Udaipur - India
an epic tale
So now here I sit on the southern Vietnamese island
of Phu Quoc contemplating my time in India. I’m perched at the bar on the
sunset side of the island, a refreshing beverage to hand whilst the sea sneaks
in under the cover of darkness to deposit all manner of rubber, plastic and
discarded light bulbs from the squid boats. Meanwhile, further out to sea the flotilla
of fishing boats light the horizon like a distant city.
But back to Udaipur.
Arriving in the dark in to the old city, we found
our accommodation and made our way to the rooftop bar to celebrate our arrival with
a cold Kingfisher. Our hotel was up a skinny lane wedged between a mish mash of
other structures all huddled together around the proximity of Lake Pichal
affording views across the rooftops to the City Palace; an imposing structure
that dominates the old part of the city.
Dawn spawned a whole new world and before the sun turned
up for work I was on the roof ready to catch the first glimpses of my first day
in a brand new place. As the old town appeared out of the gloom and the lake emerged
from the darkness I was already planning to wander the streets to see how
Udaipur shapes up first thing in the morning. So, after capturing the sunrise I
headed straight for the nearest access to the lake. The next couple of hours
were sheer bliss, wandering laneways and alleys followed by a mob of harmless,
scruffy dogs. It wasn’t long before the streets started to fill with all manner
of people going about their business, a wide assortment of vehicles and a
menagerie of animals.
Udaipur is famous for is miniature paintings. Early
on that first morning I met Ali, a young fellow that spends about 3 hours a day
painting with his master amongst other students and then for the remainder of
the day he hangs out near our hotel attempting to convince tourists to visit
their gallery. Ali took me to the workshop where I was given a crash course in
the art, painting so fine that each stroke is done with a single haired brush. The
detail in the work is astonishing and best viewed with a magnifying glass. From
a metre or so away they look “nice” but up close they are truly masterpieces. Obviously
a steady hand and good eyesight are the prerequisites, two things that I don’t
have. Actually the skills needed are threefold the last being patience, another
trait I’m not known for.
Miniature Paintings
Udaipur is famous for its traditional
miniature paintings, which are mural-like paintings mostly depicting incidents
from Rajput or Mughal history and legends, or stories from the Hindu Puranas.
Several fine examples of miniature paintings are exhibited in the palaces at
Udaipur and Jodhpur. These paintings are beautiful if looked from normal
viewing distance; but we could appreciate them better if we come a bit closer,
and probably use a magnifying glass to examine the details in the paintings. If
we do so, every inch of the painting comes alive and tells its own story. We
could see each and every leaf and flower, design and embroidery in costumes of
characters, individual waves in water, feathers of birds - every corner of the
painting carefully illustrated and painted. The quality of a miniature painting
is evaluated based on the level of details present in it. Miniature paintings
are truly works of art when considered as a whole, but the details in them are
mainly craft works, results of hours of care, dedication and love of the
artist. Written by: Ratheesh Krishna Vadhyar
After
spending the day exploring and getting our bearings the day was rounded off
with dinner on the eastern side of the lake providing the best night views of
the City Palace. The sunset was even better than the sunrise as the light gilded
the city in the most amazing golden glow and the whole scene was postcard
perfect.
The
following day was the start of the real adventure as we were scheduled to be collected
at 8.00am to head to Krishna Horse Safaris located near Badi Village, out of
Udaipur. We had gleaned that there would be ourselves and two others on the
ride so our driver threw a 9 point turn on the narrow street before heading to
the next pick up spot. Here we met Thomas a Swiss guy on a short break from his
work for a bank in Singapore and then shortly after we were joined by Josh, a
builder from Lithgow in NSW. My 5’11’ frame was squashed between these two 6’4”
giants as we bounced our way out of town to the riding camp. Karen enjoyed the
views from the front seat in veritable luxury. It took about half an hour to
get to the camp where Mr Dinesh Jain, the owner of the setup, greeted us.
When Dinesh asked about my riding prowess I described my level of
competence as “intermediate bozo.” I explained that even though I’ve spent a
reasonable time aboard horses I have never ever felt in control or comfortable,
“However I am determined to learn how to ride properly.” I announced with more
confidence than I felt. With that, I was issued some gaiters and a horse. The
horses we were preparing to ride were Marwari horses, which meant absolutely
nothing to me but I was soon to find out that they are special and these
particular ones come from royal stock, the stables of the former Raj. The most
obvious trait of a Marwari horse is the tips of their ears touch, which in
silhouette gives them devils horns. But these weren’t snorting and stamping demonic
beasts these horses seemed very well looked after and as soft as kittens to
touch.
According to
Wikipedia; The
Marwari are descended from native Indian ponies crossed with Arabian horses, possibly with some Mongolian influence.
The Rathores, traditional rulers of the Marwar region
of western India, were the first to breed the Marwari. Beginning in the 12th
century, they espoused strict breeding that promoted purity and hardiness. Used
throughout history as a cavalry horse by the people of the Marwar region, the
Marwari was noted for its loyalty and bravery in battle.
Dinesh
introduced me to my steed, a grey and white 2009 model, with four on the floor
and plush leather upholstery. Nurani was her name which translated to Heavenly
Princess. That remained to be seen but it was certainly a lot more encouraging
than Chainsaw, Bucky or Shiva the Cosmic Destroyer. So, I tried to acquaint
myself with Nurani but honestly she couldn’t give two hoots about me and I reckon
even showed disdain. So I bribed her with an apple whilst I had a quiet word in
her comical ear.
So
without further ado we clambered aboard the horses and prepared to be let loose
in to the wilds of Rajasthan. Dinesh led us out the gate astride Black Beauty
closely followed by Josh on Bisli. Next in line was Thomas on a horse that he
never learnt the name of (Sapna), Karen aboard Rama, me and Nurani and bringing
up the rear a young helper riding a new edition to the fleet called Padam.
Under
a blazing blue sky we were hot to trot.
The
plan was to ride for 5 days, camping each night and covering about 150kms in total.
The ride would take us through a variety of terrain from sparsely studded
aridness, around lakes full after the late monsoon rains, over rolling hills;
hills that from a distance looked like Gippsland in Victoria, fording rivers
and finally through a Wildlife Sanctuary. The trail itself would be mostly off
road on small tracks, but that would be interspersed with ancient cobblestoned
roads, short stints on sealed highways to access the next part of the trail,
tracks through thick bush and the bit I liked best six horses clip clopping
into small villages announcing our arrival to the locals that appeared from
darkened doorways or sprang up from nearby fields. The major highlights (other
than the experience itself) were to be the 15th century Khumbhalgarh
Fort and Ranakpur Jain Temple.
A
support vehicle would meet us at each designated campsite so when we arrived
the tents would be set up and food being prepared. The only things we need
worry about was the journey.
This is a map of where the ride took us. However this
map is for the longer option. We rode from 1) Udaipur to 7) Ranakpur.
Day 1: Krishna Ranch to Badi village, to Tiger-lake,
Warda village, Madar village, Madar lake (big lake), cross the highway, Madarda
village, ride on a hill, stopped for photo's, you made many pictures with women
and children
Camp near Tair ki Dhuni, Banasan Mata temple (mother
god temple), near small lake
The
first day the thought did cross my mind that this may be hot, tiring and maybe
even a little boring but the beauty of the ride was everyday got better then
the previous. On the first day we never got beyond a trot. I thought this was
to bash us into submission but in actual fact it was so Dinesh could evaluate
our riding skills. Karen rode equestrian events in days gone by, so for her it
was just re acquainting herself with skills she already possesses. Josh rode,
in a very distinctive Australian style, slightly slumped and lazily relaxed.
Possibly exactly the same attitude he would acquire if he were sitting in a
pub. Thomas sat straight backed and never seemed to change position at all. He
rode in a very neat fashion and I don’t think I ever saw him trotting. I know
he did but his whole demeanour seemed to stay in exactly the same state for the
ride’s duration. My style consisted of none of the above as my main aim was not
to fall off so I developed my own unique way of piloting my horse.
 |
| The tent and the ablutions tent on our first night. |
So
after a long day in the saddle and feeling a little tender we arrived at our
camp set up in front of a temple on the shores of a lake. I really didn’t know
what to expect in the way of accommodation so I was pleasantly surprised to see
two large canvas tents complete with iron framed beds, mattresses and blankets,
a toilet tent that Karen claimed as her own personal ablutions block, tables
and chairs. All the meals for the journey would be vegetarian according to the
religion of our guides. Being Jains, a form of Hinduism, Dinesh and the gang
were strictly vegetarians so we became strictly vegetarians too. The first
night’s dinner was a vegetable biryani, curry, chapattis and rice, a theme that
was to repeat itself in different incarnations for the duration. In the
meantime Josh had a quiet word with Dinesh and one of his guys disappeared on a
motorbike and came back after about ½ an hour with some bottles of Kingfisher
beer. So our posse chatted over dinner and it wasn’t long before were too
exhausted to keep flapping our gums but if gave me the confidence that our
riding chums were going to be good value. As a matter of fact I think you were
be hard pressed to meet a nicer couple of blokes.
Sleep
came easily and the morning turned up right on time – bright, hot and stunning,
just the way I like my mornings and when I think about it my women too. Dinesh
and the boys were up early making breakfast and grooming the horses. The
previous afternoon each horse was groomed for about an hour and again in the
morning. They were given three different types of feed and you could see the
love they received from the guys.
 |
| Thomas |
Our
breakfast was a simple yet tasty affair of eggs, chapattis, biscuits, coffee or
tea - but no grooming.
Day 2: Tair ki Dhuni to Mata ji ka Kheda village,
Mayre ki dhuni (we saw here a 400 year old building which belonged to Maharana
Pratap. He came there to call tribal people (Bhils) for his army against the
Mughols. After we saw big green marble blocks. then we went to Modi village,
Rawliya village, we rode near the Banas river, crossed the Banas-river twice
and camped near the Banas-river.
The
second day initially had us riding around another lake before we came to a
region of rolling hills. Due to the late monsoon everything looked different to
how it should, much lusher and greener. In normal conditions the landscape would
have been arid and dusty so we were being treated well by which ever Indian God
oversees these things. It was a great day as we rode through countryside that
was vast and varied and into villages; villages that I don’t think would have
changed too much over the years. Passing fields of corn and chilli and little
plots of rice we rode into a small settlement perched on top of a hill where we
dismounted to meet the locals. The total amount of my Hindi was hello, (namaste)
or in the local vernacular “ram ram” a phrase I found myself saying constantly
over the next few days. Every time I said it I received a beaming “ram ram”
right back. By the time we were off the horses, women and children appeared
from everywhere dressed in the brightest colours imaginable. No two saris being
the same patterns, no two saris being the same colours. It was a veritable
smorgasbord of colour, contrasting exquisitely against their dark skin. Everything
was vibrant. Initially people were a little hesitant but within minutes shyness
was overcome and this I think, was a credit to our troupe. Before too long we
had quite a gathering of women, elderly men and gaggles of giggling kids and
any shyness evaporated completely. To say I was in photographers heaven was an
understatement. Everywhere I looked there was another amazing face, another
happy ragamuffin with the backdrop of a rural Indian village.
Before
too long we saddled up and rode on but not before what seemed like the whole
village waved us off. Over hill and dale we ambled when lo and behold standing
silhouetted against the blazing blue sky stood a camel.
 |
| Dinesh and Josh aka Golden Boy |
A
camel would have seemed quite natural if the landscape didn’t look like country
Victoria in Australia. Or if it was dry and dusty like it should have been but
this looked completely alien standing on a distant hilltop all alone. It was
like some kind of hallucinogenic vision, as one moment it was there and the
next it vanished but thankfully it was the others that pointed it out to me so,
if it was a dream then it was a collective madness. We rode through a quarry
where green marble was excavated. Huge discarded chunks of the stuff lay around
and I tried to imagine how it was quarried and then how it was transported from
this place.
Lunch
was had where the trail met a minor road and as we stretched our weary limbs and
moaned with the effort and who should arrive…?
Jesus.
Now
I am fairly sure it wasn’t the real
Jesus but if you had to choose an Indian to play him in your next Biblical epic
this guy would have to be numero uno. His beaming smile exuded “niceness”. Of
course he could have been a pathological axe murderer but I doubt it. He sat
down on a stone wall and women arrived carrying bundles of cut foliage on their
heads and I was gobsmacked at the beauty of one of them. I don’t know what it
was about her, the beautiful colour of her skin against the electric blue sari?
The high cheekbones? More than likely it was because I’ve been too long in the
saddle. It gets tough and lonely out there and it was already day two.
So,
there we were hangin’ with Jesus and his harem in the middle of downtown nowhere.
The girls dumped their loads and took a break all smiles and joy as if they had
just spent the morning at the salon and were about to do lunch whereas in
actual fact they had been humping large loads on their heads on a day when the
temperature must have been in the mid thirties. I imagine this is pretty
similar to what they did yesterday and will do again tomorrow. Those smiles are
the most genuine because they come from deep within and are completely spontaneous.
We
arrived at our second night’s camp about 3.30, a picturesque spot right by the Banas
River. As the horses tip toed through the water I was very conscious to not repeat
what I did on our first river crossing when I assumed the horse would determine
her own path instead of me making sure she followed the lead horse. This got me
a serious reprimanding from Dinesh as my line took me into deeper water and
Nurani had a steep bank to climb on the far side. I didn’t realise the risk but
Dinesh began seriously berating me after the event. Once I knew my mistake all
I could do was apologise profusely as I’d unknowingly put the horse in danger.
As she clambered up the bank it would have been easy for her to tumble over
backwards and break her leg, which would have been a death sentence for her.
That was something I certainly didn’t want to happen as Nurani and I had become,
if not mates, comfortable with each other. I was determined to win her over so
I kept up a constant banter to her and tickled her throat, which she seemed to
enjoy. We had got to the stage in our relationship where to change direction
all I had to do was insinuate the idea with lightest touch of the reins. However
she became a little hard of hearing turning her twisted ears forward every time
I tried to get her to slow.
What
a place to camp! We crossed through the river to the opposite bank into a broad
valley that at some stage must flood but for now there was a nice clean river
gently seperating grassy banks. Elderly men tended their buffaloes, and women
planted crops in the rich soil making it a very pleasant scene. Whilst I was
wandering around a woman came up from the waters edge holding a very young
goat. I thought it was strange that she would be washing a goat but then I
realised that it had just been born and was possibly only an hour or two old,
maybe less. She sat the little guy next to me and within a split second I had a
new best friend. Sure I like kids but I also like to be able to give them back
once the novelty has worn off but I had a bit of trouble convincing the woman
that she should be the one looking after it. I explained that I’m an
independent soul, financially challenged, prone to wandering off and at best
mentally a bit shaky but yet she still kept foisting her kid on me. As usual in
these circumstances the locals were carrying on like pork chops, probably at my
expense but if everyone’s laughing and I have no idea what they’re laughing
about it’s easiest just to join in. So, there I sat being gawked at by
toothless old men whilst the cackle of the women floated through the valley. Within
minutes a bunch of kids arrived and they taught us a few words in Hindi. The
word for male horse (ghoda) and female (goldie).
But
enough of this frivolity it was well and truly time for a wash. A spot was found
where the river looked clear and fresh and without a moments thought to
dysentery, typhoid or parasites that burrow into one’s nether regions I was in
luxuriating in the coolness and washing off the trail dust. Dinner under the
stars wrapped up a great day.
Day 3: We rode along the river, Rohida village . We
stopped there to make a lot of pictures of people. village Gayfal and more
small villages, reached to Palasma village (camp).
Evening we went by jeep to Jarga-ji temple in the
mountains. We joined there the evening ceremony
Overnight, the temperature dropped quite
dramatically and for a while there I was a bit cold so I made a mental note to
get another blanket for the following evening. But once the sun was up and
frying it’s nigh impossible to imagine you’d need blankets.
Day three had us clip clopping through a
variety of villages and we stopped to visit the local school. The kids were all
in class and looking immaculate considering the location. This was a standard
sized class in a 2-room school and the kids’ ages varied considerably, the
older ones upfront and the smaller ones right at the back. But no one seemed
fazed by a bunch of folk riding in to town, dismounting and invading their
school. But of course we were obliged to sing for the kids so I pulled out my
old standard that I keep stashed for these kinds of occasions and belted out a
stirring rendition of the Melbourne Demons Football Club theme song. It was so
inspiring as a matter of fact that most of the lads were last seen heading off
to find a recruiter (I imagine) so they could play under the “grand old flag.”
The girls rushed off to knit scarves and beanies in Melbourne’s red and blue. So,
as the whole school vamoosed we rode off to our next performance.
The remainder of the day was spent
stopping in villages and avoiding being gored by buffaloes. The horses and the
buffaloes were very wary of each other. Therefore it made sense that I too
should be wary because if things went a little wayward, one of a bunch of
things just might happen. These include (but I imagine aren’t limited to) hundreds
of kilos of water buffalo slamming into us. A massive collision of solid mass
of muscle and horns blindsiding me and Nurani or Nurani freaking out and taking off in a way that either has me
hanging on for dear life in the most undignified manner or tumbling off and
being trampled by a panicked horse and then stood on and gored to death by
feisty bull. Neither option seemed pleasant so we did our best to avoid the
buffalo but every now and again there was no alternative but to tackle them
head on. And by that I mean coming face to face with a farmer walking his
animals along the same trail as us creating a kind of rural traffic jam.
Sometimes we passed ok but other times the buffalo freaked out and ran back
from whence they came which obviously farmer Gupta wasn’t too happy about
having just spent half the day getting them to that spot. Then there was the
odd time when the horses got skittish and started to play up. But being born to
the saddle (bicycle that is) I held the handlebars firmly and hung on for dear
life. At one stage as we passed through a village out of nowhere a calf came
hurtling down the hill scaring Karen’s horse as it came smashing through the
undergrowth behind her before leaping over a dry stone wall headlong in to a
banana tree. This happened in a microsecond and neither Nurani nor myself had
time to react.
I felt sorry for the calf as I reckon it
took a hell of a lot of skin off on top of the wall and I don’t imagine it’s
noggin was feeling tip top after connecting with a tree. But at the same time
it was pretty bloody funny!
By this time Josh was known to us as the
“Golden Boy” always riding up front with Dinesh never getting dragged over the
coals for doing something stupid. Thomas had his moment when his horse nearly
tripped whilst coming out of a river and if she’d stumbled would have impaled
herself on a tree root. So Thomas and I were the bad boys. Karen kept a low
profile and Josh just grinned like a loon relishing his status as the GB. How
he managed to get Dinesh on side is any bodies guess as half the time we had no idea what Josh was on about
and poor Dinesh I think just assumed that maybe he had some kind of learning
disability. But whatever the circumstances of his lofty status he never once
looked down upon our lowly heads but he did seem to enjoy our bollickings.
An early arrival in to camp was on the
cards as we had a full schedule of happenings for the afternoon. The location
for the camp was far from spectacular but what it lacked in views it made up
for in atmosphere. The horses got to have a roll around in a sandpit all the
while being watched by a fascinated cow and Dinesh’s boys had a bit of a mild
altercation with a drunken guy who tried to sneak off with one of Josh’s
bottles of beer. Later on we piled in to the back of the support truck and
drove through the village to a secluded stretch of river for a swim and wash
followed by a journey to a remote temple set on the side of a heavily forested
hill. As we arrived some contemporary sadhus were just wrapping up their visit
and their calls on their Nokia’s before climbing in to their waiting vehicle.
This left us all alone in the wilds at dusk, in a temple with sadhus smoking
chillums and monkeys clambering from tree to rooftop. Then to cap it off storm
clouds rolled in making the sunset spectacular. We sat with the Sadhus whilst
they did Sadhu things. However I have no idea what Sadhus do when they do
anything other than smoke chillums and play with their hair. But one guy became
veritably hyperactive and shot off in a slow sadhu way to make a blessing to
the temple altars with a tray full of candles whilst others made all kinds of
unearthly rackets banging bells and grinding something like a hurdy gurdy
machine. But rather than make the sound like an organ grinder this was purely
percussion. Imagine chucking in a pair of high heels, two pairs of steel capped
boots, some runners and a handful of coins into a tumble dryer and you can
imagine the noise.
I forgot to get myself another blanket
and again spent the night feeling just a little cold.
Day 4 We rode on a hill to Ghura village, Ghanawal
village, then through a valley with many small tribal villages, to Kumbhalgarh,
near Khelwarda lake.
No matter how good the ride had been up
to this point today was definitely going to be a highlight because this was the
day we would be camping not too far away from Kumbhalgarh Fort. So, we walked,
we trotted and Karen had me practicing cantering. At first I was trying to go
from a trot into a canter, which was something akin to being strapped to a
jackhammer. My initial attempts at cantering were a study in staying on. I had
the theory but in practice it just got so much harder. How can you stay on a anything
when there is nothing firm to hold on to? So, I bounced and jerked along until
finally something miraculous happened and I fell in to the rhythm, not for long
mind you but that breakthrough had me feeling like I was riding the horse not
just sitting on one. I wanted to canter more but the trail was not conducive to
such antics and the mere fact that we could come around a bend into a mass of
buffaloes was sobering. So it was back to the evil trot, my spine slowly
compressing so much that by the time we finished the ride I was actually 10cm
shorter.
Our camp was perched on top of a hill
overlooking a lake in an area that was dotted with hotels that accommodate
visitors to the fort. Places that sold cold beer and food with meat in it but
we managed to avoid these dens of iniquity. Time was ticking and I was getting
anxious to get to the fort some 4kms away and our driver was nowhere to be
seen. When he finally arrived in his open top jeep we piled in and hammered along
hurtling towards the fort - or a horrific car accident death. But as we came
around one bend like Beau and Luke Duke in the General Lee, before us draped
over the range was Kumbhalgarh and in the late afternoon light looked far more
medieval than I could have imagined.
It was getting late and the fort was
going to close at sunset so we had our work cut out for us. Thomas and I took
off for the highest point, Karen stayed below to soak up the atmosphere and
Josh ambled. The views alone were spectacular and I spent quite sometime
watching a cartload of monkeys scrabbling along the parapets and launching
themselves into nearby trees. I watched fascinated by a bunch that walked along
a 10cm ledge with a 10 metre drop beneath as though it was a highway. They
would push past each other without a problem and even leap frogged one another.
Kumbhalgarh is a Mewar fortress in the Rajsamand District of Rajasthan state
in western India. Built during the course of the 15th
century by Rana Kumbha, and
enlarged through the 19th century, Kumbhalgarh is also a birthplace of Maharana
Pratap, the great king and warrior of Mewar. Occupied until the late 19th
century, the fort is now open to the general public as a museum and is
spectacularly lit for a few minutes each evening. Kumbalgarh is situated
82 km from Udaipur towards its northwest and is easily
accessible by road. It is the most important fort in Mewar after Chittaurgarh.
ConstructionThe
massive gate of Kumbhalgarh fort, called the Ram Pol (Ram Gate). Built by Rana
Kumbha in the 15th century on an unassailable hill, the fort fell only once,
due to a shortage of water.
Built on a hilltop 1100 metres
above sea level, the fort of Kumbhalgarh has perimeter walls that extend 36
kilometres. The frontal walls are fifteen feet thick. Kumbhalgarh has seven
fortified gateways. There are over 360 temples within the fort, 300 ancient Jain and
the rest Hindu. From the palace top, it is possible to
look tens of kilometers into the Aravalli Range. The
sand dunes of the Thar desert can be seen from the fort walls.
According to legend, in 1443,
the Maharana of Kumbhalgarh, Rana Kumbha, was initially repeatedly unsuccessful
in attempts to build the fort wall. A spiritual preceptor was consulted about
the construction problems and advised the ruler that a voluntary human
sacrifice would solve whatever was causing the impediment. The spiritual
advisor advised building a temple where the head should fall, and to build the
wall and the fort where the rest of his body lay. As can be expected, for some
time no one volunteered, but one day, a pilgrim, or some versions suggest a
soldier, and some the spiritual preceptor and the pilgrim were one and the
same, volunteered and was ritually decapitated. Today the main gate of the
fortress, Hanuman Pol, contains a shrine and a temple to commemorate the great
sacrifice.
According to popular folklore,
Maharana Kumbha used to burn massive lamps that consumed fifty kilograms of ghee and a
hundred kilograms of cotton to provide light for the farmers who worked during
the nights in the valley.
History
The Kumbhalgarh was built and
ruled by Kumbha and his dynasty who were Sisodia descendents.
Kumbhalgarh in its present
form was developed by, and said to be personally designed by Rana Kumbha. Rana
Kumbha's kingdom of Mewar stretched from Ranthambore to Gwalior and
included large tracts of erstwhile Madhya Pradesh as
well as Rajasthan. Out of the 84 forts in his dominion, Rana Kumbha is said to
have designed 32 of them, of which Kumbhalgarh is the largest and most
elaborate.
Kumbhalgarh also separated Mewar and Marwar from
each other and was used as a place of refuge for the rulers of Mewar at times
of danger. A notable instance was in the case of Prince Udai, the infant king
of Mewar who was smuggled here in 1535, when Chittaur was
under siege. Prince Udai who later succeeded to the throne was also the founder
of the Udaipur City. The fort remained impregnable to direct assault, and fell
only once, due to a shortage of drinking water, to the combined forces of
Mughal Emperor Akbar, Raja
Man Singh of Amber, Raja Udai Singh of Marwar, and the Sultan of Gujarat.
Courtesy of Wikipedia
I raced back up to the top for the final
sunset view and I had the whole area to myself. What a spectacular way to end
an incredible day but it wasn’t long before I was being very politely asked to
leave. I met up with the others at a kiosk near the gate to find them gorging
on chips and being a team player I
immediately joined in.
Back at camp that night I think a wave
of satisfied weariness overcame me and as we sat chatting over dinner I watched
the “puppet show” performance. I became fascinated. It wasn’t a puppet show but
the shadows of the guys preparing their bedding and sorting out their gear but
from where I was sitting and having relatively poor night vision all I could
see were shadows being cast on the wall. It was fascinating to watch. After
sometime I explained to the others what had me so captivated and to them it was
obvious what was taking place but they could appreciate my perspective. When
the show was over Thomas announced, “All the people have vanished.”
“What people?” I asked perplexed.
Something tells me a combination of
fresh air, vegetarian food, being compressed and a large sugar rush may have
distorted my view. That night I again forgot to ask for another blanket but
being well prepared I was toasty warm in my down jacket.
Why did it take me this long to remember
I had it with me?
Day 5 Ride to the old gate of Kumbhalgarh fort. From
there you could see the fort. Then Aret village where we saw many fruit bats on
the tree. Then we entered the Thandiveri Wildlife-sanctuary. We had lunch at
Thandiveri forest resthouse.
We went out of the forest and went into the wildlife
sanctuary of Ranakpur. Reached to Ranakpur
We set off at the standard departure
time of 8.30 initially following the road before taking a right hand turn on to
a trail that wound it’s way up the side of a hill. The walls of the fort
followed the ridgelines and continued right across the top of the particular
hill we were riding up and it wasn’t too long before up ahead stood a 15th
century gate that we had to pass through. A gate that was big enough for war
elephants and from the top had views across to the fort. We had the place to ourselves,
which is an aspect about travel in Asia that I really enjoy. No tickets
necessary, no tacky souvenirs, no handicapped parking, no signs telling you
what to take photos of just us and a bunch of horses. The gateway led us into the
Thandiveri Wildlife Sanctuary a place where leopards still roam and tigers used
to. But unfortunately before it was a sanctuary it had spent its time as a
hunting reserve complete with lookout towers where the brave hunters could
shoot from, safely above the dangerous creatures, protected by height, stone
and armed with an array of weapons. In the past animals would be driven to the
towers by “beaters” so the gentry could kill them for trophies. Wildlife wasn’t
overwhelming us as we rode through the park but nonetheless it was a beautiful
place to be with tunnels of trees to ride through, streams to cross and even
the occasional wild peacock which to me was something really special to see.
My mind and body had become accustomed
to being on a horse and I could just roll along with out much thought to what I
needed to do to control Nurani. By this time we were firm friends and though I
haven’t received an email or a postcard from her I feel that we had a strong
connection. But before too long it all came to a swift halt. Suddenly we were
at the road where the ride would finish. We got off the horses and in a flash
they were being loaded up on to the truck, we were being squeezed into the
waiting vehicle, our beloved horses were heading for the riding camp and we
were being whisked off to Ranakpur’s famous Jain Temple. It felt strange. I
felt cheated or abandoned. None of us realized or thought about the transition
from horse riding in this amazing countryside to suddenly being in a car racing
away from our horses and the guys from the riding ranch. Suddenly it was all
over. The farewells were so brief that it was done and dusted before we had
time to realize. It was only after a few minutes in the car that Karen
announced she never really had a chance to say goodbye to her horse. Luckily
(or disturbingly) for me I talk to most animals I meet so I had kept up a one
sided conversation with Nurani and wished her well and thanked her for her time
but even that didn’t seem enough. Do horses have feelings? Did they get back to
the ranch and chat about the experience or do they just look to the future,
eating and sleeping? Maybe I will find out in the Christmas card that I will
probably get from Nurani.
So there we were, 4 smelly horse riders
and a driver belting along at what felt like light speed the few kilometres to
the Jain
Temple Ranakpur. As we arrived and paid for our
tickets a turbaned older gentleman marched towards us with all the bearing of
the military so I saluted him. He immediately stood to attention and did the
most formal salute I have ever seen then broke in to a huge grin and shook my
hand and welcomed us. He led us to the stairs that entered the temple where a
woman with the most amazing green eyes took our tickets and inside we wandered.
Carved from white marble construction
began in 1437 yet the place looks like it was built recently. It was beautiful
and and cool within but we had been inside for mere moments when I was accosted
by a “holy man” who wanted to bless me. He talked, I listened then he closed
his eyes whilst taking up the lotus position and chanted a mantra. But
something didn’t feel quite right and once the chanting had stopped out came
the request for money. Now whether I am jaded by this kind of thing or I can
see through the charlatans I don’t know but it just felt insincere so I begged
off to find that Karen and Thomas had been taking pictures of me still in my
riding get up, unshaven and unwashed being blessed. Traipsing around the temple
were 2 other characters sort of dressed like Buddhist monks yet in reality they
just had saffron coloured fabrics draped over their shoulders. I don’t know
what their stories were but all they wanted to do was pose for photographs. Not
shy about it either. One bloke kept following Thomas asking him to take his photo
so Thomas had him posing like a cut-rate model and Karen and me got on the
bandwagon snapping away, which he was more than happy about. I think his caper
was also asking for money for photos but we just kept him moving and posing
which he relished. His mate meanwhile just lurked in the background trying to
get in to shots or accosting the few other visitors to take his photo.
The temple was spectacular and
intricately carved. The workmanship was phenomenal but I liked the fort much
more as it seemed much more dramatic. As a matter of fact as impressed as I was
with the temple, though it did look like some kind of over the top wedding
cake, I would have preferred riding into a village in the middle of nowhere or
clip clopping through a stream under the canopy of the lush forest. But the
whole riding experience had come to an abrupt end and after an hour or so we
were clambering back into the car for the journey back to Udaipur, arriving
early evening. Before we were dropped off at our respective hotels we arranged
to catch up at the rooftop restaurant where Thomas was entrenched but for now
it was time to take a very long and serious shower and scrub 5 days of sweat
and grime off.
It was a weary bunch that gathered for
that dinner for tomorrow Thomas was heading off early to Varanasi. Josh was
hanging around for another couple of days before he too was vanishing in to the
vast maw of India again and Karen and I had still had a couple of days up our
sleeves to do the things that we hadn’t got around to.
We still hadn’t visited the City Palace
and I was particularly keen to get to the wholesale fruit and vegetable market
on the out skirts of town as I had heard it would be chock full of interesting
faces and the colours would be amazing. So very early the following morning I
hit the street and wandered along until I found a tuk tuk driver awake. I
explained that I wanted to go to the market so we drove off chatting about the
various characteristics of the different kinds of tuk tuks in Udaipur. He
explained that the larger models are 150cc and powered by an engine made by
Piaggio and then smaller ones like his were only 100cc. He went on to tell me
that he rented his at the equivalent of $3 per day and any money he made beyond
that went to fuel and in his pocket. But there are a lot of tuk tuks in Udaipur
so it isn’t easy to earn that initial $3 let alone make a profit on a day.
He took me to a street market where the
sellers were lined up along the road. According the snippet of information I
had, the market I was looking for was huge but I didn’t have a chance to
mention this before he was off again. However it turned out to be a great place
to take photographs anyway. I had been there for about 45 minutes when the same
tuk tuk came past completely packed to the gills with school kids decked out in
immaculate uniforms. He tooted on his way past and the kids yelled out “hello”
which had me grinning. Then half an hour later he turned up again out of the
blue buzzing with excitement, as he’d found out where the market I really
wanted was. I jumped in, incredibly impressed with this guy and we meandered
our way to the wholesale market on the edge of town. I asked him if would be ok
if he could wait for me which he was happy to do and I said I’d be back in an
hour or so.
“Take your time sir, there is plenty to
take pictures of.”
It was like stepping into another
dimension, an acid trip of energy and colour. Baskets of fire engine red
chilies spilled out of baskets alongside green beans poured out on to blue
tarpaulins, tomatoes that looked like Christmas decorations by the hundreds, safety
orange papayas stacked like footballs, watermelons the size of Zeppelins and
amongst all this faces of all kinds. Beautiful faces, wrinkled faces, weathered
tough faces, faces that looked Persian, Afghani or middle Eastern bound in
turbans, draped in silk, nose rings, earrings, nose rings connected to earrings
and whimsical faces. And they all seemed to beaming. It was incredible to be
amongst so many people that seemed (from my point of view) so happy. Even
though the market was still in full swing it was likely that most business had been
conducted much earlier in the morning so maybe people were more relaxed, but
whatever the reason it was a great place to be. As things started to ramp down
I wandered out to look for my driver. He saw me coming through the throngs and
smiling he walked me back to the tuk tuk before depositing me back on the
corner near my hotel. It was he who made my day so I looked after him well when
I paid him. All this and it was only 9.30am!
 |
| The City Palace |
I met Karen for a late breakfast down
near the ghat and whilst we drank our coffees a woman turned up on her beaten
up Enfield. She sat next to us in the café and we got talking. She had been
living in Udaipur for the past six years and during that time had opened a café
that went kaput, was in the throes of writing a guidebook about Udaipur’s
restaurants and then told us how she rode alone through northern India and
Nepal for six months. Originally from England she had a zest for life that was
infectious and stories to tell, another brilliant aspect to my morning. After
our late breakfast we walked the few hundred metres to the City Palace, a place
where everybody seemed to be. It was crazy busy and we had to move with the
ebbs and flows of the masses. Don’t get me wrong the interior is definitely
worth a look and great views are to be had from different points but the place
has much more impact from outside. From outside it was massive but once we were
into the limited areas where visitors can wander the rooms seemed unimpressive
in size and the place lost it’s power for me.
The rest of the day Karen and I walked
the streets and I lead her back to the market I was at that morning. Now it was
a fully blown bustling market and we spent quite awhile taking pictures and
hanging out with the market women.
 |
| Karen & Market Lady |
In the afternoon we took a sunset boat
across to the Lake Palace Hotel where we had sunset drinks in the most
incredible location followed by dinner with Josh. What a day!
I’d been harboring a burning desire to
go to the Monsoon Palace perched high on a mountain top overlooking the city
and I wanted to do that on a motorbike but not just any motorbike. I wanted to
hire a Royal Enfield Bullet. Why a Royal Enfield? Well read this blurb and you
may get the picture. If you don’t then go back to your Toyota Camry or your
Honda Wave, this is a classic in every sense of the word!
The
Bullet 500 is the culmination of over 8 decades of legacy, of the longest
running model in continuous production. Since 1932 the Bullet has mesmerized
thousands all over the world with its unique styling and one of its kind feel
of ride feel. Armed with a potent fuel injected 500cc engine and clothed in a
disarmingly appealing post war styling, this promises to be the most coveted
Royal Enfield in history. For those who want it all. The power, the fuel
efficiency, the reliability and simple, yet drop dead gorgeous classic styling.
The classic turns heads not because it wants to but because it can’t help it.
You will appreciate the beat not just for the music it creates but also for the
muted feeling of strength and power that it signifies. The view is simply
better when you are astride a Royal Enfield Classic 500 – whether moving or
still. Nothing more to be said.
Taken from a Royal Enfield online dealer.
 |
| The view from the Monsoon Palace |
I had seen a place not far from the
hotel that rented Royal Enfields and I was itching to be cruising the wild
streets of Udaipur on a classic machine but my desire for the bike was looking
grim after only a few minutes. The thing was old, very old and had done a lot
of kilometres since it was rolled out of the factory and starting it was akin
to firing up a Soviet rocket. There were things to twiddle, things to pull, the
throttle to be balanced, engaging the clutch was tricky to say the least but
the nail in (nearly) my coffin was the brakes. Virtually every motorbike is
standardized, the rear brake which is operated by foot is on the right hand
side of the bike but not on an Enfield. Harking back to the days of old when
they were manufactured by the British, Enfields have the rear brake on the left
therefore the gear changer was on the right. Daunted, I still decided to take
her for a spin and nearly had an accident getting out of the laneway, instead
of braking I changed gear whilst heading at walking pace towards a parked van. I
managed to stall it and stop. Heart racing I wheeled the bike around the
offending vehicle and hit the street slowly accelerating down the hill and
around a tight bend but again my prowess on this bike was lacking as years of
natural instinct had me changing gears instead of braking and I nearly plowed
into a shop. I managed to turn her around after only a few hundred metres and
made it back to the hire joint unscathed but severely rattled. As much as I
wanted to ride this bike I knew that I would be crazy and probably injured so
with a very heavy heart I had to say goodbye to my Enfield and go for a crappy
old Honda instead, which at least had everything in the “right” place.
 |
| Monsoon Palace Sunset |
For the remainder of the day Karen and I
buzzed around town, around lakes, through tiny streets and then in the late
afternoon headed out of town to find the Monsoon Palace on the way passing a
huge elephant as it ambled along the highway. The climb up the hill had the
poor Honda in dire straits and we crawled up in first gear all the way to the
top but once we arrived it was worth the effort as the views overlooking
Udaipur and the surrounding hills was magnificent. The sunset was stunning and
I think we were the last to leave. In the meantime one of the guys that worked
security told us that a few weeks back as he drove back down the hill he saw a
leopard. That got the energy pumping. But if there was any leopards or even
elephants we weren’t going to see them, as the headlight was so feeble I just
concentrated on getting us down without incident. I returned the crusty Honda
to the hire place where the old bloke that ran the joint thanked me for hiring
his bike. Again, there was that graciousness that seemed to prevail throughout
Udaipur and beyond. It cost me the equivalent of $4 for the bike for 9 hours.
If I had taken the Enfield it would have cost a whopping $6.
But with great haste we fled the scene
as we needed to be at a dance performance lickety split at Bagore Ki Haveli, a
17th century mansion where a nightly show of the cultural
performance called Dharohar is played out. Set in the courtyard dancers whirled
and twirled in a spectacular display that culminated with a dancer balancing 9
pots on her head. I always wonder how these sorts of dances evolve, as they
seem to be more of a circus act than what I consider dancing but nonetheless it
was a great performance and really was a great way to finish our time in
Udaipur.
I highly recommend Udaipur as a
destination. There is an abundance to see and do and the people are incredibly
friendly and hospitable. You can stay in amazing accommodation for a pittance
and from a photography point of view it is an incredible destination.
To see photographs from the journey,
click on the link below.
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