JAIPUR

I decided to spend the week convalescing in Jaipur to get my strength up, checked myself into the beautiful Diggi Palace Hotel, home to the Jaipur Literature Festival to pamper myself and re-line my stomach! My initial impressions of Rajasthan were probably marred by my delicate state after being ill, but in general I found it to be a much more fraught environment than down South. The first hotel I stayed at - Madhuban, a 'heritage hotel' was run with an air of contempt and disdain for the customer, not what you are hoping for after a 24 hour journey! Tourism is down 70% in Rajasthan so the tourist buck is more in demand than ever, and this could definitely be felt keenly everywhere I went. Having managed to avoid any cities so far, Jaipur was my first experience of a capital city in India. With a population of 2.5 million people, it is struggling with choking pollution, congestion, and wretched poverty. In the same breath, the beauty of its Rajput architecture, ancient artisanal traditions (jewellery making, stonemasonry, fabric block printing) makes it worth a visit. (Co-incidentally it just so happens to be the shopping capital of Rajasthan!) The women you see scrabbling around in rubbish heaps, their saris sparkling in the putrid filth like fireflies on a black black night are overwhelming - it is this constant tension between beauty and squalor that strikes you in India like no-where else I have visited. My tuk tuk driver, Honey (I have certainly never come across a man called Honey before!) was adamant that I come home and have dinner at his house with his mother. I politely declined, although I think it was innocent, you never can be too careful! He explained to me that he was hoping to marry his girlfriend but that they were beset by the usual problems that the caste system presents. After all, 'love is life' he said with kindness in his eyes as he dropped me off at the coach station to catch my bus to Delhi.

JUST SAY NO TO AVOCADO!

Stylista has been a bit waylaid from her diary dalliances by an unfortunately predictable bout of "traveller's sickness" (to try and express it as elegantly as possible). Those of you who've been there, will know that the reality is far from elegant! Its amazing how after a month of being in rude health the ten commandments of dietary equilibrium fly out of the window faster than you can say Palak Paneer!! Since I arrived in India I decided that it was prudent to stick to a vegetarian diet (with the exception of the delectable Shanthi in Goa where the food was so exceptional I thought it would be safe to indulge.) In Hampi, emboldened by the faultless culinary experience in Goa, I broke one of the most fundamental commandments, 'THOU SHALL NOT EAT SALAD.'), merrily chomping away on an avocado salad which would have been more accurately described in the menu as Harpinger of intestinal doom! After a day and night of an avocado dance of death being staged in my stomach, I thought I was over the worst, but a few days later (conveniently on the day of a 24 hour journey to Rajasthan) the dastardly beasts once again started their deathly dance with re-newed ferocity. An 11 hour overnight train journey in sleeper class on your own ain't pretty at the best of times, but this was certainly one of the worst nights of my life! Screwed up in agony on my tiny top bunk, in a berth of 6, feeling claustrophobic and perturbed by the dust and the grime, my fellow train travellers were completely oblivious to my yelps and tears. The medical services sign at Bangalore airport shone at me like a bright beacon of hope. An amazing walk in service for the bargain price of £1.50. The care I got was really fantastic, and a couple of shots of morphine later, armed with a big bag of antibiotics I was just about OK to catch my flight to Jaipur. A clear cut case of stomach parasites according to the doctor. Man those b*rstards were virulent! So just remember folks, JUST SAY NO TO INDIAN AVOCADO!

Happy Daze in Hampi!

Finally managed to tear myself away from Goa....... The 7 hour train journey to Hospet was surprisingly pleasant. Getting a tuk tuk to Hampi which should have been relatively straightforward was more of an ordeal than the train journey! The Festival of Lord Shiva's birthday was causing chaos on the roads. We finally made it to the other side of the river. Waiting in line to fill in police paperwork a stampede of cows and water buffalo charged up the narrow rocky road. Finally I arrive at Shanthi bungalows, gleefully grabbing my key - instantly soothed by the breathtaking scenery which wraps around the skyline like a pre-historic film set for a blockbuster dinosaur movie. Giant 'flintstone' style stone boulders lie on the horizon, a gentle river runs through, paddy fields of acid green brighten the dusky sky. The only sound is a gregarious chorus of frogs. Beautiful.

The resident Hampi Elephant taking her bath is a daily spectacle! This spot of the river is a hive of bathing activity for everyone. Women graciously bathe fully clothed in rainbow coloured saris, whilst men horse around with their friends more scantily clad, looking on curiously at the backpackers crossing the river by boat. You sense the fragility of the balance between locals who live in Hampi in the midst of this precious world heritage site and the growing tourist trade. For now it is a beguiling and comfortable mix, the atmosphere is friendly, otherwordly, blessed and peaceful. I hope it will stay that way......

By the 16th Century Hampi had grown into one of the most prolific hindu empires of all time. There is a mention of it in the Hindu scriptures Ramayana as the realm of the monkey gods, and monkies you will find in abundance, cheekily lounging over the ruins, with graceful aplomb. Exploring the sites by bicycle is the best way to go - cycling through this dreamy landscape is like being transported to another world, and the sheer size and stunning beauty of the sites is like nothing I have ever seen before. The apparent lack of other tourists is also a joy. I chuckle to myself as I think of Stone Henge with its pedantic fence, there are no such restrictions here! The sophistication and romanticism of the architectural detail is amazing. Sculptural renditions of Vijayanagar art abound, intricate stone carvings of hindu gods seem as alive today as they were hundreds of years ago. My favourite was the Queen's bath - by no means the most impressive of the sites but the most charming, it was allegedly used as a pleasure dome for the King and his wives. A secretive and intimate building, a series of balconies are set around an open air pool. The domed roof of the veranda is bewitching, carved in a lotus shape - each section is decorated with a different theme. What a sensual aqua fantasy this must have have been in its heyday!

South Goa where the living is easy..........

A 15 hour train journey probably wasn't such a good idea in third class sleeper! It started off deceptively pleasantly, the beautiful keralan waterways speeding past like a verdant comet! A few hours later when a crowd the size of a population of a London suburb got on, suddenly an overcrowded south western commuter train doesn't seem so bad! A sweaty mass of body parts, feet in faces, big bums spilling onto seats, women spitting with all the grace and delight of a bare fist fighter, everyone lobbing cartloads of trash out of the window. 15 hours later at 2am arriving triumphantly at my coco hut in the black of night, I feel at home with the sound of the crashing waves. Early the next morning I stumble onto the beautiful smiling sands of Agonda, no-one to bother me but a few holy cows!!

In the village, as obedient school children file past, seemingly unperturbed by the smattering of tourists I walk past the graceful white church and small hindu temple. This place seems to have mastered that fragile balance of being a real place with a healthy dose of gentle tourism. Beach hawkers are forbidden, and the scene here is totally chilled, so all of the unsavoury side effects of larger scale tourism don't plague Agonda........for now at least.

Talking to a couple of young goan girls, working their clothes stall, their stories at the tender age of 19 are like fictions imagined by the most creative of literary minds. The 19 year old has sage manner of a middle aged woman. She was married (a love marriage not an arranged marriage she assures me) at 15, ran away to a nearby village with her man where they lived together for two years and had a baby. After two years hubby legged it and is now married to someone else, she hasn't heard from him since, though legally they are still married! Both of these girls could be colgate models with the dazzlers on them.

So far its a winning combo - cute eco friendly coco hut at the lovely Shanti, delicious food, relaxed yoga (much less militant than the ashram variety!), great goan hospitality and dancing dolphins on the skyline....

Sivananda Ashram, Neyyar Dam, Kerala

Within a few hours of having arrived at the ashram I had a strong impulse to run for the hills! It was not at all what I had expected. (some kind of Utopian scene, with enlightened beings blithely skipping around intertwining their lives like giant daisies in a chain of love and peace!). I didn't feel much warmth or generosity of spirit from any of the people running the joint. Doctrine, control and fanaticism were the order of the day it seemed............not to mention the vacant gaze of the ashram 'long stayers' who have become averse to the outside world! I obediently filed up to my dormitory room trying to keep an open mind!

On the second day, the morning bell rang, as usual, at 5:00am to rudely awaken us for our morning pilgrimages to the peak of the Neyyar Dam mountain range to watch the sunrise. We assembled in darkness at the ashram gates. Again, I resisted the instinct to bolt from what looked decidedly like a cult ritual that you might see in a half cut channel 5 documentary. I'm glad I didn't as it turned out to be beautiful.....soft Hindi music was played in the valley as the black sky gently faded to dusky blues and greens as dawn approached. Holy men were reverently paying homage to the Hindu shrines along the path. An hour later having reached the mountain top, the ancient Sanskrit chanting began. The sun rose as if conjured by the words of the mantra, sleepily sneaking up behind the reverent mountain peaks. At 8am, back at the ashram, the first two hour sivananda yoga class of the day commenced. I had a bit of a run in with the teacher (who happened to be the Ashram Director's wife - not a good person to get on the wrong side of!) over dress code. The ashram threw up something of a wardrobe dilemma - no tight or see through clothes allowed (fair enough) , shoulders and legs must be covered (Ok, Ok)........naturally I'm au fait with respecting local cultures, it just seems like something of a double standard that the ladies of the village can don a sari, that exposes their sensual bellies (much sexier than a run of the mill pair of shoulders wouldn't you say?). Thinking I would try and channel Jemima Khan in her Imran days, I ended up looking more like bob the builder in my baggy pants and sombre long sleeve shirts! (I know the ashram agenda is to eradicate ones ego and ascend to a higher plane of consciousness but I don't think I am ready for that just yet!) The two vegetarian meals of the day were served seated on reed mats on the floor in a large hall, scooping up lentils with your right hand and observing silence, (a pretty reliable way to kill the joy of communal eating!) A lecture at 2pm was followed by another 2 hour yoga session at 3:30pm. After the evening meal, my body traumatised by this staunch monastic regime after months of alcohol abuse felt pretty bloody awful and I was ready to hit the hay..........but no I had to attend the compulsory 8pm session of meditation and MORE chanting.

Every day I had to talk myself into staying, but it did improve as time passed. Astonishingly I got used to the early rises, and definitely felt the benefit of the intensive yoga. It was also set in one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. Luxuriating in the silvery waters of the peaceful lake was definitely a highlight. What I didn't find here was the pure, warm spiritual aspect I had hoped for. There were no truly inspirational figures - I'm sure when the founder and guru, Swami Sivananda was alive it would have been a different experience. The search continues...........!

Kodak Moments from Davina Lagoona

Saturday 23rd January 2010

Day 4 in India..........Coming into land at Trivandrum airport on Wednesday morning, I'm met by a dense sea of palm trees dotted with temples of warm red and orange. The airport looks decidedly friendly, Kerala and I are going to get along just fine! The airport is small and manageable for a first time traveller to India. Its slightly chaotic in a humorous rather than intimidating way. Walking out of arrivals into the gentle 11am heat, taxi drivers hustle for business, baggage carriers unabashedly re-adjust their sarongs narrowly guarding their modesty, and a young keralan girl of around five years old boldly struts out in a pair of high heels, greeting her mother who is serenely clad in a modest and beautiful candy coloured sari. This strange contradiction immediately strikes me, the first of many in this Gargantuan country of baffling contrasts. The taxi driver perilously zig zags through the sea of suicidal tuk tuk drivers, the smell of burning piles of rubbish in the shanty town around the airport mars the lush landscape with a somewhat sinister air. Half and hour later we turn off the main road into a small village, down a bumpy narrow dirt track. Walking into the whimsical oasis that is Davina Lagoona, a heady touch of the opulence sits somehow incongruously with the calm lagoon where fishermen go about their daily tasks. Davina is a warm and convivial hostess. I start Thursday with an Ayruvedic massage. I'm asked to wear the very modest kaftan provided as I am escorted through the village. My masseuse Shelley greet me with kind eyes and a sleepy bright smile, as do all the villagers. Back on the terrace, bathed in birdsong, soothed by the ayruvedic oil, looking out at the fishermen hauling in their nets along the shores of the wild arabian sea as they have done for thousands of years brings a feeling of comfort and continuity. The next few days pass with the same soothing rhythm and by Saturday I am fit and ready for the stringent 5am starts at the Sivananda ashram up in the mountains. Contact with the outside world is strictly forbidden so I will be in touch in a few weeks!