27th February - Return to Ramnagar

Our train arrives at Ramnagar almost exactly on time at 4.50 a.m. D takes a call from Ramesh, our host and guide for the next two days, to check on our whereabouts. He is a bit surprised that the train is in already but tells us that he will be with us in few minutes. We sort out our luggage and walk across the tracks and along the platform to the entrance. By the time that we have persuaded the auto drivers that we are not in the market Ramesh arrives on his motorbike and helps us load our luggage into an auto for the short trip to the Swallow Nest Homestay which he owns and runs with his wife. Mrs R makes wonderful black tea with honey and ginger and there is some waiting for us when we arrive. Our room is the same one that we had last year and we are invited to get some more sleep until breakfast at 9. This seems like a good idea.

Breakfast is a south Indian rice dish which we wolf down. Ramesh explains that he has booked safaris for us this afternoon and morning and afternoon tomorrow. He suggests that we might like to take a local walk this morning.  After sorting ourselves out we do just that, going in the opposite direction to the one we took last year. The road is quite busy, mainly with two wheelers, as it follows a deep concrete drainage ditch. This attracts a few birds, including grey wagtails, red wattled lapwings and a common sandpiper.  The bushes and small trees in the fields host bulbuls, both Himalayan and red whiskered, as well as prinias and other unidentified small birds. Everybody we pass greets us and some even shout hallo across the fields. We walk as far as the next village, where there is a bridge over the ditch and a small shop where we replenish our stock of small, orange boiled sweets. In this part of the world they are known as toffee rather than chocolate. By the time we get back to base it is almost lunch time.  Mrs R is no mean cook so we are getting more than our fair share of great Indian homecooked food these days.

At 13.45 we climb into a Gypsy that has arrived. For those who don't know these are a variant of the standard Indian 'jeep' equivalent,  the Maruti, with a raised platform behind the driver's cab. This carries two bench seats that can accommodate about 8 Indian tourists. We have luxury of just having a driver, Ramesh and the two of us so we have plenty of space and good all round viewing. We have to drive out through Ramnagar town to the forest gate where Ramesh deals with the paperwork. The Corbett National Park was India's first national park and is home to tigers, leopards, elephants as well as many smaller animals and lots of birds. Access to the core area of the park is restricted to early mornings and afternoons and all visitors must be accompanied by an accredited guide in an approved vehicle. There is a buffer zone where no new development is permitted and there is no agriculture,  just the collection of firewood.

Formalities complete we take our place in the procession of jeeps along the dusty trail through the buffer zone.  We pass several local women carrying large bundles of sticks on their heads. Ramesh explains that these women have to walk 5 or 6km each day to cut and collect around 50 kg of firewood which they then sell for a couple of hundred rupees. They are also expected to keep house, cook and raise families while their hubands smoke, play cards, maybe drink and usually indulge in a bit of wife beating at the end of the day. Ramesh obviously feels very strongly that some of the poorer local women are getting an extremely raw deal and wants to do something to help. He believes that educating people about their rights as well teaching them skills to improve their lives is the way forward. 

On the way into the forest proper we see spotted deer, a favourite dish for tigers, and a couple of Crested Serpent Eagles, big birds that seem to spend a lot of time perched on branches waiting. We also spot a Grey Headed Woodpecker, so named despite having a vivid red cap on top of its head. Ramesh explains that summer visitors,  such as Oriental Honey Buzzards and Green Bee Eaters are just starting to arrive from Central India as the weather warms up and we are lucky enough to see both. We drive around the reserve looking for signs of a tiger. There is a set of footprints in the sand on the track at one plce but Ramesh thiks that they are quite old. At another spot there are very clear prints in some mud beside the track. Newer but not new enough is the verdict. We see a few more different birds as well as muntjac deer and troops of langur monkeys but no big cats.

We are on our way to the exit when Ramesh hears from another jeep that there is a tiger sighting. Our driver does a three point turn then it is all jildi jildi* as we make best speed to the spot. There are three or four vehicles there already, with people standing up peering into the long grass. Eventually we make out something in a hollow. Not quite the same quality of sighting that we got last year but still a tiger spot of some sort.  Now things are really jildi as we have to be out of the main gate by 6 p.m. We really hammer it on the track back through the buffer zone, hanging on with both hands. D's phone reads 18.01 as we clear the gate. There are a few Gypsies behind us. On the way through town we stop for supplies and then laze around until supper time. 

* Jildi = hurry up. A Hindi word once common in British Army slang.

26th February - Sunday Lunch

We have been invited for lunch today at V's parents' house but before we do that we have to recover R's hat. The shop will open at 11 so we have time to get there and back before the checkout deadline at noon. We pack up our belongings and then set out on foot around Chandpole Metro and along Chandpole Bazar Road. It is early by Indian retail standards and not many places are open. The map app says that it will take 23 minutes to walk and it is very a very good estimate. We look in at the shop but we are too early so we go to look at the Isar Lat, which means Heaven Piercing Monument, built in 1749 to mark a victory by one of the Maharajas of Jaipur. It is listed as being seven stories high but it is hard to tell as you ascend the slightly slippery spiral staircase to the top. The view over the city is quite special and you can see several of the city's famous landmarks including the back of the Hawa Mahal. 

Time presses so we head back to the bangle shop arriving just on 11. The shop is still shuttered up but the shop opposite is open and the man there phones our chap. "Five minutes". In the meantime we are invited to take a seat at the open shop to wait. Suddenly a plate appears with kachoris, a samosa and curd and we are invited to share breakfast. These kachoris are different but also very good. We don't have too long to wait before R is reunited with her hat and we thank both stall holders profusely before setting out back to the hotel. We flag down an electric rickshaw.  These are a good idea in principle but at night they do not switch on their lights which makes them a menace to all. Check out is smooth even though we don't get our original deal. Outside the hotel D e-hails an auto with the Ola app. The first one takes an age then drives past us and keeps going. D cancels and tries again with a better result. The driver has some English and D is a bit more au fait with the system so before long we are heading south towards lunch.

We are warmly greeted by V and his parents and we talk for a while about a whole range of subjects. He shows us some of the items that he has collected on his travels around India. We are particular taken with some extremely lifelike grapes made of topaz. Lunch is really good. Salad then paneer, even better than last night's, dal, raita and wonderful pooris. V's Mum is a brilliant cook. To follow up we have rasgulla - what a treat. V is contemplating visiting Scotland and we talk about what there is to see. In no time it is after 2 p.m. and we need to go for our train.

 Although our ticket is from Jaipur V has suggested that we board at Gandhinagar, the next stop, which is closer to home. We book an auto and walk round the corner to the local police station which is well known to auto drivers as any impounded autos finish up there. The ride is about 15 minutes and when we get to the station we find a crowd under the canopy,  staying out of the sun. The coach position is out in the sun, so wait until the train is in sight before moving. Our coach is AB1, half 2AC and half 3AC. Somebody has locked the door at the 2AC end, so we have to go to the other end of the coach to get on. We have upper and lower inside berths for this trip. The others in the bay are sleeping or uncommunicative so we settle in for reading and blog writing. V gave D a book called Halt Station India, full of facts and anecdotes about the early railways built in Bombay. It is fascinating. 

The train is not the fastest and has several long station stops. As we approach Delhi most people get off and we get our beds set up for the night. We are 50 minutes late into Old Delhi Station but the scheduled stop is for an hour and twenty minutes. We stock up on few snacks. After such a good lunch we don't need a big meal. The coach fills up again and we pull out at 10.30 p.m. as per the timetable. We are ready to sleep.

25th February - Shopping with V

Yesterday evening we spoke with V, a friend of ours who hails from Jaipur, and who is back in the city visiting his parents for the long weekend.  He gives us some recommendations for places to visit and we agree to meet up in the afternoon for some light shopping and to have dinner together. We have a lie in and enjoy proper hot showers.  Our room is a bit on the small side but is well furnished with a kettle so R is happy. We have a view of the police transport park. Breakfast is a buffet with boiled eggs and parathas, we are set up for the day.

This morning our plan is to visit the arts centre at Jawahar Kala Kendra.But first we need to ride the Jaipur Metro. An eminent Jaipuri of our acquaintance claims that nobody who has ridden the metro can be a true son of Jaipur. As visitors we don't feel that we are letting the side down by using it. The entrance to the current terminus of the only line working is Chandpole, about 50 metres from the front door of our hotel. We descend the steps and struggle a little with the ticket vending machine, which shows the whole planned system, not just the bit that currently operates. A man shouts us over to a kiosk and sells us two tokens. We rouse the security detail from their slumbers and make our way to the platform. D studies the prohibited activity notices and cannot find any reference to photography. After a couple of minutes an inbound train arrives. The dozen or so people on the platform get on the train and so do we. The cars are light, airy and clean, with seating down each side. The announcements are in Hindi and English and there are well situated message boards. When we depart the train is almost empty but it fills up at the first stop and stays quite full for the rest of our 25 minute trip out into the suburbs. Immediately upon leaving Chandpole station the line climbs onto an elevated section and stays there for the rest of the journey.  We get a good view of the city,  which is rather bigger than we first thought,  and this level is good for watching black kites as they soar over the city.

V has aso convinced us to try an online taxi and auto app called Ola. He tells us that there is a promotion running which makes the fares particularly good value right now. D works out the location that we want to go to and fires in the request.  Almost immediately we get a confirmation and the auto is there. We head off in the right direction and, after quite a long ride, we are dropped opposite the entrance to something.  The fare is confirmed by the Ola App and we pay up. Much better than arguing with drivers. Our next problem is crossing 6 lanes of traffic but we cope with that. The place that we have arrived at is not the JKK but Smriti Van, a biodiversity forest park. Entirely D's fault but now we are here let's go for it. The bureaucracy at the entrance gate almost puts R off the place but when she sees that two wheelers have to be parked she cheers up. The first section of the park is quite busy but further in it gets quieter apart from the courting couples.  There are plenty of birds including several that we will have to look up. We also see a mongoose but it is too quick for a photo. In no time two hours has passed.

D works out where the JKK really is and we walk along there, recrossing the six lanes of traffic en route. We get tea and pakoras in the cafe and look at an exhibition by some young artists. Their work seems very good to us. When it is time to meet V by the Ajmeri Gate we summon another Ola auto.  This one is not so quick but turns up. The driver seems to be about as experienced with the Ola system as we are but it gets sorted out. V is waiting for us outside one of the Government controlled craft shops where R is keen to browse. We get some really good advice from V who has a wealth of knowledge on crafts, fabrics and art. He takes us to the section that sells traditional Rajasthani miniature paintings and explains what to look for when buying. He also tells us about stamp paper paintings and we are shown some. These are done on old paper bearing government stamps that were deemed surplus to official requirements. The one that we like gets a modest approval rating from V, will fit our luggage as well as being within budget so we treat ourselves.

After a spot of refreshment we visit a couple of Khadi Shops, where traditional,  handwoven fabrics and garments are sold. Luggage space means that we are spectating rather than participating but there are some great bargains in these shops, particularly as there is a 15% discount across the board. The next stop V's agenda is a street food stall that he reckons sells the best kachoris in Jaipur. They are divine, although we have never had kachoris before so have no point of reference. We will certainly be trying them again. It is getting dark as we take an auto over to the bazaar area of the old town. Business is in full flow as we walk the arcade of ironmongers and cooking utensil stores. Holi is going to happen in a few weeks so the coloured powders are on sale already. D's camera gets a good workout. 

We move on to Bangle Street where R gets a seat to talk turkey with a top bangleteer. Unfortunately this street gets used as a thoroughfare for large numbers of two wheelers which does nothing for the air quality. We beat a retreat and decide that it is time to eat. An auto takes us to the Four Seasons where we enjoy some delicious paneer, not words we ever imagined writing in the same sentence. V thinks that he has spotted Maggie Smith but it is a false alarm, although there is a resemblance. As we leave the restaurant R realises that she no longer has her hat. We hunt around and ask if it has been handed in then V has a brainwave. We have a card from the bangle shop and V phones. The hat is safe and we can collect it tomorrow morning. We have had a splendid day and will sleep well tonight.

24th February - Just Small Late

The day does not get off to the best of starts as we blow the power in our room while boiling the kettle for a 5.30 cup of tea. Luckily we have a torch and can dress and pack ready for our 6 a.m. taxi. Just as this arrives D tealises that he cannot locate the plastic wallet containing today's second train ticket and tonight's hotel booking confirmation.  A frantic search of the room fails to find this and we have to hope that it has been packed in the wrong place. The ride to Mavli Junction takes about twenty minutes and the hotel sends one of the boys with us. They must be very keen to see us leave town. Our first train is Unreserved,  so we need to buy tickets to Marwar Junction. D heads to the ticket window bit a chap points to a bright orange vending machine in the corner.  The man standing by the machine asks for our destination and then punches a few buttons on the touch screen. "70 rupees" and he holds out a ticket. The cash goes in a zip up pouch on the man's belt. He seems official and the machine printed tickets without him putting money in. The ticket seems genuine enough so we carry on through to the platform.  

We can see the metre gauge train sitting two platforms over but there does not appear to be any oficial route to get there. We take chai while we consider the problem and then do what a few other people have done and jump down onto the track. Getting up onto the next platform is a struggle but there is a handy stone placed as a step to get down to the next track, from where we can walk up the ramp at the end of the MG platform. D does a recce and opts for the fourth coach out of the five that make up the train. The seating is wooden with substantial overhead racks, and in bays designed to seat eight people. A corridor runs down the side of the coach but there are no connections between coaches. Luggage up on the racks and it is time for a few photos. Our loco is 6740, a YDM4 class, the mainstay of the declining years of metre gauge in India.  There is only one other person in our bay, a young man who has his phone plugged into his ears. 

We leave promptly at 7 , as the sun is rising, and take a north westerly line out into the countryside.  Rajasthan is looking greener than we remember and we have been told that there was a good monsoon. Much of the country is covered in scrub, but there are areas of cultivation. D locates the missing ticket wallet and we sit back and enjoy our packed breakfast of hard boiled eggs and toast.  Four young men take up seats in our bay. One of them has decent English and  we go through all of the usual questions. They are trainee teachers going home for the long weekend that arises because today is Maha Shivastri, an important religious occasion for Hindus.  The line is single track with passing loops at stations. At one place we cross with a southbound train, hauled by a YDM4 in a bright blue livery. Some of the small stations are unstaffed and the guard issues tickets just like on the NG sections earlier this week.

The line starts to climb and the countryside gets much barer, with large rocky outcrops in places. The trainee teachers leave us, the last of them at Khamil Ghat, the highest station on the line. We are rather surprised to see a party of about a dozen pink people, with an Indian guide, join the train and get in our coach. We are about to enter the Ghat section, a steep descent of around 300 metres in just over 20 kilometres. As well as the tour group a lot of local boys get on, making a noise and hanging out of the doors. Presumably school is on holiday today. The journey down the ghats features tight curves, a couple of tunnels,  some viaducts and three compulsory brake stops. Here the train must be brought to a stand before the points are set for the mainline. If the train fails to stop it is diverted onto a runaway siding with a steep uphill gradient. Not something one would wish to experience. 

 The hills here are wooded and are home to large numbers of langur monkeys with black faces and long tales. At one station the tour party guide starts throwing chapattis to bring them close, then lures one monkey into the coach. We are not impressed as a frightened monkey in a small space with a lot of raucous people could bite and scratch.  When the train moves off the monkey jumps out through the window. The annoying small boys also get off here. The bottom of the Ghats section is at Phulad, where the train reverses and the loco has to run round the train. The tour group descend here and there are not many people left on board. D descends on the non platform side to photograph the engine running round. As the loco passes him the driver stops and waves him up into the cab. A quick shout to R and up he climbs and is invited to take the Assistant Pilot's seat. He is standing on the front of the loco ready to wave a red flag to stop the loco. After the manoeuvres are completed D asks whether the train will be on time at Marwar Junction,  where we have a connection to make. Mubarak, the loco pilot, responds "Just small late". He explains that it will be a few minutes before we leave Phulad so there is time for chai, which is provided gratis for both of us by his friend the chai walla. What a lovely fella.

The rest of the trip is uneventful and we pull into Marwar only 15 minutes late. The MG platform is unshaded so we do not linger but head straight over to the main station,  waving goodbye to Mubarak as we pass the loco. D has always wanted to change trains at Marwar, ever since he read Rudyard Kipling's short story 'The Man Who Would Be King'. To be honest there did not look to be much else to do at Marwar. Our connecting train to Jaipur is running only a few minutes late. We have been allocated one inside lower and the lower side berth in the first bay inside the door. Both lowers have people in made up beds but both side berths are empty so we fold back the seats and sit there. The journey to Jaipur is due to take just over five hours and passes without incident. We arrive 40 minutes late. Does that class as medium late?

The auto drivers are ferocious. We get them down to 80 rupees from 100 but  that is the red line for them. At our hotel there is a slight problem.  We booked through a UK agency and the hotel say they have not received the booking. They do have a room so we go for that and it turns out to be OK. For dinner we visit the rooftop restaurant at the Pearl Palace hotel where we have eaten twice before. It has gone all upmarket and stopped serving beer. The food is good and we are hungry so it will do.

23rd February - A Big Surprise

Train 12995 runs three times a week from Mumbai to Rajasthan,  with 2AC as the best beds on offer. A bit of horsetrading after we got on at Baroda saw us in a pair of side berths, which would normally be our preference. These were at the end of the coach by the door so a bit on the noisy side and even D had to put an extra top on. How much energy do IR waste blast chilling their passengers? The journey passes without incident or uninterrupted sleep and we pull into Chittorgarh only 20 minutes late at 6.25. This is where our train splits into separate portions for Udaipur and Ajmer and we get off. We find the Cloakroom without problem and check in our bags. 

This far west the sun lies in until about 7a.m. so it is just starting to show as we set out to find breakfast. The book recommends a hotel on the east side of the station, across the tracks from where we are, so we climb up the footbridge steps and head in that direction. Before we are all of the way across we run out of footbridge. We adopt the Indian solution of jumping down off the platform and walking across the tracks to the road. The hotel appears to be undergoing extension work but the door is open and the watchman confirms that the restaurant is open for breakfast. He shows us through to a pleasant verandah with tables and chairs where we take a seat and wait. And wait. At last somebody takes our order, then someone else does. Tea arrives, as do R's Aloo Paranthas (tattie scones) and very good they are too. D has made the mistake of ordering something exotic sounding, mughali parantha, which turns out to be a tattie scone wrapped in an omlet. Excellent when it arrived. No marks for speed of service here but the food and surroundings are good and we are in no hurry. 

Set up for the day, we walked into town to find an auto and a cash machine. We soon spot an ATM and try our regular trick of requesting 9900. The machine regrets that there are no 100 notes and suggests 9,500. To our great surprise this is delivered entirely in five hundred notes, a bit of a rarity so far. Not as rare as advice slips, which have failed to appear at any of our ATM transactions. Our plan is to visit Chittor fort , which sits atop a bluff overlooking the town. The first auto we try offers a fare of 150. We are feeling generous this morning and accept.  By the time he has driven through the town and up the zigzag climb to the ticket window we are beginning to see this ride as good value.  We turn down the suggestion of a ten point tour by auto as we hope to get in a bit of birdwatching.  With this in mind R has left her binos locked in the luggage. At the ticket window a couple of guides make a half hearted attempt to sell their services but we have a map and a bit of a write up with us so we politely decline. The fee at the desk is Rs 200 per foreigner so D passes over one of his newly acquired 500s. "Sorry sir. No change". The chap next in the queue is frantically waving a hundred note so D suggests that they desl with him first then they will have change, but that option is not acceptable to the men behind the counter. They will accept a card payment but have to faff around switching the terminal on, making the man behind rather cross.

The first site after the ticket window is an extensive set of ruins called the Rana Khumba Palace which we enter, closely followed by half a dozen small puppies, followed by their mother. Unlike so many Indian dogs these look healthy and properly fed. As we progress around the site the more timid of them drop out and return to mum. The buildings are interesting, built on several levels and provide some decent shade. It is now warming up, although there is an intermittent breeze here on top, which helps keep things cool. We move on from the palace into an area which looks as if it was once a garden. The bushes are teeming with birds, bulbuls, sunbirds, flower peckers and others that we cannot identify. Then R spots some big birds wheeling high above which we identfy as Egyptian Vultures.

The next place we visit is a Jain Temple set in well maintained gardens with blossoming trees all around. We remove our shoes and climb the steps to the entrance, where we see that the caretaker has just mopped the floor inside. We retreat and take a walk through the gardens round the side of temple and find another entrance where the floor is dry. It is so quiet and peaceful here that it is hard to believe that we are in India. We walk out towards the east side of the plateau to look at the Tower of Fame and the view. The book says we will get a great view of the empty plains of Rajasthan. They must have been here in the fog as the plain is clearly teeming with population , industry and buildings. We sit here for a while in the shade, drinking water and eating biscuits. There are a lot more people about now. We make our way back to the centre of the plateau and visit a few more sites but the heat is getting oppressive and the crowds massing so we decide to call it a day.

As we walk back towards the car park a share auto stops and agrees to take us to the station.  We squeeze in alongside a young couple for a thrilling freewheel ride back down the hill to the city. The couple get out in the centre and we carry on across the river to the station. We ask around for a taxi and a tall man in a blue checked shirt is summoned.  D has the address on a piece of paper . Ravla Khempur Hotel near Mavli. D's pronunciation is quickly corrected. Mavli rhymes with Cowley. There seems to be some incredulity that anybody would want to go to Mavli or anywhere near it, but this hotel has been recommended by our top secret agent, who knows his Rajasthan. Mr Blue Check makes a couple of phone calls and D opens up the maps app. A price is named, we agree and another call made. Our guess is that BC is some kind of agent or broker, calling round until he finds someone to take the job and getting a cut of the fare later. Within five minutes a youngish driver pulls up in what appears to be a private car. He asks for a part advance on the fee for petrol and we stop on the way out of town. We are back where people leave the engine running while they fill up. The trip takes us west along a dual carriageway,  some of which is toll road. D phones the hotel to say that we are coming and asks them to give the  driver directions,  which they do, About an hour out of Chittor we turn off onto a narrow country road which degenerates into a rutted track in a couple of places. Our chap consults locals regularly and at a village we are pointed up a side road, round a corner and through a set of imposing gates. We are at a Haveli with a sign in front that reads "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel - For the Elderly and Beautiful."

It is the hotel that features in the film, not part of our plan specifically but now we are here, why not? The staff greet us, give us a choice of rooms and bring tea. To say that we are surprised is an understatement. We are told that the manager, Nitin, is out but will return later. Two ladies arrive in an auto. They have come from Udaipur, a real trek in an auto, and they just want to see the place. They are not even staying. We decide to check out the small village around while there is still light. One of the staff offers to act as guide but we are happy to take ourselves around. We soon attract a crowd of children demanding photos as well as some older girls who have quite good English. We find a shop for sweets and hand a few out. The hotel has a swimming pool under construction,  a stable full of horses and some fabulous rooves that we explore to the full. 

After two rather warm days and an overnight on the train we are ready for showers but have no towels and cannot get any hot water. The hotel is imitating art as the staff have disappeared, leaving us in a Marie Celeste. D's feet are so bad that he goes for it with cold water and one of our emergency travel towels. When he emerges it is to discover that Nitin has arrived and he quickly sorts out towels for us. He asks if we are comfortable and whether we like a beer. Is the Pope a Catholic? Kingfisher and papads are sorted and we discuss our plans for tomorrow.  He seems surprised that we would want to go such a slow, strange route to Jaipur but promises to sort a taxi and a packed breakfast,  which is a bit of a bonus. Dinner is fixed for 7 and we can enjoy drinks in the courtyard until then. The staff member who offered to be guide turns out to be the man in charge of hot water. There is a wood fired boiler on the roof which he looks after. Now he tells us. We are joined by one other guest, a lady from Brighton who has her feet under the table here, providing advice on interior design and the like. 

We dine outside the restaurant by the almost complete swimming pool. The service is enthusiastic but lacks a little polish. The portions are huge and very tasty. We have a splendid supper before turning in. Early start tomorrow.