180 kms around 6:30 pm. Due to a plane missing the end of a runway in Mumbai, caused by heavy rains, in this the dry season, our flight did not land until around midnight, to be then told that there were NO taxis available, because of the rain. As it turns out estimates of the driving time would have been between three to six hours to cover the 180 kms, but in India, in hind sight, our more predictable choice to fly, was clearly the wrong bet. Its also worth noting that on a good, dry, sunny day, on relatively uncongested roads, I might have cycled the distance in the 8 hours it took us to fly.
At this point, why is this trip different than all the other trips, is weighing on my mind. On arrival, in our 5 star hotel, two porters carried our bikes to the baggage area, having been transported in style on arrival by porters who could not be dissuaded and on a minibus for 12 to accommodate four people and the two bikes. On the second day, I checked out the bikes, which were in heavy duty plastic bags, to discover that unlike all the other times when we transported them in this manner, my bikes rear wheel in profile looked like a figure eight.
The concierge called several bicycle shops, the first one did not seem to know about metric wheels sizes, so I chose the second, that seemed to understand that I would in all likelihood require a new rim.
I elected to travel by auto rickshaw, to the dismay of the Marriot taxi pool, to the bike shop. The first few drivers would not take me, even though the destination was nearby and I had written directions. As I discovered on my return trip that I do not have the requisite Mumbai accent, and my presumption that the drivers read, was sadly mistaken.
The bike shop made my heart beat, as it consisted of a very narrow store front, off a long dusty driveway, off the main drag, which displayed a dozen or so heavy duty single speed bikes, with an outdoor repair stand. After “explaining” the obvious, I was assured that a repair will be undertaken in about an hour or so's time.

An hour later, flag down a young fellow on a dashing North American racing bike who I soon discovered was the service manager of the local Trek bicycle dealership. I ask him about the availability of rims for my bike, and he tells me that it would be a special order needing about a week to ten days to arrive. Since he was clearly a bike expert and appreciative of my plight, we went together to the person repairing my wheel and the two agreed that while badly bent, the repair should suffice, and an hour later I am back at the hotel baggage room reassembling my bike and that it will be serviceable for distance ahead. At this point I can only hope that the planets and stars are properly aligned with my spokes and that the wheel will turn in its destined path, for the alternatives are residing on another part of our planet, which perhaps explains why I have yet to see another multi-speed bike in India.
The plan is to retrieve the bikes and bags left at the luxury hotel early Friday morning, camp out somewhere to assemble the bikes and our belong and to take an overnight train to Udaipur later that afternoon. Hopefully by then the seasonal weather will have returned and the only thing to contend with will be what to do with all of our belongings and riding the eight or so kilometers from the hotel to the train station and deal with the usual masses of humanity, check the bikes etc. when we are told can take several hours. Did I mention that the concept of time is also different here?
Unlike all of our other trips, without the benefit of a bent rear wheel, we would assemble the bikes at the airport and ride to the city of our destination. Having had the benefit of traveling with two large suitcases to accommodate not only gifts, people in India love Canadian maple syrup and various papers we were carrying, we also had to have appropriate clothes for our stay, and in the process, we have followed Muphy's Law packed more that we would have otherwise.
With a heavy hearth but a hopefully lighter bike, I will leave behind my suit and dress-shirts, ties, shoes etc. but in the leaving I am feeling an anticipated sense of loss. Yes, some local person who has much less than I will be delighted by the hand-me-downs, but perhaps deep in the psyche there is a realization that perhaps I am not quite Clark Kent to be transformed into Superman but only an actor who was dressed as businessman soon to become one portraying a cyclist, in strange colours carrying his own gear that no self-respecting local person, certainly not one of our means would do in a country where the middle-class is used to having up to five servants, to clean, wash, drive, organize etc. but that and the issue of poverty, which is entirely too evident amongst the obvious wealth here, will require more time and reflection.

Stay tuned.

photos below

Friday, November 06, 2009


This is becoming a trip of many first, not the last of which is loading photos enroute.

While its not the "whoah  baby I ain't never done nothing like that before" experience of the now infamous Ike of Ike and Tina Turner fame, it does have its challenges, as practically everything practical that one does, especially in India.

There is the general issue of just having virtually no time on this tour, which thus far is a business trip with days that start at breakfast and end with after dinner drinks with way too much just sitting and eating. The fact that this is a netbook, of couple of years' vintage, quite sufficient for email, but given its relatively slow processing speed, low resolution screen, combined with photos of giga bites of megapixels, slow wireless networks etc. and the fact that all of the items mentioned above, including uploading to the site are basically firsts for me, leads to want to consign all of the above to the new heading of paperweights.

So, below is a weblink, to some of the photos so far, unedited and without captions...surely they will improve, certainly by the time we return in spring time in Toronto?

As always, your comments and feedback add energy to my efforts

First Impressions

Sitting in a king size bed, in a 5 Star hotel, Juhu Beach, Mumbai, India after traveling for 24 hours and spending the day in business meetings, its almost possible to forget that I am in another world..I know I am jet lagged and sleep deprived, and that it is early days in the adjustment process, but already the contrasts are feeling a bit over whelming.

It was four a.m. local time when we finally made it to bed and breakfast at 10, seemed but s flash away, And since two of the others in our business group wanted to see the main tourist sites, we did so with a car . It was a Sunday and all the locals were out in full force which made the experience more comfortable as there were no busloads of internationals following various coloured flags beseeching their flock to follow them.

It could also have been the fact that due to last year's terrorist attacks, the windows of the Taj are still boarded up, and there is a very heavy security presence in our hotel, the tourists have not returned. While the city looks and feels safe, and according to the business people we met things are back to normal, I still find it un-nerving when our car, entering the hotel grounds is search with bomb detecting equipment and a dog, and each individual's bags goes through an airport like security check.

Leaving the hotel to go to the beach, we sign out and we return through a well fortified door, in medieval like fortress wall, with armed guard, only to again go through the security process. Still, the beach teaming with people and vendors selling food and offering children's amusement was warm and welcoming, reinforcing the sad truth that a handful of terrorist can hold a city racing towards a population of 20 million, hostage. Unfortunately, the same can be said of and experienced, everywhere in the world.

There are the usual indicators that this is a city the is living in the past, present and the future. The obvious evidence of poverty are telling of the past, the glittering stores which could be anywhere in the world the present, and a company like Tata, a gigantic, world wide conglomerate that is truly in the future, delivering cars for the price of an entry level Canadian racing bike.

I am sure it will take a long time to integrate the experience, but a couple reflections are worth repeating. While driving along an area where the walls were overtaken by grafitti artist, whose images are the message, there was one fairly crudely painted slogan that continues to reverberate through my mind: “keep you coins, I want change” which of course can be interpreted on so many levels.

Even the business section here can be thought provoking.. The headline proclaims “Planet positions hostile for rally in equity market”.After an erudite discussion of Moon-Jupiter, Sun-Mars, Venus-Jupiter influences, etc.the columnist, having written the mandatory 800 or so words, a practice that is something no doubt shared by market prognosticators every where, there is the need for a conclusion which in this case is that while “medium term bias remains bearish, we cannot rule out the possibility of range-bound trading, with a day or two of solid gains” Clearly the jargon of business journalists share a common planet since I am very much used to reading at home, at the end of many a thoughtful discussion concluding that markets may go down, fluctuate at current levels, or they may go up.

In a world of uncertainty I am sure that India is and will be colourful, dynamic, exciting and never boring, and I feel blessed by my lucky Stars that I will have five more weeks to experience it all.