Trip Archives: Around the Indian Ocean

The original plan was to cycle to Vapi, and then go more or less parallel to National Highway 8 on smaller roads to the north. Well, in Vapi I decided to try the highway. I expected that to be a bit faster, and I can see loads of villages once I’m past Vadodara and on the Kathiawar peninsula. So I rode to Chikhli where I’m going to stay for the night.

Chikhli is a nice little town with friendly people. Pretty much everything is written in Gujarati here (I’m in the state of Gujarat now, after all), but people speak Hindi, too. The script Gujarati uses seems to be somewhat related to Devanagari (the script that is used for Hindi), so I can read (not understand) it to some degree. –Even on TV there’s not a single English-speaking channel.– High time I upgrade my Hindi.

The hotel here is the first one in India where I was not allowed to take the bike into the room. It’s now downstairs in the hall, though, next to the hotel guard.

Cow shit

Encouraging

Chikhli

Chikhli street market

Quiet back street, Chikhli

Had a biiig breakfast – well, untoasted toast (some call it ‘bread’) with cheese and jam, and a whole melon. The ride on NH 8 was unspectacular. The truck carries a part of a wind turbine.

Swastika

Nope, this is not a ‘Hakenkreuz’, it’s a Swastika and has a completely different meaning here – wealth and good fortune. Interesting – for me as a German – to see it in wide use. On the right side of the truck is the sanskrit Aum (Om) sign, a sacred syllable in Hinduism and other religions.

Stopped in Khulwar (according to the map it could be Khulwar, but I haven’t seen any proof yet) and asked a police dude if there was a hotel in town. He gave me some rough directions and then offered to share his food with me.

Fought my way through another massive traffic jam, only to find the hotel of choice to be booked out. Ended up in a simpler guest house. The second one where I’m not allowed to take the bike into the room. Soon after my arrival, another police officer knocked on the door and demanded to check my passport and visa, and asked all kinds of silly questions. I think he was just curious and wanted to (ab)use his authority. When I left for dinner, I instinctively took all my money and the passport with me, and put a shoe as close as possible to the inside of the door before closing it. When I came back, the shoe lay at the wall. Somebody had entered the room while I was away. The receptionist (a school boy) denied everything, and I’m not missing anything so far.

Slum at the road side

Cows on the highway

Some roadside town

Swastika

Had some nutrition problems (not food poisoning) yesterday and today, so decided to stay in Khulwar another day or possibly more. In a different hotel, of course.

I found out how the place is called. It is actually a suburb of Surat called Kamrej, or Kamrej Junction to be exact. Still a couple of kilometers to Khulwar. :(

Had a couple of power outages today. Of course, with phone and laptop being battery powered, I can still use them. However, without electricity, it is too dark in the room to see the keyboard. Oh, the irony.

Went to the restaurant (which has bigger/proper windows). Talked with one of the managers. He used to work for UNICEF a couple of years ago and was in Bhuj back in 2001 after the region was struck by an earthquake. Bhuj is one of the places I want to go to. He said that for safety reasons, I should avoid cycling at night when I’m past (i.e. west of) Vadodara. Traveling during the day should be fine, though. He also told me about an archaeological excavation site, Dholavira, where the remains of a city of the Indus Valley Civilization have been found. It is located on an island in the Rann of Kachchh. Cycling the Rann is supposedly safe, too.

Well, I’m still staying in Kamrej. I’ve been working on a project for a customer during the past month, which is why it was pretty silent on the travel front.

I wanted to go to Surat today to get some supplies – most importantly, cleaning stuff for my contact lenses. As you may know, my glasses rest in the Pacific Ocean, somewhere between New Caledonia and Ile Surprise. Ironically, the hotel I’m staying at is called Pacific Inn. Anyway, I asked at reception how much I should expect to pay for an auto rickshaw to Surat, and they offered to organize one for me for a reasonable price.

The driver, Mahesh, is a brother of one of the waiters and a nice guy. He showed me around Surat and helped with the shopping. Unfortunately, cleaning fluids for hard contact lenses were nowhere to be found. I’m kinda back to square one in that regard.

On the road to Surat I saw camels dozing in the shade of trees and camel carts. The city itself is full of textile factories. For some reason I find it amazing to look into open doors and windows and see (big, industrial) looms en masse. We also tried to find some of the local sights. Surat has a mini Eiffel tower and we found it. However, the Old Fort, widely advertised on the web, was unknown even to the locals. I couldn’t suppress a big smile when Mahesh suggested I should use my phone to look for the Fort’s address online (did that, but to no avail, by the way).

More than once now have I thought that it would be uber-cool to travel (India or elsewhere) with an auto rickshaw. I thought about hiring Mahesh for a longer period, a few days maybe, but there wouldn’t be enough space in the vehicle for two people and luggage. And my bike wouldn’t want to be left behind, either. Well, one day I’ll do that!

What a day. Had no sleep last night because my sleep cycle was out of order once again. Left around 9.30am anyway. When checking out, the manager asked for a ‘coin from your country’, found him a spare Euro in my backpack. After 20km of cycling I was so done that I’d have loved to stay somewhere. Instead I started nibbling on some dry noodles. Awesome. After 4 more kilometers I stopped at a restaurant (more on that below) and had the worst lunch I’ve had in India so far. But it was food and that helped me get back on track.

Reached Ankleshwara and had some teas and amazing lassis in the poshest hotel (more on that below) I’ve seen here so far. I decided to go another 9 or so kilometers to Bharuch. At some point two guys on a motorcycled slowed down next to me and started asking the usual questions, where from, where to, etc. Instead of naming some random city I said I’d be going to the next hotel. One of the guys said the next one would be 15km away. I got a bit worried about me actually managing to cycle that far and accidentally let out the F word. He seemed to have some pity with me and offered 10km. That sounded better and I wondered if I could get him down to 5 if I haggeled hard enough. Not 5 minutes after they’d left another motorcycle pulled over. Same questions, same answers. Only this time I got him down to 3km. It were actually 4 in the end, but I’m not mad at him for that little offset.

Got a room, took an autorickshaw to the city center of Bharuch. Found the contact lenses stuff I needed and chatted a bit with the guys in that optician studio shop thingie. Ended up buying myself new glasses, too. 24 Europe-bucks for a flexible frame and proper lenses, all done within roughly 1 hour. Hard to say no.

On hotels and hotels, and guesthouses and guesthouses. So far I got along quite well with the fact that hotels are not always hotels. Over here, a hotel can be either a hotel (rooms and all that) or a restaurant. It’s the same in Madagascar, by the way, and more than once did I find myself asking for a room in a restaurant. Now, so far the add-on ‘guesthouse’ was a pretty good indicator that this was actually a hotel in the ‘western’ sense of the word (please correct me if this kind of confusion happens elsewhere, too). Not anymore. A ‘hotel & guesthouse’ may also just be a restaurant.

Indian extremes

Amazing how quickly plans can change.

I’ve been planning to go to Vadodara and then changed my mind again a couple of times and for different reasons over the past weeks. Until this morning, the latest plan was not to go. Instead, I wanted to stay in Karjan, a few kilometers south at the NH8, and then cycle eastish around Vadodara tomorrow.

This morning I left without breakfast; none available at the hotel. Got some at a hotel/guesthouse/restaurant a few kilometers down the road.

After about 12km I paid too much attention to some funny noise the bike seemed to make, and did not look at the road for a few meters. Hit one of these red and white cones with my coles bags and ripped them apart. My dear, beloved coles bags. They accompanied me for 3000+ km from Perth to Adelaide and beyond. And now that.

So, plans changed again and I was now hitching a ride to Vadodara. Two guys in a mini truck stopped and picked me up. Started chatting in a mix of Hindi (not exactly my strength) and English (not exactly their strength) which was quite fun. Nice dudes, a textile wholesaler, Rajesh, and his employee (who’s name I forgot, unfortunately). They were on their way to Rajastan and said they’d drop me off at Vadodara. Eventually they asked if I wanted to join them to go further up north to Rajastan and – plans changed again – I said yes. They were from Udaipur, and for some reason I assumed they’re going there. Well, we made it beyond Ahmedabad to a little town called Chandrala. Here they told me they’d just be picking up some bags of saris and other items of clothing, and would then go back down south, past Vadodara and Surat (sound familiar?), to Vapi, not far from Mumbai. I wasn’t so keen on staying in this place with little hope on finding new coles bags. So I helped them load the stuff, and off we went.

Here I am now, in Vadodara. My two new friends went out of their way to find me hotel and made sure I was happy with it.

What a great day.

Broken bags

Broken bags

New friends

Choosing which bags to take along

Bike's hitchin'

April’s fool, eh? One of the first things I noticed was that my SIM card was barred again. So I spent a few hours in Vadodara city trying to get a new one. But all the shops as well as an official Airtel shop said ‘nope, you can’t get a card unless you got a permanent address in India (and some kind of proof for that)’. A hotel bill was not sufficient (unlike earlier in Mumbai and Silvassa). At least I got a map of Gujarat that is a bit more accurate than the one I already had. All in all a short, unspectacular, and more or less unsuccessful day.

Vadodara

Tried to figure put what to do with broken coles bags and without SIM card. In the early afternoon I decided that the remaining time wouldn’t be enough to cycle all the way to Bhuj and the Rann. So, hitching or train. Hitching is fun, but train is faster. Autorickshaw’ed to the railway station and got a ticket for tonight. Departure 9:48pm, arrival in Bhuj 7:18am tomorrow. I was fifth in the waiting list for the ticket. Hasted back to the hotel, packed, and loaded all my stuff including the bike into another autorickshaw, and headed back to the station.

The ticket got confirmed and I brought the bike to the parcel office.

Took a seat on my platform, waiting for the train. Some kid started taking pictures of me with his cell phone. My usual ‘weapon’ is to take my own camera and take a shot in return. He soon came over to chat. He was waiting with his mother for his sister who’d arrive with the train I was gonna take. We were joined by another guy who was about to take the same train as me. The train was late and there was some confusion about the platform and eventually I had to hurry to find my coach and couldn’t even say good bye.

I’d reserved a bed in ‘A/C 3-tier’ class. 8 beds in a compartment, 3 on each side and 2 at the aisle. No doors or privacy, and most interestingly, women and men mixed. Note that there’s even a (non-compulsory) ‘Ladies’ waiting room’ at the railway station.

Vadodara station

Auto rickshaws

Arrived quarter past 8am in Bhuj. Got my bike back and had me and my stuff autorickshawed to a hotel. I sat next to the driver in the front row. This was when I realized that I’ll never travel in such a vehicle over bigger distances. It’s simply too small. I couldn’t properly look through the windshield and the handlebar got stuck at my knees.

Got a new SIM card in the first shop I tried. Great that things can be so easy sometimes.

Went for a stroll around the city in the afternoon. Tried to find some raffia baskets for the bike, similar to those I used in Madagascar, but to no avail.

Walked along some street and heard loud music. It came from a Hindu temple construction site. There were people everywhere and I stopped to watch and take a picture. An older man came over and offered to show me around. First he took me to a part of the temple where folks were praying. Apparently one of the gods had a birthday or something. Unfortunately, I didn’t quite get all the details. Then he took me to the monastery part and showed me the quarters of the monks. It’s basically a big hall with aisles and beds and some cupboards left and right in these aisles.

Then he brought me to a monk who was sitting on his bed, and two other lads sitting on chairs next to him. He greeted me with something along the lines of “There we have a German guy, let’s see if he speaks English.” I was a bit confused about how he’d know that I was German, much to the amusement of the crowd. Turned out someone had phoned ahead… We chatted around for a while before I continued my walk.

The city center of Bhuj is amazing. Small streets full of people and shops. As usual in a town with more than 2 streets I got lost. Eventually I got too hungry and took an autorickshaw back to the hotel. It was literally around the corner.

Train compartment

Funny car

Swami Temple

Found a tailor today who’ll sew me new bags. Yay! Only drawback is that it’ll take him ’til Monday evening. That means I’ll only leave on Tuesday.

Also walked some more around the city center with its small streets and backyards. People are friendly and helpful. Walked into a Travel Agency that I found in a small alleyway on the first floor – kinda in a strange location. Asked the guys there about the Rann. They said there’d be no way to cross it from Khavda to Dholavira. This matches with the satellite imagery I’ve seen and one of my maps. However, the other map of mine and two guys at reception of my hotel I spoke to the other day say there’s a path or even road.

Later on I talked to a guy, Aarif, who works in a Kutchi artisan shop in the hotel. A couple years back he was in Leipzig, Germany, with some people from villages north of Bhuj, to build a traditional hut (bhunga – भुंगा) in the Museum für Völkerkunde. He gave me their names so I can visit them on my way to Khavda. They are also artisans, doing embroidery and other things. Aarif told me that I’ll definitely need a permit from the police to go to Khavda and beyond. He was pretty sure that there’s at least a footpath between Khavda and Dholavira because villagers use to walk there. He even called a friend in Khavda and asked about the path’s condition. The friend confirmed the existance but also said that police or military or whoever might deny me passage because of the Mumbai terrorist attacks on November 26, 2008 and stricter security regulations at the Indian-Pakistani border. Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but I’ll check with the local police tomorrow or on Monday.

Market street

Backyard

I’ve heard and read a few times now (from tourists, of course) that one must either love or hate India. I’m not a friend of such black-and-white views, but if I had to decide I’d say: I love India.

The people here are beautifully friendly, interested, smiling, chatty, and so much more. I’d stay longer if I could.

Of course, there cannot be love without hate, which is why black & white doesn’t work anyway. Poverty is one of the deficiencies in India, and it is hard to believe the contrasts that are visible everywhere.

A couple of days ago I met a man, Daniel, on the highway who works with an organization that helps underprivilegded children in the Surat and Bharuch area. We’ve exchanged a few emails since then and maybe, if the Rann doesn’t take all the time I have left in India, I can meet him again and learn more about his work.

In other news: It rained today. I just hope the salt will stay dry (enough).

Went to the police station today to get a visitor’s permit for ‘the restricted areas of the Kachchh district’. The application process is straight forward and I got the permit. One just has to list the places one wants to visit as well as those where one wants to stay over night. I just listed pretty much all the bigger places in the area (ie. those shown on the map) and hope the smaller ones are automatically included. I also asked the police officer about crossing the Rann from Khavda to Dholavira. The answer was a disappointing ‘no way’. Apparently, everything up there is military area. Great. Well, I’m not going to discuss my thoughts about military (or terrorists) here. I just wish they’d all p*ss off.

Well, not all was bad today. I met three Israelis and a Argentinean/Spanish couple at the police station, all of which also applied for a visitor’s permit. Afterwards, I joined the couple in their search for the Folk Museum. Took us about 20 or 30 minutes because all the maps of Bhuj they had were simply wrong. The entry fee to the museum is 2 Rs for visitors, and 50 Rs for foreign visitors. We skipped the museum (because it was about to close for the day) and kept wandering about. Stopped for a tea when an older dude on a beautifully decorated and painted camel came by. He posed for our cameras and then offered me a ride around the block. Cool!

I picked up my new luggage bags from the tailor and did some shopping. Back in the hotel, I chatted some more with Aarif, the guy from the artisan shop. He showed me some of the products he’s selling and explained the process of creating them. For example, he’s got some drapery and saris that are specially dyed. Many hundred or even thousand little knots are made into the textile, which, when dyed, stay white (or whatever the original color was). These dots then form a pattern or image. The knots are made by women in the villages of the Kachchh (those that specialize in this kind of work; different communities specialize in different crafts: embroidery, dying, woodcarving, etc) after their daily work in the house, to add to the household income. Depending on the size of the knots, they get paid between 50 Rs (bigger knots) and 300 Rs (smaller knots) per 4000 knots. Depending on the size of the cloth and the pattern, knotting may take from 20 days up to a year.

Old house

Old house

Old house

Having a break

Beautifully decorated camel

Checked out and left around 9am. The entire hotel staff was present when I prepared the bike for the ride. Temperatures were still pretty pleasant, but that changed soon. The terrain became pretty flat and vegetation became more and more sparse. Saw some villages with the traditional round bhungas as well as modern rectangle-shaped houses. The road has some bridges, but at this time of the year all the rivers are dry. Crossed the Tropic of Cancer at some point.

A west’ish wind got stronger and sometimes the road (and everything else) vanished in the dust. Saw a little twister that passed by a few kilometers away. Had a break and sat down in the minimal shade of a traffic sign. Two guys stopped to check if I was alright and to take a picture of me. Every now and then signs pointed left or right, but most of the time there was nothing to see, no village, no road, not even a track.

Reached Bhirtiyara in the afternoon and had a lengthy break. Right outside the village was a police check-point and my permit for the Kachchh district got checked. Harijan Vas was just 50m ahead at the roadside.

Aarif, the guy from the artisan shop in Bhuj, had given me the address of a family there where I could stay for the night. So I stopped at the first bhunga and asked for directions. Immediately was I stunned by the beauty of the girls’ and ladies’ clothing, and, to be honest, by the beauty of the people themselves, too.

I found the place. They knew I was coming by and invited me to a tea, an English-Hindi mixed chat with the elders of the family, a stroll around the village, and finally dinner with the head of the family. Later that evening there was a kind of party (for lack of a better word) at the local Hindu temple, that involved cooking for the entire village, and singing. Due to the language barrier I didn’t really find out what the occasion was, but I was told it was not a religious one.

Unfortunately, I was so tired that I had to miss out on the singing part. My bed was set up outside the bhungas. I learned that some of the people prefer to sleep inside (probably under a fan), while others sleep under the stars. With no mosquitoes hanging around, the latter is definitely a great choice.

Packed bike

A baby twister

Curious travelers

Desert

Boys, Harijan Vas

Girls, Harijan Vas

Got up around 7. Unfortunately, the only breakfast there was was a cup of tea. And as I learned a little later, my stove is broken. So dates and figs were the only food for the day. That wasn’t much of a problem as the distance to Khavda was only 22km. Interestingly, even though the river beds are dry, there were some puddles along the road.

I got overtaken by a car, which suddenly stopped a few meters ahead. When I reached it, a window was wound down and two guys started talking to me in German. Turned out their driver had just told them that a ‘crazy German’ was cycling this road.

Loads of military on the roads, and the odd helicopter in the sky.

Reached Khavda before noon and stopped at the first road-side stall for some tea. Talked a bit to the guy sitting next to me. After a couple of cups I rode on to see what the village looked like. There wasn’t much to see, so I returned to the tea stall. The same guy was still there and I asked him about a place to get some food. He invited me to his place for lunch. He lived with his family in a small village outside Khavda.They had 3 bhungas and a rectangular house. All the buildings are single-room and serve two or more purposes each. While I was having luch, the Israelis I’d met at the police station in Bhuj walked around the village.

Thought about my options over a nap. With no permit beyond Khavda, strong military presence, and a broken stove, they were pretty limited. Even though I had the address of a friend of Aarif’s where I could stay for the night, I decided to take the bus back to Bhuj this evening.

Bhungas in Harijan Vas

At the roadside

Desert

Camel cart