The gems and germs of India part 2

(Written in April 2010)

Good Morning again from the country that has a new Prime Minister, at least he's hot!

Conversation surrounding English politics never ceases to amuse me, terms such as up in arms, disaster and antiquated mingle with proud quotes by the wives of the leaders such as 'He's the best husband ever because he makes scrambled eggs in his dressing gown and heeled slippers'
Please, cry me a river. They're not Hilary Clinton, so they must really be shoo shooed back to lunching in Notting Hell and drinking skinny, decaf, organic, fair-trade-from the Congo-cappuccinos.

Back to the much awaited sequel of Gems and Germs, much more entertaining than 1st World Politics, don't you think? I've even sacrificed an episode of 'Desperate Housewives' to write this. Now that's sacrifice for you.

So I must say I am feeling somewhat deflated after 3 weeks back from India, whether this can be blamed on the freezing weather, mind numbing work or porn star martinis on Saturday night is up for debate...Nevertheless I recall I had got to the stage of being in Jaipur buying glittering gems?

Well after buying these glittering gems and cashmere scarves we zipped to a restaurant called LBW. (I've suddenly realised this must be a cricket innuendo).
At LBW, although we had serious Delhi Belly, we tentatively sampled the lentil balls soaked in curd and the stuffed steamed tomatoes, mmm what flavour, actually I almost threw up but never mind. After going to the truly heinous bathroom and silently cursing those lace thingies that hang off 3/4 trousers which lapped up the loo water and banged against my legs, I cast my mind to finding a 'Mango Dolly' is that not the best name for an ice lolly??

We got back to the hotel and quickly had an afternoon swim and prepped ourselves for the trip on train back to Delhi. I was excited for the Times of India again and the clean, civilized seats. OH my crisis. This first class should have had massive inverted commas around it or a skull and cross bones to warn people of the dire state of 1st class. It was dirty, filthy and brown leather - need I say more? Grubby polyester curtains threatened to rub against us, children stared at me and tried to pull my hair until I turned around growled and scowled at them and pulled out my tongue at them. I really did you know, children really should be seen and not heard. I refused to drink anything in case I needed to wee, Tia, poor girl on the other hand didn't have a choice. I truly understood the term green faced when she came back from the loo, she was shell shocked. After enduring burps and bumps in the night we got back to Delhi. I've never been so pleased to be in a dirty, dinghy yet delightful city.

The next day I think we went to explore Old Dehi, where not a lot of tourists venture. Katie had an old friend who was a seasoned 'guide' who took us around the inner city lanes of Delhi. Here we bumped about on the bicycle rickshaw and clutched onto our bags like true tourists as we ogled stooped old men painstakingly hand printing 'Bank of India' Files and watched men spit out the blood red paan and stare at us curiously.
We haggled with merchants for brightly coloured ribbon, I hand picked strings of wooden beads in burnt orange and dirty blue and we ventured into the Spice Road where pepper and curry spices made our eyes stream with tears and the narrow alleys echoed with heaving sneezes.

After the culture shock of Old Delhi, we went to the heart of the back packing district. This is where you see Canadian backpackers flaunting their maple red flags and you look in sheer amazement at the 50 year old bedraggled bearded rejectionists of the Western World searching for an answer to their lives in the heart of India. We shopped for little goodies, shopping bags adorned with elephant prints, buying beautiful scarves and the best, hand made leather jackets from 'Baba'. Baba was a great character, sitting comfortably and rather smugly in his leather chair in his air conditioned shop while we deliberated what leather jacket we wanted. Needless to say, we had handmade leather jackets tailormade for us from Yak leather nogal, at the mere price of £40 and to top it off, had them hand delivered to our door 2 days later, now that's what I called service!

At around this time we were hearing whispers of a volcanic cloud causing calamity in Europe. We laughed it off, another crisis that the UK was getting into an unnecessary flap about. A few days later we weren't laughing anymore. Try talking to 'Scare India' in Delhi. Hmm. After being lecherously followed by panting dogs of men in the Air India office we admitted defeat (much to my glee) and retired back to Katie and Guy's house where we were served freshly cut papaya and tea and toast on a tray every morning - not a problem for me! I was quite content to be stuck in India. I immediately and happily got involved in full body massages, manis, pedis and more books such as the 'Monk who sold his Ferrari'. This expat life was agreeing with me.

We had morning tea at the Imperial, oh what a decadent, colonial beautiful hotel, I adored it!
We visited Katie's tailors with her, we walked around 'New Friends Colony' and we drank Pimms in the 5 star hotel in the pool while we 'mourned' the loss of our flight. We went to the Delhi gardens and I tried to point out birds while Katie and Tia laughed at me aka the bird nerd, we visited Humrayah's tomb in the slight coolness and stillness at 8am, we admired India Gate (Arc De Triomphe of Delhi) and we explored Kahn market and drank cold chocolate drinks.

After a few days of increasing frustration at the unpronounceable volcano, Tia and I got our driver to drop us off at Neemrana Fort. See pics on Facebook for reference. It was a 14th century fort which housed royalty and has now been turned into a 'hotel that's not a hotel' er great strapline....
Anyway it's renowned as a romantic retreat and Ti and I rolled our eyes, first the Taj is supposed to be seen for the 1st time with the 'one you love' and now we were in this fort, up on a mountain, which was adorned with candlelit tables on the terrace as ferry lights twinkled in the lemon trees.
The pool was an oasis, we sat and soaked and dipped in the pool every twenty mins- you know you're getting old when you swim with hair in bun, sunglasses on face and only do breast stroke very slowly and lazily.

The first day I got extremely excited when we got the pool as there was what looked like, a single 20 something male. I looked at Tia and excitedly whispered 'Daar is in SEUN, daar is n seun!!!' I don't think I have EVER been so excited to see a boy. But unfortunately he got up and as his muscles rippled, he walked away and as my eyes travelled down his shapely calves, I saw the sight of Crocs...Need I say more?

So as there was nothing to do at this place and I was almost bored of reading, Tia wheedled with me until I eventually relented to zip line aka foofie slide down a mountain with her. WTF. We left in the morning and I made a deliberate and very obvious attempt to sulk and huff and puff the whole way up and grumble at this ghastly Xtreme adventure with harness strapped in between my legs no less. So we got to the top and the guide reeled off about 20 co-ord things to do at once and of course I was the only one to have about 3 practice attempts.

Anyway I grinned and bit the bullet. It was actually quite a whizzy, extreme rush until I got the other side of the cable with my legs in the air and my face all red with sweat and squished to see 'the seun' from the pool photographing our first zip line- great. I then discovered the gift of the zipline kept on giving, the first 400 metre cable where you fly along at 40KM/H was just the start of 1 out of 5. But after that climb up that mountain climb I was quite happy to risk my life and squeal down the mountain on a cable. We arrived back and I grudgingly admitted to Tia that it was fun, I faced my fears and got on with it.

To sum up, after Neemrana, we went back to Delhi to try and get on a flight. Unfortunately the corrupt, bureaucratic f*ckwits at the airport refused to even let me in to the airport and I cursed myself that I wasn't a Bollywood piece of *ss. After much chagrin, we got onto a flight to Paris, by the skin of our teeth. We were bumped to business, to which I laughed, if I had paid business prices for that, I would have demanded my money back. I entertained myself by watching Harry Potter in German and picked my way through Masala nuts. I was so appreciative to fly into London, the sun believe it or not was actually casting a beautiful pink glow over the city, I watched the glass of the London Eye catch the colours and reflect onto the Thames.

We arrived sans luggage but at this point I was beaming as the friendly passport official warmly welcomed me 'home'.

So I think that draws a close to my India chapter but I will leave you with a few wise words by Robin S Sharma

'Awaken yourself to the power of your own mind to make things happen. Once you do, the universe will conspire with you to make magic in your life'.

And one more for the road...

'The price of greatness is responsibility over each of your thoughts.' - Winston Churchill