Star Date: December 2008
N.W. India: Gujarat
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The stunning, heavy jewlery of the Gujarati tribeswomen.
“Don’t worry what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and do that.
Because what the world needs are people who have come alive.
Unless you do something from your genuine passionate self, from your calm, inner place, it won’t help you or the
world. Find your passion”.
(Howard Thurman)
India. There aren’t enough words in the English language to describe it. It is a land of superlatives, ‘expletive deletives’, esoteric floating adjectives and emotions oozing out of each encounter. Idiosyncrasies, inefficiencies and oxymorons make your experience with India one that will remain with you forever. To know India is to love and hate her all within minutes. Everyone reacts in differently and we each respond in ways never thought possible. The only thing for sure is that one can never spend time in India without changing. Change is inevitable, but here the button gets stuck on fast forward. Just hold on to your hat, buckle your belt, and hang on for dear life as you embark on the ride of your life.
In the west when looking at a busy road, for example, we would see a steady stream of bright colored upscale cars and SUV’s. Heaven forbid a run down clunker or motorcycle get thrown in. All vehicles are headed down the correct lane with cameras, lights, signs and policemen enforcing rules and directing the traffic.
Now let’s picture a busy road in India. It is a free for all. Within minutes of jaw dropping observation it is apparent that the caste system extends into the land of wheeled vehicles. This is an arena where the biggest stick rules. This pecking order starts with mammoth hurtling busses bellowing clouds of black exhaust, people hanging out of the doors and on top for dear life. They are battling it out with equally daunting kamikaze trucks sporting 2-3 blaring horns from behind fringe lined cabs with flashing lights, painted brightly with Hindu deities hoping to tip the scale of good luck in favor of these reckless, crazy drivers. Next down the line are the wealthy Brahmans on holiday in their shiny SUV’s with drivers. They are vying for space with the newly arrived smaller budget cars of the middle class. Everyone drives with one hand on the wheel and one hand on their horn. The general idea of all of the above is that even though they are ‘practice’ driving themselves, if they blow their obnoxiously loud horns often enough and long enough all other forms of life will simply acquiesce the roads. HONNNNK! After all bigger and louder is better! Honking also translates ” I am blowing my horn so I don’t have to stop. Look out here I come!” Vehicles simply refuse to brake, giving right of way, because they know that if they don’t fill the void ahead someone else will; maybe even someone from the other side of the road pulling a miraculous u-turn, driving the wrong way against traffic, then oozing into the spot. Possibly it’s the shear numbers of 1.3 billion people but the flow of life in India never stops. Waiting for your turn is futile. Just take a deep breath, a giant leap of faith and merge. Motorcycles and scooters often loaded with whole families are a sight to rival even the Shanghai circus. Dad drives with 1 or 2 toddlers standing at his feet. Next comes Uncle, Grandma or teenagers, then wife ‘sidesaddle in sari’ carrying babies, bags, chickens, etc.. BEEP! BEEP!
Turbaned men with their colorfully dressed, wives displaying
the family wealth in jewelry, is a common sight.
For some reason the ladies love dressing me up.
Try carrying 50 pounds or more of water from the village well on
your head. Grandma was over 70 and still tough and strong.
Note the ivory arm bangles.
Lower forms of life to be pushed around are the auto-rickshaws who rule over the man-powered rickshaws; who in turn honk at simple peddle bicycles. They answer the horn mating call with hand squeezed bulbs that would have done Groucho Marx proud. Oxen pulled wagons, camel trailers, elephants, water buffalo, or pony carts trot along behind, dropping piles or trails on the road so they can find their way home. At the bottom of the heap, and subserviently dodging for their life are the lowly pedestrians. Crossing the chaotic streets of India makes sleeping on a bed of nails or walking over burning coals seem like a stroll in the park. It seems that as soon as one enters the arena of an Indian road a homing device or target is superimposed on each pedestrian. Forget marked crosswalks, they are mistaken for bulls eyes. It is as if an imaginary flashing light advertising the lucrative bounty on our head lures moving vehicles closer than ever imagined possible. It is nothing to get wedged between an ornery bull and a lop sided truck loaded beyond capacity, both bellowing with impatience. Policemen are ignored, holy sadus are driven up on the sidewalk, dogs escape within a hair of their tail but only the ‘holiest of holies’, the sacred cow calls the shots in this sea of confusion. These long horned, one humped bovines wander at will. Eating garbage, dropping ‘splats’ and sleeping smack dab in the middle of a busy intersection or roundabout is the norm. The roads are their kingdom.
Bhuj, in the Great Raan of Kutch of Gujarat! Where in the world is that? Stuck out on the seasonal island of Kutch it requires days of travel to reach. Monsoon rains race across the salty parched desert annually, cutting it off from the rest of the state for months at a time. Sandwiched between Pakistan to the north and the Arabian Sea to the west this is not a destination for the faint of heart but as usual a prize awaits those crazy enough to make the tiring journey, so far from the tourist circuit.
Continuing across endless sun baked desert south, Rajasthan blended into Gujarat, and we were happy to be visiting in Fall, rather than melting into the tarmac during summer. We sat next to Marari, a turbaned camel driver with a large mustache, who kept saying “Ah, Baba!” and proudly telling us of his 4 strapping sons, 3 ornery camels, 2 arguing wives, and 1 partridge, I mean “friend” in America. We headed south to Barmer, no hotels but one of the most fascinating bus stations to date. As with a lively market, it was a gathering point for villagers from the surrounding area, hanging out waiting for their bus home. A non stop parade of unique, colorful costumes and differently wrapped turbans. As soon as we sat down to wait for our bus we were surrounded by a minimum of 30-40 onlookers, a clue that tourists don’t make it here often. Beautiful, enticing women peeked out from behind their veils while assertive husbands sporting flashy turbans made the arrangements. Not able to show their faces to strange men, I was able to get a few photos woman to woman, available to Joseph only in stealth mode. The solitary bus to Buhj left at 4:30pm to avoid the heat of the Little Raan Desert and our overnight ordeal was a blur of activity, stirring us up, packing us down and spitting us out at 3am on the dark streets of Bhuj.
Carefully painting the outside of their new mud hut or ‘bhunja’.
Each hut is decorated inside with intricate ‘mud art’ and mirrors.
Veils back for a drink of water.
A former Portuguese colony until 1961, this small island of Diu is a perplexing place for those seeking a holiday by the ocean. The beaches between Sunset Point and Jallandhar Beach are clean and free from crowds, but be careful of the sharp rocks at low tide. The sunsets along the ocean are spectacular, and along with the old cathedrals and narrow balcony lined streets of the Portuguese old town make up for the lack of seaside amenities. Sultans, Mughal emperors, the Ottomans, the Turks, and finally the Portuguese, have all vied for control of this obscure but strategic little island. Who would have thought the victors would be crowds of Indian tourists enjoying their day at the beach?
Best Signs seen in India:
Near a mosque: “Precision circumcision”.
Marshesh Furnishings “We are Here!”
Jewelry store: “The Latest in Guaranteed Genuine Imitation Jewelry”.
“Josey Joseph Juicy Corner”.
Road sign: “Be Gentle on My Curves”.
“Your destiny awaits you – only 3.5 kms. ahead!” (Just think of all the self help books and workshops we could skip).
“A small store of little profit.”
And so it goes…………………………………..Next time the state of Maharashtra with its ancient hand carved caves of Anjunta and Ellora and the megalopolis of Mumbai. Thanks for taking the time to learn more about the wonders of western India. CNN only reports headline news about the tragedies of devastating earthquakes or the criminal attacks on Mumbai. There is so much more. Until next month Keep Smiling and remember to take time in 2009 to find your true passion in your calm, inner place. Act from that place and Come Alive! We are glad you stopped by. Thanks for keeping in touch and for sharing this webpage with anyone you think would be interested. The number of our readers is growing each month thanks to you. Take care!
To experience and have fun with the local people ride public buses!
Watching me watching her.
A market beauty adorned with gold.
Love, Light & Laughter,
xoxoox Nancy & Joseph
Travel notes:
$1.00US = 50 Indian Rupees.
These prices were at the height of India’s busiest season, Dewali. Arrive by Thursday (prices go up on the weekend) bargain hard and know that prices go down at other times.
Bhuj:
City Center Hotel or also called City Guest House: Langa Street, phone # 02832, 221067, basic but clean sheets! Get a room with 2 windows. The one on the end, 2nd floor is a good one (300r). Top floor is too hot.
Hotel Gangaram:
Near Aina Mahal. Rooms are a little nicer but twice the price. Knowledgeable owner will help with info on where to go in the area. Wireless internet works in some rooms or is 100r for 12 hours. (Rooms start at 500r).
Senorita’s Boutique: woman owned and operated – Main Bazaar, Darbargath. Small shop full of piles of hand printed material from which to have something sewn up. Drop in to get one of Ranju’s friendly smiles.
Green Restaurant: Down a side alley off the Main Bazaar. Great thali plates at noon.
Ludiya: Village north of Bhuj. Take the bus almost to Khavda, ask to be let out on the dirt road to Ludiya (1 km. before Khavda.) Walk about 2 km. and when you reach the big sign announcing Ludiya on your right, head left past the pastel little temple and walk straight to the back of the village. Immediately women will come out of their huts wanting you to look at their handiwork. Come prepared to buy a few small items such as dolls for 10r or a border of embroidery for 50r. Buy one thing from each house, (maybe 3 huts max). Some craftswomen are definitely more talented than others, so look around. If you find a bigger, more expensive item that catches your eye bargain hard, (after first finding the price range back in Bhuj before you set out). Take photos of the fascinating costumes while you are a possible buying customer. Enjoy being dressed up by the ladies. Observe life in their village. Make it short and sweet. Smiles may disappear and the hard sell begins once they discover your wallet won’t provide them with the money they covet. But by then you just head back down the road, still excited by the whirl of activity you have just experienced. The huts in front of the village (to the right of the temple) are pushy and ruin the mood. They tried to avoid the inevitable competition by setting up a cooperative with fixed prices but lack of business has shut it down. Other villages run cooperative stores but they are harder to reach, without your own transport. Taking a scooter across the desert salt flats is enough to fry your brains – so Ludiya is still a good place to visit by bus. Can’t beat the costumes.
Mandvi:
Jitendra Guest House: S.T. Road, phone # 222841, only has an obscure sign up on the roof, so ask around. Spotless and proud of it. They bug you every morning to clean the room. Rare in India. 350r
Vilas Palace: Take a rickshaw out (50r) and after a look at the estate just head straight towards the ocean, following the maze of dirt paths. At some point you will have to climb over the gates of the large wall surrounding the palace. It’s worth the long, hot walk as a cool dip awaits you on this private, pristine beach. Sometimes they have a little table charging 50 r to swim but mostly they collect only if you enter at the other end – the tented hotel where you can enjoy a drink on the beach. (Lunch is only open 12-3pm, 150r for curry). Walk the loop through the ‘hotel’ back to the main road and catch a auto rickshaw or hitch hike back to town if it’s late in the day.
Diu:
Don’t come all the way here by slow roads searching for a beach holiday, instead enjoy the markets, the old town and sunsets.
Jay Shankar Guesthouse: Near Chakratirth Beach (not for swimming) and Jallandhar Beach. The location is great for sunsets but the Hindu owner and his 2 bickering wives (he supposedly has 4) are anything but sunny. We got stuck here for over a week as Joseph’s foot healed. Cheap 250r, get a double with a balcony on the 2nd floor, very basic, quiet at night and almost clean. The jungle across the road is full of birds including peacocks, kingfishers, eagles, parrots and even 2 white owls by the light of the moon. The Super Silver Guesthouse is really clean and well run but right in town, so noisy on weekends and holidays.
Forget Sea Village Resort above Sunset Point, except for a cool drink on a hot day. Basically overpriced, grimy steel roof shacks and a greasy restaurant. Location only keeps them open.
A to Z Computer Cyber Cafe and Tour Agency: Husain and his wife are very friendly, helpful and professional in this well run business. (located in the old town).
Palitana:
Shatrunjaya hilltop Jain temples, 863 in total, outside of Palitana. We unfortunately had to skip this remarkable sight, as Joseph was still limping around and not up to climbing all the stairs.
Ahmedabad:
Hotel Prince, Makeriwad, behind the H.P. Petrol pumps, Near Zakaria Masjd, Relief Road, phone # 221 22460. Choose your room wisely to get a good one (try # 401). Top floor in the back has a couple of good corner rooms for only 400r. Right in the heart of the market, near the train station.
For a quiet hideaway along the far side of the river don’t miss Sabarmati Ashram, Gandhi’s home for over 10 years.
Many mosques, with symmetrical minarets of varied styles grace the skyline of Ahmedabad. One such ‘shaking’ minaret, resistant to earthquakes, was partially dismantled by an inquisitive Englishman in a ridiculous show of Imperialism, to see how it worked. He never did. Having endured many earthquakes throughout the centuries, it collapsed with the next tremor.
Sunrise Restaurant: Opposite Kalupur Railway Station, excellent vegetarian food in clean, upscale surroundings. Accommodating service, right down to the vertically challenged midget door man. Phone #221 45601.
A serious entryway leading into the city fortress.
Gathered at the window, watching the world walk by.
A sea of vibrant saris and smiles! .
How could you not buy something from this guy? We purchased fresh mint. curry leaves, green onions, coriander, chiles, ginger and limes to spice up our dinner.
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Our favorite doorman at the Sunrise Restaurant in Ahmedabad. I guess all men aren’t created equal.
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We insisted that our dapper coconut vendor was a star in Bolywood (India’s Hollywood)! He would laugh and say. “As you wish.”
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The ‘untouchable’ cow dung lady gathering her sun dried paddies
(used for fuel). She had hundreds out drying and was thrilled
that we stopped by for a visit.
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Like a mirage in the desert behind, this lone boat silently blew along the tidal inlet near Mandvi.
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Leading this collection of possible transportation modes on Indian roadways, this surly camel was carefully decorated to match his classy carriage.
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Rushing off to work in the morning.
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Not only trucks are loaded beyond capacity. These guys come complete with dual horns and an exhaust system that gives them great gas mileage.
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Stopping for a quick nibble.
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Heading home with his buddy after a long day.
Dog tired after a ride with Grandpa.
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An afternoon siesta after fighting traffic all morning.
