Sinhagad

I keep meaning to post about this, but somehow I never quite do. Better late than never, I suppose!

The Saturday before I got sick, I went to Sinhagad. Sinhagad is a ruined fort dating from around the 14th century, located some 30km from Pune. The guidebook described it as ‘much adored’ and ‘a desired picnic and getaway spot’. In my naivety, I imagined a rolling park sort of thing, fairly sedate and with a couple of picturesque tumble-down walls and such dotted around, maybe a tower or two, if I was lucky.

My first clue that this impression might not be entirely accurate came when my driver, who arrived in a plush jeep-type thing, got a peculiar look on his face at the mention of Sinhagad, and proceeded to spend a long ten minutes on the phone in Hindi. He finally hung up and we set off, but we hadn’t got past the first set of traffic lights when his phone rang and he pulled onto the pavement. After another, quicker conversation – still in Hindi, of course – I was handed the phone. The line was kind of crackly, so it took me a moment to work out that we were going back to the hotel and they would send another car for me. The guy said it was because ‘this car wasn’t allowed’ to go to Sinhagad, but since his English wasn’t fantastic, I assumed he simply meant that the driver didn’t have time to go all that way, or something like that. In any case, we did a U-turn, went back to the hotel, and I was soon picked up by a perfectly comfortable but noticeably smaller Fiat.

The drive took about an hour through some very lush, green countryside. We passed the lake created by the Khadakwasla Dam, which the driver was very keen to point out to me, and finally arrived at the foot of a hill, guarded by a couple of military gentlemen with large guns. As the driver paid them the toll, I couldn’t help but notice a couple of plaques pinned to the surrounding trees, with some Hindi writing and the unmistakable image of a leopard. Since someone had mentioned to me that the place was rather isolated, and big cats were occasionally seen in the area, I couldn’t help but be a wee bit worried. Still, I reminded myself I was unlikely to be alone, and in any case, no leopard with any sense would be hunting in the middle of the day. The driver finished talking to the guards and we set off up the hill.

The first ten minutes, I sat in the continuous expectation of at any moment rounding the corner into a parking lot of some sort. There was no shortage of corners, after all – every 20m we seemed to change direction. It wasn’t until around a quarter of an hour had passed, and the vegetation changed abruptly, that I realised that we were not actually on a small hill, winding our way through a forest as I had thought, but were, in fact, in the process of climbing a mountain. At this point, the leafy trees which had surrounded us, obscuring the view, gave way to clusters of coarse, low-lying bushes and shrubs, and I was able to see for the first time just how steep the way down was. As it turns out, Sinhagad is located 1350m above sea level!

We continued our ascent for another ten or fifteen minutes, occasionally having to pull in to let pass motorbikes or other cars coming back down, before finally arriving on a small plateau that functioned as a parking lot. It was a bit confused, stuffed with cars parked every which way, and tents and stalls selling chai and snacks along every side. We found a space easily enough, though, so I didn’t think any more of it. The driver seemed a bit concerned for me because of the heat, but there was a pleasant breeze, so I wasn’t too worried. He gave me his number, telling me to call him if I had any trouble, and I set off.

At this point, I knew we were pretty high up. The parking lot offered a fantastic view, and we had, after all, been climbing steeply for almost half an hour. It wasn’t until I started to move around that I realised just how high we really were. The first part of the way up to the fort was a narrow, flat path in deep shade, lined on one side with fruit and snack vendors. Already walking along there, I began to feel a bit out of breath, but I put it down to the heat and ignored it. The path was followed by some steps – wide, low ones, cut into the mountain, not dramatic in any sense: I managed to climb about a dozen before I either had to sit down or fall over. It was actually a bit frightening; I am not in the best of shape, but I am not hugely unhealthy either, and I am used to my body doing what I want it to, or at least giving me fair warning before it stops. Now, though, after hardly any exertion, I was quite sure that if I stood up again, I wouldn’t remain that way for long. Even walking back to the car seemed at that point like an insurmountable obstacle. Eventually, of course, though it took several minutes, I began to adapt to the quality of the air, and was able to continue up the steps to what was left of the fort itself.

When I got there, I was quite astonished. I had been expecting something really quite isolated, with just my fellow visitors and one or two food vendors. Some of that had already been dispelled by the large amount of stalls I’d already seen in the parking lot and along the path, but I was still a bit shocked at what I found at the top. It was practically a little village! In addition to the food and drink I had been expecting, there were shacks and huts all over the place, obviously home to a number of families, following the little ‘streets’ left by the ruins. People were everywhere, visitors and residents both, sitting on picnic blankets in the grassy areas, drinking chai in the shade of the tents, or just wandering around looking at the ruins and enjoying the view.

I did the same, and spent about an hour exploring the site. The ruins themselves weren’t much to look at, being only a few bits of wall left over. There was one piece that had been kept up, though, a memorial to (as I later discovered) Tanaji, one of the military leaders who died there. And old guide was performing a rather impressive ‘story through song’ thing when I got there. Everyone in the shrine area seemed to be barefoot or in socks. I didn’t fancy taking off my shoes just to get to the other side, so I very carefully made my way around the edge, on top of the thorny bushes, to avoid causing offence. Just as I had finally made it, a group of Indian youth passed me and went straight across the middle in heavy black trainers. I felt a bit silly.

Mostly, though, I spent my time admiring the view from different vantage points. It was truly spectacular, quite unlike anything I have ever seen outside of National Geographic. Huge (to my flat European mind), tree covered mountains in every direction, the more distant ones shrouded in faint mist, and birds of all kinds swooping in the void between. It was amazing, although I don’t know what it says about me that my first comparison was to a sort of cross between Feralas and the Barrens (if you don’t game, don’t ask).

On my way back down to the car, I met a small family coming up in the opposite direction: An impish little girl of about five, her father, grandfather, and two women in their thirties, one of whom was probably the girl’s mother. The child walked up to me, quite fearlessly, and, when I didn’t immediately realise she wanted to talk to me, said, smiling, ‘She would like to say hello to you.’ Which she then did, in perfect, lightly accented English. We exchanged brief pleasantries, but when I began to move again, the grandfather, having heard that I was alone, took me aside and warned me, very seriously, to take care of myself, because there were bad people about. If he had been patronising about it, I would have just ignored him, but the fact that he was so grave took me by surprise; I hadn’t experienced anything, at any point in my trip, to make me even a bit worried about going around alone, but he was the third person that day to warn me, in all seriousness, about ‘bad people’ (the other two being the driver and the person who helped me plan the trip). So, either the dangers of travelling alone in India as a Western female have been grossly exaggerated, even amongst the local population, or I have been very lucky. Thinking about it, I suspect a bit of both.

Anyway, I made it down to the parking lot, and there discovered why it is generally a good idea to mark out parking spaces properly: When I had left it earlier that morning, there had been two rows of cars, not exactly neatly lined up, but close enough. Now, there were three, set up in such a way that made it clear that no one, at any point, had ever thought to consider that there was a possibility, however remote, that the cars in the middle row might just want to leave before the ones on either side. Our car, of course, was sitting neatly in the middle of the whole mess.

I like to think I am a fairly philosophical person, and since there was obviously nothing anybody could do, I let the driver take me to one of the shady tents on the edge of the plateau and sat sipping my water while he tried to find the drivers of the cars blocking us in. Now, I say drivers, because of course, these were not nice, neat lines, where one car being removed on one side or the other would have allowed us an exit. This was a case of incoming drivers finding the nearest available space and simply leaving their car in it. As a result, not only were there three very muddled lines in centre of the space, but cars had also been left randomly dotted around the edge next to the tents, making it virtually impossible for even the cars on the outer rows to pull out far enough to turn. To put it in more practical terms: Within ten minutes or so, my driver had managed to locate the owners of two of the cars directly behind us and one in front, yet we still couldn’t move an inch. It wasn’t until the driver of the van opposite the car in front of us was found that we began to make real progress. Even then, though, it wasn’t a case of just driving the offending cars away and putting them back once we were out, oh no. Due to the lack of space, it ended up looking more like one of those puzzle boxes, where all the pieces have to be moved several times in a very specific in order to open it. It took about twenty minutes and three guys standing around directing the various drivers (no mirrors, remember) before we were finally able to leave, and yet somehow, I didn’t feel the least bit annoyed about the delay, nor even surprised that it had happened. I think the Indian spirit is beginning to take hold of me…

Another attempt at sightseeing

Yesterday was pretty boring. I had booked a car with the hotel to take me sightseeing. After waiting 45 minutes for the car to turn up, I asked to go to the Konark Park, which was labelled as a bird sanctuary/research centre in my guide book/brochure thing. Unfortunately, it was also the only attraction listed without an address, a fact I only noticed after the driver spent ten minutes reading the listing in an effort to work out where it was. Since all it said was ‘on the outskirts of Pune’ and ‘5kms from Pashan’, he eventually had to give up and call the hotel for directions. What followed was a conversation in increasingly irritated Hindi, which I didn’t understand a word of, except for ‘Konark Park’, ‘Pashan’ and ‘Google’. Yes, that’s right, Google. From what I could work out, the conversation started out with ‘what’s the address of Konark Park?’, and ended with ‘well, if you don’t know, google it!’ After that, the driver hung up. Five minutes later, he got a text with the address, which I am choosing to take as confirmation of my theory. Globalisation is a wonderful thing!

We drove for about an hour through some very scenic countryside, until the driver suddenly looked around, did an abrupt u-turn and pulled into a shallow space in front of a large iron gate. The place was completely deserted, and at first, I thought he just wanted to get off the road to consult a map or something. It took me a moment to noticed that above the gate was a metal plaque proclaiming Konark Park. This came as something of a surprise, as not only was there not a soul to be seen, but it looked as though this might have been the case for some time. The gates were clearly locked, and through them the compound itself looked rather forlorn, empty except for a few pieces of old, weather beaten pillars with the paint flaking off stacked in one corner.

The driver honked a few times, and eventually a security guard emerged from the hut next to the gates. After a quick conversation in Hindi (with the driver, obviously, not me), it emerged that Konark Park had closed down six months ago! I was a bit shocked, especially as apparently it has been going for 30 years. Of course, there was nothing to do but turn around and go back, which we did, but not before I managed to get a picture of what has to be the weirdest sight I have seen in India so far, which just happened to be located just opposite: The Ambrosia Institute of Hotel Management. You have to understand that, by this point, we were in very rural territory, all fields and farms and greenery, with the occasional inconspicuous compound, usually army-related. Then, in the middle of an area of lush, low trees, suddenly this enormous thing loomed into view! The only way I can really describe it is as a gigantic glass bow (as in one you tie with ribbon). There seemed to be no infrastructure, nothing to support its existence; it looked like a huge, space-age building, quite unlike any I have ever seen, had been dropped down right in the middle of the countryside and just left there. I’ll post the picture when I can, but unfortunately I seem to have misplaced the cable for my camera.

Anyway, after I had gazed in awe at the bizarreness of it for a few minutes, we headed back into Pune. I was determined to see animals, so we ended up going to the Katraj Snake Park, billed in my guidebook as ‘the most attractive tourist place in Pune’. The driver came in too, which surprised me; I didn’t mind, but usually they just give me their phone number and go for a chai while I do my tourist thing. I mentioned to him that he was welcome to do the same, but he said he preferred to come with me as it was ‘a big area’. Naturally, this put me in mind of the zoos we have in Europe, especially as it turned out to be quite a wooded area next to a lake, within an immediately obvious perimeter. As such, I was a tad surprised when we managed to do the whole thing in fifteen minutes, without rushing in the least. The exhibits were nice, though – mostly snakes, also a couple of crocodiles, some birds (owls, peafowl and an invisible vulture) and a group of monkeys. I was surprised to find that most of the reptiles were kept outside, in deep pen with little roofs on them, but with the weather the way it is over here, I can see why. They looked a lot more comfortable than the few snakes in terrariums, too, although the king cobra seemed quite happy in his tank. A cat had gotten into the monkey enclosure when we arrived, and I lingered there, hoping we’d see a reaction from the monkeys, but no joy. They all seemed quite comfortable with each other, and later I saw the same cat with a white mouse in its jaws which looked suspiciously well fed, which made me suspect that the cat was probably quite comfortable with the snakes as well.

After we’d seen everything we could walk to, the driver told me to stand in line next to a little hut, where a battery-powered car would come and take me to see the rest of the animals. I stood there for a while, but there was a sign saying that each car only took ten people, and there were at least twenty in front of me, several holding places for their children playing nearby, so when no car appeared after 10 minutes, I gave up and went to admire the lake instead. I might try again, early in the morning before the crowds arrive, but I’m going to ask some of the others if I’m missing anything first.

Bleh

Today (or tomorrow, depending on how you calculate it) is my half-way point, and I am sick. Fantastic. It started with some unpleasantness yesterday morning, but it was fairly mild, and I was convinced it would pass within a couple of hours. I went into work around half past ten, and then went home again an hour later, after almost passing out in the bathroom (well, that’s what it felt like, anyway). It’s not very dramatic, I just felt incredibly tired, as somewhat feverish. I spent most of yesterday in bed, alternately sleeping and reading Bridget Jones. This morning I woke up feeling much the same as I did yesterday morning, so I’ve asked them to send a doctor for me. I’m not hopeful that he’ll be able to do much, because this seems to be one of those things where you just sleep and wait for it to pass, but I am tentatively optimistic that if I spend another day just doing basically nothing, it will pass on its own.

I hate being sick.

Diwali

So, Diwali was last weekend. Or well, perhaps I should say that the Diwali celebration was last weekend, because Diwali as a whole is something I have been hearing about every day in one form or another ever since I got here, three and a half weeks ago.

I knew about Diwali before arriving, which is to say that I knew it was the Hindu festival of light, celebrated by lighting candles and wearing fine clothes. What I was not aware of was the sheer scope of the thing! Now that I’ve witnessed it first hand, I’ve begun to think of it as the Hindu version of Christmas, in terms of social and commercial significance. That is to say, the social idea of Diwali is to spend time with one’s family and loved ones, doing traditional things and generally celebrating quietly within the home. The commercial ideal, on the other hand, is that everybody should spend as much money as possible (and ideally more) to ‘make this Diwali the most festive ever!’ Ads for Diwali-related items are discounts are everywhere you look – TV, magazines, billboards – and almost always feature airbrushed people in expensive party clothes, with a few candles scattered around the edges for effect. In almost every case, you could replace ‘Diwali’ with ‘Christmas’ and quite likely no one would ever know the difference.

There are other similarities, too. One is the sudden appearance of charity volunteers selling trinkets to raise money, just before the main event, and the equally sudden desire of virtually every passer-by to buy something. For my own part, I bought a set of two terracotta diyas (small lamps used to celebrate the festival) decorated with silver paint, which will do beautifully for Christmas (see?) at the charity stall set up in the canteen at work one day, a pair of traditional cards with – again – imagery that could easily pass for Christmas at the same stall, and a tiny candle in a clay pot at the entrance to the SGS Mall one day, mostly because it didn’t occur to me to give the money while refusing the candle.

And speaking of malls, the shops certainly do their bit to join in! Ever since I arrived, almost every one of them has had special Diwali offers coming out of their ears. Most also set up a table at the entrance, brightly decorated and full of suitably festive items (is this ringing any bells), and many shops that don’t generally sell foodstuffs offer sweets and chocolates in elaborate gift boxes, at three times the normal price. I noticed a golden and purple Cadbury’s box in particular that looked suspiciously like some marketing person had just removed the ‘Merry Christmas’ text and replaced it with ‘Happy Diwali’ (or maybe it started out as ‘Happy Diwali’ and got replaced by ‘Merry Christmas’, who knows?). I don’t think the font had even been changed!

The decorations are similar, too. In theory they aren’t supposed to be, but in practice it’s exactly the same shiny tinsel paper that gets used, albeit in different colours (basically, all of them). They do have some lovely traditional lanterns, though, quite large and made from brightly-coloured cloth. I think I might try to get one to take home with me.

There is one major point that sets Diwali apart from Christmas, though, and that is the attitude people take to it. I hadn’t really noticed until last Friday, but it really struck me.

Friday was the most important day of the celebration, and we all had to work. In the days before, people had been decorating, and when I say decorating, I don’t mean buying a little plastic tree for the team and calling it a day. I mean serious decorating. We had lanterns of every shape and size hanging from the ceiling, as well as everywhere else people could manage to hook them on. Brightly coloured garlands were drawn up from the desks to give the impression of little pavilions, and miles of sparkly tinsel were stuck along every available surface. It was very impressive.

When the big day finally came, I dressed up a bit, but didn’t go so far as to wear Indian clothes for the occasion. I hadn’t (and still haven’t) got around to purchasing any, and, when it occurred to me that wearing a sari or something might be a good idea, it was already Thursday and I was told the shops would be a nightmare, worse than on Christmas Eve. According to one of my fellow travellers, that turned out to be absolutely true, but when I got in and realised just how much effort everyone was making, I found myself kind of wishing that I had braved it anyway. Still, my beaded top and long skirt did have a vaguely Indian feel to them, so I did sort of fit in.

The day itself was fairly uneventful, at least for me. The group had ordered a special lunch, and specifically asked for a mild portion for me, which I thought was very considerate. Unfortunately, the caterer’s interpretation of ‘non-spicy’ turned out to be rather different than mine, but what I did manage had a wonderful underlying flavour (the problem was that the overlying one was FIRE). Someone also gave me a Diwali gift, a glass mug full of Cadbury’s Eclairs (which I am currently eating) and pieces of white chocolate. Gift-giving is apparently not a traditional aspect of Diwali, which focuses more on sharing token snacks and sweets, but I’m told it’s beginning to creep in, at least in middle class circles.

Anyway, as I said, nothing particularly special took place for me, but what I noticed more and more as the day went on was how joyful people seemed. Not just a few, either; pretty much everyone I met throughout the day appeared to be genuinely, honestly happy that it was Diwali, and that they would shortly be going home to celebrate with their families. It made for a sharp contrast with the West, where so often people put a ridiculous amount of money and effort into Christmas, while at the same time managing to completely fail to enter into the spirit of the thing. I think I like the Indian way better (which is not to say that a fully decked-out Christmas tree with a mound of colourful presents underneath is not one of my favourite sites in the world…).

After work, I went back to the hotel and didn’t do a whole lot until dinner. I was faffing about on the internet when It started. From about half past six, just after it got properly dark, until God only knows what wee hour of the morning, I was treated to a non-stop display of fireworks from across the city. It sounded like war had broken out outside my window!

In honour of the occasion, I decided to eat in the hotel’s Indian restaurant. I hadn’t tried it yet, and honestly have no great desire to do so again, for various reasons. Still, the food was good, although I was a bit disappointed to find that my suckling lamb shank had more bone than meat on it (and the bone wasn’t very big). Nevertheless, it was quite tasty, and I had a conversation with my neighbour who recommended that I try another local hotel restaurant, where they will give you a meal consisting of samples of a wide range of Indian foods.

After dinner, I was back in my room, and beginning to think about going to bed, when I began to realise that the fireworks outside had suddenly got a lot closer. When a very bright yellow-white one exploded right outside my window, I finally realised that I was witnessing the hotel’s own fantastic display! I say finally because, up until that moment, I hadn’t realised that the hotel was going to have a display. I suppose I should have expected it – what brand new five-star hotel would miss a chance to show off? – but I didn’t, and, as it turns out, I wasn’t alone. See, the hotel had adopted the same attitude that stops fancy restaurants putting prices on the menus – the philosophy that goes something along the lines of ‘having to actually tell people about things is so plebeian, our clientele are expected to know, and if they don’t, well then, it just reflects poorly on them’. Unfortunately, while this attitude may work for Michelin-hopefuls, it doesn’t translate over to fireworks displays all that well, and the end result of not telling anyone about it was that no one turned up.

It was a pity, really – it was a beautiful display, easily one of the best I’ve seen, and obviously cost a fortune. I’m quite sure that no one – or at least, not more than a very small handful of people, at the most – went to see it, because I have a great view of the terrace/pool area from my window, and, crane my head as I might, I could not see a single person down there, other than the attendants. The other terrace is on the other side of the hotel, so unless there’s a rooftop one I’ve never found, I don’t see where people could have been watching from. For myself, I had a great view, much better than I would have had had I gone down to the pool, since I was almost level with a lot of the explosions. They had some really fabulous ones, too.

So that was my Diwali. I’ve been seeing fireworks over the city every night since, but they’ve begun to taper off these last few days. I’m not sure exactly when the festival officially finishes, but the season is obviously drawing to a close. I’m really glad I got to experience it – it was quite exciting, and very interesting to see how similar these ‘togetherness’ celebrations really are across cultures.

Sea monster or canape? You decide...

I just had a supper which consisted of two prawns. Two. And a tiny portion of pasta. And it was by no means too little.

I thought I had seen most sizes of prawn, or at least close to, but holy shit. I have never seen anything like these things. Not even in the realm of. Between the two of them, they barely fit on my plate! They were more like small lobsters than prawns, except completely prawn-shaped (no claws or anything). The heads were awesome, too - they'd been severed from the bodies very neatly, and took up my entire bread plate when I removed them from the main dish. They were full of feelers, almost like Chinese dragons. It was actually a little disconcerting at first, having these two giant, whiskered heads staring up at me while I ate. Then, after a while, I stopped being disconcerted and began to feel a bit sorry instead, that these magnificent beasts were lying on my plate in a heap of chopped aubergine and fettuccine, rather than swimming around being proud crustaceans on the ocean floor. Not sorry enough to stop eating, though.

And that's it for now. I'm fairly sure that no one in Europe will actually believe me about the size of these things, so I have half a mind to order them through room service at some point, and take a picture with a DVD box or something for comparison.

Felled

I have managed to sprain my toe. Yay me.

I’m not entirely sure how it happened: I was getting ready for bed last night when I made a false movement and, well, there you have it. At first I thought I had just stubbed it, but it was still very painful by the time I went to bed, with all the hallmarks of a pulled tendon. I had been hoping it would be better this morning, which admittedly it was, but still nowhere near okay.

I ended up calling for a doctor after breakfast, who came, confirmed my sprain theory, and ordered me to stay in bed, or at least in my room, until the pain lessens. Which was not exactly how I was planning to spend my weekend, but I suppose it could have been worse. It could have been the ankle, for one thing, or I could have had real plans for today, rather than just a bit of sightseeing and shopping. In any case, I’m told that almost everything will be closed today and tomorrow because of Diwali, so I think the best thing to do is just resign myself to my fate. On Thursday I bought a couple of DVDs of opera performances on a whim (the pretty costumes and wigs drew me in), so maybe I’ll watch those. I hope my neighbour likes Mozart.

Also, tomorrow it will be three weeks since I arrived in Pune. Three weeks, that’s one third of my stay gone! It doesn’t feel like it at all, but time flies when you’re busy. I also have five weekends left, not counting this one, which I have to decide what to do with. Mumbai will definitely take up one, most likely in December, and Pune and the immediate surrounding area probably another two. That leaves me with another two, and while I’m less and less tempted by Goa the more I hear about it, I’m told that there is a tiger reserve some two hours away by plane. I have to ask my colleague for more details on Monday, because those things tend to be pretty pricy, but if I could find a way to swing it, I’d really love to go.

Food

In the Italian restaurant, they give you a piece of focaccia and a large brown bread roll, which they call ‘country bread’, with every meal. The roll is very tall and quite hard, divided into six segments for easy tearing. I have just watched a well-dressed, sophisticated-looking young Indian woman, in the company of her equally well-dressed and obviously wealthy family, consume one of these, in all seriousness, with a knife and fork, while her family watched politely. The bread roll was not cooperative.

Also, it's the first day of Diwali, the Hindu festival of light, so there are fireworks going on all over the place. Tomorrow is the main day, and my colleagues have ordered a special lunch, but refuse to tell me what it is. They just say it is a surprise and then giggle a lot, which I suspect may not be the best sign...