Patrick's Postcards

India diary part 7

2017-03-31T13:55:00.001-07:00

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I end my travels at the Taj Mahal

22 November, Agra

On my last full day in India, I take a cab to the station to catch a train to Agra and the Taj Mahal. I had planned to visit earlier, but after those plans fell through, I resolved to go, spend the night in Agra and return to Delhi the next day in time to catch my flight in the evening. At the station I go to the foreigners’ ticket office upstairs. Everything in the room is old and faded. I take a seat at a desk where a man books my ticket on a decrepit computer. When I pay he tries to give me change in old 500 rupee notes. I start to object and the other ticket clerks turn on him and he gives me valid currency. The train is not for another hour or two so I go and have breakfast at a nearby cafe. I return to the station in good time only to find my train has been delayed by an hour. There are no seats in the station’s large entrance hall but the floor is clean by Delhi standards and I join others in sitting and reading and looking up now and then at the departure boards.

I leave plenty of time to get to the right platform and after waiting ten minutes or so a train arrives. After it departs screens along the platform display my train number. Soon the train arrives. It is still 20 minutes before it is due but long after its original time. I walk down the platform to find my carriage but reach the end of the train first. I show my ticket to the guard who inspects it carefully and says platform 8. I’m on platform 6 so I heave my three heavy bags over the footbridge. As I do so, the train, which I still half suspect of being mine, departs. At platform 8 there is another train waiting. I ask another member of rail staff who tells me platform 7. Back I go across the bridge. As I examine the train waiting on platform 7 a fellow passenger comes to my assistance and tells me platform 8.

I continue to wait for at least another hour back where I started on a crowded platform as the midday sun grows more intense. The rescheduled departure time for my train comes and goes and it’s impossible to glean any information from the announcements on the faint Tannoy, even the ones in English. Most seem to end with the phrase: “the delay to this service is deeply regretted.”

The train eventually arrives in the early afternoon, not long before I had been hoping to arrive in Agra. I find my way to my seat in a sleeper carriage full of old metal bunk beds. I occupy one of the lower berths with another passenger. There are more people where you would expect to find the luggage racks which makes it difficult to accommodate my backpack and two smaller bags. When the train finally sets off it is an uneventful journey but it is getting to late afternoon when I come out of the station and hail a cab. The driver is friendly and doesn’t have to stop once to check for directions. He gives me my first glimpse of the Taj Mahal – a smooth white dome poking above crude brickwork of some houses which are either half built or half demolished. By the time I check into my hotel it is too late to visit the Taj Mahal or any of the other sights but I have time to walk around. My hotel is just down the road from the Taj Mahal and I walk down to one of the entrances and continue alongside the wall until I come to the riverside. I arrive just after sundown and see the back of this marvellous building silhouetted in the dying light. It makes all the trauma of the day worthwhile.

I have not had much time to go shopping during the trip due to limitations on luggage allowance and the difficulties of the cash crisis. There are plenty of souvenir shops here though, and it soon becomes tiring being accosted by one shopkeeper after another, each trying to sell the same range of tacky items. As I head back to my hotel, one shop catches my eye. It is quite large and boasts an impressive array of clothes, pictures, and souvenirs. There is no one trying to usher me in and even after I enter of my own accord it is some time before the staff pay me any attention. Most importantly, there is a card terminal, meaning I can go to town and not use up my precious supply of cash.

There is an Australian couple hoping to make their visit to the Taj Mahal tomorrow morning more authentic by buying some traditional clothes. The man is trying on a burgundy outfit with a hat shaped like a turban. The woman emerges from a dressing room in a sari of bright pink and green and starts loudly trying to persuade the staff to throw in some jewellery.

I am attended to by a young man who spends some considerable time helping me pick a wonderful selection of items. Clothes are neatly folded, souvenirs carefully wrapped and I’m pleased to have fit in a last-minute shopping trip. Then it’s time to pay. I put my card in the terminal enter my PIN and, after a minute, the transaction is declined. I try again. Declined. The cash crisis has resulted in long queues at banks and ATMs. It has also led to long digital queues as the country’s electronic payment systems buckle under the enormous rise in transactions in a traditionally cash-based economy.

The shopkeeper tries restarting the terminal. My payment is declined. They disconnect the cable blow on all the connections and boot it up again. Declined. They move it to another part of the shop and hold it out of the window as I enter my PIN. Declined. The manager assures me that the system will be less busy after 9:30. They take my name and hotel address, hand me the items and tell me to come back later.

I return at the agreed time and find the Australian couple wrestling with the terminal. I had spent some of the intervening time calculating how much money I could afford to spend and leave enough for any costs between here and the airport the following evening. But the manager has another idea. The Australian man and I get in his car and he drives to another shop two minutes away where their terminal is working. In a minute our bills are settled and I head back to the hotel.

The hotel, which I had hastily booked online that morning, is clean, comfortable, spacious, in a prime location for the Taj Mahal and excellent value for money. There are only two problems. The first is that the main light switch is located outside the door to my room. The other is the washbasin in the ensuite bathroom which is not attached to the wall but rests on two metal bars. If you place your hand on the rim the whole thing tilts down. I am reminded of this after I take a shower. My foot slips slightly and I put my hand on the basin to steady myself. It goes slamming down toward the floor and so do I. Miraculously, neither I nor the washbasin suffer any damage but I shudder to think that I could have ended up being carted off to hospital having come within spitting distance of one of the seven wonders of the world. I go to bed, ready for an early night and to be set for an early start the next morning.

23 November, The Taj Mahal

If you are visiting the Taj Mahal from Delhi I recommend staying over in Agra. Getting there and back in a day is a lot of travel, especially if the trains are delayed, and means a rush getting to see everything. Delhi is a filthy, stress-inducing city so why rush to get back?

After a good night’s sleep I take the short walk to the ticket office to join hundreds of other tourists eager to see the Taj Mahal when it opens at sunrise, before it gets really busy. The Australian couple are up near the front of the queue – I spot the purple turban poking above the heads in the crowd.

By the time the gates actually open, the sun is bright, but the air is still cool. When I come to the security check I find I have more than I realised in my pockets. As I empty them, the guard queries my bottle of insect repellent. “It’s insect repellent,” snaps a British man behind me.

It is thrilling to step through the main gate into that world famous view even if I am part of a crowd of camera-toting tourists. But the whole site is a wonder. The beautifully maintained grounds, the splendid architecture and the intricate stonework cannot fail to impress. I most enjoy walking in the gardens away from the hubbub in the centre. Green parrots fly between the trees and I catch glimpses of the pure white domes between the lush greenery. I could have spent half the day there but with a train to catch at 10 o’clock I soon have to head back to the hotel for breakfast.

I get to the station in good time. The train is a little more tardy but not as bad as the previous day. I had booked my return ticket from a rather brisk woman who only seemed to half hear what I was saying. When she asked me what class I wanted, I hesitated. There are about five different classes of ticket and I couldn't remember what they all were, but she suggested sleeper which sounded comfortable enough. When she said 190 rupees, I thought I must have misheard. The other ticket cost over 400 but I had heard right. A three-hour trip for less than a single from Newport to Cardiff. I find out the reason it’s so cheap is I’m in one of the luggage rack berths. It is comfortable enough if you want to sleep but not so good if you want to read, write or eat. Towards the end of the journey, the carriage empties and I move down to one of the lower seats. As we approach one station I notice people jumping off and walking the last few yards to the platform and some arrive ahead of the crawling train. I do not attempt it with all my luggage when we arrive back in Delhi.

The Red Fort, Delhi

Once in Delhi I still have an afternoon to fill before my flight home. I get some food, try to find somewhere interesting to explore in the area surrounding the station but find I’m restricted in every direction by busy roads and crowded pavements. At one point I pass a mound of earth riddled with holes and crawling with fat rats. I eventually flag down a tuk tuk and take a quick tour round the Red Fort before fighting my way back to the metro and travelling on to the airport.

A day that began at the Taj Mahal ends with me airborne – winging my way to the Middle East and then on home.

India diary part 6

2017-03-07T14:15:00.000-08:00

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Cashless in Delhi

21 November Delhi

It is my second day in Delhi. Over the course of my travels in Kerala my thick wad of banknotes had diminished to a slim pile of a thousand or two. But nearly two weeks since demonetisation hit, cash remains in short supply with long queues at the few banks and ATMs that are open the norm.
I had last managed to visit a cash machine two days ago at the airport. I was waiting for my host to pick me up when I noticed a queue forming at a nearby ATM and quickly got in line. I had to wait a while for it to start dispensing money but once it did I was soon at the front. Efficiency was improved by a bank clerk posted beside the machine. After I entered my PIN, he swiftly navigated the menu to make a 2,500 withdrawal. It went without saying that everyone wanted the maximum amount which had increased slightly and came partly in the new design 500 notes slowly making their way into circulation.
    Now a couple of days of taxis, meals and other expenses has pushed my balance below R2,000 with two more days left of my trip. This includes going to the Taj Mahal with the admission fee alone costing R1,000. I have barely seen anything of the sights in India's sprawling capital but my priority is cash. I take the metro to Connaught Place, a ring of buildings in the centre of the city built by the British and housing upmarket shops and offices. I soon find a travel agent which doesn’t exchange currency but they direct me to Thomas Cook. They don't have any currency either but give me the address of two banks in another part of town. After having lunch at Burger King for the sake of being able to pay by cash I book an Uber cab and watch the map while the cab icon does a little shuffle dance tantalisingly close to where I am. After about five minutes of this I navigate my way towards where my car is waiting but a horrific consequence is my battery has gone down to 20% leaving me unable to utilise this cashless mode of transport any further.
    It shouldn't matter, I am going where I can get cash. A short ride takes me to a wide road lined with grand buildings. Many seem to be banks or owned by banks and the one I’m heading for has a queue outside I cannot see the end of, and a news crew filming it. I ask a couple of security guards at the entrance where I can exchange foreign currency. They look blank. I show them the paper from Thomas Cook, no response. I look around unable to see any sign of an ATM or other source of cash. We had passed the tourist information centre on the way and I resolve to walk back to see if they can help, or maybe find another solution on the way.
    It is an infuriating predicament. I have pounds and dollars worth thousands of rupees in my wallet and access to ample funds on plastic but I don’t dare to so much as buy a bottle of water with my limited supply of hard cash.
    I walk the streets on a hot day, take a wrong turn at one point, miss the tourist information centre, see nowhere that looks promising until I arrive at another section of Connaught Square. Among the shop fronts I immediately see a few signs advertising foreign exchange. The first building is closed as is the second. By the next one I find a narrow flight of stairs leading to a small office. I enter and find myself in front of a small desk with a tired, hefty man sat behind it. I ask if I can change some pounds. "Sixty-five" he sighs and scribbles the figure on a scrap of paper. It is an abysmal rate for a currency that usually trades at around 80 to the pound but it is take it or leave it. I thrust my money over the counter and he gives most of what I am owed. Someone comes bursting through the door behind me. "Can you change dollars," cries a skinny Australian woman. "Please keep some," she says as I push for the rest of my cash. He gives me another 500. I think I am due some more but he seems to stop noticing me. I seize the notes and go back outside. I have over 4,000 rupees. I am rich again! I buy a bottle of water to celebrate.
    I try to relax and enjoy myself a bit before going to meet a friend in another part of the city. I end up in Chandi Chowk, a sprawling bazaar area near the Red Fort. The roads and pavements are gridlocked and I can only shuffle through the crowd as I search for some form of public transport. As the time of my meeting draws near, all I can find is a rank of auto rickshaws. I show the driver the address and we drive through chaos as night begins to fall. I can see no sign of my destination as the appointed time comes and goes. The driver pulls over, asks to see the address and then remarks that he had misread the name. He chuckles to himself and steers back the way we had come as I sit fuming in the back.
    I am about half an hour late when I arrive at the correct destination and find my Indian friend sat patiently waiting. It is a good end to a fraught day, enjoying dinner and conversation, offloading the stresses of this most challenging of cities. I take an Uber cab back across town to my accommodation. I pass through slums where the trash has grown layer upon layer to create distorted landscapes. I pass an abandoned flyover, its rough concrete supports and bare metal rods emerging from clouds of dust and exhaust. But I also see temples, modern office buildings and hotels and strange palatial buildings which seem to be made from plywood with lavish interiors and ablaze with lurid neon lights. From the comfort and security of my cab it is a thrilling and surreal urban safari.

Next... I negotiate Indian trains to visit the Taj Mahal at the end of my travels.

India diary part 5

2017-02-22T12:52:00.000-08:00

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Driving through forests and rivers, cooking outdoors and visiting tea plantations. Our adventures in Kerala continue...

November 16 Anakullum and Munnar

We wake early and discover our humble lodgings are in a lush part of the forest near the river. Sreejith goes down for a swim before we go to the village. There is a small shrine in the centre of the village playing spiritual music. A priest walks round the shrine holding a coconut and bowing at each side of the building. After a few circuits he hurls the coconut against a stone.
We have breakfast at the same cafe where we ate last night and hear that the elephants did appear last night but somehow the message failed to get through. Another man says he saw them on the road that we will be driving on later.
Our first activity of the day is a tour by Jeep into the forest. We meet a Jayen, a fearless driver who takes us up steep roads and then into the forest where there are no roads and the path, such as there is, is so uneven that we rarely have all four wheels on the ground at the same time. We stop at a tribesman's hut, which is largely constructed from woven coconut fibres. He is not very talkative but happy to let us look round his humble home.

We drive on and meet another local man who we give a lift to. He introduces us to murrukkan or paan. I'm instructed to chew a red nut, areca I believe it's called. It tastes very bitter. I'm them told to add some betel leaves which do nothing to improve the flavour. When there is nothing left to chew I spit jets of blood red saliva. It's supposed to be a stimulant but I'm told I didn't chew long enough. Probably just as well, it's an unhealthy habit.
When our companion leaves he promises to join us for lunch and bring some toddy, an alcoholic drink made of coconut water which we previously came across on the river cruise. We drive on, deeper into the forest along a track that gets steeper and rougher. As we heave and roll down a rough slope Jayen turns the wheel and we leave anything vaguely resembling a path and plough through undergrowth for a few yards.

Having parked we unload the vehicle and make our way through the forest until we come to the river. We enjoy a tentative paddle in the rough waters before preparing a camp fire on which to cook lunch – spicy chicken cooked in bamboo. Our companion keeps his word and arrives with the drink and creates a cup from a bamboo trunk. We work up an appetite preparing the food which soon cooks over the fire. The bamboo adds moisture to the chicken making sweet and succulent. For flavour, setting and originality it is the best meal I've eaten in India.

It is early afternoon when we set off again. We continue to drive down the path until we come to the river. Jayen gets out and walks into the water. It is soon above his knees but he continues until he reaches the other side. On his way back he pushes one or two boulders out of the way and we realise he really does intend to drive across. Sreejith takes position on an island in the middle and between us we film the escapade.

After a short drive we find ourselves at the gate to our apartment. Within half an hour we have checked out and hit the road to our next destination. Munnar is a town up in the hills famous for its tea plantations. As we drive in we see huge expanses of tea bushes stretching above and below us in the hills. We will see more of them tomorrow. There are other things on the agenda today.

    We visit Punajari traditional village where we watch two traditional arts from the region. The first is Kathakali dance which features performers in dramatic masks and costumes. Most of the show consists of one of the performers demonstrating the range of expressions and emotions they can convey before a second actor comes on stage for a short performance which is very expressive and quite violent, with one character repeatedly stabbing the other.
    The second show is a demonstration of the local martial art Kalaippayattu. A troupe of lean young men perform in a pit with the lights out, brandishing swords and spears and twirling flaming hoops and sticks in fast and complex routines. It is a much more compelling show but not everyone seems to appreciate it. There are three austere looking Muslim women sat next to me dressed from head to toe in black and looking after a little girl. When the show starts one of them films it on her phone. After a minute she stops and they begin watching it back while the show is still going on.
    After the show Sreejith persuades me to join the performers for some action photos. I might have looked more the part after my full body massage at the centre next door which is the next item on the agenda, and worth a post of its own.

When we are refreshed from the massage it’s the end of a long day and we check into our hotel, with comfy beds and en-suite bathroom. We binge on hot showers and free wi-fi until we fall asleep.

November 17 Munnar

In the morning we visit the highest organic tea plantation in the world. It's uncertain at first if we will be able to as the Jeep drivers are on strike and unable to take us. The situation seems to change frequently but after breakfast a driver does turn up and we go up a steep, rough winding path, mile upon mile of tea plants stretching below us in a vivid green carpet. We have plenty of chance to take in the scenery as the terms of the industrial action mean he can only take us halfway, giving us a bracing 10km walk to complete the journey.

As I get out of the vehicle I wish I had brought an extra layer. It is distinctly chilly at this altitude but the walking keeps me warm, even as we become shrouded in mist at the summit. We see more pickers at work in the plantations. The newest tips are picked by hand and used to make green tea. I hadn't realised that green tea came from the same plant as other types of tea. They then use hand operated cutting machines to trim the top of the bushes collecting huge sacks of leaves for processing in the nearby plant. We take a tour, watching how the green leaves gradually become the fine brown matter found in cafes and kitchens the world over.

Before we leave we try a cup. It's the lowest grade of tea, described as dust, but it still tastes good. It requires no time to brew; the man simply pours hot water through a tea strainer filled with the leaves and it’s ready.

We make our way back down the hill until we’re met by the Jeep which takes us back into town. We start to head back to Kochin and the end of our trip stopping just outside Munnar for a lunch including various fried vegetables and pineapple served with chilli powder, which gives it a satisfying kick. We continue back along the winding roads into land that becomes more and more urban as the sun goes down. It’s getting late in the evening by the time we reach the suburban area outside Kochin where I am to spend the next couple of nights. I bid a fond farewell to Sreejith, Agnese and Agata at the end of four days we will never forget.

Next: Hunting rupees in Delhi as the cash crisis continues...

Kalari full body massage in Munnar, Kerala

2017-02-16T13:28:00.002-08:00

I’ve never been into massages. I had a Chinese foot massage once which hurt and tickled so much it had me writhing in hysterics. But while visiting Munnar, a hilltop town in Kerala, I tried a Kalari full body massage, a local speciality used on martial arts warriors.

    My masseur was a small, softly spoken man. After replacing my clothes with a meagre loin cloth, he set to work on my face, prodding and rubbing as if applying an invisible coat of make-up. It was only when he finished that my skin felt softer and muscles more relaxed as if my face had been remoulded into a happier expression.
    I did not have long to absorb the pleasures of this appetiser as there was still the rest of my body to work on. I lay on the table and, as the man rubbed oil onto my arms and torso, the smell of coconut filled my nostrils.
    In Kerala most of what you touch and eat is derived from the state's vast crop of coconut trees. Every part of the plant is used for building materials, utensils, hair products and, of course, cooking. Coconut oil is a ubiquitous ingredient in Keralan cuisine and it's good for the skin too, judging by the copious amounts I was basted with.
    He began probing every inch of my body outside a narrowly defined bathing suit area. It was sensational! But some of those sensations caused me to stifle giggles or jolt as if electrocuted when a knuckle hit a nerve. As he pounded my back I had to fight the urge to fart. Maybe the treatment was designed to release such internal pressures. At one point I heard a series of bloodcurdling screams coming from the TV playing in reception.
    After about 40 minutes of being squeezed and pounded like an artisan baker’s dough, I was directed to sit in a small wooden chamber for a steam bath. A panel was inserted across the front and another at the top leaving only my head exposed. It reminded me of a magician restraining his assistant before a trick involving sharp swords.
    The temperature was cool at first and rose at a comfortable rate as the steam built up. As I began to sweat I remembered hearing how a frog will remain in cold water as it is slowly heated even until it is boiled alive.
    After ten minutes I emerged soaked in perspiration, but it was clean and fresh, not like the greasy, smelly sweat from a workout. The man dried me off and marked my forehead for good luck before I got dressed.
    Back in reception I waited for the rest of my group who had booked an extended session. I sat next to an Indian man with a grey beard. After a few minutes, my masseur reappeared holding bunches of long, rusty nails. He and the old man discussed these at great length and my eyes fell on a small brass crucifix, one of several religious ornaments decorating the room.
    I wondered what my companions were going through, but they soon emerged looking radiant and, all in all, I felt pretty good too. As I fell asleep that night I fancied I could still smell the coconut oil deep within my pores releasing its nutrients into my supple skin.

Coconuts: a staple ingredient in Keralan cooking and good for the skin

India diary part 4

2017-02-09T06:02:00.000-08:00

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I fly south for adventures in the forests and backwaters of Kerala...

November 13 Cochin

Ashok drives me to the airport in the morning for my flight to Cochin in Kerala. At the entrance to the airport there is a small currency exchange booth manned by four people. The rates displayed are the best I have seen so I try to change some money but am told they are closed.

The sun is bright when I arrive in Cochin which is just as well because it is run entirely on solar power. The system is so efficient it creates surplus energy and, to make maximum use of the land, vegetables are grown between the solar panels. I learn this from Sreejith, who picks me up at the airport. He is Keralan and will be guide and travel companion to myself and a couple of other travellers for the next few days. We drive to a nearby shopping centre where Sreejith takes me to a restaurant and I order their speciality, biriyani. It comes as a mountain of rice with succulent spicy chicken packed in the centre.

He tells me to wait at the shopping centre while he goes to collect the rest of the party who are on a later flight. I spend much of this time queuing at the ATM, the first I have come across which is actually dispensing money. There are about forty people in the queue each taking around a minute to make their withdrawals on a machine with a long and complicated menu. It has become something of a spectator sport with a crowd gathered round the machine passing updates back to their friends in the queue and prompting users on which buttons to press. As time passes I become acutely aware that the cash is limited and sooner or later someone will get to the front and find there is none left. When my turn comes I insert my card, am informed of a hefty charge (in addition to my own bank's charges) and, with a little help from the ‘audience', I request the maximum R2000 and after a moment's hesitation the cash slot opens dispensing a thin wad of notes.

A couple of hours later Sreejith returns with the rest of the group, two Italian sisters Agnese and Agata. They have just arrived in the country via Delhi and need cash too so I spend another hour waiting at the same ATM which is mercifully still paying out.

In the evening we drive to the fort area where we check into a modest homestay. Due to a booking error we all have to share the same room but it’s big enough for us all to get a good night’s sleep.

November 14 Cochin

In the morning we stop at a fish market where the coast is lined with Chinese fishing nets. Teams of fishermen work these huge structures using a system of ropes and pulleys. One group invites onto their rickety wooden platform. They are keen to explain their operation as a group of tourists and seabirds gathers. We are enlisted to take hold of the ropes and help lift the net out of the water. When we all heave the large structure rises with ease. Among a mass of seaweed and debris there are only one or two small fish in the net. One of the fishermen shows of part of their catch but gets a nasty cut on his thumb in the process.

We get in the car and head into lush green countryside till we arrive in Allepey at around midday where there is a houseboat moored waiting to take us on a one day cruise which I have written about here.

November 15 Anakullum

After disembarking from the cruise we drive up into the hills. We pass through numerous small towns. In between we drive along winding paths through forest and as the towns become further apart we begin passing waterfalls and tremendous views. In the afternoon we stop at a spice plantation where we were introduced to the incredible range of spices grown in the region. There are pineapples of the baby and full size variety and nut meg trees that come in male and female varieties and have to be planted together. Our guide also breaks open a cacao pod for us to taste the seeds. The seeds are about the size of hazel huts, quite hard and covered in white goo. We are told not to bite them, as they taste very bitter, but to suck the goo which has a sweet flavour.

We continue higher into the hills where the forest becomes thicker and the road less well defined. It is dark by the time we roll along a narrow road into an area that has just enough scattered buildings to be called a village. This is Anakullum. I like to get off the tourist trail but I have never succeeded to this extent. It seems a long time ago that we were in the shopping centre with air conditioning, shops, restaurants and ATM.

We check into our accommodation, a very basic room with some old beds and very primitive electrical wiring but it doesn't matter, we will only be sleeping there for one night. We go for dinner at a humble cafe run by a husband and wife. They invite us into their kitchen to watch as they make egg curry though it is so dark it is hard to see as they blend spices and mix ingredients over a simple stove but the end result is a tasty meal.

Egg curry

Anakullum may be off the beaten track but it does have one notable attraction. The river is a popular spot for wild elephants to gather. Elephants are rarely seen in the wild but there is something about the water at this spot which attracts them. After we have eaten we do some elephant spotting. We sit on the wall of a park. All we can see is a volleyball net but we can hear the river and can just about see it when Sreejith puts the car headlights on. Several locals join us and tell us how the elephants were there last night for four hours and how they come every night. One slightly wild man claims he is the elephants' protector, appointed by the forest rangers.

We spend a couple of hours sat on the ground playing cards, but nothing disturbs the gentle rush of water beyond. With an early start the next day we turn in with a promise from one of the villagers to call if the elephants appear. As we drive off I imagine a herd gathering for a midnight game of volleyball.

Our Kerala adventures continue...

India diary part 3

2017-02-04T08:48:00.000-08:00

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I go on the trail of the great poets of Maharashtra.

November 12 Pune, Alandi, Dehu

I travel to two towns near Pune with temples devoted to famous poets and prophets. I am grateful to Ashok, not only for driving me there but for being a guide in sacred places where it is easy to feel at a loss as a foreigner. Our first stop is Alandi – the resting place of 13th century poet and saint Dnyaneshwar. He is renowned for writing a commentary on the Bhagavad Gita – a book from the Hindu epic Mahabharata. He began this 1810 verse work when he was just 12. At the age of 21 he departed life through deep yogic meditation known as Samadhi.
Devotees still congregate at the temple marking the place he was buried. We enter the main courtyard to see a long queue snaking round to enter the main building. We walk round to the back and Ashok says something to an attendant who lets us through a gap in the railings. The entrance to the temple is blocked by a stern female security guard who is locking the gate and continues to do so without even looking at us. The woman who had let us through starts remonstrating and, just as we’re about to go, the security guard waves us through, her expression unchanged. We squeeze through a series of narrow passages in a line of worshippers.

"May the Self of the universe be pleased with this sacrifice of words and bestow His grace on me."

Sant Dnyaneshwar

After exiting into the courtyard we enter another area where Dnyaneshwar’s verses are displayed on wall panels and devotees sit reading his works. Ashok speaks to one man who has travelled from another town to sit in the temple each day until he has read the works 108 times, counted on his rosary. There is constant chanting and everywhere people are praying and making offerings. It is impossible not to be moved by the euphoria and the devotion that this young poet, unknown to me before today, still inspires after more than 700 years.

Temple devoted to Tukaram

We take a short drive to Dehu where there is a temple dedicated to 17th century poet and saint Tukaram. The temple is next to a river where it is said the authorities ordered the poet to throw his writings. Miraculously the papers floated on the water and were undamaged. The temple is a labyrinth of dark rooms and small shrines. Entering means removing shoes and socks and much of the floor is covered in prickly green plastic matting which is painful, though also strangely invigorating to walk on.

The sun sets over the river where Tukaram is said to have cast his writings

We visit a second, more modern temple devoted to the bard. After entering along a path of excruciating cobbles, Ashok shows me Tukaram’s verses written on panels covering all the walls of the two-storey building. He reads, translates and sings the verses until we are suddenly ushered out.
Prayers begin and we join a gathering in two lines of men and women. The building resonates with singing, chanting and clapping. A priest walks up and down the lines carrying a flame, hands reach out as he passes. It is a glorious Hindu ritual but also a human gathering which transcends race, religion and borders. My heart soars until I pay the penance of walking over the cobbles again on my way out. A group of boys follows asking: "what's your name? Where are you from? Do you like football?" and other questions which I answer through clenched teeth as I make my way one painful step at a time back to Ashok's car.

Next: Kerala

New temple devoted to Tukaram

"Words are the only jewels I possess
Words are the only clothes I wear
Words are only the food that sustain my life
Words are the only wealth I distribute among people."

Tukaram

Tukaram's statue in Dehu

India diary part 2

2017-01-25T05:08:00.000-08:00

Go to part 1

My travels continue in Pune with sightseeing, shopping and unexpected financial problems...

November 9, Pune

In the morning I am grateful to a passerby who pays R100 towards my tuk tuk fare. Ashok is working that day and had suggested that I go into town and take a day tour of the city. When I pay the driver the R120 fare with a 500 note he starts protesting. At first I think he hasn’t got change but he seems to be saying he can’t take it. The passerby steps in and hands me R100 to settle the matter. It is not a huge amount of money but still generous, particularly as the whole country is going to be short of cash for the next few weeks. I remember Ashok saying that the Prime Minister is cancelling all 500 and 1,000 rupee notes in a move against corruption. I had thought he meant they were bringing in new notes and phasing the old ones out as routinely happens in the UK and other countries. But in a shock move to purge the nation of black money the notes had been declared invalid over night. Most of the 4,000 odd rupees I have on me are no longer legal tender.
I am still trying to get my head round this when I join the tour. The guide is reluctant to take my R500 note to pay for the tour at first but sympathetic to my situation. He explains I will have to change my money at the bank and I ask if we are stopping near one. He tells me the banks and ATMs are closed for the next two days and I start to panic as none of the admission fees for the sites we are visiting or lunch is included. I find though that other people are prepared to take the old money at their discretion and through these transaction I accumulate enough legal tender to last the next day or two.

View of Pune from Parvati Temple

Shaniwar Wada

Japanese gardens

The tour consists of a heavy itinerary of temples, museums and other attractions. I am the only foreigner on board and but the guides offer English explanations of the sights. In the middle of the afternoon the guide points out an ominous black office building with Trump Towers in gold lettering. That’s the moment I hear he has won the presidential election. I almost hit the floor. The Indians seem quite amused but the guide assures me during the next stop that they don’t like Trump either.

Outpost of the Trump empire

When I arrive at my hotel that evening the caretaker asks if I want dinner. It is about 7:30 and he says it will be ready at 9. It is about 9:45 when he finally puts the food on the table but it is worth waiting for, a tasty lentil soup and wonderfully flavoured dish of French beans, aubergine and tomato served with mountains of chapatis.

November 11, Pune

Long queues following demonetization

The banks reopen and Ashok drives me into town. It soon becomes clear I will have to wait a long time to change my old money as there are long queues outside every branch. I manage to change some money at Thomas Cook though, not as much as I wanted but enough to produce a substantial wad of rupees. I spend the day shopping and exploring the colourful city centre. The food market is particularly lively.

I go into a few clothes shops looking to buy a shirt or two. One is a family run emporium with a very loud and rotund proprietor. When I ask about shirts he shows me one or two assisted by the rest of the staff and as I peruse them piles more appear on the counter. I try a couple on and, while they are not exactly what I had in mind, they look good, stylish. I point out that one of them has a button missing. He brushes this aside saying he'll sew it back on. He cajoles me into buying both shirts and we agree a price of £20. I pay in English money which he explains he can use on an upcoming trip to London and it saves me using my Indian money. When I remind them about the button there is a delay in finding a needle and thread. This gives one of the assistants the chance to show me a tacky range of jewellery. Later they offer me a seat and serve me chai in a tiny plastic cup while the only woman in the shop sews on the button. "In India, if a woman can't sew she can't get married!" the shop owner proclaims. Later I discover that while the shirts seem to fit when I'm standing upright, if I sit or slump my shoulders they bulge open at the front revealing unsightly masses of bare flesh!

Next: I discover the great poets of Maharashtra

Scenes from Pune

India diary part 1

2017-01-14T15:20:00.000-08:00

November 5, 2016, Mumbai

I make the following observations during the taxi ride from Mumbai Airport to my hotel: A group of men stood in the back of a small van trying to remain upright and in the vehicle, a girl on the back of a motorbike talking on her phone in the thick of the traffic with horns blaring non-stop – needless to say she isn’t wearing a helmet, a take-away advertising the softest kebabs in the world, a shop called Selfie Hairstyle, trees full of lights from the recent Diwali festival. I see a man stood by the central barrier taking a photo of his family standing on the other side of the road as traffic hurtles between them. As we near the hotel the driver stops twice in as many minutes to ask directions. Even I can tell where to go the second time but he insists on quizzing a couple of pedestrians before bringing me to my destination.
If the traffic is bad when you're in a car, it is even more terrifying if you're a pedestrian. After checking in to my hotel I go in search of dinner. I come to a busy junction and make a dash when a small gap appears. Other pedestrians stroll across as vehicles tear back and forth.
After a filling and reasonably priced vegetable thali I return to the hotel. This means crossing the road again. This time I find a set of traffic lights and cross on the green but that doesn't stop a moped from screeching round the corner towards me.

November 6, Mumbai

I continue to be alarmed and dismayed by what people get up to on the roads and taxi drivers’ poor geography. On the way to the Daji Lad Mumbai City Museum the driver repeatedly gets out to ask directions while brandishing my guidebook. On one such stop I see a man sat on the back of a motorbike carrying a car windscreen.
The museum is a fascinating collection of artefacts in an ornately decorated building. The park it’s located in is less attractive with a collection of zoo animals in woefully decrepit conditions. It is particularly sad to see the elephants rocking back and forth at the back of their bare concrete enclosure.

November 7, Mumbai

I visit Haji Ali – a mosque at the end of a long promenade stretching out to sea. It’s a colourful and busy place with a stream of visitors and worshippers going to and fro. It is a wonderful location to watch the sunset.

The taxi driver who takes me back ploughs through the traffic. At one junction there is a constant flow of traffic three vehicles thick. There are no gaps yet somehow the driver manages to bulldoze his way through, horns honking in all directions until we get over to the left lane.

November 8, Mumbai

In the morning I explore the caves and stunning views of Elephanta Island, about an hour’s ferry ride away from the Gateway of India, Mumbai’s port area. On the way back we have to board one ferry and then cross over onto another one moored alongside it. As a girl ahead of me steps between the two boats her cardigan slips from her waist and falls in the water. A crewman puts his hands on either side and lowers himself down, grabs the garment with his feet and returns it to its owner.

Monkey on Elephanta Island

In the evening I meet my friend Ashok and we travel together on the train to Pune, his hometown and my next stop.

With Ashok on the train to Pune

Houseboat cruise in Allepey, Kerala

2017-01-01T14:34:00.000-08:00

Kerala is a region with plenty to explore. Most tourists start in Cochin where there are enough sights and attractions to last a week or more. But the backwaters of Allepey offer a more gentle pace and outstanding natural scenery. Escaping the bustle of the city to cruise the rivers while enjoying the best Keralan cuisine should a part of any traveller's visit to the area. Read more

Bird life

Life by the river

Going home on the school boat

We stopped off early on the cruise to pick up a bottle of toddy, a beer made from coconut water which gets stronger during the day as it ferments.

Cheers

A Keralan banquet on the houseboat

Mumbai

2016-12-04T10:03:00.000-08:00

When you leave Mumbai Airport you know you're in India. My black and yellow cab drove onto the road in the late evening into a hectic cavalcade of fumes and metal. Ahead of me a small truck had its back door open, revealing a group of young men trying to stay up right and in the vehicle. Foolhardy motorcyclists wove among the traffic with every driver ready to plough forward at the slightest hint of a gap in the gridlock. I passed a woman sat on the back of a moped calmly talking on her phone. I don't know how she managed to hear anything over the constant honking. Indian drivers use the horn as much as the gas and clutch. Larger vehicles encourage horn use with 'Horn OK Please' written across the backs of their vehicles, in case any driver might be thinking it was impolite to blast their horn every few seconds. As a passenger and pedestrian Indian traffic is something you quickly learn to endure. I'm not sure you ever get used to it.

Beneath the crowds, mayhem and smog of Mumbai there lies a fascinating and friendly city with a variety of architecture, lush green parks and a multitude of cabs to carry you cheaply and easily between the many museums, sights and attractions. I spent three days in the city enjoying the following highlights:

Malabar Hill

I spent my first morning in this quiet neighbourhood. In the hanging gardens residents sit and stroll among a muddle of flowers, trees and various attempts at topiary. It is home to a lot of birdlife too. The area also offers fine views of the city and coastline.

Mani Bhavan

This former home of Mahatma Gandhi gives a detailed but easy to digest account of Gandhi's life and work through photos, letters, quotations and artefacts. Seeing the father of modern India's possessions and carefully preserved living quarters makes you feel close to this peaceful and inspirational political figurehead.

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world" – Mahatma Gandhi

Clap talk

Clap Global is a scheme which gives travellers the opportunity to visit schools for a cultural exchange with pupils. During my talk I showed pictures of my hometown, Cambridge, explained how we mark Remembrance Day, which was coming up in November, and sang All You Need Is Love by The Beatles. I also had to answer no end of questions about my life, interests and country and was taught how to introduce myself in Hindi. It was really rewarding to see how keen the pupils were and how much they learnt. I recommend taking part if you get the chance. Clap Global is expanding to other cities in India and other countries.

clapglobal.com

Haji Ali

Constant crowds come and go at this mosque is at the end of a long pier. The mosque is a pretty fine building but the sea views and sunset are outstanding.

Elephanta Island

An hour-long boat trip from the Gateway to India takes you to this island inhabited by monkeys and home to a series of incredible caves carved out of rock. There is an optional train ride from the quay to the bottom of the hill. About 600 metres of step stone steps take you up the caves. The way is sheltered and lined with souvenir stalls making it a steep and narrow shopping mall. The caves and striking sculptures are fascinating to explore while the monkeys are an entertaining side attraction, as long as they don’t steal your food or possessions. There are also terrific views.

Gateway of India & Hotel Taj Mahal viewed from the boat to Elephanta Island

Castell Coch

2015-06-26T03:50:00.001-07:00

Castell Coch stands above the village of Tongwylais like a French chateau – its spires rising out of the woods that cover the surrounding hills. It is easily reached by bike from Cardiff following national cycle route 8. Heading past the Millennium Stadium from the station I picked up the route on the path running on the west bank of the River Taff. Bute Park provides a green corridor through the city and the route sticks by the riverside most of the way passing fields and wooded sections. A short stretch along roads takes you to the village and the only strenuous part of the ride up a steep hill to the castle gates.

The castle was originally built in Norman times but the building that stands today is a reconstruction completed by the Third Marquess of Bute in the 19th century. It's an impressive fort from the outside but inside it is more homely with lavishly furnished rooms including the ornate chapel and dining room and fairytale decor of the Lady Bute's bedroom.

The kitchen was fully equipped with bowls set out on the table like the Mary Celeste. To one side there were some windows looking through to the dining room. I saw a man in uniform come striding purposefully towards me. He thrust his head through the window and said: "While you're in there you couldn't do me a sausage and chips?" A moment later he entered, looking around as if something might be missing. Then gave an impromptu talk on the characteristics of medieval kitchens, pointing out that what appeared to be cupboards in the walls were in fact ovens. Apparently one oven wasn't enough in those days. It was a lively alternative to the somewhat unreliable audio guides.

On the whole the place is far to cosy for medieval times, the only exception being a staircase tucked away in one corner leading to the dungeon, a dark, bare cell deep underground.

An hour or two is sufficient to explore the charming but compact castle and when I next go I'll leave time to explore the walking trails in the surrounding woodland.

Iceland

2015-03-01T07:37:00.001-08:00

From the whiff of sulphur when you turn on the hot tap to the snow covered mountains surrounding Reykjavik Iceland is a destination when nature’s raw power constantly impresses with sights and sensations.

I left the airport (possibly the most unattractive sight in the country) and was soon travelling through a vast expanse of moss covered lava rock, mountains rising up in the distance. The prospective crew members for the mission to Mars should just go to Iceland instead. The air’s fresher, the landscape’s just as alien and it’s easier to get back home.

My first stop was at one of Iceland’s most touted attractions the Blue Lagoon. The vast thermal baths with sky blue waters were a great place to relax after an early morning flight. I was afraid I would have to dash through sub-zero temperatures before being scaled in boiling hot water but an indoor section of the bath leading outside eliminated this and the air and water temperatures mostly balanced each other out though from time to time a blast of arctic wind would freeze your face or a wave of extra hot water would make your skin start to sizzle.

Sitting in the warm water sipping a beer bought from the poolside bar (your wristband acts as a digital wallet) it was hard to believe less than 12 hours earlier I had been sat at a bus stop in Newport at 3:30am with a girl in short sleeves patting her skimpily clad friend on the back who had taken a bad turn at the end of a heavy night out. I hadn’t even got to the hotel yet and Iceland was looking and feeling awesome.

A few flakes of snow fell while I was at the lagoon which turned into blizzards that night and the following day. I found Reykjavik a pleasant city to stroll around in-between heavy blasts of snow which teams of snow ploughs calmly dealt with meaning none of the panic that such conditions would cause in the UK. It does not feel like a capital city – more like a large, cosmopolitan village which isn’t surprising considering the entire population of the country is less than 330,000.

I glimpsed snowy mountains across a stretch of water down one side street and nipped down to take a closer look. It took a bit more nipping than I had anticipated. One street led to another which ended with a steep slope leading into a housing estate. I walked round via another street, was blocked by an embankment, found my way round, crossed a busy road and waited for another group of tourists to move before I got a clear view, but it was worth it.

The following day I took a tour of the golden circle – a popular group of attractions near Reykjavik, though it was more of a white circle as the snow continued. The incredible views of the rift valley were an early highlight. There was also a beautiful ice encrusted waterfall though it was only a snow globe version of the mighty Gullfoss we encountered later.

The Rift Valley

Gullfoss

Geyser was also rewarding with the one regularly active geyser doing its stuff. Having taken a few photos I watched the spectacle without the distractions of a camera. It had gone off twice in five minutes but the third blast took it’s time with the water sloshing about occasionally to tease the gathered crowd. Then without warning the water gathered into a huge blue ball which exploded in a 15 foot jet of steam. We returned to Reykjavik in a heavy blizzard, white clouds slowly erasing the world outside.

The following day I ventured further afield on a road trip to Hofn near Skaftafell National Park in the South East. A network of airports makes planes a good way to get around the country with flights sometimes being both quicker and cheaper than the bus. But if you have time to drive the scenery is worth it.

Green hills, snowy mountains, waterfalls dashing down sheer rock faces, volcanos, vast monochrome plains of lava, rugged coastline beaten by rough seas. We saw them all in an ever-changing landscape as the weather varied between sun, heavy rain and thick blizzards.

After four hours of jaw dropping scenery we were still blown away when we passed Jökulsárlón, a lagoon full of blue icebergs from a nearby glacier which had us veering off the road to take a closer look.

We visited the glacier the following day for a tour of an ice cave. Entering this temporary vault was like going inside a huge diamond illuminated by incredible blue light. We passed through the cave to be surrounded by huge cliffs and rising plains of solid blue and grey ice – the grey caused by volcanic ash. The glacier moves and changes at a visible rate. Even in a couple of years the area we visited will be unrecognisable and vast though it seemed it was just one tiny corner of this amazing structure.

On my return to Reykjavik I had hoped to go on a tour to see the northern lights but it was cancelled for the third time that week. Instead I finished the trip as I’d started with a bath - this time at the public baths in Reykjavik. The old baths are not as glamorous as the Blue Lagoon but at 650 krona they are excellent value and offer both a conventional indoor pool at a comfortable temperature and open air hot tubs.

Iceland delivered a tremendous five days of new and unforgettable experiences and is a country I thoroughly recommend visiting.

Conwy

2014-09-30T14:26:00.000-07:00

When the train arrives in Conwy from Llandudno Junction it almost scrapes against the castle walls before passing through an archway in the city wall just before the platform. The railway cuts a deep groove through the town continuing along the North Wales Coast but there are many reasons to alight at this request stop.

A stroll around the well-preserved battlements offers views over snug rows of slate roof tops and the River Conwy where sails take the place of rooftops. The whole scene is dominated by the castle built by Edward I and still standing proud.

The castle is the most obvious tourist attraction and worth spending 2-3 hours to explore. You can lose yourself amongst the high walls and arched windows. Most of the towers and turrets can still be climbed offering even greater views of the town and surrounding countryside.

There is a friendly community feel to the place where any encounter be it in a park or shop can result in a cheery exchange. On one of the last really warm days of summer I ate lunch in a shady spot in the churchyard. “You won't get a sun tan sitting there,” remarked a passerby.

“I won’t get sunburn either,” I retorted.

Berry Street offers a nostalgic shopping experience. We were regular customers at the baker’s with a blue and white shop front where we bought huge, generously filled baps. Next door there was a sweet shop with its walls lined with shelves of jars and a window displaying everything from pop rocks to liquorice. A couple of doors down a greengrocer offered an inviting display of wares and the shopkeeper kept up a steady stream of conversation with each customer. Berry Street offers all the provisions needed for a famous five style adventure along the coastal path or Bodlondeb Woods.

I went to both on my first morning. It was bright and clear as I set off along the sturdy path running along the riverside towards the coast. After passing a small harbour I felt the sea air and the path turned to grass and sand as I walked alongside sandy and stony beaches. I spent an hour or two sat in a quiet spot reading, before turning back and entering the northern corner of the woods. I followed a steep winding path, glimpsing the river through the trees until I suddenly emerged in a well-kept park with mown lawns and flower beds and what appeared to be a stately home in the centre. I had in fact passed an entrance to it earlier but the gate house suggested it was private property. It was Bodlondeb Park and I wasn’t the only member of the public enjoying it. A voice hailed me from behind and I looked round to see a man with a wild beard on a nearby bench clutching a copy of the Mirror. “It’s lovely day,” he declared in case I hadn’t notice. “I’ve found a sun trap and I’m reading the paper,” he explained. I bid him good day and found a spot to enjoy the weather and another chapter of the novel I was reading.

The river front was the perfect spot to enjoy the final days of summer. The residents of a row of houses can enjoy the tranquil views right from their doorsteps, though the last on the row is now a tourist attraction as the smallest house in Great Britain. With a floor area of 3.05 by 1.8 metres and a height of 3.1 metres it seems built for a tiny resident though the last person to live there was a 6ft 3 fisherman in 1900.

By Marcus Millett

An ice cream stall offers a variety of flavours including salted caramel and sea buckthorn. On my first evening I ate fish and chips from another bygone era shop on Berry Street while a large seagull eyed me intently.

It takes about half an hour to explore Conwy’s attractions but the town’s allure lasts longer. With so many areas of interest to see nearby it is just as well the town doesn’t swallow you whole but waits patiently for your return, its solid wall extending round the narrow streets in a warm embrace.

Cambridge E-Luminate Festival

2014-02-24T03:18:00.000-08:00

Cambridge's first E-luminate festival saw buildings across the city lit up using lo-carbon technology. I braved heavy winds on the opening night to photograph illuminations on Kings College, the Senate House and Guildhall. That was after the opening ceremony during which illusionist Alexis Arts made an amazing prediction. During the festival he also made a successful Guinness World Records attempt for the largest card reveal.


Alexis Arts at The Grand Arcade

Os and Xs on the Guildhall

There were concerts and workshops throughout the two weeks including twilight opening of many of the city's museums. I visited the Botanic Gardens Glass Houses and St Peter's Church.

The Botanic Gardens

St Peter's Church

I was pleased to be shortlisted in the festival photography competition for this photo of the Senate House Railings which got me into the closing ceremony at the Hilton.

The festival is set to become an annual event and beneath the artwork and entertainment the project is doing serious work in promoting low carbon lighting. The technology that has illuminated the city could one day illuminate our homes and work places providing the light we need without it costing the Earth.

Look out for details of the festival in future years. It is sure to be yet another attraction in this world famous city. Here are a couple of the animated projections from the festival:

Brighton Museum and Art Gallery: Spectators and Performers Exhibition

2013-10-10T08:34:00.000-07:00

Fat Boy Slim’s slipmats sit next to a hurdy-gurdy and a laughing cloud greets you at the entrance to this upstairs room of the Brighton Museum and Art Gallery.

It is home to props and costumes from celebrations around the world like Bamana in Mali where bright puppets dance and battle through the night. The long-necked yellow goat on display looks like it’s about to pick a fight with the figure dressed in a gold swordfish helmet brandishing a pair of swords from the Niger Delta, home of the Kalibari Tribe.

Elsewhere a sequin-clad monkey marionette from Burma leaps through the air wielding a club and the costume of a mysterious Nigerian Egungun dancer draws much curiosity. Videos show some exhibits in action like the graceful Vietnamese water puppets.

Concise information labels tell stories like how eight year-old African boys encounter the terrifying masked Bedu dancers before joining their ritual celebration.

There is a lack of interactive features here when museums are full of buttons, touchable exhibits and computers. The fully functional Punch and Judy theatre is a superb attraction, but a bit big for young puppeteers to operate comfortably.

Not that anyone will be bored, the exhibition can be viewed in minutes but captivates the imagination for far longer. From the enormous shadow puppets that act out Indian folk tales to the jewel encrusted Burmese dancer’s suit, this is the costume department from that grandest of theatre productions: life!

Spectators and Performers
1st Floor, Brighton Museum and Art Gallery, Royal Pavilion Gardens
Open: Tuesday-Sunday 10am-5pm

Admission Free

A VIP Tour of Brighton Dome

2013-09-14T13:19:00.001-07:00

Sitting in the modern auditorium at the Brighton Dome it's hard to imagine the place was once a courtyard with a fountain and stables. Neither can you visualise the rows of hospital beds that held wounded Indian soldiers in the Second World War.

The 200 year history of this unique venue built by the Prince of Wales (later George IV) to house his horses in 1803 goes un-noted by most of the visitors who attend the regular shows, concerts and conferences that are held there these days.

On this free tour offered as part of Heritage Open Days we learnt about the fascinating history of the building and explored all it's nooks and crannies.

In the centre of the stage stood the vintage electric organ that organist Douglas Reeve entertained audiences on during the Second World War and for many years after, earning a place in the Guinness Book of Records for longest running seaside show.

Current organist John Mann gave a demonstration. A warm crackle filled the air then he ran his fingers over the keys bringing forth sounds of xylophones, sleigh bells and birdsong.

Time was short and we continued to the Corn Exchange which was in a bit of disarray between shows but has all the lavish grandeur the prince was famous for. The huge beams are made from single pieces of wood and when the stage is set it's a premier concert venue.

The tour then extended beyond the public rooms to the underground backstage area. It's a warren of passages which could easily lead to Spinal Tap scenarios of artists getting lost on their way to the stage.

It's possibly the only venue to feature a secret tunnel, which was built by The Prince of Wales so he could pass unseen between the Dome and the Corn Exchange. It's a facility that some of the more reclusive performers might make use of if it wasn't so dank and smelly.

Our guide had worked at the Dome for 13 years and had plenty of stories about famous names who have played there including Beyonce who thought she was in London and wanted her dressing room painted pink (the request was refused) and Lemmy from Motorhead who used a shower cap to disable the smoke alarm in his dressing room.

It was these details and anecdotes that made the venue itself the star of this special show.

Paid tours of Brighton Dome are available at other times and private tours can be arranged. See the website for details.

Cycling to St Ives (Cambridgeshire)

2013-09-06T15:41:00.000-07:00

I visited St Ives earlier this summer. I don't know why I didn't go earlier. What was I thinking? The colourful market spilling along the main street, the fine medieval buildings and bridge over a picturesque stretch of river make it a perfect escape from the relative metropolis of Cambridge. I went to the St Ives in Cornwall when I was 3 so there's no excuse.

In fact getting to St Ives from Cambridge has got a whole lot easier since the opening of the guided bus. From Cambridge Regional College on Kings Hedges Road the bus cuts a path across glorious countryside making it a swift pleasurable journey. An even greener, more invigorating option is the broad, smooth cycleway that runs alongside the bus track.

It's a pleasure to ride along and sights on the route include the windmill at Over, and Fen Drayton Nature Reserve with incredible views of lakes formed from disused sand and gravel pits, now home to 190 bird species.

The going can get tough if the wind is against you but on a fine day there is no safer or easier cycle route and the journey is as enjoyable as the destination. Once you get to the guided bus stop on King's Hedges Road you can't get lost. Head straight along the path which can also be incorporated into many other routes of varying lengths taking in the villages in between.

For more cycle rides in Cambridge read my article on Local Secrets.

Sights on the route include the windmill at Over, and Fen Drayton Nature Reserve with incredible views of lakes formed from disused sand and gravel pits, now home to 190 bird species. - See more at: http://www.localsecrets.com/ezine.cfm?ezineid=3569~on+your+bike+sports+and+outdoor#sthash.kyLLRooK.dpuf

In Pictures: A Day in Morroco

2013-08-27T03:22:00.000-07:00

From Tarifa in Spain Morocco is one hour away by ferry making port town Tangier an easy day trip. I went on a one day tour with FRS Ferries and whilst I needed to stay longer to fully experience the country the tour fit a lot in giving a wonderful taste of this incredible country. You can read a full account of my visit here.

First time on a camel.

Lush countryside surrounding Tangier


Weekend market

Covered Souk (market)

Grand Socco

Moroccan tea and pastries for dessert

A carpet emporium. I returned with a small rug and selection of pottery after some intense bartering.


A pharmacy with shelf fulls of mysterious ingredients.

The medina

Looking out to the port

More photos:

Things to Love About Brighton

2013-08-23T03:32:00.001-07:00

I'm moving to Brighton in September a place I only visited for the first time earlier this year. The general reaction when I tell people this is, "You'll love it!" I spent a couple of days as a tourist in my future hometown and found there is indeed much to love about it.

Volk's Electric Railway

The world's oldest electric train has been taking holiday makers up and down the seafront since 1883. Even sharing a small compartment with a mother and noisy child, two overweight tourists a dog can't spoil the pleasure of the fifteen ride between the pier and the marina.

Brighton Pier

I didn't think I'd have much time for the kitsch attractions loaded onto the most prominent landmark on the seafront. But the combination of the sea beneath your feet, seagulls swooping overhead, pop songs and the screams of thrill seekers at the funfair, the smell of fish and chips and candy floss is strangely uplifting especially on a sunny day.

About 100 yards down the coast the skeletal remains of the West Pier rise above the waves. The 19th century attraction was closed on 1975 and burnt down in 2003 leaving a ghostly relic of a bygone era.

Pavilion Park

In addition to miles of beaches the city is full of green spaces. The Pavilion Park is a calm oasis right in the heart of the city with well-kept lawns and flowerbeds and buskers adding to the chilled out vibe.
It is also home to the Brighton Museum and Art Gallery. It features exhibitions covering Brighton's history, modern art and temporary exhibitions. There is also an Egyptian section celebrating the work of early Egyptologists from the area.
The museum is open from Tuesday-Saturday and admission is free. It's also the only place I could find to store luggage in the centre of Brighton. Coin operated lockers are on the ground floor.

Snoopers Paradise

If Ebay was a shop it might look something like Snoopers Paradise in Kensington Gardens and it's a lot more fun to browse. The sprawling store contains hundreds of glass cabinets containing computer games, wristwatches, vintage cameras, musical instruments and anything else you can imagine. Items are arranged separately in neat displays or thrown together in random combinations. Racks of clothing and overflowing bookshelves add to the labyrinth of wares whilst the first floor is full of vintage clothing and other nicknacks.

Northern Lights

I barely scratched the surface of Brighton's varied nightlife but this Nordic themed bar tucked away on Little East Street is a popular local hangout serving Scandanavian food and beer.

www.northernlightsbrighton.co.uk

Caroline Lucas

Source: The Health Hotel

Liberal and forward-thinking Brighton elected Caroline Lucas as Britain's first Green MP in 2010. She is a devoted politician and activist on green and social issues. During my visit she was arrested at an anti-fracking demonstration.
Brighton should be proud to have an MP who's prepared to fight issues on the front line.

www.carolinelucas.com

Devil's Dyke

The open-top 77 bus goes to this pristine area of countryside in the downs. Take in the hilltop views before descending down the dyke and explore the varied landscape of meadows and woodland.

It's worth taking a good map. There is a leaflet with information and suggested routes but they are not clearly marked. After taking a few wrong turns I returned the way I had come. It's also worth taking a picnic on a nice day. There is the Devil's Dyke pub next to the bus stop but there are no shops nearby.

What else is there to love about Brighton? Let me know and I'll add any new favourites to this post.

Cordoba

2013-07-20T12:27:00.000-07:00

Day after day of endless sunshine and muggy nights spent with blankets off and the window wide open. I thought I'd left all that in Spain but as we enter the third week of unbroken hot weather and 20℃+ temperatures I find myself recalling another leg of my travels last April.

Cordoba had been recommended by several friends and on my last full day in Spain I took an air-conditioned express train from Seville to spend the day in this city rich in architecture.

The main attraction for most visitors is The Mezquita, a cathedral converted from a mosque in the heart of the Jewish quarter. I have mentioned in previous posts the exceptional magnitude of religious buildings in Spain and The Mezquita is no exception. Simply walking through the main gate into the Patio de los Naranjos rewards visitors with a vast courtyard with rows of orange trees surrounded by the imposing cathedral. The courtyard is free to enter but having come this far it would be a shame not to pay the €8 to explore the cathedral itself.

You enter a hall with polished stone floor and rows of pillars stretching in all directions. It is a dense, dark forest of stone in contrast to the bright colourful courtyard you have just left. Side chapels filled with Arabic and western artwork glimmer in the dim light. Visitors are immediately absorbed by the Islamic architecture the play of light and shadow and the cool air. As you move into the heart of the building, your eyes becoming accustomed to the dark then you come into the corro, an enclosed section at the centre.

The word breathtaking is over used but I literally felt my chest tighten as I was confronted with the high white ceiling, ornate decorations and beautiful altar and choir stalls. The impact is all the greater from entering from the dark surroundings.

You can easily spend an hour just absorbing the atmosphere of this unique and ancient building but the surrounding area is also worth exploring.

The Rio Guadalquivir flows behind The Mezquita. Green parks line its shores and it can be crossed over several bridges including the stunning sand coloured Puente Romano. I walked along the south bank before crossing back and returning towards The Mezquita through narrow, brightly coloured streets. There was still time to relax in the city's numerous parks in the afternoon before returning to Seville in the early evening.

Cordoba is a worthwhile destination as a day trip from Seville but I could have stayed longer. I didn't make it to the Alczar so can not compare it to the one in Seville. I didn't have time for the many museums dotted round the city and for every enticing street I strolled down a dozen others went unexplored. However The Mezquita was worth the trip alone.

Cadiz

2013-06-22T07:17:00.000-07:00

Hostel Casa Caracol lies in a quiet side street five minutes from the bus and train station in Cadiz. Once you've checked in and read the funky rule book you can ascend the stairs brilliantly decorated with ceramic tiles. It's the kind of place where other guests rush to greet you and anyone who's been there more than three nights has the wisdom of a long-term resident able to guide you direct to the best bar or post office and full of anecdotes about guests who were there in the dim and distant past two nights ago.

The friendly atmosphere is greatly helped by the communal meals served twice a day. Breakfast (included)consists of fresh pancakes and plenty of cereal and real coffee. Things get really lively in the evening when a home-cooked meal is served (about €5 a head.) Guests sit together round large tables and conversation flows in a broad mix of languages and accents.

Cadiz is a compact town on the end of a peninsula. It is easy to explore on foot and surrounded by miles of perfect sandy beaches. I hired a bike from the hostel and visited the glorious cathedral and rode round the city wall. I rode along a narrow stone walkway out to Castillo De San Sebastian - a castle on an islet. Further along the seafront I watched the sun go down on a warm, clear evening.

Another attraction I discovered on the second day was a market selling mainly fruit and fish. The latter included an unusual and colourful selection of wares.

The beaches are a perfect location for sun and sea bathing but offer little shade from the strong mid-day sun. The hostel has a shady roof terrace with hammocks - ample relaxation and no sand in your socks.

The terrace was the location for a barbecue on the second night. If I understood correctly pigs cheeks were on the menu, well-cooked and served with a tasty sauce, bread and potatoes. Guests mingled and later a guitar appeared and music and conversation flowed late into the night.

Tarifa and Tangier

2013-06-04T04:34:00.002-07:00

Tarifa is medium-sized town packed onto the most Southern tip of Spain and Europe. There are castles, beaches and a strong wind. Thanks to the latter it has become an international hotspot for windsurfing and kite-surfing. My main purpose however was to make a short excursion to Morocco which lies spitting distance across the straits of Gibraltar.

On my first day I found plenty of land-based attractions in the town to occupy an afternoon and evening. I walked to the seafront and visited one of the two castles that looks out over the coast. Castillo De Santa Catalina is a derelict ruin. It is not an official tourist attraction but the fences and boarded up doorways do little to stop visitors climbing the path and scrambling up rocks to take in the view. I found it was a great spot to view the sunset the following evening.

I continued seaward to where a road runs between the Mediterranean and The Atlantic to Isla De Las Palomas. A heavy wind hit me as I left the sheltered streets on the mainland and I was pelted with sand as I bowed my head and strode forward, waves from the two seas crashing on either side. Most of the island is closed off but there are a few beaches and rocky coves and great views of the mainland from the very southern most point of the country and continent.

I next made a call to the other, grander castle Castillo De Guzman El Bueno and found it closed. I turned back in the general direction of my hotel and became lost in the old town, a tight labyrinth of narrow streets, white washed houses and small squares surrounded by bars and restaurants.

In the evening Castillo De Guzman El Bueno reopened and I looked around this well-preserved fortress with views of the sea and, on a clear day, the coast of Morocco from its battlements.

I returned to the old town and as it got to dinner time I passed a restaurant in a back street offering a three-course menu of Spanish cuisine for €9. On entering I discovered it was the back entrance to a large restaurant on the main square. When I asked for the €9 menu I was instead offered a regular menu with main courses alone costing €8-10. Feeling I was being had I moved on and found a very satisfactory restaurant just near San Mateo church. I enjoyed the kind of dishes promised at the other restaurant; gazpacho soup, fried fish and creme caramel for a reasonable €12.

The next day I made an early start on a day trip to Morocco. I made the 35 minute trip to Tangier on a high-speed ferry, spending the first part of the journey queuing to get my passport stamped. It was still quiet early when the ferry docked as the country is 2 hours behind Spain in summer time. I joined a tour group with one other person and we had time to take a car trip round the city, ride a camel, have an early lunch and do some shopping. At the last shop we visited I got drawn into haggling with the owner and came away with a rug and set of ceramic bowls. You can read more about the trip here.

On my final day I took to the seas once again on a whale and dolphin watching tour. After we had left the harbour far behind dolphins appeared swimming ahead of the boat. For most of the remaining three hours there was little to see apart from seagulls and fishing boats. Then we spotted jets of water in the distance and the guide identified an estimated 3 sperm whales coming up for air. As these giants spend 90% of the time under water we were lucky to see them and as we approached we were rewarded with the sight of one whale's huge tail rising out of the water before it descended into the deep once more.

After lunch in the square it was time for me to depart too, back to Seville.

Italica

2013-05-17T07:23:00.000-07:00

It sounds like the name of a phoney Italian restaurant or attraction but Italica is a well-preserved part of the Roman Empire on a hilltop outside Seville. Regular buses depart from Plaza De Armas bus station to Santiponce. The service terminates just past the entrance to Italica, the remains of the third largest city in the Roman world and birthplace of emperors Trajan and Hadrian.

It is not so thriving now. A lot of tourists miss it and when I went the only sizable crowds were a couple of school parties. There is still plenty to see. As you walk along tree-lined avenues you can clearly make out the foundations of the houses that once stood there. There are a number of carefully excavated mosaics.

The recommended route guides you round these remains until you reach the amphitheatre. It's a little weather-worn but still stands immense and mostly intact. There are passageways leading round the edge of the arena and standing in the centre or looking down from an open gallery it is easy to imagine the atmosphere when it was packed with cheering Romans.

Admission to Italica is free for EU citizens and €1.50 for others. There are other remains to explore round Santiponce and a few bars and restaurants to get some refreshment after trekking through time and the midday sun. Anybody can appreciate these impressive remains and enjoy the stunning scenery which offers an attractive break from the city. Check opening times before you travel. The site is closed on Mondays.

Italica is an easy half-day excursion from Seville.

Seville: The Al Cazar and Cathedral

2013-05-05T14:29:00.000-07:00

The Al Cazar palace in the centre of Seville is full of people trying to avoid getting in each other’s photos. Many snaps come out looking like the early stages of a Harlem Shake video. As I toured the palace and grounds I found myself dodging round photographers and their subjects including one woman who was being photographed feeding her child the way nature intended. It seems an odd choice of subject for the family album, especially when the palace itself offers endless photo opportunities.

The Al Cazar was home to rulers of the city from Roman times. A fortified palace was gradually added to and rebuilt by successive generations of monarchs over 800 years or more. From the entrance you pass through a complex of halls and courtyards. Art work, colourful ceramics and water features catch the eye at every turn.

You emerge into a garden which initially seems a fairly small set of closed courtyards. As you continue you discover a mind-boggling array of orchards, gardens, patios and hedgerows. There are shady seats and summer houses where you can take a rest. Peacocks wander on the lawns.

After two hours I started to head out. On the way I discovered another series of courtyards and a ceramics exhibition. I explored two cool, dark rooms of fine examples of ceramic artwork before visiting one final courtyard surrounded with houses on the way to the exit.

Seville’s cathedral is located next door. If you have time though you may want to save it for another day. Like the Al Cazar it is far bigger than you’d expect.

If you visit an English cathedral you get to look round a large, impressive church and if you’re lucky they let you climb the tower. The Spanish take the typical English cathedral spruce it up with some ornate decorations, wood panelling and frankly excessive religious paintings and plonk inside an even larger building.

Seville Cathedral has numerous side rooms and chapels all finely decorated and a vast main building with high ceilings. Swifts glide and circle beneath a grey stone sky. There’s also a courtyard with rows of orange trees and the tower offers superb panoramic views of the city.

A stroll round the city centre and by the river along with the Al Cazar and the cathedral is a full day’s sightseeing in Seville but there is a whole lot more to keep you exploring the city for longer.

Back from Spain and Morocco

2013-04-25T10:02:00.000-07:00

Just got back from my first visit to Spain including a day-trip to Morocco I visited Seville including the Feria a huge festival of dancing, brightly coloured tents and horses and carts, Cadiz, Tarifa and Cordoba. I'll be going through my notes and putting up some 'postcards' in the next week or two but for now here are some photos:

Patrick's Postcards

India diary part 7

India diary part 6

India diary part 5

Kalari full body massage in Munnar, Kerala

India diary part 4

Go to part 1

I fly south for adventures in the forests and backwaters of Kerala...

India diary part 3

Go to part 1

"May the Self of the universe be pleased with this sacrifice of words and bestow His grace on me."

Sant Dnyaneshwar

"Words are the only jewels I possessWords are the only clothes I wearWords are only the food that sustain my lifeWords are the only wealth I distribute among people."

Tukaram

India diary part 2

Go to part 1

India diary part 1

Houseboat cruise in Allepey, Kerala

Bird life

Life by the river

Mumbai

Malabar Hill

Mani Bhavan

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world" – Mahatma Gandhi

Clap talk

Haji Ali

Elephanta Island

Castell Coch

Iceland

Conwy

Cambridge E-Luminate Festival

Brighton Museum and Art Gallery: Spectators and Performers Exhibition

A VIP Tour of Brighton Dome

Cycling to St Ives (Cambridgeshire)

In Pictures: A Day in Morroco

Things to Love About Brighton

Cordoba

Cadiz

Tarifa and Tangier

Italica

Seville: The Al Cazar and Cathedral

Back from Spain and Morocco

"Words are the only jewels I possess
Words are the only clothes I wear
Words are only the food that sustain my life
Words are the only wealth I distribute among people."