Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 year marriage. This is number 65 of a series about our lives and travels, true stories of two people discovering the world, each other, and themselves through five decades of traveling together. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage and travels look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts are a previous series.
Sherrill on her birthday in North India "Hi from Delhi. We're seeing a lot, despite our 35 hour trip here and jet lag. Aside from walking into the bathroom door in the middle of the night, no mishaps, so far. India is astonishing. Thousands of gods, more than a billion people, the best vegetarian food in the world. Fabulous forts and palaces, temples and sacred cows everywhere. We have a great country guide, an Indian gentleman who sounds like Ronald Colman."
...From an email to our daughter, October 2006.
When Sherrill and I returned from India, people wanted to know our impressions. It was hard to sort them out, but the strongest was the kaleidoscope of color. Navigating the crowded streets of Old Delhi, we were swept up in the preparations for the annual Festival of Lights, people buying candles, fireworks, and gifts to honor Lakshmi, goddess of beauty, wealth, and good fortune. The streets were lined with sellers of marigolds and buildings draped with lights. We were dazzled everywhere by the colorful saris women wore, even sweeping out their houses, tending children, or working in the fields. The sculptures on temples often were painted rainbow colors. On special occasions people threw powdered colors on each other.
...From an email to our daughter, October 2006.
When Sherrill and I returned from India, people wanted to know our impressions. It was hard to sort them out, but the strongest was the kaleidoscope of color. Navigating the crowded streets of Old Delhi, we were swept up in the preparations for the annual Festival of Lights, people buying candles, fireworks, and gifts to honor Lakshmi, goddess of beauty, wealth, and good fortune. The streets were lined with sellers of marigolds and buildings draped with lights. We were dazzled everywhere by the colorful saris women wore, even sweeping out their houses, tending children, or working in the fields. The sculptures on temples often were painted rainbow colors. On special occasions people threw powdered colors on each other.
 Sherrill in pedal rickshaw |  View from pedal rickshaw, Old Delhi |
A pedal rickshaw ride through Old Delhi took us careening along narrow streets overflowing with merchandise and people under a terrifying chaos of electric wires. The population of two million all seemed to be out at the same time, even when we visited the largest mosque in India and a magnificent tomb that was model for the Taj Mahal.
A couple of days later, our little group was back in bicycle rickshaws, this time weaving through the hectic streets of Varansi on the way to the Ganges River, making our way through motor scooters, small trucks, taxis, bikes, and other rickshaws streaming in all directions, each intersection such a whirlpool that we never knew where we'd come out. Finally, leaving the rickshaws, we followed our guide on foot through a maze of alleys and tiny streets.
A couple of days later, our little group was back in bicycle rickshaws, this time weaving through the hectic streets of Varansi on the way to the Ganges River, making our way through motor scooters, small trucks, taxis, bikes, and other rickshaws streaming in all directions, each intersection such a whirlpool that we never knew where we'd come out. Finally, leaving the rickshaws, we followed our guide on foot through a maze of alleys and tiny streets.
 Humayun Tomb, Delhi, inspiration for the Taj Mahal |  Old Delhi shop |
Morning bathers, Ganges, Varanasi We reached the river at the top of the most sacred of the many ghats along the Ganges, then descended several dozen wide steps, passing at least ten bodies being cremated on tall pyres until we got to the water, where we climbed into a large rowboat and went out into the river to watch priests performing ancient rituals, hundreds of people participating and watching. More bodies, we could see, were brought to be cremated, mourners gathered around, the chief mourner in white, with a shaved head.
The next morning, we were up at 4:15 to go out on the river to watch the sun rise as people went through their daily ablutions, after which we hiked with our friend Hala and our guide through winding streets and hidden neighborhoods. The local people mostly ignored us. Back then, few tourists went there, but Sherrill and I always felt that Varanasi was a high point in our years of traveling.
The next morning, we were up at 4:15 to go out on the river to watch the sun rise as people went through their daily ablutions, after which we hiked with our friend Hala and our guide through winding streets and hidden neighborhoods. The local people mostly ignored us. Back then, few tourists went there, but Sherrill and I always felt that Varanasi was a high point in our years of traveling.
We arrived in the city of Agra on the holiday that everyone had been preparing for, Dawali, celebrating when Lord Vishnu defeated his enemy and rescued his consort, the goddess Parvati. It seemed like a cross between Christmas and the Fourth of July: families getting together, exchanging gifts, fixing up their homes inside and out, decorating with marigolds and lights, in some areas spreading fresh cow dung on the ground outside them, and setting off firecrackers and fireworks.
 Houses readied for Dawali festival |  Taj Mahal from our hotel room window, Agra |
We'd been looking forward to seeing the famous Red Fort, a fortified red sandstone and marble palace built by several Mugal emperors over a couple of hundred years. Dominating its hill, it overlooked the Taj Mahal, which we visited later in the afternoon, when the light gradually transformed the colors of the marble and the precious stones set in it. The great monument to love was larger and more beautiful than we'd expected. No photograph could capture it any more than photographs can capture the true spectacle of the Grand Canyon.
Our guide invited Hala and our group of ten to his home in Agra for Dawali so that we could experience the beauty and warmth of the holiday. Outside, it was exquisitely decorated with burning oil lamps, marigolds, and other flowers. Inside, his wife had created a shrine with flowers, images of the deities, and small oil lamps. Their son, who was in graduate school in Delhi, had come home for the occasion. The family welcomed us as if we were old friends, serving us traditional homemade treats. This intimate celebration was another highlight of the trip and of our travels.
Our guide invited Hala and our group of ten to his home in Agra for Dawali so that we could experience the beauty and warmth of the holiday. Outside, it was exquisitely decorated with burning oil lamps, marigolds, and other flowers. Inside, his wife had created a shrine with flowers, images of the deities, and small oil lamps. Their son, who was in graduate school in Delhi, had come home for the occasion. The family welcomed us as if we were old friends, serving us traditional homemade treats. This intimate celebration was another highlight of the trip and of our travels.
 Snake charmers, Jaipur  "Wind Palace," Jaipur |  Sherrill & Bruce riding elephant to Amber Fort, Jaipur |
The walled city of Jaipur, rose-colored capital of Rajasthan, lived up to its legendary beauty. One of the most beautiful—as well as practical—buildings was the Hawa Maha, or Wind Palace, its red and pink sandstone facade designed like a honeycomb to allow cooling air to circulate. Jaipur also was where we bounced and swayed atop an elephant up a mountain road to the Amber Fort. Once the palace of a powerful raja, with its massive gates, pillared pavilions, grand stairways, and magnificent views, the fort gave us a good idea of the splendor once enjoyed by Mogul nobility, although Sherrill didn't care much for its austere gardens. Monkeys skittered on rooftops as we walked through jeweled, mirrored arcades
Sherrill's birthday, Bikaner A trip through desert country—passing camel carts, overloaded trucks, crowded buses, and wind-whipped acacia trees—took us to Birkaner, another ancient city.
When Sherrill woke up the next morning, I handed her a small package.
"Happy Birthday!"
When she unwrapped it, she discovered a chain with a 100 year-old rupee coin with King George V's portrait on it that I'd bought in an antique store the day before. After breakfast, Hala draped three huge necklaces of roses and marigolds around her neck, wishing her a happy birthday. Then we all toured Birkaner in three-wheel auto-scooter taxis, including a visit to a camel breeding farm where we ate camel milk ice cream—very rich, not great, but not too bad. That evening at dinner, Hala had arranged for a beautiful birthday cake to be brought out for Sherrill.
When Sherrill woke up the next morning, I handed her a small package.
"Happy Birthday!"
When she unwrapped it, she discovered a chain with a 100 year-old rupee coin with King George V's portrait on it that I'd bought in an antique store the day before. After breakfast, Hala draped three huge necklaces of roses and marigolds around her neck, wishing her a happy birthday. Then we all toured Birkaner in three-wheel auto-scooter taxis, including a visit to a camel breeding farm where we ate camel milk ice cream—very rich, not great, but not too bad. That evening at dinner, Hala had arranged for a beautiful birthday cake to be brought out for Sherrill.
The next day, driving deeper into the Rajasthan desert, we passed many villages, camel carts, over-loaded (although richly decorated) trucks, including two trucks by the side of the road that had collided head-on as they approached a railroad crossing. The gates were down at the crossing, although no train was coming, so traffic had piled up on both sides. Then a railroad employee appeared from somewhere, waved a green flag, and the gates went up, but that caused a huge traffic jam on the tracks as everyone tried to cross first, trapping us on the tracks along with everyone else.
"Why doesn't someone do something?" Sherrill wanted to know.
As if he'd heard her, a man got out of a car and began directing the traffic, himself, breaking up the logjam.
"Why doesn't someone do something?" Sherrill wanted to know.
As if he'd heard her, a man got out of a car and began directing the traffic, himself, breaking up the logjam.
Sherrill, 3-wheeled taxi, Bikaner During the next days, we explored one fortress or palace after another, all of them gigantic and ornate, especially the 15th century Meherangarh Fort atop a mesa overlooking the blue-tinted city of Jodhpur: beautifully carved sandstone walls, rooms of gold and silver mirrors. We even had lunch in a small palace in the center of a lake, monkeys, squirrels, and gigantic bats called flying foxes around us. Then we continued through farmlands seldom visited by foreigners, people staring curiously and sometimes waving. As always, the women were working dressed in colorful saris, even when picking crops or carrying bundles of sticks or water jugs on their heads, their clothes bright against the brown earth.
"It's a sea of camels," Sherrill said, as we drove very slowly past several dozen camels loaded with household goods, babies, and toddlers led by women and old folks. Ahead, we discovered the men with their goat herds, leading the way to new pastures. It took us at least an hour to maneuver past the caravan and herds.
 Shepherd child, part of caravan going to new grazing |  Sorting chili peppers, Chatra Sagar Farm |
On our way to a camp where we'd spend several nights in tents, our guide spotted men in white turbans, shirts, and dohtys all splotched with pink. We learned, when we stopped to talk with them, that they'd been to a wedding where colored powder had been thrown—a traditional ritual. While we were talking, a crowd gathered around us.
"Namaste," we greeted each other, putting our hands together—which means, "I greet the light within you."
Some of the villagers wanted their pictures taken with us. A brightly dressed woman with an ornate nose ring connected with a chain to her ear was waiting with her grandson for a bus. Several buses picked up villagers and dropped off others. Our guide brought us tea from the man who ran a little shop, but when he tried to pay the man refused his money.
"Namaste," we greeted each other, putting our hands together—which means, "I greet the light within you."
Some of the villagers wanted their pictures taken with us. A brightly dressed woman with an ornate nose ring connected with a chain to her ear was waiting with her grandson for a bus. Several buses picked up villagers and dropped off others. Our guide brought us tea from the man who ran a little shop, but when he tried to pay the man refused his money.
Tea stop en route to Chhatra Sagar Camp: men splattered with color at wedding party Our tents stood in a row atop a 100 year old dam, next to a lake and farmland. The camp owners, three young brothers, welcomed us. The whole area once was their family's private hunting preserve, but it was broken up after India became independent. We ate in a large open-sided tent from which we could see long-tailed green parakeets, spotted owlets, and other birds. The next morning, we drove in two jeeps to visit local farms, a village, and a school.
At the village, we were invited to join a pre-wedding celebration. The groom's family had come to meet the bride's family, but the groom wasn't allowed to see the young bride—she looked about fifteen—until the wedding day. The grandfather blessed us, putting the spot representing the third eye on each of our foreheads.
At the village, we were invited to join a pre-wedding celebration. The groom's family had come to meet the bride's family, but the groom wasn't allowed to see the young bride—she looked about fifteen—until the wedding day. The grandfather blessed us, putting the spot representing the third eye on each of our foreheads.
Marigold sellers en route to Ranakpur After two idyllic days and nights at the tent camp, we took a back road south, deep into territory that seldom saw tourists. Women in orange and yellow saris were sorting red chili peppers and threshing millet in the middle of the road. We passed a family of pigs devouring piles of garbage and spied countless small shrines along the pavement and bats hanging from electric wires. Finally, we reached the largest Jain temple in the world, an incredible mountain of marble carved with delicate lacy patterns, as astonishing inside as outside. We never knew what was around a corner—it could be horrible or wonderful.
Ranakpur: 15th Century Jain Temple
We were nearing the end of our trip, but our friend Hala had arranged a conclusion to remember: invitations to a party given by the Maharaja of Udaipur on his private island. Dressed in whatever finery we'd brought, we went down to the royal dock on the lake, showed our invitations, and walked down a red carpet while a band played. After nonalcoholic cocktails, we got on a boat to go to a palace on the island.
From the boats, we walked through gardens and courtyards, past shrubs covered with small lights and ponds with shimmering flowers. Then we joined the other guests for the evening's event honoring Lord Brahma, creator of the universe. Speeches, music, and dances followed, then fireworks, cocktails (alcoholic, this time) and buffet dinner. During drinks, the Maharaja wandered around shaking hands. With his portly physique, white beard, and moustache, he looked like an Indian Santa Claus. He was the 76th head of the Mewar dynasty, although, of course, he no longer ruled anything, except his businesses.
From the boats, we walked through gardens and courtyards, past shrubs covered with small lights and ponds with shimmering flowers. Then we joined the other guests for the evening's event honoring Lord Brahma, creator of the universe. Speeches, music, and dances followed, then fireworks, cocktails (alcoholic, this time) and buffet dinner. During drinks, the Maharaja wandered around shaking hands. With his portly physique, white beard, and moustache, he looked like an Indian Santa Claus. He was the 76th head of the Mewar dynasty, although, of course, he no longer ruled anything, except his businesses.
Ajanta: cave shrines and monasteries Although we didn't get much sleep. the next morning we left early to get our flight to Aurangabad for our visit to Ajanta: a huge horseshoe around a canyon of manmade caves, temples and monasteries, going back hundreds of years BC. We had a different, younger guide there who had his own perspective on India.
"Yes, the economy is growing," he told us, "but corruption has become a way of life."
We spent most of the day exploring the caves (lots of carved stairs). All of the art, from giant statues to small exquisite paintings, was about Buddha. For over a thousand years, the caves were safe because they were abandoned and forgotten. Now, they may need to be closed again to preserve them.
Sherrill stopped to talk with an elderly caretaker while I climbed higher. When he asked her age and she told him, he was astonished.
"And she still has her own teeth!" he shouted to his friends.
"Yes, the economy is growing," he told us, "but corruption has become a way of life."
We spent most of the day exploring the caves (lots of carved stairs). All of the art, from giant statues to small exquisite paintings, was about Buddha. For over a thousand years, the caves were safe because they were abandoned and forgotten. Now, they may need to be closed again to preserve them.
Sherrill stopped to talk with an elderly caretaker while I climbed higher. When he asked her age and she told him, he was astonished.
"And she still has her own teeth!" he shouted to his friends.
Ellora: Temple & elephant statue carved from the mountain The next day, we continued to the great cave temples at Ellora, all carved out of a single mountainside. The biggest Hindu temple there is the largest cut-out monolithic structure in the world. Then, the day after that, we flew to Mumbai (Bombay) and bounced to Singapore, Korea, and San Francisco: exhausting just to remember, these years later.
To be continued....
To be continued....
If you find these posts interesting, why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including a bio, information about my four novels, along with excerpts from them, and several complete short stories. You also might enjoy reading the new e-book of my early novel, The Night Action, set in San Francisco's North Beach in the 1960s. The book is available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, and other online retailers. Click on the title or Here for the link.
Please pass the posts on to anybody else you think might enjoy them.
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