Monthly Archives: March 2024

A must-see in Mumbai is Dhobi Ghat, the open air city laundry where over 100,000 pieces are washed, dried and pressed every day. We got an Uber to drop us off at an overpass where an observation deck gives you a good view of the activity below.

We were there at midday so missed the flogging of the clothes in the concrete wash pens but some of the dhobis (washermen) were still hanging the clothes on twisted ropes.

The dhobis and their families live here, and the trade is passed down the generations. This is supposedly the largest open air laundry in the world. You can see some great closeup photos here.

Mumbai is huge and we moved to another area of the city to experience something different. It was an hour-long Uber ride from one neighborhood to the other and we drove over the Bandra-Worli Sea Link, the fifth longest bridge in India. It’s tough to get a good photo of a bridge you’re driving over from the backseat of an Uber but we did get a better shot from shore a few days later.

Our new neighborhood was more upscale than the noisy tech-store district we’d been in. It was still lively and close to the Arabian Sea and despite the intense heat we walked along the shore hoping to reach Bandra Fort. Unfortunately, after a couple of hours of profuse sweating we found the entire fort peninsula closed for renovations. These are things Google maps doesn’t tell you. We wisely called an Uber to take us back to the hotel and air conditioning.

We moved again to another hotel, this time in the clothing shopping district where I got a pair of trainers to replace the Merrells that have nearly fallen apart in the two years since I bought them in New Jersey. For the price I paid for the new ones if they last a year they’ll be worth it.

The very best thing in this new neighborhood was a gelato store where I got the most amazing ice cream I’ve ever had, guava-papaya sorbet with chili sprinkled on top. I went back the next day to have it again and asked for more chili. After tasting it, all other flavors pale in comparison. Even the delicious Tanzania chocolate couldn’t hold a candle to it.

And then it was time to say goodbye to Mumbai. We both agree the Mumbai airport may be our favorite so far. Not only is it quiet, but the Museum of Modern Art made the airport an adjunct gallery and we barely noticed the distance we had to walk to our gate because we enjoyed the art so much.

Against all advice from locals, we are on our way further south. We must be out of our minds.

Mid morning on a hazy day, we hopped out of our Uber at the Gateway to India. We quickly went through security and crossed over the huge plaza that was only just waking up, trying to find the ferry pier that goes to Elephanta Island.

The ticket taker took one look at us and without a word motioned down a ramp leading towards a ferry that looked already full.

We sat down on a flat orange liferaft. One minute later we were backing out of the slip. Someone said, “I hope this is going to Elephanta Island.” I hope so too, I smiled, and said, “Well, that was well planned.”

The ferry was barely making five knots through the harbor but I didn’t care. I had entered my happy place, in a boat on the ocean. Although it would be hard to find a more industrialized harbor.

We motored for about an hour. After disembarking we found you could wait in a line to buy a ticket, then wait in another line to board a tiny train to ride the one kilometer to the base of the hill. Or you could walk down the long pier past dozens of chatty venders where “no thanks” doesn’t seem to translate. I don’t know about you but running into a row of palanquins at the base of the hill to schlep some putz up to the top was a shock. Can you imagine?

This is where the vendor density and the pitch of the stairs increased exponentially and before long I no longer had the breath to say “no thanks.” I just grimaced and slowly plodded up.

When we gained the summit we found an unoccupied bench in the shade and sat for a while, breathing deeply and finishing the water bottle.

After our vision cleared we realized we were at the entrance to the main cave. The monkeys realized we had a small bag with a few snacks and we sensed they were planning something nefarious.

Time to visit the caves.

It’s hard to believe this was chiseled out of solid rock in the 5th century.

The main cave is 39 meters deep and over 9 meters tall so it’s no small thing.

Resting under a fine shade tree, enjoying a nice hill top breeze we still made sure we knew what the monkeys were up to.

A large multigenerational family near us were not as alert and sure enough we heard a scream and saw a monkey zoom up the tree with a very large Tupperware container filled with what was to be their entire family’s picnic lunch. These families take picnicking seriously. He balanced the tub in the crook of the tree and at his leisure picked through the best stuff. They all stood under the tree watching helplessly as the monkey would occasionally drop something. I don’t think they’re getting that plastic tub back either.

On the way back to the boat we stopped for a late lunch at an open air restaurant with a view. I do so enjoy a good view.

The press of humanity coming up was much more intense now and once again I’m reminded of the 1.4 billion humans that call this place home. Back at the end of the pier we found a ferry just beginning to load so this time we got a seat.

Now we had to motor into a light breeze but the Arabian Sea remained benign and aside from watching a huge container ship creep ever closer to us, we reached the harbor in just over an hour.

Before long the skipper had us tied up to the pier.

In case you haven’t noticed, we’re making up this India adventure as we go along. Here in Udaipur we asked many Indians for suggestions on where to go next and I guess we shouldn’t be surprised that not too many people in this huge country have ventured very far from home. Those who have traveled widely urged us to go north, as it’s getting mighty hot even here in Rajasthan, and it’ll be cooler in Dharamshala and especially Kashmir. We love the mountains but unfortunately every route north involves backtracking through Delhi, then returning again to fly out to the UK in April. This would be a clear Rule #1 violation, plus a big ol’ dent in the travel budget. There’s no cheap or easy way to get to Dharamshala. Next time, we sighed. South it is, continuing our linear path. And it’s going to be hot.

A long Uber ride from the Mumbai airport gave us our first look at India’s second largest city and its financial capital. We’re told there’s great wealth here, and great poverty.

We haven’t seen the wealth yet, and our perfectly adequate budget hotel is above an electronics store on a street lined with nothing but electronics stores for at least half a mile.

Around the corner we found a small city market and a wet market but Jack couldn’t put his hands on a Snickers bar.

We plunged headlong into sightseeing, something we usually don’t approach with diligence. It would probably be easier to book a city tour and get driven around from photo op to photo op but our aversion to being herded and my general inclination to take on the navigation duties always send us off on our own to find (or not) the things you’re supposed to see as a first time visitor. I think we did pretty well in Mumbai.

We started, as you do, at the Gateway to India, a monument to the arrival of George V and Queen Mary in 1911, and the symbol of Mumbai. More significantly, the last remaining British troops departed through the arch in 1948. We’d read warnings about crowds, touts and pickpockets but no one bothered us at all, not even for selfies.

Across the street is the magnificent Taj Mahal Palace Hotel. I should mention that we went through security (scans and bag checks) both to enter the grounds of the Gateway and the hotel. The hotel was the site of a terrorist attack in 2008 during which more than 160 people were killed.

It was fun to walk through the lobby, and especially to see the photos of some of the famous people who’ve stayed here.

This is the Colaba area of South Mumbai and a collection of Gothic Revival and Art Deco buildings make up a UNESCO World Heritage site. We had fun seeking out some of the buildings, and they are all beautiful.

Part of this UNESCO site, but also listed on its own is the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus, formerly Victoria Terminus. It’s a huge and fabulous Italian Gothic complex and we spent a long time trying to photograph it. It’s just too big to fit in the frame of an iPhone but we did our best to capture its glory.

Mumbai is so huge that we could only tackle one area a day. Like Delhi, it would take more than the few days we have to fully appreciate the scope and variety of this place. We’re always aware with our advancing age that this may be our only opportunity to be here and more than visiting “the sights” we often just want to soak up the atmosphere of the places we visit. We chose to move hotels every couple of days to experience different parts of the city. Did I mention how big it is?

Ok, Adventure Seekers, it’s time for another UNESCO pilgrimage to a far-flung isolated Indian hilltop fort. This one features 52 miles, three hours of shake ‘n’ bake on high heat in the back of a four door speck called a Suzuki to the world’s second longest continuous wall called “The Great Wall of India.” We all know who’s got the longest.

Once again we start out with the familiar early morning Old Town zigzag and footbridge shuffle to the pickup area where the authorities allow cars. Prem, our driver, was waiting by his car which featured most of the correct pieces commonly associated with a functioning automobile, although it did turn out to be prone to overheating but then again who doesn’t overheat in India?

On the way out of town the pigs with horns were at it again.

The roads are a haphazard combination of nearly first world divided highway alternating with a dirt and gravel moonscape. It’s India, and as you pass by you get the sense that it’s the same as it ever was.

This alternating road/no road pattern persisted. Prem said, “come back in a year and this will be all new beautiful road.” The lack of any evidence of anyone actually working on the road might be discouraging but that’s India.

The large infrastructure needed to handle monsoon rain looks oversized in the dry season.

Well into the mountains, I sensed that we were getting close. Besides, it’s been nearly three hours. There’s hardly a hill that doesn’t have some sort of fortification on top and Kumbhalgarh Fort certainly follows that paradigm.

Prem dropped us off at the mighty gate where the monkeys were doing their usual naughty hi-jinx tricks.

The scale of this monster fort is overwhelming.

In a fit of patriotic pride Prem proudly told us the fort was never attacked but in a rare bout of professional enthusiasm, Yours Truly has already done the research for our Escapees and found that while many had tested themselves against these walls, most failed. Built in the 15th century by Rana Kumbha, the 38km wall did its job, or as some believed, maybe it was the divine intervention of the 360-odd temples contained within the walls. It seems Mughal Emperor Akbar the Great failed by attacking directly so he poisoned the fort’s well water. I think that we can all agree that really doesn’t count.

We started the climb after buying an extra bottle of water. The sun was directly overhead and scorching.

It’s a magnificent view from the top of Kumbhalgarh, but every party has a shelf life and Prem wants to show us a Jain Temple on the way back.

Prem’s enthusiasm has us rocketing over dirt back roads in the outback of India. Apparently we stayed a little too long at the fort.

An hour later we arrived. It seems shoes can’t come any closer than 100 meters to the Ranakpur Jain Temple. Interesting architecture but the damn asphalt is burning hot.

I’ll admit that Prem was right about the Ranakpur Jain Temple but how do I find my shoes?

Back on the road Prem suddenly stopped and backed up. He turned to us and motioned toward the side of the road. We were in the middle of nowhere. In a scene as old as time, we witnessed two buffalo turning a waterwheel which lifted water up to a trough. Not a show or a demonstration but an everyday need being met with what they have. An old Tahitian friend, when happening upon a scene like this, would exclaim, “It’s authentique!”

It’s India.

Holi Anni is the Spring Hindu Festival of Colors celebrating love and the end of winter. We had planned to move on from Udaipur but when we learned Holi was coming up in a few days we extended our stay. The city was booked up, including our wonderful guesthouse, but our host found us another room just around the corner.

Last year we were in Bhaktapur, Nepal, for Holi and it was a joyous but rather sedate celebration. We looked forward to the Rajasthani version, which we were told can get a little rowdy.

The day before Holi we crossed the footbridge into the city and visited the main temple. Jack, as always, stayed on the perimeter with his shoes on while I subjected my bare feet to the hot hot hot stone temple grounds to see what was going on inside. There was already quite a bit of color on the people and the temple itself and I could hear chanting and bells and clapping.

I joined the crush on the steep steps but only got a glimpse as I teetered at the top.

I followed the cows down to the street and Jack and I sauntered back to the Old City.

At the crossroads of nearly every neighborhood men were constructing the trees that will be burned to symbolize the victory of good over evil. We’re told the big bonfires will be in the main square in town along with the big crowds but these little neighborhood celebrations appeal to us. Our original host has especially invited us to join his family at their neighborhood full moon ceremony.

They light the bonfires close to midnight so while we waited we took a turn around the Old City. Things were certainly heating up. Down the street from the footbridge we joined a crowd outside an open doorway. Neither of us could figure out what was going on, and while a local next to me tried to explain it I couldn’t make out what he said over the din of traffic, chanting and bells. We could see the man inside quivering, his right leg vibrating so hard it looked like it might fall off.

In the main square the dancing had started.

We made our way back toward our old guesthouse where our host and his family were beginning the ceremony.

First was a blessing and offering, then the lighting of the tree. It was so much more explosive than we expected, and so hot we couldn’t get near it for about 20 minutes. At one point an ember fell on my head and burned a patch of hair. That was about the time one of the overhead electrical wires melted and the power went out. We noticed this happened above several of the burning trees nearby but the lines were reconnected or rerouted quickly and the power was back on in minutes.

The tradition is to walk around the burning tree seven times for good fortune in the year to come. If you can’t do seven then five or even three are enough. We did the optimum seven and I felt like my right side was barbecued.

The actual festival of colors was the next day. You’ve probably seen this in NatGeo where people dance and carouse and throw color powders and colored water on each other. We’ve been respectfully daubed with colors before in Fiji and Nepal but we really wanted to see the full action, if not join in completely. We selected T-shirts that we wouldn’t mind tossing if they got ruined but neither of us has any throwaway trousers. In any case we prepared to make our way to the square to join in. That’s when these two arrived back at the guesthouse from their foray into the city.

They’d had a lot of fun, and it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience but in the end we chickened out, mostly because of the gauntlet of young kids we’d have to run at the end of our alley before we could ever get to the footbridge. Most of the older folks, tourists and locals alike, also skipped the colors fun. Still, I think we’re both disappointed in ourselves and if we ever intersect with Holi again I think we’ll plunge right in. Why not?

We did get the respectful daub again, so there’s that. Happy Holi!

We noticed that there has been a hulking presence over Old town, Udaipur. High on a hill across the river, perched above old town and clinging to the rocks lies the imposing City Palace. You can’t look at the lake without noticing it.

Today we will wind our way to the footbridge.

Crossing over the Chand Pole footbridge we began to dodge the kamikaze motorbikes and tuktuks to climb the steep hill to the crest and that’s when the plan went pear shaped. We beheld the worst tuktuk/motorcycle gridlock — if you can use the word grid in Udaipur — we’ve ever seen. I honestly didn’t think it was possible.

We couldn’t even get through walking as we endured a cacophony of honking. After 20 minutes of this we found a roundabout way by climbing over and moving several motorbikes. Crazy. At the bottom of that hill we faced a long climb up to the City Palace Gates.

Without signs for any guidance we more or less followed the flow.

After a few people, desperately licking their melting ice cream cones in the heat, motioned which direction to head, we found ourselves in a kind of armaments museum.

I don’t know, I guess I had anticipated more of a palacey kind of thing but their weapons of war were quite artistically presented and how can you ask for more?

Next we were herded into the more refined sections of the palace.

Doors carved from solid ivory

How they made these courtyards so quiet and peaceful I’ll never know

Soon it was time to head back across the river for a sunset from the roof.

We successfully completed the #1 India must-do, the Golden Triangle of Delhi-Agra-Jaipur and now we head into unknown and unplanned territory. We were reluctant to leave the beautiful sanctuary of our guesthouse but we’ve barely scratched the surface of India and we’re keen to experience more.

Everyone says we absolutely must travel India by train and I finally figured out the online booking system and got us comfy seats for the 6-1/2 hour journey to Udaipur.

The first couple of hours were in daylight so we got to see a little of the territory. We were given water and a newspaper before departing, and served food and beverages four times during the trip. Amtrak could learn a thing or two.

We arrived in Udaipur in the dark and after a lively negotiation with two rather enthusiastic tuktuk drivers we finally got onboard for a nailbiting careen through the narrow alleyways of Udaipur to our randomly chosen guest house deep in the labyrinth of the Old City. Someone should make a video game of driving a tuktuk through the crush of pedestrians, motorbikes, cows, and dogs all vying for the same 8-foot wide lanes, and yes, even late at night.

The following day we set out to explore our new neighborhood.

We can never pass up a music store and we got a bonus from the proprietor of this one, a discourse on the sitar and a brief demonstration. He claims the sitar is easier to play than the guitar because while the sitar has many more strings, you only play on one of them. The rest are drones. I didn’t know that.

Udaipur is the City of Lakes, and of course we love being near the water.

We happened upon a small museum in a restored palace. It was cool inside and a nice break from the scorching midday sun.

We found a tiny fruit stand serving beautiful smoothie bowls and established ourselves as regulars.

We’ve learned to take shelter in the worst heat of the afternoon. Then we take to the rooftop for sunset before re-emerging after dark for dinner. We seem to have settled in nicely.

In a very real sense the story of Amber Palace (or is it a fort?) is a story of journeying. Ours started with a call from what we can only surmise was our Uber driver who only said “Yes” when asked who was calling. He called four more times just saying “yes” each time. Our Hindi is a little rusty, but then again they speak dozens of different dialects here on the subcontinent, so who knows? You have to admire his persistence if not his complete lack of any functional English.

His name was Mohan. He wasn’t unusual looking in any way, short, slight, 120 to 130 lbs. But the car, have mercy, the car lacked even one single panel that wasn’t smashed, dented, scratched, gouged, punched in, hanging down or taped up.

They say that beauty’s only skin deep but ugly is through to the bone. No matter what Mohan tried he could only force the transmission into 1st gear maybe 5 percent of the time, which left us trying to start out in second or even third, slowly bucking down the road, horns blaring while his horn barely made a wheezing, worn out anemic meeeep. Still, he drove down the road like everybody in India, with one hand permanently beeping the horn and the other one on the steering wheel when it wasn’t knuckle deep up his nose that is, or when he leaned over to spit out the window. It was a lot to ignore.

Not far from our guesthouse we passed these guys which reminded me that I frequently saw a huge camel in town rigged to a large wheeled flatbed trailer with two dudes aboard, one with something you’d have to call a camel prod, traveling at a high rate of speed through traffic. The camel towered over the cars and tuktuks, which basically got out of the way as fast as possible.

Now where was I? Oh yes. We finally arrived at the Amber Palace gate where we attempted to determine where we’d meet Mohan after we were finished exploring the Palace since he couldn’t park anywhere near the entrance. I really thought we’d never see him again.

There was nothing left but to hit the steps.

The stairs were not a real test for your temple-tested Escapees but the sun always takes its toll.

Nearing the top elephants joined our path leaving more obstacles to avoid.

Ducking through the gate we entered a huge expanse of open courtyard.

Up one last staircase and you could see the palace take shape.

My favorite was the Hall of Private Audience where the envoys of other rulers would be received. Private grievance could also be adjudicated with the powers that be. Nice touch. The glasswork is amazing for 1621.

We only booked Mohan for 7 hours so it was back down the hill for your intrepid Escapees.

At the gate there was no Mohan but we could see the car’s location on the Uber app a short walk away. Marce texted him and he came up to meet us.

Every high point in the area had some sort of fortification perched on top.

We’d been looking forward to this next stepwell, but it was a really a harrowing narrow circuitous alley down into this remarkable valley.

It’s hard to imagine that during the monsoon season these wells were filled to overflowing. Not anymore, sadly, for a variety of environmental and maintenance reasons.

Back up another mountain to Fort Narhargarh and a more organic flowing stepwell.

Well that’s a wrap for a rather ambitious day and if I’m any judge Mohan has had more than enough, too.

From the Palace of Winds we strolled through a marketplace that featured mostly household equipment. I like this kind of market because it’s not for tourists, and you get a good sense of what families need in their daily life.

These huge pans (trays?) caught my attention and I asked what they were for.

“It’s to organize food for five or six hundred people,” the vendor told me.

“Five or six hundred people?” I gasped, “Does that happen often?”

“In India, yes.”

Jack wanted to shop for a new ship’s clock but I was on a mission. Ever since I read about Jantar Mantar, an 18th century astronomical observatory, it’s been marked as “want to go” on my Google map.

But despite it being right there on the map, finding the entrance required the usual twisty turny back alley traffic dodging, death defying crawl we’ve come to accept as shank’s mare in India.

Finally we arrived.

Jantar Mantar is a collection of huge masonry instruments to measure time, predict eclipses and track the position and movements of celestial bodies. The observatory is one of five built by Raja Jai Singh II and the largest. It was completed in 1734. The raja believed these large structures could produce more accurate readings than the small brass instruments commonly used in the period.

There are 19 instruments, each designed for a specific measurement.

One of my very favorite college courses was History of Cosmology, how we humans have tried to understand, describe, and predict the heavens above us. It’s interesting to see how our understanding of the universe evolves over time, and continues to change with new data. Jai Singh II was a student of the Ptolemaic model but noticed that observed positions of certain celestial objects didn’t match the predictions on the data tables in use at the time. The observatories he built were meant to create more accurate tables, using only the naked eye.

It takes some time and effort to examine each instrument and understand its design and purpose and the geometry involved. I could have spent days there. Not only is the science compelling, but the planes and curves of the structures themselves make for constantly changing patterns of light and shadow.

The Rasivalayas Yantra is a unique instrument comprising twelve structures corresponding to the constellations of the zodiac. Each is precisely oriented to indicate the moment a particular sign crosses the meridian. If ever I wished for a drone or a really long arm, it was at this place. You can find an overhead shot here.

Of course we had to find our signs.

The most prominent feature of Jantar Mantar is the enormous Vrihat Samrat Yantra, the world’s largest sundial, said to be accurate to two seconds. The gnomon is 27m tall and you can see the shadow move about 6cm a minute. It’s hard to stop watching.

By the clock on my phone it was dead on, at least to the minute.

On display inside a small building are an orrery and an early globe.

Like I said, I could have stayed for at least the rest of the day, examining each instrument in turn. But we had one more hill to climb.

Ok, it’s not a hill but a great big tower, the 43m Isarlat, built to commemorate the victory of Swai Ishwari Singh in the battle for succession in 1749.

Longtime readers know that for me very high places are to be avoided. But Jack likes company in his quest for the tippy top of wherever we are so here’s me playing along. Notice there are no steps, just a continuous undulating spiral ramp, ribbed for your pleasure.

The view from the top is admittedly wonderful, as long as you don’t look straight down, and my hands are sweating just typing this.

You can see the places we visited today, the Palace of Winds, back right, and the tall sundial gnomon of the observatory, center left.

These three fellows struck up a conversation and answered a lot of questions for us, which took my mind off how high up we were. By coincidence we ran into them again the next day at the Amber fort, which thrilled us all no end and led to another round of photos.

The tuktuk suddenly stopped and the driver indicated that we were to vacate his vehicle. No problem, I’ve been thrown out of better vehicles than a tuktuk. We piled out, and let me tell you this is something that can’t be done gracefully, and looked around. Typical of India there is no indication of where to go or how to enter. Nada.

First we had to find a little hole in the wall that sells the Holy Grail ticket that lets you into several venues we’re interested in at a discount. Frankly it was time to just start walking and trust your spidey sense to sus out the lay of the land.

Sure it can take some time, but it’s always the last place you look.

Now we have to find out how to get into the palace. Palace may not be the proper name for a place that has a beautiful grand facade that is actually the back of the thing, with no obvious way to enter. Eventually we stumble onto the ticket takers at a humble entrance in the side of the building.

The Hawa Mahal, started in 1778, is the tallest building in the world without a foundation. It’s adjacent to the City Palace and was built to allow the royal ladies to observe the activities of the street below while remaining hidden.

There are five stories, named but not numbered. Five floors but no stairs, only India’s famous ribbed ramps were used throughout. A few steps were added later.

You enter on the level called Sharad Mandir through a doorway that opens onto a large courtyard where celebratory gatherings took place.

Ratan Mandir floor dazzles with colorful glasswork in the walls.

The Vichitra Mandir floor was reserved for the Maharaja, a kind of private temple to worship his personal favorite, Krishna.

Prakash Mandir floor is an open terrace.

The top floor is called Hawa Mahal which gives the palace its name. This is where approximately all 105 of the Maharaja’s harem were kept.

The ladies were never to leave the building or be seen…well I’m thinking except for the Maharaja.

The ladies had hundreds of little peek-a-boo hatches, called jharokas to surreptitiously gaze out at street life far below without being seen.

A lot of thought went into keeping air flowing throughout the building using open courtyards and latticework everywhere. There is a marked difference in temperature from outside.

Secret passageways were everywhere and some of the little jharokas were used to spy on each other and guests.

After a brief intermission Marce sat in with the band.

A small museum of bas relief and sculpture from Amber Palace really sets the party scene.

Then it’s exit in the same weird way you enter.

The back of the Palace of Wind from the front street.