Chasing tigers

On 25 February 2002, after exploring Jaipur my small group tour of Northern India headed south towards Ranthambore National Park. The park is known for its Bengal tigers. When we visited an estimated 40 of these magnificent cats were living in the park. Sadly, their numbers have declined in the years after thanks to poaching.

The animals are most active at dawn and dusk. As a result, we drove into the park twice, once in the early evening on Monday and again early the following morning. Unfortunately, despite our safari guide’s best efforts, we never saw a tiger. However, we did confirm their existence by spotting fresh paw prints along a sandy 4WD trail on our final outing.

While we never got to see tigers, we did see plenty of other wildlife including elegant spotted Chital deer, Nilgai (or the Blue Bull), wild boar, and Sambar deer, considered the favourite prey of local tigers. Our rustic accommodation on the edge of the park also proved an unexpected highlight. We stayed in a local Haveli. These are traditional manor homes in India. They typically consist of several stories wrapped around a central chowk, or courtyard. My room was on the top floor in the building's far corner.

Getting to and from Ranthambore was a lesson in Indian poverty like no other I’ve ever encountered. Three things stood out during our time in the area. First, the roads were in poor repair. Now, when I say “poor repair” what I really mean is the more remote roads were literally 90 per cent potholes separated by the odd segment of battered asphalt. At times our driver veered off the road and simply drove along the sloping verge as it was far easier to navigate than the cratered pavement.

Second, even in the remotest country areas, people were everywhere. I mean literally everywhere. We encountered endless streams of people walking along the roadside, sitting in groups, and working in the fields. It was a healthy reminder of what it takes to fit more than a billion people into such a compact sub-continent.

Finally, every village we drove through was an eye-opening experience. The roads were dusty and unsealed, and the drains and alleyways were littered with debris and refuge. Scrawny animals roamed uninhibited, and the endless piles of human waste were impossible to ignore. The chaotic crowds of people and traffic were equally mind-blowing.

However, there was one positive highlight. I loved the entrepreneurial spirit of the local villagers. The variety of shops and stalls was like nothing I’ve ever seen. Everyone had their own unique niche. I recall spotting a store that sold nothing but toilet seats, another specialized in buckets, and a third focused on undergarments. 

These weren’t the only hardworking people we encountered in the countryside. On the outskirts of Jaipur, we stopped to see local artisans making exquisite hand-knotted oriental rugs. The craftsmanship was unbelievable. We witnessed nimble workers tying individual coloured wool and silk threads one by one, row by row, onto a vertical loom. 

As we patiently watched we saw an intricate predefined pattern slowly come to life. A skilled weaver can tie about 6,000 knots per day. Our guide explained that it takes three months or more to knot a single 4x6-foot rug. Then, once fully knotted, equally skilled workers trim and shave the leftover loose threads with special shears to create a smooth and even pile on the finished rug. 

From Ranthambore, we drove to Agra. The drive was yet another lesson in Indian traffic chaos. We covered approximately 250kms. However, thanks to the state of the rural roads, it took us more than six hours to cover the distance. Furthermore, much to my dismay, the final couple of hours were driven in the dark. Without a doubt, they were the most terrifying road miles I’ve ever endured. 

As night fell it became clear that our driver had long since concluded that headlights were never installed for lighting the road ahead. Instead, he’d flick them on and off to warn traffic of his presence as it came careering towards us on the wrong side of the road – or to warn opposing traffic we were currently careering along the wrong side of the road.

Furthermore, as we drove, we encountered people sitting and lying on the edge of the asphalt, their heads and limbs mere inches from our whirling tyres. I also witnessed four lanes of traffic passing at breakneck speed on what was supposedly a two-lane highway. Then, to cap it all off, people and vehicles continually moved onto and off the road without warning, often in complete darkness. I’ve never experienced such a white-knuckle ride in my life and in a vehicle without seat belts. I pray I never will again!

Follow this link to learn more about our time in Agra.

Sunrise on the Ganges

Varanasi is an assault on the senses. There’s honestly no other way to describe it. It’s noisy, chaotic, colourful and messy. It’s simply seething with people, traffic, and animals. Garbage, dirt and clutter surround you at every turn. The air is hazy and filled with acrid smoke from burning pyres – you can often smell and taste it in equal measure.

This holy city of 1.4 million sits on the left bank of the Ganges River. For centuries it’s played a central role in the traditions of pilgrimage, death, and mourning in the Hindu religion. It’s known globally for its many ghats, and broad stone steps that lead down the river’s steep bank to the water’s edge. Thousands of pilgrims come to the ghats daily to perform rituals in the waters of the Ganges seeking purification, healing and redemption.

Two sprawling ghats, the Manikarnika Ghat, and the Harishchandra Ghat, are also used by Hindus to cremate the dead. On any given day you’ll find burning timber pyres topped by swaddled corpses. Manikarnika Ghat is often photographed by tourists, me included, thanks to the presence of Ratneshwar Mahadev Mandir (also known as Matri-rin Mahadev, or Leaning temple of Varanasi). The temple leans noticeably towards the sloping riverbank thanks to the uneven subsidence of its foundations.

Our small tour group spent two days and one night in Varanasi soaking in its hustle and bustle. This included a dawn boat ride on the Ganges during our second day in town. This gave us an unparalleled view of the ghats and their many towering structures. The empty sandbanks make up the river’s right flank further enhancing the scene. Their serene and empty expanse stands in stark contrast to the clutter and chaos on the opposing shore.

The ghats are best viewed from the water. Imagine this if you can. We silently glided along the ghat shoreline propelled by a local oarsman as pilgrims performed their water-bourne rituals. Women in colourful saris stood knee-deep in its murky waters, others stood up to their waist bathing and collecting its holy waters. Elsewhere bare-chested men could be seen immersing themselves and washing their bodies. Behind them all stands a chaotic clutter of buildings, temples and platforms bathed in the soft, warm glow of the early morning light.

Later that day we spent time wandering through brief sections of its more famous ghats including Dashashwamedh Ghat, the city’s main ghat. We returned to this ghat in the evening to watch the renowned Ganga Aarti ceremony. This is a daily ritual prayer offering made to the river itself. It’s held at dusk and always attracts a large crowd. Several priests perform the ritual on a platform overlooking the river. This mainly involves them carrying deepam (a type of oil lamp) while moving them rhythmically in time to chanting and bhajan musicians.

We also visited the famous Kashi Vishwanath Temple, a Hindu temple dedicated to Shiva. This ornate structure sits on the banks of the Ganges behind the Dashashwamedh Ghat. It’s popularly known as the ′Golden Temple′ due to the gold plating done on its 15.5-metre-high spire. Apparently, more than a tonne of gold was used in its cladding.

Crowds were heaving when we visited. I’ve subsequently read that up to 45,000 people visit the temple complex daily. According to our local guide, a visit to the temple and a bath in the river is believed to lead one towards spiritual liberation. As a result, Hindus from all over the world try to visit Varanasi at least once in their lifetime. 

The endless piles of logs and firewood lining laneways behind the city’s two cremation ghats were equally memorable. Cremation on the riverbank is incredibly popular. Up to three hundred people are cremated daily, a ritual that continues year-round. It takes up to 400kg of wood to cremate one body. As a result, timber is delivered by boat in an endless stream throughout the day. 

The type of wood used to build the pyres depends on the family’s choice. The rich prefer sandalwood while the poor are happy with any kind of wood. Bodies are generally dressed in a white shroud and sacred ash called “Vibhuti” is applied on the forehead. As you can imagine there’s smoke everywhere, accompanied by a steady trickle of ash. 

After two incredible days exploring the wonders of Varanasi, my small tour group of three made our way back to the central railway station for another overnight train back to New Delhi. It took us about 14 hours to make the 700km journey, arriving early morning on Sunday 3 March.

It was hard to believe how much I’d seen in eight days. Since leaving New Delhi, I’d explored the royal city of Jaipur, hunted for tigers in Ranthambore National Park, seen the Taj Mahal at dawn, wandered the desolate corridors of Fatehpur Sikri, and cruised the banks of the Ganges.

I subsequently found time to explore some of New Delhi's landmarks including Humayun’s Tomb, the Rashtrapati Bhavan and the India Gate. Incredibly, I explored each location on foot from my hotel, the opulent and centrally located Oberoi. 

The Indian management team was astounded that I did all this on foot. Apparently, this wasn’t the done thing in India. In hindsight, I can see why. I distinctly recall the piles of human excrement and litter that dotted the pavement and fence lines wherever I went. No doubt my attire also set me apart from the locals, making me a prime candidate for mugging.

I eventually departed India for home on 12 March 2002. I returned to India in August, visiting Mumbai for the first time, and again with my CEO in tow in January 2004.

Mumbai memories

Over the years I’ve visited Mumbai many times travelling for business. I normally based myself in the Nariman Point district as our office was in a building on Barrister Rajni Patel Marg Road, almost directly opposite the infamous Oberoi Hotel. However, I usually stayed in the more modestly priced Trident hotel next door. This hotel, and the Oberoi, were the site of a horrific terrorist massacre that that made global headlines in November 2008.

At the time, the attack felt very personal. It took place in hotels I regularly frequented, and police sharpshooters used our office building’s roof to target terrorists holed up inside the Trident Hotel. These men were the last of ten members of Lashkar-e-Taiba, a militant Islamist organisation from Pakistan, who carried out 12 coordinated shooting and bombing attacks across Mumbai over four days. This includes attacks in the Oberoi, the Trident, and the iconic Taj Mumbai hotel situated on the Gateway to India waterfront.

My first trip to Mumbai was in August 2002. At the time, my company’s office was still based in Colaba, a narrow isthmus on the southernmost tip of the low-lying peninsula upon which much of Mumbai is built. The company put me up in The Gordon House Hotel, a delightful boutique hotel located a short walk from the Gateway to India (shown above). The hotel was a wonderfully calm and clean oasis amid the chaos that continually enveloped you on the streets of India.

I recall my shock upon entering the Mumbai office for the first time. To gain access you had to walk down a cluttered laneway, off Arthur Bunder Road, and across an open dirt ditch filled with debris and what was undoubtedly human waste. We relocated the office about a year later to the more established business district at Nariman Point.

This first trip to Mumbai was very much all about business. I flew in late on Tuesday, 20 August after transiting through Singapore earlier that day. I then spent a day meeting with the team in Mumbai before everyone boarded an overnight train to Goa on Wednesday evening. This was my second time travelling overnight on an Indian train. My first experience was an overnight trip from Varanasi to Delhi a few months earlier in March of the same year.

For the next three days, I lead an all-staff offsite for our entire Indian business. We were based at a lovely beachside resort on the Goan coast. Sadly, each day was filled with back-to-back activities and training workshops. As a result, I never got to see anything of Goa beyond a few passing glimpses of its decaying, Portuguese-influenced, colonial buildings from the back of a taxi while making my way to and from the railway station. On Saturday evening, the Mumbai team and I returned to Mumbai on another overnight train.

 On Monday, Madhuri, the general manager of our Mumbai office met me at the Gateway of India for a surprise outing. The Gateway of India is one of Mumbai’s iconic sights. It’s an imposing arch-monument completed in 1924. It was erected to commemorate George V’s coronation as the Emperor of India thirteen years earlier. In 1911, he’d landed at the gate’s location, making him the first British monarch to visit India.

Madhuri booked us a ferry excursion out to Elephanta Island. This island sits in the northern reaches of Mumbai Harbour and is renowned for a series of ancient caves and archaeological remains. Our rickety open-air boat took an hour or so to cross the harbour. It was quite an experience. I distinctly recall how exposed I felt sitting in a low-slung boat crowded with visitors, and little more than a single outboard motor to propel us.

The Elephanta Caves, as they’re commonly known, are a collection of ancient cave temples. All in all, there are five Hindu caves primarily dedicated to the Hindu god Shiva, a few Buddhist stupa mounds dating back to the 2nd century BC, and two Buddhist caves with hand-hewn water tanks. Interestingly, despite the extensive infrastructure, very little is known about the island’s origins.

The caves contain rock-cut pillars and stone sculptures, mostly in high relief, depicting an eclectic combination of Hindu and Buddhist ideas and iconography. Sadly, with a few exceptions, much of the artwork is defaced and damaged. The largest cave extends an impressive 39 metres from the front entrance to the rear. Its main atrium, the cave’s central Shiva shrine, is around 27 metres square, with a roof supported by a series of carved basalt rock pillars. It’s an impressive structure despite its decaying condition.

Madhuri and I spent several hours exploring the caves and the island’s waterfront before returning to Mumbai on the same tiny ferry boat shortly before sunset. After dinner at a nearby restaurant, Madhuro and her driver returned me to the airport for another horrendous late-night red-eye flight to Singapore and on to Sydney a few days later. The flight to Singapore rarely took more than five hours, departing shortly after midnight, and then thanks to the magic of time zones, landed shortly after 8:00am.

One final note, the image that opens this post is the wonderful gothic facade of Churchgate station, recently renamed Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus. This stunning gothic building is one of the main railway stations in Mumbai. The 'church' in the original name refers to the nearby St Thomas' Cathedral, the first Anglican church in Mumbai. The cathedral was erected more than 300 years ago.

Kanondo Tree Camp

It’s time for another Kodak era retrospective post. Here’s a look back at the first time I went on a safari in Africa. At the time, I was en route to Europe for my brother Hamish’s wedding in Kitzbuhel in October 1996. I decided to make the most of my time abroad by booking my first-ever round-the-world ticket. My route flew me from Johannesburg to Frankfurt, then onto LA and Honolulu before flying back to Sydney.

On the way to Europe, I spent seven days in southern Africa, packing in plenty of once-in-a-lifetime experiences. First up was a flight to Victoria Falls where I spent two nights exploring this breathtaking wonder of the natural world. I then transferred to Hwange National Park for three nights on safari, before finally stopping for a night in Johannesburg.

My inaugural African safari adventure kicked off on 10 October. After three days in Victoria Falls, a safari guide collected me from my hotel for transfer to Hwange. My travel agent had booked me into the cosy, but rustic, Kanondo Tree Camp, about two hours east of Victoria Falls. I’d asked the agent to book a venue that offered an authentic safari experience, rather than a plush hotel that would distance me from the surrounding environment. He certainly delivered on the brief.

The camp was in a private game reserve bordering Hwange National Park. It offered treetop accommodation in private treehouse chalets built on stilts near the Kanondo Pan waterhole. The grounds were open to the surrounding bush. The chalets are windowless open-fronted rooms with nothing more than a curtain shielding guests from the African wildlife. However, despite its remote location, the camp was surprisingly well-appointed. My chalet included an ensuite on the ground floor, with hot water provided for a couple of hours twice a day. Our meals were cooked and served in a central thatched roof “Boma” pavilion.

The camp is ideally situated as the nearby waterhole is popular with local wildlife. Just how popular became evident on our second night in camp. We heard an antelope briefly screech in the dark. The following morning when we ventured out on safari, we came upon a leopard up a tree with a freshly killed antelope securely wedged in its boughs.

Our guides took us out on safari twice times a day. Once in the morning and again in the late afternoon once the heat of the day had subsided. The wildlife was abundant and easy to find. Thanks to the dry season, the animals were heavily concentrated around a few remaining waterholes. 

The Kanondo waterhole just outside our camp is also situated in the heart of the home range of the famous Presidential Elephants of Zimbabwe, This is a three-hundred-strong herd that's often seen drinking at Kanondo or feeding in the forest around the camp.

I'm delighted to report that, while on safari, our group successfully spotted four of the Big Five game animals. The Rhino was the only one we never saw. However, it wasn’t resident in the area, so we really hadn’t missed it. The leopards were out in abundance. We saw more than a dozen over three days. Our guide later told us how rare it was to see so many in one location.

The elephants loved our local waterhole. They were the first of the Big Five we saw within minutes of leaving camp for the first time. We stopped to watch their antics, including several babies, more than once, including an awesome safari drive after dark. As you can imagine, I took roll upon roll of film while in Hwange. The images shown here are just a few of almost a hundred photos I took.

While in Hwange, a group of us took a half tour into the local village. Our itinerary included visiting the village primary school where its Principal escorted us around the grounds. At one point, we entered a classroom to watch the children receive a lesson. We introduced ourselves and told where we'd come from. A couple on my tour had come prepared. They’d brought boxes of pencils especially to gift to the children. As for me, I recall donating most of the remaining local currency in my wallet.

Our guide also invited us into a local resident’s thatched hut where we found the occupants cooking indoors over an open firepit. Then, finally, as we were leaving the village we saw the children leaving school for the day on the local school bus aka a horse-drawn cart. I still recall how stunned I was by this first exposure to the primitive nature of life in Africa. An insight that was subsequently reinforced when I visited Soweto a few days later.

On 13 October, after a final early morning safari, I returned to Johannesburg via Lake Karbi and Harare. I flew domestically with Air Zimbabwe before transferring to a South African Airways flight from Harare. The domestic flight’s brief stop in Lake Karbi was unexpected as it wasn’t listed on my ticket.

However, the detour was a real highlight. Lake Karbi is considered one of Zimbabwe’s premier tourist spots. I still recall the experience of coming to land, flying low over the lake, as thousands of flamingoes scattered in the distance. Score one for the window seat I’d managed to bag! In contrast, Harare airport was a shock. The terminal proved to be little more than a retrofitted tin shed.

My flight to Frankfurt departed late evening the following day. I made the most of my time in Johannesburg with a full-day tour that took me through the heart of Soweto and then onto Pretoria via the iconic Volktrekker Monument. The tour of Soweto was particularly memorable. Its highlights included a stop for lunch at Wandie’s Place, plus stops at Nelson Mandela’s early home, a local swatter camp and the site of the infamous Soweto uprising. I still recall how stark the contrast was between Soweto and the wealthy northern suburb of Sandton.

Once again the poverty was eye-opening, as were signs reminding visitors to leave their weapons outside. Our tour was invited inside one of the squatter huts to meet "Grandma" a local institution. She was warm and inviting.  However, I must admit that I cringe now at the photo I took inside her home. It reeks of unsavoury voyeur tourism, even though each of us visiting gave her a small donation.

The tour of Pretoria was rather truncated. We briefly stopped to tour Paul Kruger House and experience a view over the city from Parliament Hill. Although to be honest, the city's most memorable aspect was its Jacaranda trees. They were in full bloom everywhere you looked.

Chaos was reigning when I arrived at the airport that night. I was scheduled to fly with South African Airways. However, all of its flights were grounded thanks to industrial action. Momentary panic set in as I’d left myself one day to get to Kitzbuhel for my brother’s wedding on 16 October. I was scheduled to land in Frankfurt on 15 October, then catch a train to Wörgl where my brother had offered to collect me. Fortunately, the airline transferred me onto a Lufthansa flight. As a result, I flew out only a few hours later than originally scheduled.

I recall two things about this flight. First, I flew a 747 Combi. This unique 747 configuration has its front half decked out for passengers while the rear is configured to carry freight. A false wall separates the two zones, making for a relatively compact passenger cabin. Furthermore, thanks to the strike, there wasn’t an empty seat to be found onboard my flight.

The second recollection involves our takeoff from Johannesburg. Thanks to the airport’s relatively high altitude, our fully laden aircraft used the full length of the airport’s extended runway to climb into the air. OR Tambo International Airport sits 1700 metres above sea level. As a result, the air is thinner, and often made more so by the unrelenting heat of the day. To overcome this issue, its runways are longer than most other airports. The longest is an astonishing 4400 metres long.

One final memory to close this post. Shortly before flying out of Sydney, my hairdresser had talked me into bleaching my hair. As a result, I flew out as a bottle blonde. However, the unrelenting African sun played havoc with its colour. By the time I arrived in Kitzbuhel, my hair had morphed into an oddly orange hue. It would be fair to say my hair was the talk of my brother’s wedding.