Family, friends, people we’ve met with on the way, people we’ve yet to meet but who grace us with their e-mails: greetings!

We are currently in the Gujarat, that strange desert land between Bombay and Rajastan. One moment it’s the sea, as wide open and brave as all the world; and at others it’s the rolling scrub desert, peopled with gentle welcoming people of the land, beautiful camels and cows, their corns like old boughs. Yet more cows, always more cows.

We’ve spent so far time in the dusty city of Bhuj in the delicious Annapurna hotel. From the balcony of our room we could see all the life of the city. In the early morning the cows and buffaloes are fed near the rickshaw stand and trucks begin to enter the market area. The tea stall man (tchai wallah in local parlance) unlocks the bits of plywood which protect his business and the shoe repair man returns with his tools to sit under the shade of a dusty torn awning.

But the evenings! Things die down slowly; the city wears its way down to a stop like an unwound clock. Scarlet streaks through the sky, lighting up the lake like embers. In the end, the streets are deserted save the reclining cows, the pigs scrounging at breakneck speed with their snouts parallel to the ground and the dogs. The dogs become the true possessors of Indian towns at night and woe to the unwary human who walks out during the canine hour. All night long you can hear them tearing and snapping at each other, moving and attacking and scavenging in packs.

From Bhuj we went down to Mandvi on the coast along with Etienne and Cecile. Etienne is so wonderful when he’s lost which is most of the time, and Cecile is so wonderful when she’s found which is most of the time.

OK. The problem here is that our digital camera is dead. Belly up, refuses to function. Which means that you’ve got to wait until we can scan our slides which should be between Christmas and New Years’. We hope to be raiding the duty frees somewhere along the way. Or maybe Epson will grace us with a new one and fulfil all our dreams.

In the mean time, I will copy out segments of my diary for you. By the way, my hand is much better and has nearly regained its pre-accident flexibility. Many thanks once again go to Dr. Benoit of the French Embassy, Dr. Marwa of Privat Hospital, and all the doctors we met on the way who reassured and helped (Dr. Nehushtan).

We have now arrived at the Island of Diu, an ancient Portuguese holding, complete with white beaches and European churches. How strange to find that bit of the West here!

There are some things we have simply flown over as if they had no importance; generally because they disappointed us. One of these is the Rajasthan. Our beloved Rajasthan, the place where this whole journey really began, two years ago when we sat on the terrace of our hotel overlooking the ancient city of Jaisalmer and thinking, ‘this is what we want to do’.

This time our goal was the Gujarat, and so we just passed through the Rajasthan, stopping in Udaipur which is referred to as the Venice of the Orient. Personally, I find Marie-Do’s description much more accurate. She calls it the Overripe Fruit of the Orient. The place has simply become unvisitable. That having been said, I must recommend the Mahendra Prakash Hotel. Telephone (0294)522993, Lake Palace Road. The building is beautiful, the staff friendly and helpful, the swimming pool clean and the food excellent.

On a different note, if any of you are going through the Gujarat and stop over in Junagadh, then do not stay at the Relief Hotel. I sometimes think the guys from Lonely Planet live on a different Lonely Planet than we do. The ‘friendly and congenial owner’ was the biggest asshole we have met after a year of meeting an asshole or two. He could have helped and he hindered. He is a fine example of what India may become if tourism gets to its head and it loses the soul we all come to get a glimpse at.

Even now, many attractions cost foreigners 50 times more than what they cost Indians which is rather abusive. Rumour has it that the Taj Mahal has gone from 500 to 1500 rupees (32 $ U.S.). All over India tourists are being increasingly seen as a pocket book and you’ve got to get off the beaten track to look for the Real India.

A word about the entries from my diary. Six months is a long time to spend in any country which is not home, and India is really not home. Parts of the diary are very negative and other parts are elated, almost mystical. I know some Indian friends who read it may be offended. It is very difficult to sort out these feelings. Let me just tell them that I do love India and I loved the time I spent with them. I wish it could have been longer; if it had been, maybe I’d be less negative.

There is an ‘India at its best’ and an ‘India at its worst’. I have written about both.

So as not to bore most with details which are only needed by the few, I wish to invite any one who wants to travel in India to write me for advice on motoring, finding a good mechanic, a good dentist, or a good doctor. Having said that, we’re not going to wait for your questions to warmly recommend the Sim Travel Agency, led by Aparna Gautam: quick, efficient, and charming they were more than a travel agency for us.

SIM TRAVEL PVT.LTD.
159, Defence Colony, Flyover Market, New-Delhi- 110 024
Tel : OO 91 463 82 79
Cell Phone : 9811126394
Fax : 00 91 11 431 74 75
E-mail : tmgstpl @ndf.vsnl.net.in



The big joke among travellers is that the word INDIA stands for I’ll Never Do It Again. But of course we will. India always calls to you; she cannot be resisted.

Oh, I almost forgot! Happy 15th birthday to my daughter Cléa. I wish she could experience some of this wonder.