huey duey and louis vuitton

Back in Mumbai this morning. Not necessarily where i thought i'd be this time a week ago. Mumbai all the same. And i must say a second visit is worth the work. Perhaps a 24 hour train ride with bus and ricksha squirts at the extremities is pushing it. But we are here. Here being Mumbai. Sunny. Hot. Sweaty and smelling like dog's breath when fish was dinner. Mumbai.

But we don't stay. No! We leave again tonight - on a bus - back to Goa - then on a train - to Gokarna - to Om beach - sorry Mumbai. So i am bloody knackered from so much movement but pretty good i think. Yes. Pretty good. Bhundi was wonderful. I was bored for the first few days, but soon learnt to move in time, to hear the grace tones. It is not so touristy and so you don't get hassled so much and the atmosphere is very different to Pushkar and Jaisalmer. But that is good. The Haveli we stayed in was beautiful. A blue, family home with a central courtyard for sipping tea and eating thali, reading Hemingway and dreaming ideas. The food was some of the best yet and when one of the Frenchys staying had his birthday we had a party with a traditional Rajasthani feast. We told stories and drank cheap nasty whiskey and sat on the roof as the bats flew overhead.

Outside the residence - Jas and i went for several walks: to the magnificent old Palace with its endless rooms and corridors decorated with rich miniature paintings. We sat in one old marble chamber with the microphone on; making noise and laughing hysterically. We took many photos of views and subtle textures. I felt like a twit whenever i got my camera out before. Like some knobble kneed stooge on a tour - but now it is fun. But i don't give you pictures today. That is a joke. Funny, no? Yes. Very funny. The web cafe here charges extra for uploads. I'll collect more pictures on the way to Gokarna and then give you a super deluxe image wagon to ride upon.

The fort in Bhundi is free so we decided to have a crack. The place is in dilapidatd ruins and provides an eerie hill top station to wander around. The only inhabitants these days are the monkeys, who are very aggressive. Armed with stones and sticks we negotiated the bastions and ramparts. That evening we ate like pigs and then demonstrated our ability at impersonating animal sounds. The young chap who worked at the Haveli is the only person i have ever met who, instead of looking at me like i'm strange when i impersonate a pig, a goat, a chicken, took the challenge and put on a barn yard show of his own. I recovered from my suprise and think i had him beat in the end. It was close though.

Okay. That is all for now. I am exhausted and must eat more before my long bus trip back to paradise. I hope everyone is well. I miss you all.

Let sleeping dog

(Two dogs. Pushkar)

I have been travelling pretty rapid fire the past week. Since my last entry i have tried to leave Pushkar. Failed. Dropping the singing lessons was like asking a pit bull to release a tasty limb. What followed? An adventure with my German friend, Jurgen. We decided to climb the nearby mountain range and follow its tumbling crags to the nearby town of Ajmer. The walk would not have exceeded 12 kms, but the terrain nagged with a hagged insistence. It took over 5 hours to reach our destination. Tired and hungry, we caught a bus back. It was one of the best days of my adventure thus far.

(On the way to Ajmer)


Pushkar was hard to leave. I started to feel myelf settling there in the wake of my initial impulse to go in search of new and unfamiliar lands. New people in town. A new sense of quiet. But the itchiness in my souls regaind its insectoid hum when Monica, a girl staying at the Rituraj Palace, said she'd like some company on the road to Jaisalmer. She seemed like good company and i liked the idea of quickly digging those desert cats before heading back to Delhi in a few days. So we shot to Jodhpur to spend a day in the blue city. Its labyrinthine alleys and hidden shops threatened to keep us a while. With a concerted effort we made the haul to Jaisalmer. Jaisalmer is all yellow sand stone. It appears that the city simply emerges from the wind swept surrounds, as though some god shoved an engraved block of a city into the desert earth and Jaisalmer was the result. Everybody who comes to Jaisalmer goes on a camel safari to the and dunes. Everyone. But not me.



(The dunes. Khuri)

Telling the guys at the guest house to jump in the lake, we took a bus to the nearby village of Khuri. Quiet, lonely and without electrical service. I didn't mean to stay the night, but we did. It was too hard to leave. Surya, the old Indian alcoholic who ran the guesthouse was a sincere and friendly man who didn't pressure us when we said we'd walk to the dunes and not take the camels. The experience of being there is difficult to recount. I remember being frustrated with many vendors selling chips and coca cola. The numerous contiki travellers who come to see a desert sunset. And i indulged a little self reproach for being there with them. For being just like them.

(The view from Jaisalmer fort. The delicate sand stone engravings)

That said, when i look at a picture of the desert sands, the low screaming sun, the cradling moon; i am thankful for having been there - to see that place, that colour, to have felt the rush of sand spilling between my toes and the gentle worry of sky in my hair. And i distance the cold, the impatience, the hunger i felt. I forget, perhaps selectively, the irritation at the other tourists; who stand with knees and elbows marking diamonds housed in designer travel fashion. Gone is the self reproach. Gone, my imptience with gypsies selling cola. In that memory i rediscover that deep and terrible sky, the cruel indifference of the threatening dark, coming, coming. And the stars above that looked so familiar and yet are so different to the nights i know at home.

(Kid on dunes)

The ride back to Jaisalmer the following morning is worth a note. The bus was full so i spent the hour journey riding on the roof with thirty-odd Indian men. It wasn't a train. But it was worth a dig. Arriving back in Jaisalmer we discovered we were being thrown out of our hotel because we refused to do the camel safari. Whatever. I was relieved when Monica and i went our separate ways. Nothing wrong. We just didn't have anything to talk about. We didn't even exchange email addresses.

(Sun set)


The 20 hour train ride to Delhi last night was an ordeal. My back still aches and i am thick from sleep deprivation. Delhi is exciting. Jas is here. It is a wonderfl optimism to be starting the next chapter of my travels with such a good friend. We head back into Rajasthan tomorrow, enroute to Bhundi. I never made it there before and hear its worth a glance. Then back into the south. But where exactly? I know not. I am thick with the lack of sleep. Delhi is expensive, and my Iranian Visa has hit a snag. I must go and negotiate with Iranians. I am feeling awful thick. No problem.
(Dunes)

Sun mist wresting Pushkar(re-ga-re)

Not much new to report this time. Probably because i am still in Pushkar, and i am starting to feel a bit restless. It may be time to move on, a week or so premature of my intended departure date. I have met a friendly British couple, Kay and Paddie, who plan to go to Bhundi tomorrow afternoon. They've invited me to tag along.
Immediately below are some photos from my trek to the top of the "Snake Mountain" Range that separates Pushkar from Ajmer. Despite the occasional rock slide and affectionate tug of a cacti on my shirt, the climb was enjoyable and worth the effort.





If i can squeeze one last singing lesson in the morning, i will join the Brits. Ah! This morning my instructor had to cancel so i practiced by myself for a while. After struggling with the Hindi stuff for a bit, i started pelting out a few Elvis tunes. Probably the last thing the other attending students were expecting to hear. I got a clap from the old dude sitting by the door as i exited. Now for some pics of Pushkar proper - the first three are from my sunset visit to the lake last night. It is a gorgeous little spot.




Ah yes. Not satisfied to leave without seeing the pilgrims do their morning puja (blessings), i hauled myself out of bed to dig the cats down at the ghats. A thick fog was in effect, and i had beaten the race to wash. I quietly froze by the lake until the gentle sun restored circulation to my face. In the mean time i stoll a few snaps. The fog provided a hallucinatory atmosphere. Sorry, no pics of people washing. Holy place. Respect. Dog.







I know very little about Bhundi, other than that it is apparently very beautiful. I'm starting to think about heading east to Varanasi, or dipping into south Rajasthan to check Udaipur. It seems 7 days is long enough in this tourist infested joint. Nutella-banana pancake eating mutha-bitches.



This is not to deny Pushkar's charm. Indeed, just as it coils around a tiny lake in a meditative embrace, the market seems to gradually unravel its mysteries like a cat letting out a long yawn in the sun. Only after wandering aimlessly for a while does one begin to realise that decoration does not spare a single artifice of this mesmerising maze of blue, white, pink, green. Still; perhaps it is time to go. The art of travel? Here's a perplexed head shot.

Mostly sky

This morning i set off at 5.45am with the firm resolve to find my way to the Saraswarti temple perched atop a rather assertive looking mountain. I had been told by some locals that the temple provides a great spot for watching the sun rise over the holy town. So, armed with my microphone, a snickers bar and, yes, my stinking camera, off i hoofed. It was still dark at this time, and as i negotiated my way down dark streets a nagging fear of unseen hostilities could not be ignored. Swallowing my anxiety, i pressed on, into the eerie dark.

After a short time i came across a man sitting by a fire. He signalled for me to join him; so i did. It was not until i drew near that i realised he was naked except for a loin cloth and the white ash he had smeared over his entire body. He was a saddhu. We spoke for a few moments, he offered me a seed from a sacred tree in return for rupees, i decided it was time to leave. Unfamiliar with the roads, i had to stop and ask directions a number of times, but was soon standing at the foot of a dauntingly steep and long staircase. The climb was worth it.

(This monkey was sitting on the stairs. He seemed mournful at the commercialisation of Pushkar.)

On the way down i met some holy pilgrims sat by a fire. They offered me tea, which i accepted. We discussed Gilchrist's retirement and whether India can draw victory on the talent of Tendulkar alone. I hope you like the pictures.

(Another skull shot... some of you actually asked for more shots of me...!)

Here are some oldies.

These first couple are from the great big fort near Jaipur. It was kinda cool but kinda boring. I took pictures because i couldn't think of anything better to do.

Here are a couple from Rishikesh. The foot bridge over the Ganga. Marty standing under a tree whe we was at that sunrise temple. Remember from the other post?

This is a trippy image of the beach at Arambol. I was mucking around with the shutter speed is all.

Okay. Thats all for now. I make more words later. Namaste!

a lake i no longer find intimidating

I walked into the internet cafe like one waking from a dream. I was just walking. The girls with the henna scam were very insistent on painting my hands just now. I resisted, and found myself sitting down at a computer. But what to write? What to say? I am, in movements like those of a dragonfly hovering above a still, green pool, giving myself to this heady, beautiful place, Pushkar.

It seems that since becoming a lone wanderer i have opened up, shed skin, developed determination, daring, decisiveness. It is on me; to see; to feel; to do. Yesterday i walked out of the guest house, an impulse to leave, hoofing it in the opposite direction of the main bazaar. The tiny street gradually revealed itself, in gentle sweeps, to be a tree lined path into the rugged mountainscape; a mountainscape that snakes out of and into the field panoramic. When the road ceased to lead anywhere, i went up. Up and up over rocky crags; between thickets of dry scrub; under the skeletal limbs of mournful looking cacti. I walked for several hours and did not see another person. A cow or two. A tiny ashram peeked out from between two jagged peaks. A Baba lives there, i was told later. I could smell his chillum smoke, sweetening the air in thin whispering breaths. I sat and looked at the view from one peak before ducking down into a valley from which all sound seemed to have been sucked. I saw nobody. After some time, the walk back was quite treacherous. I had to climb down some very big rocks, boulder from one flat surface to another. The dry river bed met a tiny road; the men sitting by the road were suprised to see me, but became friendly when i asked the way back to town. They offered chai.
After a few kilometres i started to recognise shapes and then i was striding up that familiar tree lined street. The staff at another guest house offered chai and i accepted. They were very religious men and told me about the sacred history of Pushkar and her mountains; of lord Brahma; of Saraswati and her anger; of Vishnu apearing as a boar; of Krishna and the five brothers. Then they had customers and i decided to leave.

After climbing rocks and walking over desert river beds i had to attend a singing lesson. It was very difficult for me, being in a style i have not even listened to. But i enjoyed it. I felt very light and happy afterwards. My second lesson was earlier today. I wish my cold would go away so i could sing without sniffing, without coughing. Then i hired a motorcycle and went for a ride to a nearby town. It was about 25kms. When i hired the bike the young attendant asked me if i knew the road rules; when i said not really he snickered: "There aren't any." Getting out of Pushkar was difficult. There are dogs and cows and lots of people on the roads, but i was fine. Once on the highway i felt the rush of the open road. Thick spinifex and harsh, apathetic boulders pimpled the unforgiving mountain ranges on either side. It seemed a perfect moment for listening to Sonic Youth or Neu or Can. But i did not have my ipod; and would not have daerd to use it. When i returned the bike the young attendant tried to tell me i'd had it too long and had to pay more. Then he said i had damaged the bike. Such is business in this country. I said he was mistaken and that if he wanted me to come and hire from him again then he would rethink his opinion. He gave me back my deposit with a grin.

I sat by the holy lake which i no longer find intimidating and finished reading Mrs Dalloway. I agreed to do a blessing for the health of my loved ones. Pilgrims were praying and worrying the ripples with flowers and brightly coloured dust while the white washed, bulbous domes rang with the etheric vibration of chants, drums and bells. My imagination hovered, darted and hovered. Two puppies were playing on the steps of the ghat. And like the shock expressed in a quivering flower as it gently plops upon the water; hovering and darting, like a dragonfly upon the surface of a still, green pool; i am giving myself to this beautiful place. The possibility of leaving seems remote and immediate; like the explosion of fireworks at some distant celebration; seen then heard. Fear no more the heat o the sun. That is all.