Knight takes Pawn

We’re currently stuck in Udaipur (which of all places is not too bad a place to be stuck, especially if you’re romantically inclined) due to John’s un-elegant dismount from a beautiful Rajasthani warrior mare at full gallop. He scored very poorly from the judges. But the doctor gave him seven – stitches that is, and four – weeks of bed rest. But more about this later.

Rewind a month to Dharamsala, where you last heard from us. We attended a teaching held by the Dalai Lama, translated badly into English. If this was your first experience with Buddhism, you would find extremist, fundamentalist Muslim less morbid. The translation told us that your body is bad, your mind is bad, everything you do is bad and pointless and nothing you do will amount to anything in the end. And that too will be bad.

At the end we saw the Dalai Lama driving past in His Holiness-mobile (a shiny new 4wd that we didn’t think was too bad), and were pleased to see that he actually does look like an incredibly happy person, despite the tragedy that has befallen his home, and how bad everything in this life seems to be. We gained a new insight on the Tibet-China situation from two Tibetan refugees – young men – that we tutored English to for a week.

The profundity of their lives and epic ordeals that they have experienced in their short existence is incredible. Depressing and inspiring, we both gained a new appreciation for the resilience and strength of human spirit and will. Pleasant and polite young men on the surface, delving deeper one finds amazingly strong, loving, worldly, humorous, people who have been through so much (torture, persecution, jailing, mountainous journeys on foot, exile), but ultimately the separation from their homeland and families. Many passionate discussions did John and Tiff have on this newly (to us) important issue. Such tragic circumstances, and yet, invasion and oppression are unfortunately the history of humankind on Earth. Enlightened and technologically advanced as we may be, we are still overwhelmed by greed for money, power, and land. Indeed, the need to put our imaginary lines upon the Earth to mark ‘our’ territory with complete disregard for the pre-existing culture, has been the bane of human history and peaceful cultures everywhere. More and more, in more countries than one, we are beginning to understand this. We have developed a new respect for India for accepting these refugees.

So we passed a week learning as much from these men as they did from us. We felt a little sad that we were only able to help for such a small amount of time, but we hoped that the impact we had extended beyond these moments. The impact they had on us will certainly extend into the rest of our lives. We were extremely privileged to be in the position to share the stories and experience Tibet on an emotional level. We head now towards Tibet with a deeper inspiration and passion.

Saying goodbye to them was unbelievably difficult. It was still amazing to us, even having said goodbye to as many people as we have so far, that you can get so emotionally attached to someone in such a short period of time. The white blessing scarf, placed around our shoulders as we left McLeod Ganj, brought tears to our eyes. But time yet calls and we had to move on.

Oh, and here in McLeod Ganj was the first time Tiff got really sick and John had the dubious privilege of taking care of her. With a temperature of 39’C, the only way to cure her was with roses – and amazingly enough John found some. She got better quickly, and then John contracted it. But Tiff couldn’t find any roses, so John’s illness lasted twice as long.

By local train (sitting in between Sadhus, businessmen and housewives) we traveled to Pathankot and then straight onto another train to Amritsar. The train system in India is glorious, efficient, 90% on time and incredibly comfortable (at least in 2AC class). They serve Chai every two minutes and food every half hour. But they don’t beat Thai trains where your bed is made for you…

Heading into Amritsar at eight o’clock at night would be our first real taste of Indian culture. Previously we had been surrounded in the majority by Tibetan and Ladahki (part of Kashmir) cultures. So we were very much looking forward to seeing if our first impressions of India would change.

Tiff’s first words were – “This should be the capital of India!”, due to the lit, clean shops, neon flux of street signs and almost controlled flow of traffic. After spending the last two months in colder climes, coming to Amritsar was an absolute shock. The heat was incredible. We spent a sweaty evening wandering around unsuccessfully looking for a decent restaurant. We settled for the hotel food.

Our first day saw us heading to the fiery Pakistan-India border closing ceremony. It was an amazing show of national pride, pomp, vigour and mass audience participation. Usually you would only see this level of noise and excitement at a sporting event. Each army put on a display of machismo, honour and gymnastically flexible highkicks (maybe they should join a cancan line) cheered on by the colourful, animated crowds who chanted their country’s slogan at the rival army and danced in the streets. So many beautifully incongruous moments ensued. The opening of the gate, the saluting and handshake of the two ranking officers of each army across the Borderline, and at the end the lowering of both flags against the setting sun, reminded us that no matter what silly spin you put on two countries, we are all human and share the same Earth. It unified two hostile countries through ceremony and a common sense of national pride.

Tiff’s take was mixed – a fear of the almost uncontrolled crowds, imagining how quickly a group incited could get out of hand; awe of the controlled emotion in the interacting officers; and a desire that all international disputes could be handled through the expression of testosterone in this ceremonial way, rather than on the battlefield. John’s feeling (through the milky haze of a raging temperature – still from McLeod Ganj) was awe, rapture, and happiness at being considered a VIP (international guest), after finally convincing the gigantic guards that he was not Indian. He was also touched by the power of the crowd emotion and was tempted to dance in the street, waving the Indian flag as well.

The next day was a visit to the famous Golden Temple, where we met the Sikh section of Indian culture. They are a beautifully intimidating yet peaceful people. They are pious, and accepting of Western ignorance of their forms and customs. At no point did John feel threatened here as he did visiting the Jama Masjid in Delhi. The temple itself took a backseat to the colour and liveliness of the people, and the expressions of devotion in every step taken.

Our next stop was one day in Delhi – for business purposes only. We finally picked up the GPS from DHL (they are a worldwide courier who challenge customers to give them the ‘Mission Impossible’ but they couldn’t deliver to Leh – guess they didn’t choose to accept), and changed the date of our ongoing Malaysian Air flight from K.L. to Japan. This city-business we budgeted to take a full day of battling the horror that is Delhi, but to our immense surprise, and against the evidence of the last two months of accumulated Indian hassle and incompetence, all was done in two hours. So we decided to look for somewhere to eat and while away the afternoon.

The taxi driver that we had booked for eight hours or eighty kilometres – but we had stipulated three stops - was keen to finish with us and earn another day’s wage in the same day, so was quite grumpy. After him taking us to three of his mates restaurants (close to our final destination) and finding them closed, we found ‘a pearl in the cowpat’, a shiny, clean, new, well-stocked, modern café. Here they served ginormous cups of – get this – excellent coffee with soy on request, and ham chicken sandwiches. Of course we ate too much, drank too much coffee, spent too much time there, but hell, we had the afternoon off. And it was good to enjoy a bit of civilization after only horrible coffee since Bangkok.

While eating, we came across a newspaper with headlines stating the flood devastation that was sweeping through the Jaisalmer region – our next destination. Our train was due to leave in the next four hours. Hurried calls to Tony/Dad back home (who researched the situation on the ‘net), and calls to hotels and tourist operators in Jaisalmer led us to decide to risk it. Tony and the newspapers said that the situation was very bad (food drops, evacuations, bodies being discovered etc.), but the Jaisalmer locals said ‘No Problem’. Now, was this an Indian ‘No Problem’, or was there really ‘No Problem’? Well, let’s go find out, we thought.

Entering Jaisalmer was one of the most amazing experiences ever. The warm glow of the Rajasthani sandstone envelopes you, and welcomes you as part of the town. Our guesthouse was the best experience of tourist hospitality we have had yet (Hotel Renuka – a quick endorsement, see Sunny, he’s fantastic). The view from the rooftop restaurant of the GOLDEN fort was breathtaking. And the food was frickin AWESOME MAN! Like a frickin laser beam. The food and I should find ourselves a frickin room. Sorry, we saw Austin Powers the other night.

It was a fairytale to see the desert fort. And to wander through the palace (guided by a great audio tour) was intensely magical. It transported you back in time to walk the footsteps of history. The stories of epic battles and tragic love, of culture and architecture, and life. This is the only fort that people still live in, in the world. We also visited the stunning Jain Temples. Spectacularly carved and crafted of wood and sandstone, these are creations that could only have come from a divinely-guided hand. The intricate patterns and motifs were simply mesmerizing, awe-inspiring and you didn’t have to be a Jain believer to appreciate the holiness of such a place. However, Tiff must bring to light the disappointing prejudice against women’s dirtiness due to their ‘unnatural’ natural cycles. Women who are menstruating are requested not to enter and ‘compromise the sanctity of the temples’. John was wearing dirty underwear but he was allowed in - there’s a water-shortage in the desert, even though it’s just flooded you see.

We both fell in love with the town, hell we even went shopping and enjoyed interacting with the locals (although they were a little disappointed that we didn’t buy more). But they were friendly, and weren’t overly pushy. This was also the first place where music became a major part of the street life of India. And this added an entirely new and wonderful dimension to the already visually, olfactory and tactile experience.

Another important part of our time in Jaisalmer was a four day, three night, camel safari though the deserts, dunes and now-green farmlands of the Great Thar Desert. Once again John kept a travel diary so if anybody can be bothered emailing us this time, we’ll be more than happy to send you a copy. We won’t hold our breath. Lots of great and humorous stuff happened, but if you want to know more, you have to email us. So there.


We left Jaisalmer about a year too early, but we still had too many places in glorious Rajasthan to see. On recommendation we booked a room at Heaven Hotel (not listed in Lonely Planet!!!!!!) in Jodhpur. John thought it was a bit premature to be going to Heaven, and was not sure if he would be allowed entry. Heaven guesthouse is run by a beautiful Jain family. Nisha is the matriarch and thus super-boss of the business. Vinod is the man of the house, yet concedes total authority to his wife. (Almost every single male we have met in India has told us on no uncertain terms that the woman is the boss – they got this right. At this, John always nods his head glumly in agreement while Tiff strokes John’s head patronizingly and says ‘you’re still boss in the bedroom dear…’.)

Nisha and Vinod have two beautiful children, Manu and Kenu, who are respectively 10 and seven, male and female. Manu instantly found a hero and role model in John, wanting his hair cut like John’s (even though Tiff did it), and deciding that he was coming to Australia to study in six years. Kenu wheedled us into making her a kite (even though Nisha strictly forbade it) and getting our hands Henna-ed. John’s looked like the scrawl of a seven year old girl – funny that. We definitely left pieces of our hearts behind when we left this family.

Mighty Meherangarh Fort is the main attraction of Jodhpur, and a place that we have dreamt of visiting for years. It does not disappoint. The battlements and cannons, the history in the walls, the battle scars, the tomb of the man who was interred alive in the foundations as a sacrifice to lift a curse, and once again the glorious Rajasthani architecture, all create the fairytale of Arabian nights (in the Indian Desert). Walking the ramparts of ‘Bird Hill’ we saw eagles, vultures, sparrows and pigeons (with high aspirations towards eagle-dom) soaring haphazardly on the whistling winds, overlooking the jigsaw-puzzle blue town.

Here was also the first place that we saw a pure Rajasthani horse, with its’ charming characteristic of naturally curled ears. We immediately became entranced with the animal’s lithe, strength, majesty and beauty. Truly the traditional horse of the Maharaja.

Here too, the genuine hospitality of shopkeepers was warm without the customary pressure to purchase. On our last day we enjoyed a cardamom, saffron, cinnamon tea in a beautiful fly-lined spice shop, and arranged to meet up with our young host next year in England. Of course we were wary of funny-business, but we watched the tea making process and hours later had not been robbed in a drugged sleep. This was typical of our interactions with the merchants of Jodhpur, “come in and enjoy some Chai in our shop and see nice things”. We drank Chai, saw nice things, didn’t buy a damn thing, but they still shook our hands when we left.

We left Jodhpur (again, about a year too early) on a night sleeper bus to Udaipur – Rajasthan’s ‘romantic lake city’. The bus stopped every 20 metres to pick up more people (or drop off – surely Indian people aren’t that lazy!?!?!), and every two hours for a half hour Chai stop. The trip took the standard time so that meant that the driver must have floored it on the rare occasions that we were actually moving.

We walked up an insanely steep hill to arrive at our hotel at 5:30am, and slept until 10am. We woke up to sun shining on the green, grassed (yes, oh my god, there is grass in India!!!!), fountained garden of the hotel. Backing onto this was the ancient vine-covered walls of the City Palace. In the afternoon we visited spice markets, a tacky fountain park, the smaller of Udaipur’s two lakes and generally enjoyed the city life, beat and hum. We saw camels, rickshaws, cars, cows, pedestrians, dogs, bikes and elephants sharing the serpentine street circling the lake, overlooked by the Monsoon Palace high on green mountains penetrating in the distance.

The next fateful day was our horseriding expedition. Run by the hotel that we were staying at, the opportunity to ride on the amazing Rajasthani horses was too good to pass up. It took us through small villages, the beautiful, green countryside of the Aravelli Mountains, with lunch beside ‘Tiger Lake’. The morning we had spent trotting, and had even gone up to a little canter, the horses were restless and keen to stretch their legs. The sound of hooves echoing off the stone walls of the narrow village lanes was so powerfully emotive that it sent shivers down our spines.

We visited an Animal Welfare Hospital (akin to the RSPCA), dreadfully rare but especially needed in India. To see the plight of some of these suffering animals (many dogs, some cows, monkeys, donkeys and more) brought tears to our eyes, especially those injured due to human carelessness or cruelty. The work of the team (including the volunteer who just comes to give cuddles to the animals) is so refreshing and heart-warming. The place is depressing in the sense that there is so much suffering, but inspiring that someone is doing something. There are so many animals in India that need this help, but here at least some animals receive the care that they require. It was at this point, ironically in hindsight, that we lamented at the fact that the humans themselves here often can’t get the healthcare that they deserve, so what hope do the majority of animals have?

After lunch, Dinesh (one of our two guides and the hotel owner), happy with our riding abilities to this point, acceded to the Rajasthani friskiness and said we would go for a canter. He indicated that Tiff should go first, with him and John should follow with the other guide. Well, Tiff’s horse, Paula, needed no encouragement and bolted, straight into a gallop which Tiff was not strong or experienced enough to stop. Naturally enough, John’s horse followed, and his first impressions were of joy, exhilaration and freedom at the surge of the horse into her natural rhythm. All was going well for him, until she perhaps felt his comfort and happiness and decided to speed it up a bit. This transition proved a bit too much for him and a foot slipping out of the stirrup signaled the beginning of the end of this ride. His second foot slipped out and Dinesh recounts that John then wrapped his legs around Rama’s neck, until he fell, rolling into the bushes. The rest is stitches and history.

The hospital checked him out the morning after upon John’s request, with both doctors and nurses not understanding that he couldn’t move himself, and spent the rest of his time in our guesthouse room. If this had been Australia he would have been forced to stay in the hospital for at least a week, receiving first class medical care and nursing support. All the things the nurses would do in Australia the family members are expected to do here – wash, toilet-assist, monitor, move etc. He would then have been receiving physiotherapy treatment, ongoing, for the next six to eight weeks.

Alas, this is India. And as it has been so frequently pointed out to us, they are much tougher than us Westerners. A view especially held by a young, brutal doctor who did not speak English, but still understood the sentiments behind: “Do not f**king touch me again! Do not let him f**king touch me. Get him the f**k out.” The day nurses were scary – two teenage boys, in normal dress, who couldn’t place an IV properly (Does anyone know, professionally or medically, if an air bubble appears in an IV tube approaching the vein in the arm, what would happen to the patient should that enter his system? It didn’t happen, but almost.). Imagine being in hospital and some dude in street dress and a sweat-stained baseball cap just comes up and starts poking where it hurts, injecting needles into IV bags, and asking questions a treating nurse should know the answer to – like “What happened to you?” Thankfully John didn’t get served hospital food, because that too is a service they don’t provide.

Here we are, two weeks later, and John has just started to walk again and has being doing greatly beneficial aqua rehab (a program of his own making). The muscle spasm sustained during the fall caused deep soft tissue damage and straightening of the lumbar region of the spine triggering agonizing pain upon any movement below the chest. He was not able to feed himself, being unable to sit – only to roll onto his left hand side. He couldn’t even get up to go to the toilet. This all due to the fact that he had only about 5% mobility in his legs. This obviously caused great concern. The wound in his arm has healed, perhaps a little too well, John had hoped for a bigger, beefier, more masculine scar – something that truly reflects the seriousness of the accident. But unfortunately John’s wolverine-like ability to regenerate his body has left him with little obvious signs of the accident, bar walking like an eighty-year old, while leaning on a hockey stick – his makeshift crutch.

We still have a few more days of rehab, and after much discussion and consideration, we have decided to continue our trip (there was talk from the insurance company of going to Delhi, or even coming home for professional assessment). All parties concerned are happy, and we are confident that John will be able to withstand the pressures of travel, albeit with restrictions (ie. A porter to carry his heavy backpack – damn shame that; and squatting is still not possible so Western style toilets are essential though not always easily found – still trying to figure out how we can get around that.) We still intend to go to Nepal to trek, although a revised program seems inevitable.

Last night we celebrated two weeks of recovery by having a beautiful, romantic dinner on a rooftop restaurant – all six storeys of stairs up. A Herculean effort to get up meant that the gorgeous food was definitely an earned reward. If it was a hotel in Australia, they would not have even let us through the door, and they probably would have had a lift. The décor was gorgeous – white marble and wrought iron, Rajasthani domes and cushion-lined alcoves. A blue lit pool and strewn flower petals and food to match. A beautiful night, celebrating the strengthening of the bond between us, despite the trials of the last fortnight.

In other news: We had a total of four responses from our caption competition. Thanks for the effort guys. *Microphone Tap, Tap, Tap* “Is this thing on? Hello, anybody out there?” They are as follows:

"Phrenologically speaking, a 28." - Janet Melius
"I see in your future..." - Jay Johnson
"Nurse, Nurse, you're coming down with a fever." - Xavier Mertz

For the Urban Thai-ites: "Thank Buddha for being so far away from Adz and Yogi during breakfast." – Sean Burke

And in tribute to technological errors (ie. when we first sent the photo and it didn’t show up): "White" or how about "Timelessness - 0k" – Sean Burke

You all win guys – for showing up to the party!!!


More things we have learnt from India:
*Buses suck, trains rule.
*You cannot sleep on a sleeper bus.
*Tiff likes the smooth shave of an Indian barber shop – on John that is.
*Dismounting a horse at full gallop is not advisable. Do not try this at home. And especially do not try this in India. You will only get hurt.


Things you don’t want to say in hospital:
*Just because my back isn’t bandaged, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
*My arm is bandaged, therefore it is injured. Stop pressing it.
*Did you forget about my back?
*Could you stop pressing my arm again!?!?!
*Are you a doctor? No? Are you a nurse? No? Then where the hell do you think you’re going with that needle?
*Boy – how old are you? Does your dad know you’re playing doctors and nurses?
*Could you please give me a pain killer? OK, rum? How about just getting that big guy in the corner to knock me out?
*Is that my blood on the wall? No? Good. I think.


Things we still can’t come to terms with after three months in India:
*Long distance buses that act like local buses.
*Oranges aren’t orange.
*The fact that India has some beautiful environments, but the majority of people have such a blatant disregard for it. Littering is done as common practice, in full view and not on the sly as is the norm in Oz.
*We preserve sacred spaces as pristine and pure; Indians’ sacred places (and animals) are dirty and open to common use and abuse – although more a part of everyday life than ours.
*We are not allowed to hold hands when walking down the street. Two men can touch each other however they want.
*If your crotch is not touching the bum of the person in front of you, you are not in the queue.
*Women have their own queue. Thankfully. Not for John.
*The women’s queue is as wide as the distance you can push the men out of your way.


Things we thought we would always say about India:
*I’ll Never Do It Again.
*Be damned if I’m coming back.
*I hate India.


Things we thought we would never say about India:
*It’s kinda growing on me.
*I kinda like it here.
*Where are all the cows?
*The people here are fantastic.
*I like India.
*I’ll be back.