Dec 5th 50p meal problems
24.57859, 73.68223
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Bheru lets us sleep through the night and after tea and filling our tanks we are on the road. I love being up and about early while the air is fresh and the sun not so hot. I set the pace trying hard to run my engine in at the 60-80kph recommended rate but mainly near the 80kph mark and sing to myself as the road winds along. I reflect this is perfect but not for long.
Taking breakfast at a quiet road side café I begin to feel my stomach cramping and, sharpish, leg it to the open air toilet where presumably one of yesterday‘s rather cheap roadside café meals has me at its beck and call. While we ride I feel good but trying to hunt down a Bullet dealer in a small town involves a lot of kick-starting as the motor stalls often, since to get a good gear-change without making the clutch slip requires a low tick over speed, and at the same time this kicks my stomach into overdrive. At least throwing up on verge means I can have my stomach above my head preventing the usual post Technicolor spit cramps.
Feeling weak it takes a while to find the energy to force the kick start down again. Once done I lamely follow Chris to a hotel in Udaipur. With bikes in the hotel it is perfect with exception that there is only one small cheap single but with no toilet, while the other available room is an expensive double with views across the holy lake. I motion to go and the doubles comes down to the very top end of my budget (£5). Feeling a toilet would be an essential need for I take the double thinking it is a treat for myself to recover in while Chris kindly takes the smallest hotel room I have seen with no windows and a tin roof. Lunch fails to stay down and my own toilet is a big relief.
The rest of the day is spent resting, going for a slow walk around the town including looking at yet another dismal rubbish strewn holy lake, this time with a palace in the middle of it. More resting and interneting for both of us before I go for a non-milk porridge as dinner and Chris takes a soup, also unsure what delights his body is going to give him in the night.
Dec 6th Rest day
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Chris and I decide to take off to allow both of us to recover from our various illness. We breakfast together on the roof of the hotel watching the sun come up on the old palace, now an expensive hotel, in the lake while gazing down on the local’s doing their bathing and washing in the filthy water. They go at it with a lot of vigour but then as Chris pointed out it probably takes a lot of effort to clean clothes, or oneself, in dirty water.
A tuk-tuk takes us to the car museum, with the driver trying hard to sell us drugs all the time we travelling. The museum only contains 20 cars and independently Chris and I realise that is 5 rupees a car given the steep entrance charge of 100 rupee. The cars all belonged to the Maharani or his father or grand-father. One of which was a cut-down mid-1930s Rolls Royce designed for shooting trips into the bush. With the small commentary by the guardian the 5 rupee per car charge seemed acceptable as it also came strangely with a soft drink.
The afternoon was spent doing our ‘work‘ I.e. blogging and uploading photographs before heading to a roof top restaurant to watch Octopussy which was shown nightly as a few of the scenes had been filmed in Udaipur. We had asked the waiter whether it was a Sean Connery or a Roger Moore film but he assured us it was neither as it was a James Bond film. I was also quite astounded and relieved to found I had not seen it before so did not have to break my own rule of doing anything twice.
Dec 7th Gujarat state
23.02813,72.59478
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Stealing again from Chris’s
Nomadic Wanderer blog:
We rode for several hours with only 2 brief stops and the road only got better. Dipping into valleys and surrounded by rugged mountains, the scenery was beautiful. We crossed into Gujarat state and the highway dividers were lined with an endless row of various coloured rhododendrons, the air hot but sweet, and petals were dancing in spirals on the flawless blacktop. It is a green and well irrigated state, perhaps more wealthy than Rajasthan; and as well, slightly more liberal, since here the girls are more bold and giggly (and just generally more socially apparent).
For about half an hour we switched bikes and I got the feel of what a well loved Enfield is like. Paul's 4-speed gearbox is on the right hand side and it would no doubt take me some getting used to, similar to first driving on the other side of the road. Shortly after, we crossed over the Tropic of Cancer and the day seemed to become automatically hotter. We passed by Gandhinagar, the state's new capital, smaller and more bureaucratic, and it's also India's second "planned" city, similar to Chandigarh. Also, it was here in this area that Gandhi first moved back from his years in South Africa to begin his communal farm experiment. This is still definately a farming area with good black soil.
We cruised into Ahmadabad, a dirty, loud and busy city of 4.5 million, and began a long search for a highway that didn't exist on either of our maps. We were trying to find the local Enfield dealer and our two hour search was successful, after we finally enlisted the guidance of a Yamaha dealer who drove us to the shop. Of course, we didn't even realize it was Sunday during our search, and the shop was closed. I thanked the Yamaha man and told him about my last commuter bike in Vancouver, a 1982 Exciter 250. Programming the coordinates into Paul's GPS, we went back into the city and found a hotel. I haggled a slightly better price (for a change), and we quickly showered and left to begin a walking search for a Jain temple.
Every city seems to have such a temple, as Jainism is apparently the second largest faith in the country. It was founded in the 6th century BC by a contemporary of Buddha. The followers practice a life of "right actions" and non-violence, and the very devout have minimum possessions and sometimes wear a face mask outdoors to prevent the swallowing of insects (Paul: a sign outside said no menstruating women where allowed in, quite odd given most of the carvings on the outside of the temple where of women as soldiers). They value every living being. They also have spectacular temples, ornate and very impressive. No photography is allowed there however.
Dec 8th CouchSurfing
N21.77198 E72.14911 (GPS busted so only approx)
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Chris the
Nomadic Wanderer writes:
We crashed early the night before and set off in the a.m. to return to the Enfield shop. I had my bike serviced, as i had just reached the 3,000 km point, and Paul picked up a new clutch and a decompression switch. Paul had earlier expressed an interest in heading southwest along the Gujurat coast to the town of Alang, where there is an enormous ship recycling centre. They ram the biggest ships in the world onto the shore in high-tide and then well organized crews, numbering at about 20,000, dismantle them and recycle the parts and the steel. I once saw a documentary about this, although now I realize that it was about the poor working conditions and environmental hazards - Greenpeace came here in 2002 to expose this place to the world.
I was up for an adventure with the bike now shiny and ready for more, so I agreed to come, only with a little apprehension, since my more recent guidebook recommended that tourists would first need to get faxed permission in Ahmadabad. But I like any sort of trip that has a mission built in, and so we headed south and out onto the flat peninsula jutting into the Gulf of Cambay. Paul is a member of Couchsurfers.com, a "volunteer-based worldwide network connecting travellers with members of local communities" and he had only 2 nights before procured a place for us to stay with a family in nearby Bhavnagar. For me, this was worth the off-the-beaten-path journey south. A couple hours later, after a brief stop in Lothan, an archaeological museum and unearthed ancient civilization, and we were having dinner at the home of Mr. Janak Trivedi and his family of 9. (Paul: This I think was Janak’s wife, two children, his father, his brother, his brother’s wife and their two children. With the children even at the age of 21 sleeping in the same room as their parents)
Mr. Trivedi is a high caste Brahmin who speaks English well and exports women's clothing to Ontario. We had a delightful evening with tea and our many questions answered, and we were given a tour of the city, which included a stop at the college were Gandhi got his first degree. This was the sort of experience I was hoping I'd have while in India.
Dec 9th Bareid holiday fools us
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Chris the
Nomadic Wanderer continues:
The next morning we set off for Alang and it was good to ride
without luggage. Mr. Trivedi had called the port authority ahead of
us, to try and set up our chance to get permission. They clearly take
security very seriously here, as we had been told that tourists can be
imprisoned for trying to penetrate the gates without the right
connections. Unfortunately it was a Muslim holiday, and the man we
needed to talk to was not working. We were told to come back the next
day, and after some wrangling we realized it would not be possible.
On the way out of town, Paul's intuition led us down a beach-parallel
road and we actually discovered a spot less than 1km from 4 very big
ships in various stages of being dismantled. I felt partly like James
Bond and partly like a criminal, and we didn't tarry long. Back up to
the Trivedi's in time for a late lunch and some well needed rest.
Dec 10th The National Highway 8
N20.41706 E72.83232 (approx)
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Chris the
Nomadic Wanderer explains the day:
We began the trip back north again with a new technique. Due to a convenient coincidence, our host Janak was also heading off the Kathiawar Peninsula to the city of Surat by bus in the very early morning. He suggested we find our way by following the bus out of town, which is often our most difficult challenge after motorcycling into India's bigger cities. It was both grimy and effective, but soon we were on the open road, a smaller highway that passed through the Velavadar National Park. We watched the sun rise over the watery playground of the local Black Buck population. We had tried in vain to take some sort of boat across the 30km gulf, but this service was no longer possible. It was at one time poorly run and not in great demand, since the Gujarati people, it was explained to us, are generally landlubbers.
So we had resigned ourselves to taking the "long way round," and it turned out to be a very big day, 14 hours and almost 500 kms on a sweaty, frustrating road. A certain madness had afflicted the bureaucrats in charge of India's highways. They decided it was for the best to renovate a 250 km section of highway from Vadodara (Baroda) to well past Navsari, the road and its travellers agonizingly weaving their way south, now and probably for the next 30 years, with the help of detours they call "Diversions" here. And so, while we made beautiful progress first coming north, we made slow progress towards Mumbai. (Paul: especially as I had a slow puncture and then an oil leak from my spare oil can leaving my left boot and sock soaked in oil and road dust).
At a few places during the ride we stopped to photograph our faces as they became progressively more filthy. It looked as though we were wearing makeup and our features were more exaggerated. Paul's face was especially amusing, as the night before he had his beard trimmed away and is now sporting his first moustache, in a very typical Indian style.
A certain madness came over me as well during this day and I had to remind myself not to get irritated by the fact that we didn't see more than a half dozen road signs for this part of the journey. I really wanted to strangle someone responsible at the end of the day, and by another strange chance, we ended up having dinner next to a well-spoken old man, Raj, who looked a little like Gandhi with modern glasses - he was a diplomat in earlier times. He explained that corruption is able to operate on a larger scale if the projects are also set at huge proportions. Fortunately after having my first beer in 8 weeks (finally a town where alcohol is permitted!), I had relaxed significantly and did no strangling.
We watched the sun set on the road ahead of us and pressed on for Daman, a Portuguese enclave and a separate Union Territory matched with the little island of Diu. It seemed at first light to be a shabbier version of what i expect Goa to be, but still there is a holiday feel about the town. I finally found a place that serves the fish curry I have heard so much about and after parking our bikes in a safe lot, we went to bed early at the Hotel Diamond. I have been telling people who (always) ask me what I do, that I work in Canada's version of Bollywood. As a result, Paul had heard me talk about the film industry on many occasions now. In the evening I switched on the TV and discovered that one of my past films, Butterfly on a Wheel (or Shattered as it's known in some countries) was playing, and I felt a little nostalgic and homesick before quickly drifting off to sleep.
Dec 11th Jetting down for the road a head
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Daman contains two Portuguese forts. We take the morning wandering around them but they are fairly delapidated or rubbish strewn so are nothing too special. It had been more interesting to me to watch a funeral march, with the flower covered body being carried to the beach by both men and women but on the beach the two sexes split. The women left sitting on the beach while the men carry the body away to another part of the beach. There could have been nearly 1000 people in attendance, not bad for 8am on a misty morning I thought.
As we are both one day ahead of our individual schedules we decide to stay a second night, allowing some clothes to be cleaned and some rest to be taken. Yesterday’s ride having taken it out of me and something that concerns me as I am doing so little exercise my fitness and flexibility are going. Even during the motorcycle maintenance I did during the early afternoon I really felt slow and pondery.
The maintenance consisted of: replacing a rear indicator, installing one of the two smaller main jets I had purchased to correct the way over-rich typical India mixture setting and sorting out the chassis alignment. The later I did simple by pulling the rear wheel back on one side only with the aim that this will at least allow the rear wheel to follow the same path as the front.
For dinner we are joined by two travelling girls. An Isreali, Tali, and a Canadian, Heidi. Tali was the first Isreali I had ever met. She, like Heidi, was very pleasant with a medium slim frame and the smallest perfectly shaped ears I have ever seen. Both where seasoned travellers who’d met on the way. They were fun to talk to, though my girl talking skills where very rusty so Chris entertained them more than I.
Dec 12th Parking Panic
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Flying to the UK on the 14th rather than the originally planned 15th of December had screwed up the parking in Mumbai Amit had arranged for the Bullet and leading to a small panic for me. So, with the exception of going for a walk to the local black sanded beach resort, I returned to the internet café to resolve the parking issue. I tried the net communities of CouchSurfing.com, HorizonsUnlimited.com and xbhp.com and by mid-afternoon had offers from all three.
Heidi and Tali joined us to eat together at a different restaurant in the town. For once the food was delicious and filling though poorly serviced and the mice running around the walls did not really enhance the experience. We ignored them as we finished the meal tucking into the little cake I had brought to celebrate Chris and my time together and the fact that we would go are own way the next day.
Dec 13th food, glorious food
N19.08493 E72.86805 (approx)
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With Chris off to Goa for Xmas and me to the UK we had to part ways after breakfast. It had been fun spending a week with him and we talked about everything but religion - a very pleasant and welcome change.
Hadi Cutnay had answered my requested posted on www.HorizonsUnlimted.com and suggested meeting at a mosque near Monginis cake shop in Kalina, a district of Mumbai close to the airport. I found the cake shop after 180km and watched the world go by from there as the cake shop was more interesting than another mosque.
Red double decker buses and Ambassador taxis come and go as if I had gone back in time. Though the constant beep of the auto rickshaws and small motorbikes stopped me forgetting I was in India. A beggar comes up and as usual I refuse to give him anything. So he goes and hangs around the cake shop and does quite well. I reckon around 60 rupees an hour and he has to change the coins with a street seller for they weigh his pocket down.
I took a few savoury pastries from the cake shop and good they were too. It must be one of the better shops for an endless stream of fat people come to the shop. It is not since Delhi I have noticed so many fat people especially the older women. Where once upon a time a sari might have looked nice on them now it just seems to show off the rolls of fat around their bellies or under their arms and down their backs.
Mumbai seems richer than Delhi for there are more imported cars such as Mercs and Hondas and more of the females wear western outfits and it is noticeable far more people wear sunglasses.
Hadi arrives and we park the Bullet at his home before going to the office of his software development company, where I am introduced to his business partner, Devaki. She owns 5 gyms across the city and Hadi’s company provides some of the membership management software. Yasar, Hadi’s brother, along with his girlfriend, Zoe, join us as we go to one of the local restaurants. The restaurant is far more up market than I normally visit and with confidence I tuck into the chicken and mutton based dishes. Both taste great and my idea of becoming a vegetarian fades away. Next door I buy the group some super ice-creams as we watch and listen to the one or two proper motorbikes going up and down the street. The first real bikes I have seen in all of India. The scream of a in-line Japanese 4 seems eons away from the Silver Bullet’s thumper and with the women wearing jeans and the shops being modern and airy I feel I am being pulled back into the Western world in preparation for my flight home the next day.
Dec 14th Santa’s little helper
32DD,24,34 (back home)
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After sleeping in a spare room at Hadi’s office I spend the morning selecting the few things I will take to the UK with me on my flight. Yasar takes me to one of Devski’s gyms, near a beach where I watch the locals splash about in their trousers, and I feel properly clean for the first time in a number of weeks after a steam sauna and a proper shower.
17 hours later and I arrive at Heathrow to be met by Abigail wearing a Santa’s little helper outfit under her long coat while carrying some raw carrots, cauliflower and peppers. Raw, safe to eat, vegetables being one of the things I missed the most. Soon we are travelling down the M40 motorway to Oxfordshire at the legal 70mph limit, far faster than I have travelled on the road since leaving 11 weeks earlier. It is great to breath the fresh country air but buying a loaf of bread from the local market for £2.40, about 300 rupees, reminds me of the advantages of India where a typical decent meal was costing me only 100-150 rupees.