Palaces, forts and temples

The north is another country. Gone are the balmy temperatures, coconut palms and beaches, to be replaced by open landscapes, palaces and forts.

The bustling metropolis of Delhi was an assault on the senses. Chaotic traffic for a start. Only here do you see five lanes of traffic across a three lane freeway. Along the roadsides people live their lives in full view of the rest of the world.

We've started this next tour on a high note - the Taj Mahal in Agra. Visiting on a Saturday afternoon, we joined many locals and a smattering of tourists in exploring this magnificent monument to love. Built in the 17th century, it was the final resting place for Emperor Shah Jahan's beloved third wife. Evidently the first two weren't so special.

After the crowds at the Taj, it was a real treat to practically have the Agra Fort to ourselves the following morning. Bathed in the misty morning light, the red sandstone positively glowed. Shah Jahan was imprisoned here for a decade after being overthrown by his son. He must have spent hours upon hours gazing at the Taj.

The countryside is distinctly different here in the north. We have the green irrigated fields, yellow flowering mustard crops, blue blue skies and houses, and a patina of red dust over everything else.

Beyond Delhi and Agra, we travelled to Karauli, a small town in rural Rajastan. Our home for the two nights was at the Bhanwar Villas Palace, still home to the Maharajah and his wife. It was like stepping back into the 1930's - with every room still furnished in the original style and the walls covered with photos, artworks and hunting trophies. Whilst staying in Karauli we had the opportunity to visit the City Palace on a private tour (not generally open to the public), the Hindu temple and a local school run by the royal family, and enjoyed a sunset camel cart ride to a nearby lake. We also had dinner in the grand dining room, joined by a group of lovely Frenchies from Montpellier. A good time had by all!

Pre-dinner drinks with the Maharajah and his wife, the Maharani, was fascinating. She was the grand-daughter of the former Maharani of Jaipur, whose life is captured in 'A Princess Remembers', and is now the mayor of the town (an elected position). It appears that they are still held in high esteem within the community. They do have a 22 year old bachelor son if anyone is interested!

Below: the Taj, Agra Fort (red), The Karauli City Palace, and the Villas (yellow).

The King and I - a dairy tale

Bhanwar Villas Palace has its own dairy, as well as kitchen gardens and fruit trees. I know this as I spent some time with the Maharajah this afternoon, talking about his passion for dairy.

I had wandered down to see the dairy cows being milked in the afternoon sunshine. Deep Singh was the young man in charge of the dairy, having qualified as a veterinary officer. His role was to monitor the cows, record their production and oversee keeping the cows in calf. As you can imagine, I had plenty of questions, which had him asking me what my job was!

Just as we were exchanging email addresses as he wanted to know more about dairying in Australia, Deep was suddenly alert. "The King, the King!"... yes, he was on his way to check on his girls. Thus followed a most engaging exchange as we chewed the fat about dairying.

Ok, so the rest is for my dairy buddies. You can look away Glen! ;)

They have some 30 cows in milk, and a further 30 young stock, as well as a Friesian bull. The King is looking to crossbreed, introducing Friesian for quantity, with the Gujarat breed which is high in fat and protein.

They are generally calving year round, with a mineral mix fed pre and post calving. The cows are tethered outside during the day, and in stalls at night. Feed is a fine chop of tree leaves and some grasses (the green feed) mixed with millet stubble and ground millet. At some times of the year there is lucerne included. Milking in summer is hard, with a decline in production due to heat and poor feed availability (obviously an opening for Cool Cows here!).

Milk production averages about 10-11 litres per day, with the best cows doing 15-20. They milk very early in order to have it at the market by 6am. They are direct selling so as to receive a better price - about 25 rupees per litre (50c). Unlike some, they charge the same price for milk year round.

The cows are serviced by the bull as local AI is both unreliable and with poor quality semen. Cows are currently hand milked using the traditional method, but there are plans to purchase an automatic (portable) milking machine, which Deep is looking forward to. I guess, like all young fellas, there's nothing like new technology!

Finally, there appears to be little government support or advisory services in the region, with most knowledge development based on experience and tradition.

The shots below capture some aspects of life in the dairy, including one of the King, a most personable fellow.

Slowing down in Goa

In keeping with my 'holiday within a holiday' theme, it has been a very relaxing few days here in Anjuna.

By chance, the hotel I booked is a complete gem. Whilst I could have fronted up and found a coconut palm shack by the beach, I was hoping for a few more home comforts when I booked the Spazio Resort. It is a gorgeous Portuguese style boutique hotel with just 24 rooms. The pool is a welcome treat, as is the fridge and flatscreen tv. It has to be the cleanest, freshest place I have stayed in so far, which I attribute to the all-female housekeeping crew (attention to detail and all that... ;) ). Best of all, I've been able to enjoy a sundowner whilst watching the Aus Open night session every afternoon at a much more convenient time!

Anjuna itself is much drier than I expected - quite arid looking, with its bare paddocks and red dusty soil. This adds a faded veneer of dust to everything, aging most cafes and shops, and the goods they sell. The nearest beach is quite rocky and has none of the attributes of Varkala, so happy to have a pool.

Of course, this is a narrow view of Goa, given that I am somewhat limited by transport options. Everyone zoots around helmet-less on scooters and motorbikes, but since a visit to an Indian hospital is not in my itinerary, this is a pleasure I have forgone. Indeed I'm quite happy not to have been run down by a crazy foreigner!

A key attraction in Anjuna is the supermarket, just 50m from the hotel. Catering solely to the expat crowd it stocks everything you could imagine wanting, including vegemite! I've tried a local sav blanc, 'Banyan Tree', selected on the basis that the vigneron had spent time training in the Barossa. I won't be buying a case of it, but have had worse.

Amongst the dust and faded hippiedom are a few gems, which you won't be surprised to know that I've ferreted out. 'Thalassa', in the next village, is a wonderful Greek restaurant, complete with sunset views. Definitely my most expensive meal here so far, but worth every cent. Was awarded 'The Times of India' best Mediterranean for 2011. I could understand why, and am now hankering for a trip back to the Greek Islands.

The 'must-do' around here is the Anjuna Wednesday market. In a paddock set back from the beach, it included every trinket or bauble that you imagine wanting to bring home from India. And more. Much at good prices too, but with one month to go I'm still on a shopping embargo, until the end is in sight - my bag is heavy enough!

As enjoyable as this has been, it's time to raise myself off the sunlounge and get back to being a real traveller. Shortly I head to the airport to start Part 2 of this magnificent journey. Flying north to Delhi today, to start the exploration of Rajasthan and beyond. I'm feeling well and rested, and excited by what lies ahead. Sad to be leaving the warmth though!

Old Goa

It was still dark as the train pulled into the nearest station to Panjim and Old Goa, so I found myself a spot in the entrance hall, lashed out on a warm flaky pastry and some sweet chai (40c total) and waited for the sun to rise.

It was then a brisk auto rickshaw ride into Panjim past Old Goa, eerily quiet in the early morning light. This area was settled by the Portuguese back in the 1500's, a strategic port in their monopoly of the trade routes via Africa back to Europe. Their influence lives on in the architecture of Panjim and remnants of Old Goa. Indeed, at some moments I find myself forgetting that I am in India, so reminiscent it is of other parts of the world.

In order to inject some 'culture' into what is a very relaxed 'holiday within the holiday', I organised a rickshaw to take me the 10km to Old Goa for the day - once considered the 'Rome of the East'. Essentially, after all these years, only the grand churches remain which gives it a strange sense of spaciousness rare in this very developed country. The city was abandoned during disease outbreaks in the 1600's, and there is little remnant of it once having such a large population.

Alighting from the rickshaw I was bombarded with vendors placing candles and strings of marigolds in my hands. "Free, free, free... give what you want... you pay 100 rupees..." Apparently the marigolds are worth more than the 10 rupees I offered, since she took them back, but I did end up with one candle for that price. I'm a sucker for candles in churches - reminds me of Nannie (my grandma).

The first church I was visiting was the Basilica of Bom Jesus, which is where St Francis Xavier lies. This is probably the largest catholic shrine in India, and being Saturday there were plenty of visitors. When we got to the altar of St Francis Xavier, there was a large sign. Do Not Light Candles. And a box to helpfully collect your unlit candles. Scammed. As I stood there thinking I had been duped, I noticed an Indian woman scoop up the candles from the collection box - no doubt to resell them again. Double-scammed!

Continuing through the church and attached buildings, I came across a stand of lit candles on the veranda. So double backed, collected my candle and a few bonus ones from St Francis, and set them all alight. All was good with the world once again.

Around Old Goa, there was also the chance to visit the Se Cathedral (the largest church in Asia), several other churches and the ruins of the Monastery of St Augustine. All told, I think about six Catholic churches for the day. Not bad for India!

The room at Casa Paradiso in Panjim where I am staying is clean and spacious, if not a little spartan. And right by reception so a little noisy too. So thought I would check with reception if there were any other rooms available (since I had booked over 2 months ago!).

"But no, this is the room you have been allocated. It is the DELUXE room."

"Roight. Well, if that is the deluxe room, I'd like toilet paper (2 rolls please), soap and a topsheet."

Ahhhhh, India...


Photos below: note the prices of the milk at the local 'milk bar' (50 rupees = $1 AUD). Also the churches of Panjim (the white one with the staircase in front) and Old Goa (the Basilica is the red stone one).

Travelling the rails - Indian style

It's remarkable really. Almost three months ago I sat at home and booked this train journey online. Fast forward to today, and it has translated to my name, carriage and berth number appearing on a dot matrix printout pinned outside the Station Master's Office at Varkala. And I'm just one of the estimated 17-20 million people travelling Indian's rail system. Every day.

I'm traveling 2AC, which translates to a 4 person sleeper cabin (with curtains), with two bunks on either side. We've been provided with sheets, a blanket and a pillow each. The blanket is especially handy given that the air-con is working with artic efficiency.

This is the most expensive seating option for this train, but since it's a nineteen hour journey, I'm ok with that. There will be other opportunities to experience the 'real India' that you find in the 3rd Class Chair carriage. This is real enough for me!

There is a steady stream of busboys passing up and down the carriage selling chai, coffee, water, soft drinks and savoury pastries. The pakoras and such smell fantastic, so I've succumbed to sample some. What's there not to like about crumbed, deep-fried vegie goodness?

Of course, on such a long journey, a procession of cabin mates is to be expected. The quiet young couple, the chatty doctor from Kerala, the good friends on holiday, the grumpy bugger from who knows where... this last fellow arrived, kicked me out of the window seat with great urgency, reorganised all the luggage... and then realised he was in the wrong carriage. Gold. He left and calm was restored.

Below: vignettes of life on the rails. Note the list of demands by the Varkala station staff (new chairs...), cabin service snacks, and the iPhone recharging. What more could you want?

God's Own Country

That would be the official slogan for the state of Kerala, and from my vantage point by the pool here in Varkala, I'm happy to concur.

It has been an easy transition from doing plenty to not doing much at all. Indeed, my last day here finds me with a list of things to do before I head north to Goa, now that I've almost run out of time. It's been the usual holiday story... sleep-ins, relaxing breakfasts, stints poolside with a good book, afternoons sitting in ocean-view cafes with a good book, dinners with my cycling buddies... an exhausting schedule if truth be told!

Highlights have included walks along the cliff path to watch the locals pull in the fishing nets, our foray to the 'Varnaka Cultural Centre' (ie tin shed) for a Kathakali dance performance, and an Indian cooking class.

Varkala is a great place in which to while away a week - and I could easy make it two. A real melting pot of cultures - half of the town is run by Tibetians and Nepalese, there is the usual assortment of French and German seeking some winter sun, and then of course, young backpackers doing the 'chill-out' thing. For many this involves yoga - but definitely not for me. A number of bungalows also offer 'Ayurvedic' treatments, but a quick check on Wikipedia has confirmed I'm not missing out on anything!

I did spend two nights at Kaiya House when I couldn't get consecutive nights here. Run by the lovely Debra and her aunties (by marriage), it was a great insight into an expat's life here - and possibly provided both the best breakfast and cheapest laundry service in all of India.

Cooking class was fantastic. Just me and Ani, the chef. Completely hands-on, and dinner was the culmination of my efforts. The stress in trying to chop onions and garlic just like Ani was enough to confirm that I have no place, ever, on Masterchef. We made pakoras, Bengal eggplant curry, fish curry, Kerala marsala dosa, vegetable brianyi and a dessert - all within 2 hours. It also provided an insight into why we didn't lose weight cycling - any exercise was completely offset by the oil in Indian cooking! Palm oil, coconut oil, vegetable oil...

Tomorrow I catch the train north - a 19 hour journey which is sure to be entertaining. Though, must say, am sorry to be leaving Varkala and the Deshadan Hotel - and God's Own Country!

PS you wouldn't want to be in the Indian cricket team... the cartoon below featured in this morning's paper capturing the nation's mood - and was sponsored by the local dairy company...