We’re now on our way to see some of India’s and the world’s great sites via train. Apparently one of them isn’t the Ranthambore safari park but back to that later. We’re on the Deccan Odyssey and it’s not a bad way to travel especially when you have your own double bed and your own bathroom which is bigger than the hotel bathroom we had last time we stayed in London. In that one you could take a dump and have a shower at the same time – in the conventional ways and not the way you’re thinking.
We are so spoilt it got me thinking about Graham Nash on the Marrakesh Express (the music is never far away). There wasn’t any wifi back then in the 60’s, no newspapers for days and I can’t imagine being able to get Netflix on Moroccan TV. So when we get the shits because a football score back home in Australia isn’t immediately available, we need to pause and just for a change, watch the world around us drift by. So I’ll be looking at the world through the sunset in your eyes and smelling the garden in your hair, my love.
Back to the Ranthambore safari park. Apparently it contains between 75 and 80 tigers. We saw exactly none of them. This was slightly more disappointing than our Nepal tiger safari where we saw zero tigers but did see tiger footprints and tiger crap, according to our guide. I’m coming to the view that there are actually no tigers in the wild. They are all in zoos. Add to that, our vehicle had cement wheels and my arse can’t take much more of this luxury. Bouncing around in that vehicle did have one upside however. It doubled my steps for the day and I’m claiming them simply because of the energy expended in trying not to be thrown out of the vehicle.
Having done a few cruises we are in a position to make comparisons. So this is like a cruise on land. We are on a land cruiser, if you like. Sorry Toyota but this is the real deal. We stop in a place with something worth seeing, stagger round in 40 degree heat then retreat to the airconditioned bar immediately on returning to the train/ship.
When it comes to economic tourism the CB and I have been stung five times. Okay, we’re not talking trinkets and baubles here or in my case t-shirts with I Heart Jaipur on them. We’re talking serious stuff for serious money – glass in Murano and linen in Burano (or maybe the other way round) near Venice and carpets in Turkey, Nepal and Jordan. This is entirely voluntary of course. You’re not being tricked into spending big bucks on a carpet when you’ve been negotiating for the best part of an hour. But we managed to resist in Jaipur. A silk bed duvet for $260 was a heart-beat away from confirmation until we pulled back from the brink. That’s an extra $260 to put over the bar in my world so we are way in front and additionally don’t have a pile of material to cart all over the subcontinent. Yesterday we were also taken to an establishment ostensibly to marvel at the intricate skills of gentlemen grinding and faceting precious stones into jewellery. Then, as an afterthought, how about we buy something? A skilled and persistent salesman almost had a turquoise necklace round the CB’s neck but we triumphed again.
My name is Chris and I put sugar in my coffee this morning. I felt like an alcoholic sneaking a surreptitious vodka. Not putting sugar in coffee has been vindicated by Bobby Kennedy’s appointment as Health Secretary in the Trump administration and his relentless pursuit of processed foods. But the coffee here is bitter and I weakened.
The Indian railway system is one of the wonders of the modernish world. When there are no highways to speak of and plane tickets are prohibitively expensive for your average village dweller, the train is the answer although the authorities are starting to clamp down. A prominent sign at Jaipur station advised potential passengers not to travel on the roof of the train. Electrification would render this sign somewhat redundant generally. But if you’ve spent your life with the wind in your hair, a few wires will help prevent you falling off, right. Notwithstanding the wonder of it all, the system is not conducive to a leisurely chuff chuff through the countryside. It seems like our train has to wait for an access slot then it’s hell-for-leather to the next waiting spot, then an hour later, repeat. And when this thing hits top-speed it feels like a Cessna in a hurricane. It’s all you can do to stop being flung against a wall as Casey Jones slams another shovel of coal into the boiler and hits the accelerator.