bonnieheather

Back again. Here's Uttaranchal- part 2
Breakfast and dinner are served buffet style at the Holm Farm Hotel. The hotel is small and no doubt a full menu would be too costly to support, but this suited us just fine. There was a meat dish and several vegetarian options, all Indian, for dinner, as well as soup, rice, bread and condiments. Not sure if there would be anyway to cater to a request for western food. But, hey, who comes to India without a desire to gorge on all the Indian food they can get? I can’t say it was spicy enough for any of us, least of all my asbestos-mouthed husband, but it was ample and quite tasty. That first night, after a satisfying meal, which we finished off with gulab jamun and tea, we went out to enjoy the cool evening. Ram made sure we had an uninterrupted flow of drinks, while we luxuriated in our good fortune. This amounted to summoning the member of the hotel staff who had been assigned to take care of our welll-being. The personal attention was wonderful. As this had been an unexpected stop, we had no plans for the next day, but we all agreed that we should rise early and not waste a minute of precious time. So, off to bed – and what a pleasure to snuggle down under the covers, after the unbearable heat of the past few days.

Mike and I were up before dawn. We were anxious to see the Himalayas in all their glory – perhaps with some snow on them, like in the postcards at the hotel. It was a beautiful morning, and the sun came up just fine. But where had the mountains gone? The night before, we had seen the tantalizing outline against the evening sky. I blinked. Rubbed my eyes. Nope, they weren’t there. The closer range was there, but not even a hint of the distant peaks. We began to imagine that we had ever seen them. It turns out that there is a small window of time when they are visible during the day – “November”, I think the desk clerk said. Apparently the humidity and low-lying clouds completely obscure the view the rest of the year. Well, at least we weren’t going crazy. We’ll have to plan a winter trip and make use of the fireplace in the room as well.

The breakfast buffet offered eggs, toast, paratha, some kind of hot cereal as well as juice, tea and coffee. Not extravagant by any means, but enough to keep us until lunch. The cool was beginning to vanish, so we needed to get on the move. Near the hotel there was a walking track, which apparently led to some “gardens”. It was going to be about 5k, so we’d best get moving. Ram would meet us at the other end, and then we’d go into town for lunch. I’m not sure whether it was the sight of two westerners who looked like they might not make it to the end of the road (we are in fact in much better shape than our portly bodies portray), being led by a blind Indian, but our keeper was not comfortable letting us wander on our own, and insisted on accompanying us to a point at which we supposedly couldn’t get lost. “Just follow this path until you come to a concrete path, turn left….” The hotel dog also came along. We felt some comfort in this – he’d know the way.

It was probably an hour later that we felt a growing suspicion that we had done something wrong. Granted, we’d been walking slowly, enjoying the massive and varied trees, the occasional vistas, taking pictures. The path had changed to stone blocks, but there was no concrete in sight. And where was the dog? Probably sniffing the flowers in the garden we were trying to find. Despite the shade of the forest, it was also getting hot. We hadn’t brought enough water, either. However, there was no choice but to keep going. Just as we were about to despair, we came to a road. Well, at least it was paved, so we turned left. We found a rather formal looking research building, but no one was around to help. Just ahead was another smaller building, set in a terraced field. Perhaps this was part of the gardens we were seeking. We had just begun to investigate, when Mike let out a yelp. He had walked straight into the metal edge of a greenhouse’s overhanging roof – a jagged, rusty edge – and had sliced his head open. More than the “ouch” factor, we were concerned about getting the wound clean. While he was nominally up-to-date on his tetanus shot, I knew full well that was no protection against a general infection. It was less than helpful, that there was little self-cleansing blood – aren’t all head wounds supposed to bleed profusely? So there he was, hot, tired, dehydrated, in need of first aid supplies. We called Ram - he could meet us. Oops, I’d left my cell phone, with Ram’s number in my contact list, in the room. Jags didn’t know Ram’s number. He called his niece, Munni. What a comedy of errors. Finally we reached Ram. Fortunately he had a first aid kit in his car. He was at the entrance to the gardens, but where were we? We were next to some academic research building…somewhere. He said he’d find us. Minutes seemed like hours. Mike, never one to sit around, decided to walk down the road, to see if Ram were waiting at a different spot. More time. No Ram, and couldn’t see Mike. Finally Ram came round the bend from the direction opposite to which Mike had gone. No sooner had we piled into the car, than Mike appeared. The short of the long is that cleaned up the wound as best we could and headed to town for lunch.

We settled on a large restaurant with fans. It didn’t actually look very promising. There was only one other table occupied. An ancient man in a Nehru cap took our drink order – fresh limejuice times four. It took a long time in coming, but it was delicious! We spent so long at the first attempt to give our order, that the waiter, a younger man, left to help the other table. By the time we finished making our choices, I don’t think any of us were optimistic about the outcome. Fortunately we were wrong. The food was excellent. I was particularly pleased with my choice of stuffed tomato – so much so that I regretted that we had agreed to share all dishes. I’m still trying to figure out how they managed to get that yummy filling of soft cheese, raisins and nuts inside the tiny opening in the tomato. Or how the fruit was perfectly stewed in its thick flavorful sauce without disintegrating. After another tumble around town, partly because we needed to get a better bandage than we’d scrounged from the first-aid kit, and some more disinfectant, we decided to head back to the hotel. I spent a while playing nurse, which left Mike with a new substantial bandage on top of his head. Ramesh was delighted with what he termed the “Sir’s new turban”.

We had originally planned to spend only two nights, but we were reluctant to leave this idyllic spot. After securing availability with the manager, we agreed to stay another night. There wasn’t much in terms of entertainment available at the hotel – a little used concrete tennis court and the billiards table inside didn’t tempt me, but perhaps a game of table tennis? Mike wasn’t interested, but Ramesh was eager. I’m not a very good player, but he was rather “easy pickings” – Sorry Ram, but it’s true. We spent most of our time retrieving the ball from the bushes or the kitchen (didn’t endear ourselves there). However, it was good fun.

After more than a week together, we all mutually agreed that it was time to give each other some breathing room. Jags was more than happy to camp out at the hotel. So in the morning, we notified our attendant that we would be gone for half of the day, and he assured us that he would make sure Jags had whatever he needed. We headed off to the Temple of the Sun with Ramesh. Though only about 15 km, the drive could take an hour or two, so we decided to stop for breakfast on the way. In the first small village en route, we parked and soon found a tiny, but appealing place. Mike and Ramesh settled in to order, while I went in search of a towel or two - we’d soon be returning to the heat, and somehow we’d lost track of our small hand towels. Mission accomplished, I returned to find chai and parathas. As I’ve repeated, no chai will ever match our friend’s in Chirawa, but oh, the parathas were wonderful! Once again, the scenery impressed us: the constantly changing vistas as we drove higher and higher; the beautiful trees loaded down with lavender, white and yellow flowers. There was a fair bit of traffic, so the going was slow. Slow enough to read the bumper stickers of buses along the way – always rhyming, always instructive. I wish I’d kept a log. As it is, the only one I have record of is from a photo: “AFTER WHISKEY” on one side of the bumper and “DRIVING RISKY” on the other side.

When we reached our destination, Ramesh parked the car in the shade and showed us the path leading up, way up, and gave us strict instructions not to talk to anyone along the way. We were never really sure what his concern was, but in any event, we didn’t see anyone else until we reached the temple. The route was completely exposed, and while not the heat of the plains, it was still substantial. It proved well worth the hike. Katarmal is billed as the second most important temple in India dedicated to the sun. It is a largely unadorned set of structures dating back about 900 years. The location is sublime. The views and quiet inspire meditation. In fact, there is a small altar set up for devotion in the largest part of the complex. The link gives more background and a picture. http://www.indnav.com/servlet/Browse...&name=Katarmal

The trip down was considerable less taxing, and gave us a chance to notice things we’d missed on the way up: the variety of homes along the route, ranging from ramshackle to substantial; the variety of flora and fauna, including a rather large and brightly colored lizard. Great picture taking times! When we got back to the car, Ram reminded me about our cargo. The rural school we’d parked next to was taking a lunch recess. It would be an ideal time to bring out the goodies we’d brought along for children. Unlike most of urban India, these children had little, if any English, so show and tell turned into show and show. It wasn’t long before I was greeted with squeals of delight as I demonstrated how to produce bubbles. This school seemed to have a broad age range. The younger children were far from shy, but the older ones were hanging back… until I unwrapped some hair barrettes – who wud a thunk? The battle was on for a front row place. Boys and girls alike wanted them. I had only brought about a dozen, clearly not enough, especially when there were “double-dippers” in the crowd. After that result, I decided it would be hopeless to pass out a few containers of Pay-Doh. I decided to head towards the school and look for a teacher. She was sitting outside the single schoolroom, grading papers in the shade. I was quite surprised that even she did not understand, let alone speak, English. Ramesh was called in to translate while I demonstrated how to make things - “and when you’re done make sure to put it back in the can so it doesn’t dry out”. After profuse thank you’s and several pictures, we headed on our way. What fun!

We got back to the hotel in time to pick up Jags and head to town for a late lunch. After lunch, we had tentatively planned to do some more shopping and then head to a temple on the far side of the town. I bought all kinds of small hair doodads to take home as gifts for the grandkids. We also settled on a rather grand brass parath, sold by the pound, as heavier is deemed better. A parath is a flat platter with sides of varying sizes and materials we’d seen used to mix, kneed and roll out bread dough. It was hardly necessary for making paratha, but we were missing what had become an essential souvenir – the large, heavy, hard-to-pack or carry item. Previous items included the stone top of a Chinese pillar carved into a dragon shape, a teakwood replica of one of the faces of Bayon temple near Siem Reap and a brass bust of Mao (he traveled in a back-pack all the way home). As we wandered the main shopping street, it became obvious that Mike was fading. He confessed that he had been experiencing fairly serious diarrhea for days. Time for rehydration and some drugs. We had brought along Cipro for just such an occasion. (Eventually it became apparent that we were all suffering stomach ailments to some degree and decided that the only thing in common was fresh fruit that I had probably not washed well enough.) Having settled Mike down in the hotel for a nap, the rest of us returned to town to see the temple. The route to the temple took a circuitous route through town and out the other side. At times the views were fantastic. One section which took us through a forest with a singular showing of widely spaced pines. The forest floor positively glowed with fallen golden needles, with green terraced hills in the distance. We reemerged from the forest in a residential area. I have to say that I’m glad the drive was interesting, because I found the temple quite disappointing. It was constructed as part of an ashram for devotees of Haidakhan Wale Baba. The temple itself is modern and belies the description of its brochure. Other than a couple of statues in the courtyard, I found it singularly boring architecture. The ashram is active, but not terribly welcoming. While we were invited to investigate it by one of the residents, when we attempted to do so, we were summarily requested to leave by a staff member.

As it was his custom to head north in the hot months, Jags was regularly on the lookout for alternative accommodation in the mountains. However, after finding little appealing, we headed back to the hotel. Time for one last dinner, one last walk around “the estate”, one last opportunity to sit out in the relative cool. We even decided to make use of the bonfire pit – the fire expertly set by the staff. It was a lovely final night at the Holm Farm Heritage Hotel.

That's all for now. More to come...

travelaw

bonnieheather -- thanks for another great installment! Your storytelling is an absolute delight. Sounds like Mike had some rough moments, but the Holm Farm Heritage Hotel sounds wonderful -- will have to consider going there on one of our return trips to India. Had a good laugh at the essential souvenir -- we always seem to find at least one, too. Why is that?!! Looking forward to the next chapter. Thanks so much for spending the time to write this!

dogster

I'm just loving this, bonnie: thank you so much. It's beautifully written, too - such a pleasure to read.

bonnieheather

Holm Farm is definitely on the short list for a future trip. I used to write these trip reports for my mom, an inveterate traveller, whose stories I will never match, and send them off to her. Since she's gone on the trip of a lifetime, I've become lazy. I still enjoy an occasional reading of those old hard copies, and assume this will become an even more common past time in the years to come. I'd love to think I'll die "with my (travel) boots on", but it will more likely come after years in a rocking chair rereading these stories. Not to appear too maudlin, but I hope everyone out there is printing out their own - if only for those great great grandchildren to come. Wish I had the gift of dialogue that Dogster and Travelaw do, however, happy to hear the postings are entertaining to a wider audience than just family and friends. I'm trying to get this trip report finished asap so that I can catch up on other postings - good thing no one's charging per minute using this website.

indianapearl

These are wonderfully written -- you have an eye for what makes a trip unique. I especially appreciate the fact that you have a day job that occupies a lot of your time, so your contribution is especially meaningful.

bubblywine

Can't wait for more! I considering spending a month in India late next year and really have no idea what I'll do. Glad to read a trip that is as spontaneous and un-planned as mine is likely to be (well, planned, but in an ok we're going and will figure the rest out when we get there kinda way).

mingtsainy

Bonnieheather, I would like to say thank you for the report/journal because I will be going to India for the first time in December. Your stories really help me acquaint to what I should expect when I get there.

bonnieheather

The drive down from Ranikhet was even more beautiful than I remembered the trip up. This was partially because we got a different perspective, but also because the rain on the way up was replaced by glorious morning light. We also found a gem of a shop just out of town that I’d noticed it on the drive in, when we were in no mood to stop.

It was a low wooden building with a beckoning HANDWEAVING SALE sign next to it. At first it seemed deserted, but the owner soon appeared. He explained that they were waiting for raw materials to weave on the antiquated machines in the workroom. He had only a few items left – did we want to see? “Yes, of course!” He brought out three exquisite throws. Perfect! Three blankets, three ‘children’ back home. Sold. How much? This led to a great flurry of Hindi after which I handed over the requested amount of money. As we left the shop, I asked Ram what it was all about. “He was trying to charge you too much.” “How much more than I paid?” A few dollars. Now, I used to be fully addicted to bargaining – it was part of the fun of buying. I still see that often this can add to both the buyer and the seller’s experience. But I found that sometimes I became too emotionally involved and actually left items behind that I really wanted, just because I didn’t get a certain price, so I’ve pretty much stopped haggling. And as I’ve said before, I personally support a “tourist” price. But in this case, it was also violating another belief – artisans need to be supported. Trying not to make too much of the situation, I returned to the shop and handed over the difference. We both bowed and brought our hands together to show respect. Much better ending.

Continuing on, the roadside was still littered with debris from the storm, a reminder of our unpleasant ordeal. The sight was even more reason to spend a leisurely day on this relatively short trip, so we stopped for pictures and a couple of times at appropriately placed treed locations – as I said, "I’ll take a bush any time". We were running out of cash, so we were also keeping our eyes open for a functioning ATM. We didn’t expect to find a bank open, but shuttered ATM’s were a new experience. Mantra time: “This is India”. It turns out that in small towns, there is often insufficient cash in the machines, leading to closure until funds are deposited. We tried again in Bhimtal – surely a larger town would have something open. No luck. We would need some major cash before we hit the road tax stations, but for now, we would all just have to make do.

Naukuchiatal as a destination was my choice. It had been in my mind from before we had left home: it’s off the beaten track, but not too far; it has a lake for boating; it promised to be less touristy. If it didn’t work out, we’d head back the other direction to Nainital.

An aside here: initially, I had planned that our “posh nights” would be spent at The Lake Village Resort (http://www.naukuchiatallakevillage.com), a complex outside the main village. We did eventually find and visit this hotel. It’s hard to say whether we were spared a bad experience (there are several bad reviews online), but it was beautiful, with many types of accommodations set amongst impressive gardens, in a secluded location. If you decide to try it out, book ahead online, as it was fully booked when we visited, even though it was off-season - and make sure to report back.

Naukuchiatal turned out to be much different than my expectations - a village, seemingly more populated by seasonal homes for wealthy Indians than by outside tourists. This meant that there was little traffic and less trash, but it also meant that many hotels and restaurants were tucked away from view. Whether because we were incompetent or just picky, we spent a good deal of time trying failing to find accommodation. First, we tried guesthouses that were advertised on roadside signs, especially ones only written in Hindi. This was based on the assumption that they would be cheaper. They were all either unsuitable or too expensive – we were victims of our first up market town. Then we moved on to hotels. It was a rather demoralizing endeavor. We found some lovely places, but those many of those within our budget were beyond belief. Granted, they were inexpensive by hotel standards, but the rooms were often filthy or tiny or both. The budget constraint was proving to be an unusual problem; we needed either 2 rooms or a suite at a Motel 6 price. Also, we’d added another factor to the equation. Jags had decided that he would stay in this area, so we hoped to do some “one stop shopping” and find something that he could both afford and manage i.e. meals and laundry would be included. While he’s more than self-sufficient in a known locale, it was an unrealistic expectation that a blind man could navigate new territory without assistance.

Eventually, we took a break at Green Meadows Inn (Contact Mr Pankaj Gaur/Local Phone:0 94 12 40 42 48). It was small and its sign advertised excellent food. We had a quick look at the available rooms, and then settled in for lunch. The restaurant was in an even smaller building separate from the hotel. The staff was very pleasant and the food was good. The hotel had a small garden and both rooms were large, clean and had balconies for private outdoor. It was perfect for us, but it was still outside Jags’ budget. We would book both rooms for the next couple of nights and keep looking.

After settling in, Mike and I decided to go for a walk, while Jags and Ram continued the search for cheaper digs. We had visited a couple of lakeside hotels, and the lake had looked very appealing – we set out to find it. First, I had an errand. Somehow, the memory in my camera was full, how I didn’t know, but I was missing out on essential photos. I had given the camera to Ram – perhaps he would be able to find another memory stick. In the meantime, I would look for a disposable camera. This turned out to be an impossible task: I was reminded that one disadvantage of a quiet small town is the lack of tourist supplies. Nothing to do but burn it all on the hard disk.

We stopped at several small shops along the road, including one that was little more than a counter with a man behind it. He had a variety of carvings, which all looked like they had been there for donkey’s years. He was desperate to sell us something, no doubt at a great bargain. I can’t say we were tempted, but in any event we were skint. He bid us goodbye with a gracious recognition that he would have another day without a sale.

We eventually reached the lake. Here we encountered our first real litter. This was despite the fact that there was an ample supply of trash containers, as well as several signs with lyrical verse requesting respect for the environment. The poor lilies in lake were competing with plastic bottles, bags and cans for viability. Go figure! Past the lily pond, there was a roadway which transected the lake. Alongside was a dock with several boats for hire. I made a mental note to get Ram into the swan-shaped pedal-boat – you know the kind – a small vessel with bicycle-like foot pedals that you push to power yourself along. We had plenty of time, so we decided on a drink at a lakeside café. I should say that it’s probably the only public café in the place. It’s a tiny place with 2 tables inside and a few chairs on the outside deck. They serve food and drinks, but no alcohol – too bad as a cold beer would have gone down well at that point. We took a couple of cold drinks and settled down on the deck. We hadn’t been there long when we noticed that the clouds were growing dark in the distance. The upper dark clouds were moving slowly, but we talked about returning to the hotel when we were finished. Then the winds began to pick up. Before we could even process what was happening we were forced to move inside to escape what had become a dust storm. This quickly progressed to torrential rain, then pounding hail, then back to torrential rain. By now, the tiny interior was crammed with others in refuge. We were all ordering hot food and drink to counter the drop in temperature. Outside cyclists, horses, and their riders were fleeing in search of shelter. The roads were awash with rain-swept debris. The power went out, but the resilient staff continued to perform by candlelight. It must have been almost an hour before we could venture out. Quite an experience, one that I doubt we’ll share again soon.

We made it back to the hotel – no Ram or Jags. Just as we were heading in to the hotel, they drove up. Of course, we hadn’t brought our cell phones again, so attempts to reach us were fruitless. At no time did we even think about the concern might be causing them. After profuse apologies, we set about to rectify the beer drought. The tables and chairs that had been put safely away were returned to the garden. The skies had cleared as quickly as they had soured. Beer was delivered. And Jags and Ram had found a good candidate for long term accommodation. All was well with our world. Now we had to decide on dinner. We conferred with the owner about what could be arranged and when. We settled on 8:30 for dinner. Dinner would be served privately at a dining table in the hotel proper. After a long, long wait, with multiple excuses, but no real explanation of the delay, we were served a spectacularly good meal at about 10:00. It was worth the wait, but just barely.

With the prospect of a long stay, Jags had arranged to have his Delhi-side helper bring some things up by bus. Bhupen would bring his daughter along, making it a short holiday of it. We looked forward to an opportunity to take everyone boating! It would also be our last evening with Jags, so we planned a grand dinner. We were assured that it would be served on time. The missing explanation of the previous evening surfaced: the regular, and speedy, chef had been gone, but now he was back. The bus was due to arrive early the next morning, so we all decided to make an early night of it.

By the time we arose, Jags and Ramesh had already left. We were having breakfast when they returned. They had found money, but no memory stick and no Bhupen. His bus had broken down – they would arrive later on in the morning. This wouldn’t be much of a holiday for them.

We decided to spend the time investigating the town a little further. This time we headed in the opposite direction. The previous day during our drive around town I had noticed a folk art shop – perhaps it would be open. In any case, we’d get to see more of the neighborhood. Very few people were about – the odd tiny shop, but mostly houses, some of them quite posh ones gated walls. It turned out to be quite a hike, and when we arrived the place seemed under construction; certainly no other visitors were there. However, soon a woman came out, apologized for the mess and beckoned us in. There, another woman greeted us in the most perfect English. It’s not that it’s a surprise to hear English, but such articulation and command is unusual. There was a huge selection of things to buy: everything from woven and knitted goods to hand packed tea. Some of the stock came from individuals living nearby, but her pride and joy was the artwork produced from students she trained herself. It turns out that she was a retired academic, who had set up shop in the hopes of enticing country artisans to produce and sell their works. She looked for young, hard-working persons with experience and talent. In many cases, she took in woman and men who were used to creating temporary floor or furniture decoration for weddings, as they had a proven requisite for patience and exactitude. However, she had them recreate these designs on hand made paper, wood, fabric and metal. She said that one of the problems for them in making this transition was that their prior work carried great significance – imagine godly souls embodied in the story and pictures. Trying to convince them that this new type of drawing or painting did not carry the same meaning was no easy task. They also had the same problem as the weaving shop - maintaining a ready and affordable supply of materials. Nothing was available locally, and with Delhi so far away, it sometimes meant long periods of no work. In the end, the artists earned enough to contribute to a household’s income, but not nearly enough to support themselves. There was no foreign tourist market to drive up demand, so prices remained low. She was also quite despondent that the government reinforced the domestic disinterest by supporting academic studies of classical European art to the exclusion of Indian folk art. Her current lament was that her best artist was about to leave the group – he would soon graduate from the local college and go off to make a career as an engineer. Even here in the hills of India we found the old dichotomy of the arts versus science. Well, the shop could process credit cards, so we did our part support the cause, and left with arms full of locally made pictures, cards, soap, and tea.

Back at the hotel, we reconnected with Ram. He'd retrieved Bhupen and his daughter, and while they and Jags had a nap, he could take us back AGAIN to Bhimtal (god that man is destined for sainthood) to get cash. Finally about mid-afternoon, we were all assembled. Ram had found an open camera shop, and managed to get my memory free up. On to the swan boats! However, I was going to be denied a memorable picture of Ram – he would stay behind to service the car. Once at the lake, we decided on a pedal boat for Bhupen’s daughter and Mike, Bhupen and Jags would go in a larger boat rowed by the boatman. Pritti and I made a valiant effort to keep up with them, but it soon became apparent that she was getting quite tired. We hailed the other boat, and Bhupen became my partner. The lake is not large, but after making a complete circuit, these old legs were quite tired. The warm weather combined with the exercise to leave me quite drenched. Time for a cold drink! This time there was no need to huddle in the café. Instead we bought some bread and sat on the steps by the boats and fed the hungry geese and ducks.

We ended the day with another excellent meal. The two dinners were without a doubt the best we had during the trip. However, the wait was nearly as long, with no apologies or explanations offered. So pack snacks if you’re planning on staying here. In the morning we went to pick up Bhupen and Pritti who had spent the night with Jags in his new place in Bhimtal. Not quite ready, so there was time for chai at a stand opposite the house. Yum, yum – still missing those cups of tea. Then came the loads of pictures with every possible combination of subjects. Finally, we all needed to say goodbye: Jags and Ramesh, Jags and Bhupen, and of course Jags and the two of us. I think our gratitude for the splendid time was mutual.

To be continued…

Marija

Great story. Thanks!

magical

Excellent report.

You have a fantastic view of what bargaining is about.
I agree that the bargaining bit is played up way too much. If you know what you want...meaning you have found the quality and uniqueness that you are looking for...then it's time to pay up. Bargaining just to talk down the price goes beyond good reason. And in the end one gets what one pays for. Let's face it, all the bargaining will only net no more than a few dollars anyway. (Of course for large expensive items, perhaps trying to get a better price is quite justified).

bonnieheather, how much time did you spend in the mountains?

Looking forward to more...

dogster

thanks again Bonnie - I do envy you your friends. What a great way to explore! And so useful for me right now. I'm researching Varanasi thru Uttar Pradesh to Uttaranchal for my next trip. Great stuff.

indianapearl

You and your husband are very kind to squire a blind friend to his summer residence.

I notice in your report that Ramesh, the driver, dines with you occasionally and is included in some of your excursions. Have I interpreted that correctly? Since the only driver we've ever had was for a day trip to Macau, I'm not sure what the protocol is for these things.

Looking forward to more of your report . . .

bonnieheather

Glad the report is helpful. It's really a selfish endevour as my copy serves as a permanent travel journal. Magical, we spent about a week in the mountains, and barely sampled its offerings. I'd love to have spent much more time. Dogster, lucky you. When are you going? Looking forward to hearing about UP and a larger portion of Uttaranchal. I seem to have left a wrong impression. Our friend was accompanying us north for our holiday - to spend time with us and make sure we were well taken care of. He had already made arrangements to return to a part of the north more familiar to him after we left. In point of fact, despite his absolute blindness, he frequently astounded Ramesh by checking his navigation: "We must be passing __ about now. You'll notice the new construction on the left. Watch for the turnoff soon." Once he realized we were in good hands with Ramesh, he simply decided to stay put rather than making an additional round trip. I encourage all those who have had no direct experience with the blind to visit their local School/Association for the Blind. You will be disabused of any notion that they are less than competent than the seeing - they simply have a different "view" of life. Our friend is a world traveller, done entirely on his own. He is a professor of philosopy at a top university - in short he beats any of my competencies hands down. Regarding protocol with drivers, you should follow your own instincts, while taking into account the comfort level of those you hire. We have had a couple of situations when the driver wasn't comfortable doing anything social with us and we didn't press the matter. I don't believe that the way we function is typical; it just fits our temperaments. A final word about Ramesh - the fact that our knowledgeable Indian friend felt so well of him is one reason I recommend him so highly.

travelaw

I am still very much enjoying this report bonnieheather. Thanks for including us in on your selfish endeavor!
Pearl -- as you know, we used Ramesh, too, but other than on one occasion, he did not dine with us. It's not that I would have minded, as he is fine company, but it just didn't come up. Plus, he was working for someone else when he drove for us, so he may have been instructed not to. Don't feel you have to invite him along -- I don't think he will be in the least offended, plus it is not the usual practice.

indianapearl

Thanks for your advice, travelaw. We are very egalitarian, so are happy to have Ramesh join us, but usually crash pretty early (old people) and arise early. Ramesh might find us a bit of a bore, although we do have a good sense of humor! We are always struggling not to be the Ugly Americans, which we have seen enough of on our travels.

bonnieheather

FINAL DELHI DAYS

The morning drive down to the plains began in mist. It matched my mental state. Our time in the mountains was everything we’d hoped it would be, but we were ambivalent about heading back to Delhi. We dreaded returning to the heat and stench of the city. On the other hand we had another friendship to renew. In the meantime more wonderful views to the mountains with valleys stretching below. Some black-faced monkeys – the only ones we saw on this trip. A few stops to gather more seedpods. I became quite wistful with every vista that came and went. Who knows how soon, if ever, we would return? The sight of chickens strapped in a basket on the back of a motorcycle jolted me back to consciousness. Poor dears, no doubt on their way to market. We’re generally so protected from food on the hoof. The general highway noise and wrecks kept my attention and we were nearly home before I realized I was losing out on an opportunity to learn some Hindi. I was sitting with Bhupen’s daughter. She’d been quite car sick on the winding ride down, and spent most of the trip sleeping. Now she was awake and it seemed like a good conversation starter. Unfortunately, we only managed to get through the numbers one to twenty. Next time ….

We arrived back in Delhi just in time for crushing slow of "rush" hour. After dropping Bhupen and Pritty off near their house, we unloaded the car back at Jags’ place. Ramesh offered to stay with us and ferry us about town the next few days, but we really didn’t require his services any longer. If he left now, he could make it back to Jaipur that evening. Family and a new windshield beckoned, and he was quite excited at the thought of surprising his mother who wasn’t expecting him until the next day.

I spent some time repacking our bags for next morning’s move from Jags’ place to our other friend’s flat. Then we had a light supper and were sitting in the garden lamenting the lack of cold beer, when Bhupen pulled up on his motorcycle. Tired as he must have been, he’d driven all the way from his place to deliver 4 cold beers, and to remind us he’d be there in the morning to cook a farewell breakfast and say a final goodbye. We knew we wouldn’t be hungry enough to warrant his trouble, but we also knew there was no way to say “no” to the offer.

I wasn’t sure how this next leg of the trip would go. We were going to stay with some friends we had made several years earlier, but had not had much contact with for more than a year. Would it be an uncomfortable few days? Joy picked us up in a borrowed car. He cautioned us that he would drive very slowly, as he had little experience behind a car steering wheel. We had no worries though, as he was well attuned to the real problem – other drivers – as he’d navigated by motorcycle for years. Five minutes into the drive put the worry of awkwardness to rest. Friendships can be quite amazing. We had spent only a few days with Joy and his wife Somiwon on the last trip. We had originally “met” through a mutual friend via email, and had subsequently decided to support Joy's charitable involvements. However, we had long since ended that practice and have had only fleeting emails over the past many months. But it was as though we had not been apart. We were like old chums catching up and Mike and Joy were soon deep into discussion of social and political matters. When we last met, Somiwon was pregnant with their first child. Now they had two, both girls. She had taken a variety of local classes, including English. He’d been promoted to a better government position. He was on a track to real and permanent economic improvement in their lives. This was especially notable as he is a “tribal” Indian, in his case from Manipur. Tribal Indians often suffer great discrimination. We had minor evidence of this on our first trip, when we were visiting the Red Fort: he had to show ID to gain entrance under local rather than tourist rates. I should say that the government is attempting to redress some of this by opening new opportunities in work and education.

With his new position came government digs in the southwest part of the city. The benefit of this was initially lost on us as we drove up to a dilapidated building. However, the apartment was well located, near to his work, and in the process of being renovated, although on an Indian timetable – years of piecemeal work showing little effect. After getting settled into our room (rather their room on loan) in their small apartment, Mike and Joy went for a walk. I seem to have finally succumbed to the evil stomach ailment. I had a headache, nausea and diarrhea. Time for some drugs, before things got out of hand. I’d learned that lesson the hard way on another trip, when I ended up in an emergency room on the end of a rehydrating IV. The rule of thumb really is valuable to remember – 2 days of diarrhea is more than enough stress on the body – then TAKE THE ANTIBIOTICS YOU BROUGHT ALONG! (I realize that earlier I forgot to mention a stunning change in drug warnings since we last acquired Cipro. User beware: there seems to be a concern for tendon damage in those over 50, most commonly to the Achilles tendon. My ER nurse daughter tells me that despite the concerns it is still the broad-spectrum antibiotic drug of choice). I gauged the likely over the unlikely and, like Mike had earlier, downed the pills along with a dose of Nuun-fortified water. (Haven’t mentioned this “find” either; Nuun are highly portable tablets, which dissolve easily in water to produce a electrolyte hydrating fluid sweetened with sorbitol. It also tastes much better than other options I’ve tried. I bought mine at a local cycling shop, but you can also get them at EMI and online at www.Campmor.com .) Somiwon offered a massage, but I declined and went to lie down. The rest wasn’t much help, and decided to take up the offer of the massage. Good move. Whether it was the cold massage cream (straight from the fridge), the expert touch, the drugs kicking in, or a combination of all of the above, I don’t know, but I was soon feeling much better. Somiwon’s English is now excellent so it was no problem catching up on each other’s lives. By the time we had covered all the basics, the heat had eased, so I decided to join Mike and Joy to further investigate the neighborhood before dinner.

It was a short walk from Joy’s to upscale homes a few streets away. However, before we came to the posh area, we passed a ramshackle makeshift camp. I actually did a "double-take" - were these really homes? They looked more like refuse area. Joy explained that this was where the day workers who supported the area lived everyone from housekeepers to drivers. It was hard to fathom that working people would find it necessary to live under such slum conditions. In the other world beyond, the grand homes sat, mostly behind walled courtyards. There were also a few guesthouses and small hotels, as well as several state buildings. Architecture varied greatly. Some buildings were modern Indian structures; others might have been plucked from a European street. We stopped in a market area to buy fruit for the kids, beer for adults, flowers for Somiwon, and dessert pastries for all, before heading back, fortunately avoiding the slum. Back at home, the children who had been shuttled off to a neighbor’s were back and, as children so often do, provided instant entertainment. After a satisfying meal, we settled on plans for an early morning walk and went to bed, leaving the family to watch TV.

It was just after dawn when we set out. Joy decided on a route through a nearby park. Delhi has some lovely parks, but this was not one of them. There were trees, but no grassy fields. The only flowers we saw were on some blooming shrubs. A few men were out for their morning jog, but our main companions were wild pigs and cows. God knows what they found for food, but they looked quite happy. Never the less, it was a quiet, pleasant time. After tea in different market square from the previous evening, we headed back to the house.

We were going to brave the traffic, but escape the heat, with a visit to the Delhi Museum of Modern Art. This was going to be a real treat. While we had seen loads of historical places on the previous trip, we hadn’t managed to see any museums. Joy found us what appeared to be a completely illegal parking spot right next to the museum’s entrance. I was sure the car was going to be gone when we returned. The main building was under renovation, but the remaining gallery offered more than enough to keep us busy. Like most museums they have a permanent collection and temporary exhibits. We found it interesting, if a little disappointing, that our friends found the modern art more appealing than the historical art that was the focus of the temporary exhibit. There is comfortable seating, so if you plan to make a long visit, you can rest your “wearies” awhile. And regardless of what the weather, don’t let the lovely AC dissuade you visiting the outdoor sculpture garden – it’s a not-to-be-missed collection. After doing just that, we bought some cold drinks at the kiosk. However, our brains and bodies were taxed and the heat was exhausting, so we decided to call it a day. My worries about the car were for nought - it was just where we left it. After an early dinner, and an evening walk, we stepped out onto the balcony for a smoke and a drink. For the past couple of days, we'd been staring down at the private park below. I use the term loosely, as it was little more than a fenced overgrown area heaped with trash. Joy and Mike came up with a plan. For a paltry sum, by American standards, the place could be spruced up. Joy reminded us that willing workers lived just down the road. The neighbor on the ground floor was an avid gardener, and would perhaps contribute some plants. Joy was excited at the prospect of a table and some chairs quiet shady place filled with plants and flowers where neighbors could gather - in short, a real park.

We were down to our final day, and wanted to do a little shopping. On Joy’s suggestion, we headed to a mall. While it might have been interesting to have a look at one of the ultra high-end malls frequented by India’s wealthy, we went where we could afford to buy. It was still aimed at the above average Indian consumer and looked much like an indoor American mall. It was also quite new, so the large parking garage somewhat over-served the few number of open shops. We confined ourselves to a single department store, where we wandered the various areas. The store could easily service your entire needs from food to appliances and of course clothing. We settled into the toy department, with the books right next to it. Our task was to find educational toys for the kids, to lure them away from the TV, and books for Joy and Somiwon. In the end, I think we got more toys than books, but it proved a good selection in the end. But instead settled for a few more trinkets in the jewelry department. The shopping left us with quite an appetite. Joy doesn’t eat out much, but he knew that there were cafeterias open to the public in the various state’s official buildings. These are identified as “____ House” – in the case of the one we went to “Tamil Nadu House”. What a find! Very tasty and very cheap. The food is typical of what you would find for that state, so as a group they are like a massive food court. Next trip we’ll do a round of all the “Houses”.

Back at home, there was serious game-playing to do. For the little kids, there were Lego knock-offs and a craft kits. For the bigger kids, there was Jenga and Trivial Pursuit. OK, so maybe Jenga was stolen from the little kids’ pile. Much to Joy’s chagrin, Somiwon was the easy winner in both games. Last I heard he was still vowing to best her.

Like most trips, the end was anti-climactic. We spent the rest of the evening spinning our wheels before making our good-byes in the dark. We boarded the 2 a.m. flight with few regrets. The most excitement on the return came from actually making our two tight connections (no long connections this time!). The fact that our bags didn’t make it meant a slight delay, while they were tracked down in Frankfurt. However, we were spared having to lug them around ourselves, and United eventually delivered them as safely home as they did us.

This report has been great fun in the making. Keep your own fingers typing. And if any of you fellow travelers are ever in the Austin area, give us a shout. [email protected]