Our next carriage companions were a husband and wife, who calmly sorted all their belongings and remarked to their friends in the next carriage 'ha ha we are with the Eeengleeesh!'. The woman prepared herself for bed by covering her neatly platted hair in a plastic bag and secured this with an elastic band. Then they both put on bobble hats. We were both wet and sweaty after hoofing our rucksacks at speed down the platform, and had no idea that later in the night it would actually get cold, shock-horror!
At one point in the night I woke to find two of the ticket inspectors stood looking down at the sleeping Wiji and having a general chat about him. I promptly shooed them off and they sat in the empty seat across the aisle from us munching their way through several courses from their stainless steel boxes, whilst staring at me.
Still later in the night a big argument kicked off that Wiji and I watched from our separate bunks. The gist of it was that one man was not happy with his seat and was giving another ticket inspector hell. The two voyeur ticket inspectors were non-plussed and still eating from their never ending tiffin boxes, and offered their colleague no assistance what so ever. Eventually a guard in a khaki uniform with a rifle came and stood between the arguing parties, which led to the disgruntled man pushing his way through the crowd of onlookers and the harangued ticket inspector having another sit down.
When we arrived at Ahmedebad there was a congested furore of rickshaw drivers and touts. One young tout insisted on following us, nearly pushing me down a flight of stairs in the process of getting next to Wiji. While we were trying unsuccessfully to get away from him we nearly both fell over a post. Not really what you need at 7am after a 9 hour journey. Our unwanted tout insisted getting into the rickshaw next to the driver, with us (never a good sign), and I assured him he wouldn't get money from us when we reached the ironically named Hotel Volga, where we already had a reservation.
It started in Borneo and has carried on in India. In each room we became accustomed to seeing a pair of manky flip-flops, left for guests to use in the room.
Hotel Volga wasn't at all really. In fact someone had given 'modern' interior design a bit of a go, this had resulted in some random shaped blond furniture that was quite amusing. The plastic tree in the lobby seemed to be dropping its leaves too.
Our hotel was fortunately down a back alley.
When we ventured onto the main streets of Ahmedebad it was the loudest, most congested, polluted chaos we had ever seen, and that is really saying something! Normally we both sit in silence throughout rickshaw journeys, with so many sights flashing by it often feels as though watching them could induce a seizure. In Ahmedebad, we had no need to worry, it was one heaving roadblock after another. Every male drivers prowess depended on inching forward and being in front even if it totally blocked everyone else! Our lungs were crispy fried with pollution from day one. That said we loved the place instantly, it had a raging vibe that was exciting and full on, but strangely welcoming too.
We ate at the Nutan restaurant, who's blacked out doors always made it looked closed. It was dimly lit and very, very quiet inside, despite being on a main road. Someone had painted the ceiling subtlely to look like dreamy clouds. The service was great, as were the curries. The makhanwala curry was shaping up to be an all time fave. Wiji had found his ultimate Indian bread in their onion kulche.
And a section on regional foods called 'South in the mouth".
There were lots of things that we wanted to do and see in Ahmedabad. Sadly we had arrived on a Monday and everything seemed to be closed, but we had to find that out for ourselves in a series of drawn out disappointments, lol. First up was a visit to the utensil museum. Mmmm, maybe not for everyone, but I was certainly looking forward to seeing some ceramics and some hand crafted metal vessels. We haggled a return price with a rickshaw driver before undertaking the 40 min journey out of town. Along the way we saw several large camels pulling trailers and we really felt the dry and dusty heat.
Crossing one of the three main bridges on the Sabarmati River that separates the city. This one was named Ellis bridge -yes really!
At the utensil museum we found that it was closed on Mondays, and NO, there was no chance of it being opened for us, even if we had made the journey especially. We had a fresh lime soda and looked on the bright side, there were lots of other things to see!
In the Utensil Museum courtyard, a fellow diner takes it easy...
He had lovely shaped feet.
We still had a smile on our faces.
Our rickshaw driver was still waiting in the car park, as arranged, and felt sorry for us that it was closed. He did his best to get us on our way to our next destination.
One of the slums on the edge of the city. People had hoofed out their soggy mattresses and beds into the scorching sun to dry.
On the way back we witnessed this man's scooter die on him. It was funny watching him slow, disappear behind us and then get a second wind and reappear! When the engine power finally dwindled he leaned forward on the scooter in a hopeful manner. It reminded me of driving my Morris Minor up the Holden Hill in Devon.
Ahmedabad had a large thriving Muslim community. I saw many Muslim women wearing elbow length white gloves to cover their arms when riding their scooters.
Our rickshaw driver who drove with care and didn't lean on the horn 24/7. He faithfully tried to find the Gamthiwala (block printed) textile shop on Manek Chowk, but we were none the wiser as all the signs were in Gujarati, without exception.
'Errr, which shop is it then?'
Across the road I spotted just what we needed, a length of chain to secure our rucksacks to the metal rings under the seats on the train. Helpfully a passer by came over to point out that it must be very, very hot for us and that he felt we were visiting India at the wrong time of year...quality!
On Manek Chowk, the place was heaving with shops with market stalls in front of them.
A cheery display of wilt-free plastic flowers.
Indian candies, that are usually served after the meal in a bowl with a spoon. The ones that we had tasted have been menthol, cardamom scented and aniseed.
Continuing along the market with bra's a plenty stretched to bursting point over plastic boob mannequins, and the most hankies we had ever seen. The locals often wearing them bandit style over the face to stave off the carbon-monoxide fumes.
The Teen Darwaja, or triple gateway into the royal square, where royal processions and polo games took place back in the day. This was built by the cities founder Ahmed Shah in 1411.
Friendly stall holders.
Bustle.
Above the chaos, when you could actually look up without fear of being run over were some ornate buildings.
The Mosque over the happy stores and tailors.
The Bhadra Fort, hidden behind the sprawling market.
City living.
Beauty Parlours the world over, offering a little bit of the feel good factor.
Going in search of an internet place as usual led us to some grotty holes where men watched porn in their own booth's and then we used the keyboards after them. Rancid.
Oh dear goaty-peg! Wanting to be on a mountain, but making do with a concrete step.
Later we went in search of the night market, only to discover that all the products were covered in mirrored embroidery. I was 20 years too late to really appreciate or covet these delights.
A tidy stall for the unpacking.
After several rickshaw journeys to nowhere (where a driver assures us he knows the place, but then just wants to drop us somewhere random) we lucked out at the Mirch Masala restaurant, famed for its Bollywood hero murals and film posters.
The menu was done in a Heat magazine stylee with the Bollywood stars faces cut out and collaged into scenarios, some where dreaming of a Mirch biryani in bubbles above their heads, others were quoted in speech bubbles as insisting on a Mirch curry as their rider. Nice work.
The next day we set of for the utensil museum again. An action packed 40 minute death defying journey with a mental rickshaw driver who insisted on shouting to his rickshaw friends so that they could have a look at us in the back, while continually leaning on the horn. He took particular offence to women on scooters, practically hassling them off the road, while simultaneously picking his feet.
A rangoli decorated elephant remains calm in the raging traffic.
A true beast of burden, an ox carries the load across lanes of un-cooperative traffic.
Straight from the kiln, water vessels on the way to market.
Aaaah, back at the Utensil Museum...We were told, 'No the museum is closed until the afternoon'. Wiji lost it and did a lot of swearing regarding the incorrect information given by the owner the previous day when we visited, while I played good cop and tried to reason with them regarding our second journey and our willingness to 'pay'...all of which was met with blank indifference and all four men stared at us with emotionless unblinking eyes, but understood what we were saying perfectly well. We were gutted, but they would not budge. Aaah, the way of the stubborn, arrogant middle aged man. I felt that I'd been here before! I tried to placate an infuriated Wiji by reminding him that this had never once happened before on the whole trip, lucky for us.
I did get this great pic of the water buffalo on the main road. They are so beautiful and have such different faces. Naturally the ones with horns that turn down seem kind of forlorn...Their necks seem so long and weighty as they plod on.
This covered statue was reminiscent of Russian monuments in the winter. We couldn't establish why it was shrouded in tarp though.
Below, two's up on a scooter with a wheel barrow in between passenger and driver.
On our second visit to Toran Dining Hall we were recognised by the same door man who happily told us the previous day that is was closed on Mondays...'In your face! We're back and were having a thali!'
Yes, thali deluxe indeed. In an all you can eat, and much more that you can't, but it is forced upon you by various serving staff who won't take no for an answer stylee!
We were closely supervised by the stern faced management who stood over us as we ate. They were positively glowing when we said that we loved it! One of the bowls in the thali combo was mango pulp, and the young man serving it seemed to feel the need to refill my bowl 4 times while leaning closer and closer into my face with an increasingly searching expression per serving. LOL. He was called off by an older waiter who found it highly amusing, but inappropriate and shooed him off.
The dish of yoghurt in the foreground had a pastry shape underneath. This was served to us by the waiter who used his thumb and index finger to rub it into extinction over our bowls. LOL, that really was quite funny to watch and I made a mental note to recreate this at home.
After feeling refuelled we got a rickshaw to the Calico Museum, reputed to be one of the finest textile museums in India. No one seemed to know where it was though. We also had the added stress knowing that it only admitted visitors in the first 15 minutes of the opening time and we knew that with all the fannying around with directions we were pushing it. After stopping for directions several more times our driver found it. We scrambled out of the rickshaw and a guard at the heavy wooden door asked 'who goes there?' lol. He promptly informed us that the opening times had changed and that the museum was only open for two hours every morning, except Wednesdays (the next day). What a shame! And what a performance! We had missed out on the two museums that we had really wanted to see and were out of time. Despite these disappointments we loved Ahmedabad, and the exciting rickshaw journeys. We really couldn't have stayed longer than two days for fear of our lungs giving up!
1 comment:
The covered statues are of some politicians whose party is still not in "POWER",so they are waiting to be opened.
Toran Dining Hall happen to be run by my Family.YOu are Welcome!
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