During the short train journey between Ajmer (Pushkar) and Udaipur, I took a look at the little itinerary I'd scribbled for myself just before I came to India. To my surprise, we were only behind the plan by a day, despite the extended stay in Goa. This wasn't of any concern, because the plan was always flexible - I hardly expected anything to go smoothly in this most chaotic of countries. Good job then, because according to me from four weeks ago, I was only going to stay in Udaipur for half a day.
I'd booked a hostel over the phone before me and Eirik took off, and when we arrived at about 11pm, we asked an auto-rickshaw driver to take us there. 'Yes,' he said, 'I know where it is' and we hopped in to the vehicle. When we pulled up outside I took a look and a small boy came to greet us. 'Hello' I said, 'is this Lal Ghat?' The boy confirmed it was, and the sign on the wall seemed to agree, but something seemed fishy. 'Wait here Eirik' I said, leaving him with all the luggage, and I went to investigate. The boy led me up the stairs to the rooms. I looked in, and they seemed basic, although not the worst I'd seen. But it wasn't what I was expecting. I asked the boy where his boss was. I wanted to say 'parents' or 'mum', but I wasn't sure enough if I'd get who I was after. The kid was clearly working, not running domestic chores. Eventually I got the attention of a chubby man in a wife-beater, who'd been watching TV in his office while the child introduced the new guests. 'This is Lal Ghat Guest House?' I asked, not entirely politely. 'Yes' he said.
'Then you're expecting me'
'Yes. What is your name?'
'You tell me'
He stared blankly and tilted his head a little. I tried again.
'If you're expecting me, then you can tell me my name can't you?'
There was still no verbal response. It could be that he didn't understand my English, but I was already convinced. I told him I was in the wrong place, and went back down the stairs where Eirik had been patiently waiting with the rickshaw. 'Lal Ghat Guest House, please' I told the driver. 'The real one.'
45 seconds later I was having the same conversation again. This time though, the response was a smile and the two syllables of my first name. I saw it written in the log book, too. I smiled and apologised for seeming suspicious, but the receptionist didn't seem to mind and apparently it happens all the time. I was just relieved to find the right place, and a little smug that I'd sniffed out the bogus hotel, as you can tell by me writing the whole story down. In the morning, smugness turned to delight as it became clear exactly how nice the guest house was. The dorm was clean and had curtains around each bed for privacy, and a shelf to put belongings. The showers were hot. Outside was a long table for eating and mingling, and on the next level was another spot, with an alcove large enough for a few chairs to face out over the lake. One more level up and you were on the roof, with a prime view of the lake and the city that surrounds it. Food and drink was served all day. All in a very elegant old building, and all for just $1.50 a night. I could already see that half a day would be too short.
Apart from the cosmetic and practical capital of Lal Ghat, the place was also the most sociable we'd been to since leaving Mumbai. Poor Eirik had caught the obligatory Indian-visit stomach illness (as I'd done a week or so before), and was content to lay in bed for most of the first day, but this gave me some time to become acquainted with some of the other guests. A mixed bunch, of different ages and nationalities, and with different experiences of India. There was Angela, a woman in her 60s with quite a history of travel in the east, and David and Eleanor, two 18 year olds on their gap year adventures before uni. Throughout the day, people would come by the long table to see what was going on, or stay there to relax with a book or a cool drink. There would always be someone you liked at the table.
Udaipur itself is perhaps less calm than Pushkar, but bigger, more labyrinthine, with short, steep hills and winding roads that take you in wrong directions and to accidental treasures. The lake, as mentioned, is the central part of the city, but strangely hard to access, with only small roads leading to the bridges and ghats, and any pedestrian embankment cut short by buildings. With Eirik on the mend, him, myself, David and a new girl called Charlotte took a boat trip round the lake, stopping to check out one of the fancy buildings on one of the islands. We whizzed past the famous Palace on the Lake, as it's a bit too fancy for us to even step foot on. Later we all went to a restaurant to eat a meal and watch Octopussy, some of which was filmed in Udaipur. Another hightlight was hiring a car and driver with another group of people and visiting the temples and villages out in the country to the west. The rest of my time was spent just chilling out, soaking up the atmosphere of the city and occasionally reading a book. Before I knew it five days had passed..
So to keep with the plan, myself and Eirik continued to Jaisalmer, a city in the desert, famous for a fort that has in itself become a sort-of city. We arrived and took a look around and after a while we realised that coming had been a bit of a mistake. By and large, people visit Jaisalmer as a launching point for three or four day camel treks. But in four days we'd both be on aeroplanes, myself heading home, and we had more to squeeze in until then. The fort, in my opinion, is ruined by the abundance of shops, restaurants, internet cafes, souvenir stalls, guest houses and hotels. There is no sense of history. People still live there as residents, but there is no trace of them. It's become one of those places that has recognised its pulling power as a tourist attraction and consequently smothered whatever it was that attracted anybody in the first place. It does, however, look stunning from the outside at night time.
Logically, the next part of our tour should have taken us to Delhi, our final stop before flying out. But we were aware of two major things. Firstly, that the president of Pakistan was visiting Delhi for discussions with India around that time, and with the small town of Pune recently hit by a terrorist attack suspected to be of Pakistani conception, we felt it best to avoid the area in case anything kicked off. Secondly, the festival of Holi was to occur on the day before we left, and we'd heard that can get a bit hectic too. So we headed back to Jaipur, a city that's not quite as deranged as Delhi, but within close enough proximity to the capital that we'd be able to catch our flights. A nice touch too, was that we were able to meet up with some friends from Udaipur again, namely Charlotte and Bill, and Charlotte's Dutch friend Suzanne. We all went to Jaipur's Elephant Festival together, which took place in a large stadium, displaying elephants painted and decorated in traditional and inventive ways. There was also a brass band who performed for our entertainment who needed a tad more practice.
The next morning was the day of Holi. Although we couldn't quite gather what the real purpose was in regards to a celebration, we knew that the festival revolves mostly around people spraying and smothering each other with coloured dye, that it begins early in the day, and that the men can get carried away with drinking and drug taking. It's comparable to Christmas, in that all the shops shut and the roads, for once, are quite quiet. I was looking forward to it, but I was also nervous about it. Me and Eirik met up with the others early so we could face it together. Shortly after stepping out on to the street, we were met with a group of Indian men, each carrying a bag of coloured powder. Quite kindly, they'd grab a handful of the stuff, smear it on each of our faces, say 'happy Holi!' and then give us a hug. Then we'd come across another group and it would happen again. Face, hair, clothes, it all got covered in purples, reds, yellows and pinks. I think it was the most ridiculous thing I'd ever taken part in, and I loved it. Sometimes though, the men we came across would be too heavy-handed, particularly with the girls. Eventually we found our way to a hotel that had set up an area for tourists to enjoy Holi, and this felt like something of a sanctuary, and there was also music and drink.
Holi was a great way to cap my time in India, a country that I feel I didn't quite get the most out of. Well, who could in just a month? The place is vast. But as my time there was spent at the end of my trip I feel I didn't approach it with the same gusto as in the previous five months. Mentally I'd begun preparing myself for returning home while simultaneously having to acclimatise to some of the absolute nonsense that gets thrown at you on a daily basis. So when I got to Delhi that night and got on the plane the next morning, I was ready to go home. Out there in the world there's a man who can travel for years and doesn't mind living out of a bag and waking up in a room full of strangers every morning, or having children claw at his clothes in the hope of getting some food. But I'm not that guy. I certainly wouldn't say I'm a natural traveller, and six months away from my mates and my family is quite enough for me. All the same, the journey's been wild, life-changing and beyond my expectations. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
