I am an IT developer, 35 years of age, and living in Gouda (famous for its cheese) in the Netherlands. I'm addicted to travelling the world, telling people about my travels and taking photos. I have already been to Egypt, Sri Lanka, Maldives, Turkey, Kenya, India, Nepal, South Africa, Zimbabwe, Botswana and Namibia and in 1999 I visited China and Tibet. I am now planning to take a half year to a whole year's leave to take a round-the-world trip. People who wish to contact me can do so at peterho@interaccess.nl.
Yesterday I was very sick. I managed to stay healthy for two weeks but finally the India belly got to me and I threw up on the streets of Udaipur. This morning a rickshaw, overloaded with luggage, took me to the bus. I still feel sick. The others are walking from our hotel to the bus. When I arrive a group of naked Indian men walk pass me. India keeps amazing me.
During our bus ride I slowly start to feel better. Sleeping it off seems to work. The lunch does not get me my appetite back. After a look in the kitchen most of us decide to settle for a sandwich. The last part of our trip to Jaipur scares everybody. More than once we close our eyes. A collision seems inevitable when two trucks race towards us while another kamikaze pilot tries to overtake us at the same moment. Our bus driver steers through the maze of trucks and other slow traffic like normal business. You must have nerves of steel on this road to hell.
Jaipur is busy, chaotic and dirty like most large Indian towns. On the street where our hotel is, pigs and dogs feed on the garbage. When we enter our hotel we are in for a surprise. The nostalgic British influence makes us return to history. An old library, a picture of Lady Di and a tiger head on the wall add to the atmosphere.
The next day we visit the Amber Fort. We have seen many forts up to now but again we are impressed. The monkeys are funny. The sales people are pushy as always when they try to sell hats for '10' (dollars, not rupees!). The fort, with its beautiful romantic style, is great. Later the doors are closed behind us as we enter a pitch dark room. Then someone lights two candles. A wonderful sky of stars sparkles above us when the light reflects on thousand of little mirrors. 'Aaaaaahhh' fills the room and chicken skin rolls over my skin.
Passing elephant droppings we walk to the bikes, our transport back. The sun shines ruthlessly above our heads in the middle of the day. Sweat rolls from my back when we ride up a steep hill. Shortly after that we race downhill, back to Jaipur. Traffic becomes more hectic when we enter the city. With some great steering we manage to miss holy cows, rickshaws and locals. The ultimate adventure is to take a roundabout on the left hand side. After an extremely busy one we are missing half of our group. With the rest we get back to our hotel. Someone looked for the others but could not find them. Luckily everyone, some with the help of a rickshaw, make it back.
At night we have dinner in a luxurious restaurant called Niro's. Smoothing tones of 'Children' from Robert Miles emanate from the speakers. At that moment I realize that there is something like a western world far away. The movie theater we visit looks almost 'normal' except for the rats crawling at our feet. The movie is entertaining with energetic dancing and music. But we don't understand a thing from the dialogues.
The next day we visit the tourist spots of Jaipur: the Palace of Winds, the City Palace and the planetarium. The hundreds of tiny windows in the Palace of Winds, where the women of the Maharaja stood away from the public, are impressive. The beggars around the palace are shocking. A mother with two children waves her arms in vain to the passing tourists. A crippled man drags himself 30 feet to follow us. A child with dirty hair and clothes is sitting in the middle of the road. The traffic and tourists run past her.
Days later I am still thinking of her. Looking back on what must become of her and the rest of India. 'Children' sounds from my headphone and I see a video clip of images of Bosnian children before me. A tear rolls from my eye. I wipe it away. Our bus races further… further away from her and closer to home.
|
