Worlds Apart - PART 6

11th February 2004: Pachewar.

This is a bit more like it. We’ve travelled to the small village of Pachewar - and have taken up residence in a three hundred year old fort - home to a former Maharajah. I’ve obviously heard of ‘Maharajahs’ but I suddenly realised I wasn’t entirely sure what one was. Feeling slightly stupid, Sian explained, when we Brits were in charge, we divided India up into little Kingdoms. An aforementioned prince ruled each domain and although their powers have now been all but dissolved, they are still highly respected within the community and tend to have substantially more toot than the average local.

Through the magnificent iron gates, we breached the ramparts and headed into the gardens. We were greeted with exotic flowers and treated to a cool drink in the serenity of the green oasis. Our rooms are just as impressive, very spacious with frescos on the walls. After a very tasty buffet dinner we headed into the village to see how the other half lived. I found it uncomfortable at times, almost as if we were parading through some kind of safari park. The locals seemed pleased to see us, especially the kids, but I couldn’t help wondering what they were thinking. I feel guilty, not giving them the benefit of the doubt, but assumed they were just after our money. Some of the mischievous kids were intent on trying to con the silly white people into shaking their left, bum wiping hand. The older children were all smartly dressed in their blue school uniforms and seemed content with practising their English language skills on us, either that or chatting up the blonde haired Sian. If I’m honest, I was more ashamed with some of the actions of a couple of our group members. The majority of us were keen to take unobtrusive photographs, snapping people from a distance. One of the guys from Devon however seemed to think it was acceptable to manhandle this adorable little Indian girl with big dark eyes, thrusting her chin up in the air and forcibly pushing her shoulders back so he could get the perfect picture.

Word of our visit spread swiftly through the community. More and more people came out to see us. They were, on the whole, very well behaved. The village elders looked on from a distance and I started to wonder who was watching who. We are as intriguing to them as they are to us. After being playfully manhandled by literally hundreds of children and members of the village, we were introduced to a local family and shown how they would prepare a traditional meal. This all took place outside their humble home. Sat in a semi-circle on stones and logs, we watched the lady of the house kneading dough on bare dusty concrete, occasionally adding herbs and spices before cooking it on an open fire. We all had the chance to taste the resultant sticky bread before heading back to the fort for our evening meal.

The girls were encouraged to dress up in traditional Indian costumes after dinner. Sian was clearly keener than Andrea - the Swiss/German girl - to perform a makeshift belly dancing routine with the locals. Had a couple of whiskeys around the campfire in the fort’s rustic courtyard before heading to bed. My stomach feels a bit queasy.

13th February 2004: Email from Jaipur.

From: Connor
To: All

The texts have been a bit haywire since leaving Delhi. I’ve been receiving half messages or the same thing over and over again. Very frustrating. God knows if any of you’ve been receiving mine so thought I’d drop you all an email.

We’ve arrived in Jaipur, capital of Rajasthan, although I haven’t seen any of it. I've been in bed. I was really ill during our last night in Pachewar and was up all night with a duvet wrapped around me. After being sick for the third time it made more sense to camp out in the bathroom rather than keep traipsing backwards and forwards between the bed and the toilet, especially considering I’m sharing a room with a relative stranger. The least I could do was avoid turning the lights on every five minutes. Two things got me through the ordeal. The first was the fact I had the luxury of a Western toilet. Although I’m sure the image of me hugging a sick bucket whilst shitting through the eye of a needle isn’t a pleasant one, believe me, having it coming out of both ends with such venom with only an Indian toilet at my disposal would have been far worse. I should also point out we were in the middle of nowhere. It was only after slopping out my first deposit from the sick bucket on top of the already festering contents in the bottom of the toilet pan I remembered the water is turned off at night. No water, no flushing. I don’t think I need to describe just how minging the bathroom was by 5am. My second saving grace was hearing someone else chucking their guts up in another dim and distant corner of the fort. It was somehow comforting to know I wasn’t alone. I eventually stopped being sick at 5am, just in time to catch the bus for the three-hour journey here. I’m really pissed off the guide didn’t have any sympathy - she thought it was alcohol related. ‘You English boys and your drinking.’ She was very condescending. I tried to explain you don’t get a temperature and hot and cold flushes from having a hangover ... but hey. I was only taken seriously when Sian (who doesn’t drink) appeared on the steps of the bus looking like Regan MacNeil from The Exorcist. Quite how I made it here I don’t know. Bumpy roads and a gippy tummy don’t mix too well but I couldn’t exactly stay put and screw up everyone else’s schedule. Anyway, I’m holding down water now but haven’t eaten for thirty-six hours. Might try something a bit later on. They endeavoured to feed me earlier but even the sight of plain rice made me nauseous. I’ve been told not to take anything to bung me up on the principle it’s better out than in. Fine in theory but not the best idea in the world when you’re on the move all the time with long transfers. No matter, I’ve already lost any dignity I might have had following a squat toilet incident on the train.

I came very close to booking a flight home yesterday. I’ve never been so ill and feel lost and directionless. I’m a million miles away from anywhere. If I’d been remotely near a travel agents or an airport, I’m certain I’d be winging my way home right now. Once we leave Jaipur, we're back out into the sticks again so the hygiene levels will be minimal. I’m most anxious about our last stop in Varanasi. This is where they cremate people in the streets so I can’t imagine that’s going to be pleasant. After that, I'm the only one in the group heading back to Delhi. The rest continue to Kathmandu. I’m not sure I can handle being on my own again.

The next leg of my trip is in Thailand. Apparently the accommodation on the tour is very basic and the groups tend to be made up of people on their gap year ... so, as you can imagine, I’m not relishing the idea of that either. I guess I'm just being hard on myself because I thought maybe this was my vocation and I could prove to myself I can do the rufty-tufty traveller thing. At the moment, it's not going to plan. Sitting on my arse in the comfort of my own home in front of the PlayStation with a homemade bacon sandwich and HP sauce sounds a much better option right now. Why am I still here, putting myself through this? Just hope Oz and New Zealand are much better.