Nashik 2

I've made a most unsettling discovery today. Things in India have become desperate. I'm not sure if I can go on. I've got 11 days left of my trip and only 2 Top Gear specials left to watch, Middle East and Vietnam. I've seen both a hundred times each and yet look forward to revisiting them again. In some small way I empathise with the crappy endeavour, although my hotels and support crew and way thinner than theirs. Once Top Gear is done, I'm going to have to fall back on my last unwatched box set, Babylon 5 Season 2, and I'm not looking forward to that one bit. In fact it could ruin my entire trip. Season 1 was an embarrassing shambles that I reluctantly struggled through the last time I was travelling. Hammy the Hamster could've done a better acting job than the resident B5 cast and the script was presumably put together by special needs children - 80's Sci-Fi doesn't come any worse. It was a mistake to invest in the first place. Flipping wanky Minbari's. 

I spoke to the hotel manager at some length today. I can't say I was really in the mood for pidgeon pleasantries but he'd been very good to me and I knew he only really wanted a selfie in the end, so I dug deep and revived my enthusiasm for cricket and the like. I happened to mention my long trek from Allahabad to Lucknow and he bowed very deeply and proclaimed that I was 'a very great man'. Praise indeed! He then added 'especially at your age' which took the shine off the compliment for me a touch. Cheeky bastard. I think he meant well. 

I'm going to make this the last blog entry for my trip. I think you'll agree that I've explored Indian history, culture, wildlife, and it's hotels and eateries quite fully, and to write any more would be gilding the lilly. Ive enjoyed being on the road again and I've enjoyed India. An early contributor to my online posts suggested that India is an 'unfiltered' experience. I'd endorse that view wholeheartedly. Sometimes you wish they'd just buy a fucking filter and make the place a bit more habitual - but then it wouldn't be India if they did. It is colourful and buzzy and loud and industrious. I hope my next destination, wherever that may be, proves as enriching. Namaste! 

I think this final picture from Goa sums up India for me; bright, multilayered, ancient, and a bit thrown together. 

Nashik 1

Flies. Now I know what you're thinking, this is going to be a ramble about how many flies there are in India. Well there ARE a great many flies in India, I won't deny it, but I'm not going to bang on about that today. In this case, I'm talking about the zips and fastenings that preserve a gentleman's modesty. I have in recent years, developed something of a reputation for leaving the house without having checked everything is in order down below. I have a particular habit for doing food shopping half cocked. I don't know why. Sensing a rogue breeze in Waitrose used to be accompanied by an embarrassed, huddled, fumble of repair and red face. Lately, it's has been more of a mild tut of recognition and flamboyant mid-stride flick of the wrist. I mention this, as my one and only pair of travelling shorts have slowly been falling apart. They have buttons rather than a zip. The French have a saying when a wine glass meets its end 'it is the fate of glass to break' usually accompanied by a Gallic shrug. In much the same way, buttons are fated to fall off unnoticed, never to be seen again. The last of my 4 fly buttons did that yesterday. Now I'm obviously an ambassador representing our great nation in a largely modest India, and I don't wish to cause a diplomatic incident from being over exposed. So notwithstanding my predisposition to generally ignore excessive aeration, I spent last night cannibalising my shorts and sewed a pocket button to fly using the hotel sewing kit. If I may say, I did a rather more robust job than the original garment manufacturers!

I visited the Sula Winery today and enjoyed it a lot. Hmmm. If I go too 'wine geek', I'm going to lose a lot of people. Ok, so I enjoyed it a lot ...and it was a big old place with lots and lots of wine. A tour and six tastings for about £4. I also had lunch on the balcony which was about as far away from my other holiday dining experiences as it is possible to be. 

I don't think the old guard has too much to worry about just yet, but India is clearly capable of producing a very drinkable drop. It will probably do very well against the other young guns on the block and some of its fare seems well made indeed. Nothing too refined or ageable, but well put together. I enjoyed the Tropical Brut very much, but particularly recommend the French oaked 2014 Rasa Shiraz. Punchy fruit, bold spice, and softer tannins than the American oaked cousin in the range. Well that's my view anyway. Not toooo painful was it? 

WARNING - Boring wine fact:

They harvest in the spring like Southern Hemisphere countries, even though they are Northern hemisphere and have autumn in the autumn, ...so you'd therefore think they'd harvest in the autumn, but they don't. They do it like the Aussies, who have got Autumn and Spring arse about face. A poor example to follow if you ask me, but they didn't. It's got something to do with 'the crop just grows like that you irritating know-it-all tourist'. I didn't quite understand the agronomy of it all but decided in the end not to press the point. 

Me being more or less civilised 

Lots of lovely lovely wine

Tailor made

Travelling northwards again 3

Upon arriving in Thane, and after several failed attempts to find a reasonable hotel, I stumbled across a grubby looking place that I'd walked by earlier and turned my nose up at. It was dark by the time I passed the place for the second time and somewhat desperate for a place to lay my head, I trudged in and asked if they had anything going. They did, and I tried to hide my relief while eagerly handing over my Matsercard. It turned out to be a very comfortable and not outrageously priced gem. A rare comfortable bed, staff that were desperate to please, hot water for showering with western loo, plus, four doors up from a place with a restaurant with rooftop bar. I was so pleased with my find, I stayed an extra night having explored all the nice things that Thane had to offer (a Starbucks and the big pond from my previously posted pic). As content as I'd been on my journey so far, I resolved to spend the additional evening sampling the exquisite (and by 'exquisite' I mean 'edible') delights of the elevated alcoporium. The early evening drifted into early night, and having drunk the two available 'light' beers that my chosen house of Bacchus had to offer by 7.30pm, I agreed to a bottle, in fact two bottles, of the 8% strong stuff. Carlsberg, in both its European, and newly enjoyed 'Indian strength' varieties has rarely been so readily glugged. I tottered back to my comfortable residence full of Danish joy, the tingle of a Chicken Bhuna still on my lips, and the promise of an early morning 300 degree ring piece, completely and utterly, lime pickled. 

Tender bowels or not, the following morning, it was time to leave for another trip northwards. 

I won't bang in about trains again but I did buy a 3rd class ticket today, then upgraded myself to a better class once the train had arrived as I could only fit into a 2nd class carriage. Hid under mucho luggage and managed to avoid two separate ticket checks in the process. I officially apologise to Indian Railways for bunking and the world at large for my errant moral compass. So I now find myself in Nashik, 4 hours northwest of Mumbai. Nashik is in Indian wine country, and the place I will be calling home for a bunch of days. Expect poncy wine talk in future posts!

Walked in off the street into my favourite hotel yet. Not only is it cheap, it's also worthy of the name 'hotel'. That it appears to have been cleaned at some point since construction is my clearest indicator, but the staff here are superb and worthy of mention. On discovering my Indian plug adapter was left at my previous hotel, they promptly went out and bought me a new one locally and handed it over gratis within an hour of arrival. It even looks like a hotel. Granted, it is in the middle of a field in possibly the remotest part of India I have found on my travels so far, but you can't have everything. 

Finger bowl or refreshing post-meal palate cleanser? I went for finger bowl, dipped pinkies, and got nothing more than an inconclusive raised eyebrow from the waiter in return.

I didn't fancy squeezing onto that carriage, so found another.  

Travelling northwards again 2

After a couple of days rest and recuperation, I caught my second train up to Mumbai. This time is was 400km and cost the princely sum of £1.50. There is no '3rd class' technically on Indian railways, it's '2nd class' and I won't go into all the details, but there are many different kinds of ticket one can buy for train travel, but 2nd class is basically bottom class, from a multitude of better classes, steerage if you will, and what we would commonly think of as 3rd Class. It is the only ticket you can realistically get on spec. Given that I was travelling to one of the most densely populated places on planet earth, Mumbai, it was also a bit busier - ok, I won't mince words, it was a LOT busier. Indians have no sense of personal body space, and good job too. For 6 hours, people were nuzzling my armpits, sniffing my crotch, and goosing my bottom. It felt more like a fully clothed orgy than a train ride. Top spot seems to be a horizontal lounge affair in the luggage rack, on top of the luggage. Sadly these tiny smudges of prime real estate had long since been claimed. Bad luck for me, I got to sniff and goose a rather large Indian gent who was in even worse sanitary condition than myself. All thoughts of orgies flickered and then died, mere moments after he inserted his armpit into my nose. Still and all, it was nothing more than a few percentage points worse than the daily commute to Blackfriars on Thameslink and I still rate the Indian railway system as the very best cheapest and deadly way to travel.

So I'm in Mumbai, well kind of. I'm actually in a place a shade north of Mumbai proper, Thane. Thane is pronounced 'Tar-ney' as in 'chilli con Tar-ney' and not as I thought 'Thayn' as in 'Hail Macbeth, Thayn of Cawdor'. That caused all sorts of grief at the railways ticket office yesterday. It's a city in its own right but is basically being gobbled up as Mumbai itself oozes outwards, ever growing. It is now essentially a large suburb of the super conurbation. A bit like Widnes, is to Liverpool, or Stockport to Manchester. It serves no real purpose in its own right besides providing a ready pool of labour for its bigger and on the whole more prosperous brother. That's not offensive, surely? Possibly, I know nothing about those places. Alright it's like Winnersh to Reading. Mostly pointless but with a train station. You get the idea. I need the train station here to carry me further north. It has obviously crossed my mind to travel into the heart of Mumbai as I'm here, but the place is absolutely vast, I can see it stretching out, dominating the horizon, and I know what I'll find when I get there; even more madness, even more people and even more noise. Thane has a surplus of all these qualities already, so I'm fine for now. Mumbai is permanently covered in a thick beige miasma, a poisonous airborne soup of fumes and pollution. A candy floss of carcinogens if you will. I honestly don't think it can be terribly good for the 20-ish million Mumbandians who have to live with it. 

Me avoiding the very nexus of all this foul atmosphere means that I'll miss out on a few tourist pics and taking a tour of the famous slums but not much else I reckon. Having seen, having lived, in several slums now, I don't believe I'm missing out on anything new. Besides, they are a tourist attraction now and I don't feel highly motivated to join other westerners, holding their noses, while photographing the less fortunate and generally getting in the way of people while they're fighting for their very survival. I'll stay in Thane and wait for my train. 

A seemingly tranquil Thane. It's not, but there you go. 

The best surreptitious shot of train armpits I could manage. 

The Mumbai miasma. I LOVE the smell of carbon monoxide in the morning....

Travelling northwards again 1

 caught a train yesterday from Goa to Ratnagiri. There is no reason why anyone should've heard of Ratnagiri, it's a locals town, but it happened to be a way-station on my path to Mumbai. I travelled 3rd class for the first time and it cost me 65p for the 200km journey. People make a big fuss over traveling 3rd class on Indian trains and I'm here to tell you that it's no big deal. I can't say it was terribly luxurious, but neither was it all caged chickens and carriage top clinging. It was fine and if you need to get somewhere in India and only have 65p in your pocket, then I'd say 'crack on'. If one is brave enough to sample the abundant drinks and snacks from en-route vendors, then I salute your courage. I had some chai and left it at that. 

Feeling particularly ballsy from my successful economy travel, I threw caution to the wind and had a much safer I thought, chicken tikka lunch in an economy cafe at my destination. Half way through my post lunch beverage, my body told me I'd made a horrific error of judgement and punished me by imprisoning me in the bathroom for several hours on the trot (if you get my meaning). A considerably slimmer and paler me emerged, rueing my gung-ho approach to roadside dining. I then padded lightly on the balls of my feet for a few hundred yards, before booking into the nearest guest house that promised a western loo. I'm afraid my written reading material has been sacrificed page by page for the greater good, and to ensure personal hygiene standards have been maintained. I mourn the loss of my John Grisham, but my review of his upcycled prose can be summed up as 'a touch abrasive, yet satisfyingly absorbing'. 

Interesting fact. Beer, although only found if painstakingly sought outside of tourist areas, comes in two varieties; 'normal' and 'light'. Kingfisher, Tuborg, Bud, Carlsberg and others are available and one is generally offered 'normal'. I've made the mistake to accept the offer more than once, at the cost of many many brain cells. 'Normal' is 8%. There are wines that come up that strong. After a couple of large bottles of super strength lager, one is almost always ready for bed soon after. Always go 'light' at 5% is my advice. When taken alongside volcanic MacDonalds, and cheese puffs that contain nothing resembling cheese but lots that resembles chilli, Indian food and drink should be regarded on the whole as highly flavoursome and almost as highly, lethal.

Indian railways also run a breakdown recovery service, and business is booming. 

Ratnagiri captured in a rare shot with minimal rubbish on show.

Day 18 - Lucknow

I’ve come to the end of my time tracing the steps of The Indian Mutiny. I’ve made my way along the major relief effort roads as best I can. I’ve used an aeroplane and train, a bus, a truck, some tuk tuk’s, a rickshaw, and been on the back of a few motorbikes (one of which was a Royal Enfield). I’ve also walked more than I ever have before, and covered some daily distances on foot with a backpack, that I didn’t think I’d be able to. I’ve felt mostly safe, but there have been a few moments when the traffic got the heart racing a bit faster. I’ve slept in some godawful hovels but avoided sleeping in the open at least. So it hasn’t always been comfortable. I’ve had days where I’ve only had 50p in my pocket. I haven’t always known where I was going, and I’ve been ripped off and offered the kindness normally reserved for royalty in roughly equal measure. And that’s what it’s all about isn’t it? To challenge oneself and all that. Bah! This blog isn’t about being all worthy and suchlike. It was my choice, and I’m glad I did what I did. It wouldn’t be for everyone but I got something out of discomfort, and experiencing an India that few other tourists get to see. If you want to do something similar, I heartily recommend it. A little suffering can be good for the soul. I've also seen how generous and welcoming people can be too. Where that has been the case, I honestly don't believe i would have felt that was quite as genuine if I'd paid through the nose for the privilege. I never wanted a false smile on the promise of a hefty tip, I wanted real India, and I got it. If you want to pay to be taken around in an air conditioned 4x4 by a guide, go for it. It’s all the same to me. 

I’m leaving Lucknow in the morning for an engagement elsewhere. I might come back to this blog for some more touristy stuff when I’ve had a week or so of cocktails and sun loungers (my holidays aren’t exclusively shit and bullets you know). So if you’re dedicated enough, do check back. If you’ve had enough, thanks for sticking with it. Whatever the case, do spare a thought for the reason behind my chosen route. Thousands of Indians died in their first war of independence. Thousands British Empire troops, civilians, loyal Sikhs, and loyal Sepoys for that matter, died for a cause they believed in too. It’s a sad thing, and if via this blog I’ve shone a light on these largely forgotten victims of war, then I'll take that. ‘Only the dead have seen the end of war’ - Plato.  

HISTORICAL NOTE:

Final acts - Agra relief. I jumped ahead in the timeline to wrap up the Delhi action as I was leaving the area heading East. Now that we've caught up with events elsewhere and the dates make some better sense, it's about time we revisited the shattered pride of British arms in that region. 

When Wilson sent a corps of 2790 men off to recover the ground between Delhi and Agra on 24th September, he did so knowing that retribution would be meted out on those found or suspected of treasonous action. It should not be forgotten that for all of the atrocities committed by the mutineers, the British were as rigorous in their application of field justice. 

The sight of a European female skeleton, beheaded and displayed on the roadside is one of several examples offered by Mallenson, but he chooses to gloss over the consequences endured by the local population for apparently endorsing the act of barbarity. That said, Mallenson pointedly talks in muted tones about the defenders of Agra and their less than stout rebuttals of occasional rebel cunning and trickery. I'd go further and say all I can really see is a frightened garrison being whittled away by clever tactical rebel manoeuvres. Notwithstanding, Delhi relief forces closed in on Agra and delivered a decisive victory against rebel Sepoys on the 11th October, relieved Agra, and had enough to spare to send to Sir Colin Campbell to reinforce the relief of Lucknow.

The Indian Mutiny of 1857 was not confined to the area I have walked. It was however a mostly northern Indian affair. Other actions, uprisings, and brutal atrocities were committed in the conflict but India is a large place and I only have one pair of legs. I'm glad I've covered the iconic ground as I see it. It has served to illustrate how horrible one human being can behave towards another, and how brave and unselfish people can be when dedicated to a cause or defending others. That by they way, is a commentary which is not nation specific. I guess sometimes people just get to the end of their tether and see no other way. There's no getting away from it though, some of the acts of violence in the mutiny are quite appalling and genuinely barbarous. 

I can't guess at how Mr Mahatma Gandhi reached the conclusion that nonviolent resistance would achieve his political goals, but his passive approach got results nonetheless. True, he wouldn't have been much good in a fistfight anyway, but that's not to say he didn't possess bags of courage.

I'm sorry that I have not included more accounts from the Indian side. My sources simply didn't care enough about that to recount any tales of daring from them. That's not the same as saying there weren't any. Nana Sahib is clearly remembered very differently in India from the way my sources and I have portrayed him for example. There is a small section in one source that talks of the devilish sniping from an African in the mutineers service, who eventually gets his comeuppance when he's blown up by brave Tommy Atkins, but that's about it. You'll have to go and seek out an Indian blogger if you want those stories I'm afraid. 

Of British notables, Mowbray Thompson eventually received a knighthood and died a General, Sir Colin Campbell became Lord Clyde, and a little known Lt Frederick Sleigh Roberts VC who played a significant but overall minor role in the campaign, became Field Marshal Roberts the most celebrated soldier of the Victorian age, alongside Captain, later Field Marshal Garnet Wolseley, mentioned previously in these posts.  

Sadly, when independence finally came and the British left in 1947, millions died in the partitioning of India and creation of Pakistan and Bangladesh. I imagine Mr. Gandhi was a bit annoyed by that, but that's for a different blog. 

When Havelock retreated back to Kanpur the first time and asked for 1000 reinforcements before effecting the relief of Lucknow, I noted that Neill poured scorn on his action. 'I deeply regret that you have fallen back one foot. The effect on our prestige is very bad' '....return here sharp, for the us much to do'. From the junior of the two officers, this is a remarkably insubordinate missive. I always rather enjoy Victorian language for its restraint, yet pointedness. Havelock's reply illustrates why I have some admiration for their ability to remain civil, yet get their message across clearly; 'I .....will not receive any advice from an officer under my command, be his experience what it may. Understand this distinctly; and that a consideration of the obstruction that would arise to the public service at this moment alone prevents me from taking the stronger step of placing you under arrest. You now stand warned.' 

Now that is the way to deliver a proper telling off. Much more dignified than the modern but admittedly more concise, 'oh please will you just FUCK OFF YOU INSUFFERABLE PRICK!'

For anyone wondering if I got the balls for the local cuisine in the end, here's my highly potent curry breakfast from yesterday.

My Gandhi. No good in the ring, but a respectable record in the political arena. 

The British Residency in Lucknow. Under new management.

Day 17 - Lucknow

I completely forgot to recount an embarrassing episode the other day when searching for the Bibighar memorial, so before I close the blog, which will be tomorrow’s entry, I’ll do just that. 

I've referenced the abundance of excrement in India before, and I've also said how much care one has to take in avoiding it. I've also stated that I'm walking in hiking sandals. The two came together in spectacular fashion when I was tramping along the Kanpur road and got distracted by a long line of local children, parents, and several army personnel on the pavement. As I walked down the line, I said 'hi' to one and that generated a cascade of greetings and shaking of hands as I went. Occupied by being all ambassadorial, I didn't notice the enormous cow pat ahead, and proceeded to kick the thing like a rugby conversion. Unfortunately for me, it's density wasn't substantial, and my foot sunk deep in the mire while at the same time sending globules of poo onto my hitherto adoring crowd, in a roughly 120 degree arc. I styled it out as best I could, but the previous enthusiasm for my friendly hand quickly evaporated. About a hundred yards down the road I plucked up the courage to look down at the mess, and it seemed clear even upon cursory inspection, the evening would be spent scrubbing the upper thigh downwards. I assume my victims did likewise. I must have avoided 10,000 such landmines since arriving in India, and hadn't had any incidents before or since. That I chose such a very public occasion and managed to share so freely for my only 'accident', will be the cause of a red face for the remainder of my days I think. 

The Lucknow Residency is quite a place. I went there yesterday. It isn't a single building (I had it in my head that it was) but many buildings, inside a mostly walled enclosure. It's a bit like a college campus if you like. Anyone that has the climatic scene from Carry On Up The Khyber in their head, needs to reconsider. Actually, I can see where the Carry On team got their inspiration from. Maybe it's as good an image as any, except there is more than one building to bear in mind here. Clear? Great. 

The site is as well presented as any historical site in India outside of the Taj Mahal (from what I've seen so far) and the only one to directly remember and reference The Mutiny. It is surprisingly decrepit. It has a touch of the 'Roman ruins' about it. This is in part due to the effect of artillery, and part neglect. Every building is but a shell. The grounds are kept in good order, and there were a good number of local visitors, who treat the place as part park, part historical curiosity I think. A few families were clearly interested in sharing the history with their younger members, but bunking schoolchildren and couples mainly just mooched and smooched. 

I also visited the Imambara Mosque complex. It too is a preserved historical building and seems to have survived the ravages of time rather better than the residency, but then it wasn’t the subject of a 90 siege, so I guess it would to an extent. Also occupied by mutineers, it finally fell to the British late on in the conflict. It is a very very impressive ensemble of buildings indeed. 

The residency today, incomplete with musket and artillery damage in evidence

The Imambara. A Shia icon and downright big old mosque 

HISTORICAL NOTE:

The next morning, Campbell's men took several more buildings by storm, pushing closer to the residency. In the process, Captain Garnet Wolseley (eventually Field Marshall Wolseley, one of the greatest and most celebrated Victorian generals) carried several strategic positions at extraordinary personal risk. 

At last, the residency at Lucknow was reached, and Sir Colin Campbell, Sir Henry Havelock and Sir James Outram came together, and Lucknow was finally relieved. Almost 90 days of continuous siege had passed and the survivors who had been there from the beginning could at last slump on their breastworks, or ruined outposts, consider themselves fortunate they had escaped the fate of Kanpur, and breathe a sigh of relief. 

Fighting continued but plans were made to extract true occupants back to Kanpur. On the 27th November, the Lucknow garrison, with 4000 escorts started out for Kanpur. Sir Henry Havelock was left behind in his grave along with many many other of Native and European descent. Lucknow was left in the hands of the mutineers, but the writing was on the wall for Lucknow and the rebellion. The high water mark in The First War of Independence for India had passed. 

Captured rebel Sepoys were often subjected to harsh punishment on the spot. Execution in the traditional method of the Moghul Emporors was a favourite. The subject was blindfolded and his back bound to the muzzle of an artillery piece. The piece was then fired, and bits of Sepoy were showered across the parade ground. 

The mutiny continued on into 1858, and only on 8th July 1859 did Earl Canning feel confident enough to declare a 'state of peace' now reigned throughout India, but the rebels never managed anything more than occasional tactical successes after the taking of Lucknow. It was all over bar the shouting. 

From Wikipedia;

In March 1858, Campbell once again advanced on Lucknow with a large army, meeting up with the force at Alambagh, this time seeking to suppress the rebellion in Awadh. He was aided by a large Nepalese contingent advancing from the north under Jang Bahadur. Campbell's advance was slow and methodical, with a force under General Outram crossing the river on cask bridges on 4 March to enable them to fire artillery in flank, the forces drove the large but disorganised rebel army from Lucknow with the final fighting shooting on 21 March, there were few casualties to his own troops. This nevertheless allowed large numbers of the rebels to disperse into Awadh, and Campbell was forced to spend the summer and autumn dealing with scattered pockets of resistance while losing men to heat, disease and guerrilla actions.