You are meant to come here

In Ahmedabad we got up early to join the heritage walk, only to be taken to the wrong Swaminarayan temple. Too late to join the walk we meet an Anglo-Indian woman who talked to us about the temple and then we join her husband for a free breakfast, which is offered at many temples. Her take was that we were meant to come there, so we went with the flow and followed her recommendation to head to the nearby Swaminarayan ashram, the same Hindu sect of the Neasden temple, the largest Indian temple outside of India. Escaping the city chaos was welcome and the ashram was a tranquil oasis, and we were the only westerners in sight!  Very different from other ashrams I’ve visited, as the devout were all Indian. 

Oh no I’m a married man

Affection is not outwardly demonstrated here in India. You don’t see married couples walking arm in arm, but men sometimes do walk hand in hand! So as an outsider you have to be very culturally sensitive and when greeting friends or saying farewell you dampen down your contact. On saying goodbye to Kamlesh and his family I made sure that hugs were given in the privacy of the house, and when I went to hug his brother in law he declined saying he was a married man. It’s interesting to realise that it’s a real cultural exchange staying with people and we all definitely learn from each other.  

Why the tiny cups?

We English love a good cup of tea, and a masala chai becomes an everyday treat here. Full of ginger or cardamom the masala chai is delicious, but there’s always a catch .... it’s always served in a tiny cup, leaving you wanting more! Same issue even in someone’s home .... why the tiny cups?

Scream if you want to go faster

I haven’t been on a fairground ride for years, and as we headed out to the night market in Jalore and spotted a huge swinging ship ... of course our initial  thoughts were an absolute no to go on, but if Kamlesh’s nine year old cousin was prepared to go, then so should we. So on the opposite side of the boat was a large group of women, one holding a baby. Even on the first swing I clung on tight, and quickly clamped my eyes shut and screamed as the swung back and forth reaching 180 degree swings, leaving our seats as we descended. For what felt like an eternity, with a bruise forming on my inner arm I clung on .... a girl opposite was standing at the back squealing with joy, countering my squealing with fear, at last it stopped and we stepped off the rickety stairs and laughed with relief, as even the boys admitted their fear.  Never again, but we were proud to have successfully fired three shots each on a rifle at the entrance, bursting the tiny coloured balloons. Much to the onlookers amazement we both hit 3 out of 3 targets each, sadly no prize other than our pride! 

We’ve broken the bed

Staying with Kamlesh is such a fantastic experience and one big parts of the trip this time is to visit relatives along the way. At every town there’s a maternal uncle or cousin, and staying in Jalore we visited family and after chai and a lot of chatter the phones came out for a group shot. As often happens we perch on the bed in the main reception room, which is bereft of sofas. So we all politely arrange ourselves in rows for the photos and suddenly there’s a loud crack ... of the metal bed frame buckling under our combined weight. How many English and Indian folk does it take to break a bed? 14!!! 

Oh no Madam I am a child!

You’re a captive audience as you wait patiently on the train platform, only to see your train eta edge nearer dusk, to rob you of your view of the Rajasthani landscape. As always you are surrounded by staring eyes, as you standout as foreign women on the platform, it’s impossible to be invisible.  A trio of lads start talking to us, the taller one with the best English taking the conversation lead. Again more questions in order of importance. ‘Are you married?’, how old are you?’ And ‘how can you afford to travel?’ I laughed and asked him if he was married, to which he replied ‘oh no Madam, I am a child’ ..... aaarrgghh his manly moustache covered his tender age of 17!!! 

Why are your teeth brown?

Whilst I was crouching in vertigo fear by the steep step well in central Jodhpur, a group of lads stopped to chat. Chat or interrogate .... you get used to the usual questions, where is your husband? How old are you? How many children do you have? But I was left slightly speechless when asked to me explain why are you teeth brown? Perhaps it’s my new Ayurvedic brown tooth paste, or just years of too much red wine? I always thought of my teeth as more yellow. Anyhow I just replied because I am old and that got rid of them! 

The sounds of the city

Sitting on top of the roof terrace at Singhvi Haveli gives you a birds eye view over the blue city. The narrow streets prohibit cars in this oldest part of town, so the lanes are full of rushing motorbikes, and women and children bustling around. The two local temples waft out deep sounds of chanting, and the bikes beep and the dogs bark. This certainly is a city that never sleeps, but on the soft mattress in my 500 year old haveli and a mix of jet lag and sudden nonstop traveller walking means I can sleep like a baby! 

Who’s got the best moustache?

For men in Rajasthan the best way to stand out is having a beautiful colourful turban or a large curly, often comical moustache. Double whammy if you have both. Their pride in these two swells at the prospect of posing for a picture and it’s just pure delight to take pictures of them. At the imposing Fort towering over the blue city all the guards are dressed in beautiful swirling red and yellow turbans, and traditionally white trousers and tunics. To us, the 18 degree heat is sometimes as good as it gets on  a summers day in Cornwall, but here it’s galloping into winter, so thick body warmers are worn. I’m sure they are competitive about their moustaches, as you can catch them out of the corner of your eye preening the curls at the tip of the moustache, to make sure that they are in tip top condition. I was even asked to be in a selfie with a group of them, and I don’t even have a moustache .... 

A knife?

A seasoned traveller yes, but still much improvement is required. With Em’s advice as a fellow traveller ‘don’t over back’ I was determined this time to start off with a light backpack, and not one that would buckle the knees of a coolie in a train station. Mission accomplished but a last minute change of things in the airport queue meant I put my handy bag of things in my hand luggage. 

So it was only at the second round of airport security at Delhi airport that my day back was snatched away by a surly security guard barking instructions of open and knife? at me. My protests of ‘oh no, no knife’ melted away when I realised alongside my two sporks and head torch, washing line and ear plugs was my fabulous Swiss Army knife, which has been with me on many adventure, but mainly opening beer bottles and slicing mangoes. A pressie from a old boyfriend is now in the pocket  of a new owner, so enjoy! 

The planning is done and off to Heathrow later

I used to live ten miles from Heathrow, a hop skip and a jump to fly away. Now living at the end of the country it’s quite an undertaking to get there. Luckily I stop over with a friend and then head to the airport. Just managed to stay ahead of yet another yellow weather warning across Cornwall as I drove up country, but India here I come !!!