11/23/08

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The Deccan Odyssey, by BJ (Part 5) 25th May '08

After what seemed like a very short night, our train arrives at Daulatabad, where the traditional Indian greeting is augmented with a dance group made up of young men and boys, their facial makeup including lipstick apparently creating an identity crisis for many of them.  But their enthusiasm was infectious and we were soon caught up in the festive mood.

From the station we travel by coach through the ancient city of Daulatabad, today little more than a village and a collection of ancient ruins, to the 12^th century Fort of the same name.  Built on top of a solitary hill rising some 200 metres above the Deccan plateau, the Fort is famous for its complex series of defences, which over the centuries proved to be impregnable. 

As we climb the hill, we pass through huge Elephant Gates set in the outer walls and then the path narrows as it approaches a long, slender draw bridge spanning the stagnant green waters of the moat, some 12 metres below and once infested with crocodiles.     Beyond the moat, the narrow passage way continues to weave it’s way through the towering fortifications, restricting potential invaders to single file and making it impossible to overwhelm the defenders by sheer numbers.  Final entry to the Fort is by way of a climbing, circular tunnel, completely devoid of natural light, with varying floor levels and hidden steps to trip the unwary.  Only as a result of treachery were these defences ever penetrated.

From the Fort we travel by coach to the Ellora Caves, about 30 kilometres from Aurangabad.  Set in a high, sloping, basalt cliff, the caves which are spread over some 2 kilometers, are all man made, carved from solid rock to form a series of magnificent monasteries and temples!

In total there are 34 caves at Ellora, dating from as early as 600 AD and representing the three major religions of Buddhism, Hinduism and Jainism in an amazing display of tolerance that was characteristic of ancient India.  The caves were declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1983 and it’s not hard to see why.

Approaching from the car park, the scale of this place slowly sinks in as the outline of temples come into view, protruding from the face of the black, basalt cliffs.  Surrounding these temples, huge square voids project back into the sloping cliff like modern day quarries, hinting at the size of the courtyards surrounding these monuments.  People can be seen roaming the sloping cliffs, peering into these temple complexes from above, their ant like appearance putting the enormous size of this undertaking into true perspective. 

Without doubt, the largest and most impressive of the caves at Ellora is the Kailasa Temple, a Hindu Cave.  Covering an area twice the size of the Parthenon in Athens and one and a half times as high, it is simply overwhelming.  It has been estimated that some 200,000 tons of solid rock were carved away to form the Temple and surrounding courtyards, the whole process starting at the top with the roof, slowly working down the walls to the floor level.

Steps lead up into the first temple building, like a large entrance hall, which spills out into the internal courtyard and on into another series of multi level temples. Huge stone elephants guard the courtyard, its vertical walls undercut with galleries that surround the temple on three sides.  Not content to just hollow out caverns and rooms, the ancient artisans that created these architectural wonders have sculptured incredible detail into every column, wall, ceiling, and courtyard, making them every bit  the equal of any other temple complex built by more traditional methods. 

Of all the caves at Ellora, the Hindu Caves are the most impressive, but numerous others are well worth visiting if time permits.  Cave Number 12 for example is a three story cave, entered via a courtyard and which contains a large seated Buddha.  The walls of this cave are also carved with relief pictures, similar to the Hindu caves.

But with time against us, we have to leave the caves and return to the train which has moved to Aurangabad Station, where we settle into the now familiar, nightly routine.

The following day finds us at Jalgaon Railway Station, headed for another series of caves, this time the Ajanta Caves, about an hour away by coach.

Carved between the 2^nd century BC and the 6^th century AD, the Ajanta caves were lost in time for centuries, covered by thick vegetation and only accidently re-discovered in the 19^th Century by a company of British soldiers.

Carved into the horseshoe shaped walls of a river valley, from solid basalt rock like Ellora,  the Ajanta Caves have also been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site, but for significantly different reasons. The Ajanta Caves, all 30 of which are dedicated to Buddhism, lack the architectural grandeur of Ellora but make up for this with the incredible murals and artwork that adorns their walls and ceilings.  The Ajanta Caves house one of the worlds great masterpieces of ancient art, depicting every day life as well as the religious teachings of Budda, most of it more than 2,000 years old!

Our guide takes us to the best of the Caves where the artwork is in varying states of decay with some sections completely missing, but what does remain is quite stunning.  Only natural light is now permitted in these caves, often making it extremely difficult to see the artwork clearly.  Video and flash photography of course are banned, severely limiting one’s ability to record these masterpieces.

But although there is no denying the significance of the artwork at Ajanta, one should not loose sight of the architectural and engineering achievements that have been created here.  These massive caverns, some of which project into the hillside 50 or 60 metres and are perhaps 20 metres in width, are supported by precisely spaced columns of stone, in row after row of perfectly straight lines, all left in place as the surrounding rock was chipped away.  And whilst their structural necessity is unquestionable when it comes to supporting the massive basalt roof, they are not just left as structural supports; each column is beautifully finished with superb craftsmanship and detail. 

From Ajanta we travel back to the train and depart for Nashik Station 185 kilometers from Mumbai, arriving late in the afternoon.   With a Police guard in tow, complete with a highly visible automatic weapon, we head for town.  It’s the only time we’ve had the presence of such a guard but Nashik, on the banks of the Godavari River, is one of four major sites in India where the Hindu religious pilgrimage known as Kumbh Mela  occurs every 12 years with millions flocking to the river.  Whilst no such pilgrimage is taking place during our visit, there is obviously some sort of security risk to which we’re thankfully oblivious.

The late afternoon stroll through the back streets and along the river banks of Nashik proves to be one of the highlights of the trip.  Along each side of the river, steps lead down to the water where locals are performing ritualistic cleansing and lighting small candles supported in lilies that drift off on the slowly moving waters.  With the sun setting behind a skyline of ornate temples, the sight of dozens of flickering candles adrift on the river, is pure magic.

Above the steps the local markets are in full swing as dusk moves in and dozens of bright red lamp shades add to the colour of the produce on sale.  We mingle with the local crowds, enthralled with the array of products on offer and captivated by the charming, friendly nature of the sellers.  Our guard and our ‘minders’ from the train are kept busy trying to keep track of everyone’s movements as we spread through this huge,  open air market.

But eventually we’re herded out of the markets, through the Kala Ram Temple, built in 1790 and back into the bustling streets where our bus awaits.  It’s been a delightful evening and we head back to the Station for our last night on the Deccan Odyssey.

Early the next morning the train arrives back in Mumbai and after a relaxing breakfast, swapping of e-mail addresses and the usual hugs and kisses, we leave the Deccan Odyssey behind and head to the Taj Hotel for a well earned rest and a bed that doesn’t move.  

The Deccan Odyssey has been an enjoyable trip and far more relaxing than the Palace on Wheels.  Whilst the majority of the trip, particularly the journey south to Goa, lacks the major sight seeing attractions found in Rajasthan, the Ellora and Ajanta Caves certainly make up for this and are well worth the journey. 

Two train trips, back to back, of the same intensity as the Palace on Wheels may well have been too hectic, so the relaxed  pace of the Deccan Odyssey was for us, a welcome change.  Travelling through this fascinating sub-continent by luxury train has certainly been a great way to see what can only be described as Incredible India!

The Deccan Odyssey, by BJ (Part 4) 11th May '08

Early the next morning the train arrives at Kolhapur City and a surprise awaits us.  Before disembarking for the day’s events we’re gathered in the Conference Car where the men in our group are fitted with bright, Saffron coloured turbans!  Anne objects to being left out of the fun and as we’re such a small group, she is soon fitted with her very own. 

The Saffron Turban is a speciality of Kolhapur, offered to guests from other areas as a sign of high respect.  Each one is individually wrapped, from some 4 metres of cloth.  

Feeling more appropriately dressed for the Gay Parade rather than a day of site seeing, we disembark.

Our tour takes us to the Kolhapur Palace or the New Palace as it’s often known.  The Palace is still the private residence of the Maharaja but large sections have been opened as a Museum, displaying everything from antique royal furniture to weapons and hunting trophies.

Built in the 1880’s from black polished stone and highlighted by a 45 metre high clock tower, the Palace is typical of the era with noticeable British influence.  Some of the displays however are starting to show signs of their age and in need of important maintenance. I suspect the deterioration is simply due to a lack of funds, perhaps brought on by the change in Government policy that resulted in Maharajas being stripped of royal titles and consequentially, income from local taxes.

As we leave the Palace, bus loads of school children arrive for a visit and suddenly we’re the centre of attention as they all strive to have their photo taken!  Once again the feeling here is one of friendliness and not the harassment of Rajhastan, where everyone wants a piece of the tourist dollar.

Passing back through town we stop to visit the exquisitely carved Mahalaxmi Temple, parts of which date back to 700 AD.  The Temple is one of 6 extremely significant religious sites within Hinduism, where it is believed that one can either obtain salvation from desires or have them fulfilled, a very interesting concept that perhaps accounts for its popularity.  We’ve arrived here on a Public Holiday and the crowds waiting to enter the Temple are enormous.  We satisfy ourselves with the outside tour, our desires unfortunately, remaining intact and unfulfilled!

Our next stop is at the Town Hall, where an amazing demonstration of ancient military skills is put on for our benefit. The Sword and Lance, for which this area is famous, are the two main weapons featured and there is no denying the skill and the courage of the young performers involved.

The martial arts display is followed by a short cultural Play, the theme and story line escaping me, but again, the enthusiasm of the performers certainly rates a ten out of ten.

Lunch is served back on the train as we depart for our next destination.

Early that evening we arrive in Pune, a city of 5 million people, 150 kilometres to the east of Mumbai.   We’ve come here to visit the Raja Dinkar Kelkar Museum.

Established in 1975, the Government run Museum houses over 20,000 priceless artifacts collected and donated by Dr. D.G. Kalkar, which provide an interesting glimpse into everyday life in India from the 17^th to the 19^th century.  Collected during some sixty years of travel across the sub-continent, the collection ranges from ivory, metal, wooden and fabric items housed in glass showcases to massive wooden doors and carved panels which adorn the staircase and entrances to the showrooms. 

Later that evening, after a long and tiring day, the train departs for Daulatab.

The Deccan Odyssey, by BJ (Part 3) 2nd May '08

The train arrives at Karmali Station (Old Goa Station) in time for breakfast. We’re no sooner seated in the Dining Car when a couple of local guitar playing ‘cowboys’ appear to serenade us. The musical welcome continues on the Station Platform as we disembark and head for our bus. There is a real sense of Portuguese influence in both the appearance and music of our entertainers, an influence that makes its presence felt through out this region.

First stop on our daily tour is at the ruins of St. Augustine Church, once the largest Cathedral in Goa.  Constructed by the Portuguese in 1602, little remains today except for isolated remnants of Cathedral walls and a solitary tower rising to a height of 46 metres.  But despite the decay, the grandeur of the old building is still plainly evident and is the subject of ongoing restoration.

As the morning progresses, the churches keep coming, with the Basilica of Bom Jesus next on the list.  Located about 10 kilometers from the City of Panjim, this World Heritage Cathedral was completed in 1695 and  is considered to be one of the best examples of baroque architecture in India.

But perhaps of even greater significance is the fact that the Basilica contains the body of St. Francis Xavier, who died in 1552 whilst on a sea voyage to China.   The body, kept in a silver casket with glass viewing panels, apparently is remarkably intact considering its age and is publicly displayed every 10 years.  For those with a need, the next viewing will be in 2014!

A short walk from the Basilica is the Cathedral of Santa Caterina, one of the oldest and largest churches in Asia.  Commenced in 1562, the stunning white building was completed in 1619 and is some 80 metres in length.  Again, the Portuguese influence is plainly visible in this beautiful church and its surroundings.

Our next stop is in the heart of Panjim, the capitol of Goa, where we browse the local markets.  It’s noisy, crowded and at times smelly but incredibly colourful. All the usual items found in any Asian market are here, but the sight of dozens of small, young sharks on sale in the fish section, is sad and disappointing.

From the markets we head to Fontanas, the Latin Quarter of Panjim, where the streets are lined with colorful buildings and street names are displayed on blue and white tiles reminiscent of Portugal or Argentina.

The heavy Portuguese influence in this area is really not surprising when one considers the fact that Goa was occupied by the Portuguese for some 450 years, only being reclaimed by India as late as 1961.

Lunch is provided at the magnificent Taj Exotica Hotel.  Set on 55 acres next to the pristine Arabian Sea, the Resort exhibits a rich colonial atmosphere and was to play host to a 1500 guest wedding reception on the evening of our visit, the reception area being set up on the lawns adjacent to the beach.

Later that afternoon we return to the train at Madgoan Station, somewhat relieved to escape the sub-tropical heat and humidity of Goa, relaxing  in the air-conditioned comfort of our cabin with tea and coffee delivered by our Coach Boy, Harish.

At 5:00 pm the train departs, winding its way through rice fields, coconut palms and idyllic villages, the bright colours of the women’s Sari’s contrasting vividly with the lush tropical green of the country side.

As night falls we commence the slow climb into the mountains to the east of Goa.  Two additional diesel locomotives have hooked onto the rear of our 21 carriage train to assist in the climb. 

Slowly but steadily we crawl higher up into the coastal mountain range, the wheels screeching as the train snakes around torturous curves, first in one direction, then the opposite as we follow the contour of the steep ridges.  Harish tells us were approaching a spectacular water fall and opens the carriage door so we can get a better view in the darkness.

A half moon casts an eerie light onto the dense, virgin rain forest that covers these mountains, at times overhanging the track, threatening to reclaim the land from the railway. There’s not a light or a village in sight, not a sign of habitation for miles. Harish sits in the open door way to prevent us falling out and we marvel at this emptiness in a land of over 1 billion people and at the dark ridges of these mountains that tower high above us, outlined against the moonlit sky.

And then suddenly, the jungle clears, and there directly opposite us is this ribbon of silver, twisting, disappearing and then reappearing, as the falls tumble through the dense foliage, from the very top of the mountain into the black depths of the gorge far below.  Slowly the train turns around the ridge and we pass right by the falls, this time on the other side of the carriage and the roar of the water can clearly be heard. A solitary dwelling, illuminated by a dim light, sits on a rocky outcrop overlooking this incredible scene.

We close the door on the forest and adjourn to dinner, a glass or two of wine and then retreat to our cabin. Tonight the train will travel all night and tomorrow promises to be a long day.

The Deccan Odyssey, by BJ (Part 2) 1st May '08

The train is moving again, but we’ve enjoyed a much needed rest whilst it was stationary during the night.  Although we now feel like seasoned train travelers, sleeping on board a moving train when the track work is not up to modern, high speed ‘TGV’ standards, can be very difficult.

A leisurely wake up call the next morning with coffee served to our Cabin in fine Silver and China is followed by a wonderful breakfast in the Dining Car. Waiters hover everywhere, the traditional Taj Hotel service enhanced by the lack of guests. 

Our fellow passengers, a delightful family of four from South Africa and two guys from Kazakhstan, one of whom is a Professor of Law, join us for breakfast as we rattle our way south.  All of us are in shock to some degree to think this 21 carriage train, snaking its way across the Indian sub-continent, is just for the eight of us. The staff may have tried to make us feel like Maharaja’s on the Palace On Wheels, but in comparison, this is really like being royalty.

We arrive at Ratnagiri Railway Station, a little under 400 kilometers south of Mumbai and step off to a welcome of flowers, red dots and charming people.  Somehow it all seems a bit too much just for the eight of us, but the Deccan Odyssey is just another Taj Hotel and runs no matter how few guests are booked.

The morning is spent touring the local village and lookouts along the truly magnificent Konkan coast, before paying a visit to the home of Lokmanya Tilak, known by the western press in 1907 as “the father of the Indian uprising”.

Credited with arousing major uprisings against the British, he was deported to Burma in 1907, where he remained for 8 years.  Following his death in 1920, his role as head of Indian nationalism was taken up by none other than Mahatma Gandhi.

Lunch is provided at the Ganapatipule Beach Resort where we spend a couple of hours relaxing on the uncluttered, pristine beaches of this coast.  The temperature hovers around 30 degrees and the waters are warm and clean.  Yes, clean! 

After lunch we’re invited to visit a nearby Hindu Temple and offered various means of transport for the short journey.  

“Miss Adventurous” of course selects the bullock drawn cart, the model pre-dating suspension systems that almost necessitated a chiropractor’s visit to re-arrange bones and body parts after the short trip!  But as it was so appropriately pointed out to me, it was an experience.  I had no argument with that, it was the value of the experience I was at odds with!

But a relaxing cruise up the quiet backwaters of a nearby river later that afternoon, past isolated villages and thick tropical vegetation, soothed our aching bodies.  We stepped ashore in a small community where local village people smiled and willingly posed for photos without demanding money and a walk through the local market did not result in being constantly harassed to purchase unwanted goods.  It was a very refreshing change to the crowded, touristy destinations of Rajasthan. 

The following day is very similar, with the relaxed change of pace from the Palace on Wheels, highly appreciated.  We spend the morning visiting Sindhudurg Fort, located in the sea a short boat ride from the small coastal town of Malvan.

Built in 1664, the fortress was constructed on a small rocky island that barely protrudes above sea level and covers some 48 acres.  It’s a delightful setting with the 9 metre high walls constructed so as to cleverly conceal the only entrance to this unique fortress in the sea.  Although this was once a major naval base of the Maratha Empire, little exists here today apart from the walls and an ancient temple.

Lunch is provided at the Tarkarli Beach Resort with plenty of time provided to relax on the warm sands and bathe in the clear waters of the Arabian Sea.  The Chef, the food and even the China, comes from the Deccan Odyssey.  Nothing is left to chance - having a guest come down with Delhi Bellie is just not an option the Management is prepared to risk. 

Again we cruise the back water creeks and visit local villages before enjoying a cultural evening at the Shilpagrama Art and Craft Centre where dancing, puppet shows and the art of preparing local cuisine, is all demonstrated.

Later that evening, we board the train for dinner and the short, overnight run to Goa.

The Deccan Odyssey Pt 1 by BJ (19th April '08)

With the first of our two Indian train trips completed (see Rajasthan By Train) we’re driven to Delhi Airport to board our domestic flight to Mumbai, where we’ll pick up the next train, the Deccan Odyssey.  Named after the Deccan Plateau, a huge expanse of basalt and granite in southern India over which the train travels, The Deccan Odyssey will be home for the next 8 days whilst we travel south to Goa and return. 

Our flight is on Jet Airways, one of about seven domestic carriers now operating in India and much to our relief, appears to be a well run, polished operation with good equipment and great staff.  Apart from running delays that appear to be a standard feature of air travel in India because of the smog, we have an uneventful flight.

Mumbai  has changed from the days when we last visited as crew members and it was known as Bombay, with refurbished airport terminals, massive high rise buildings towering up to 65 stories high and of course the ever expanding movie world of Bollywood.  In all directions, modern, towering office blocks and apartments dot the skyline, heralding a new dawn for an ancient city.    But in so many other ways, there is little change.

The drive into the city from the airport is still a nightmarish struggle through the undisciplined chaos that jams the streets.  Poverty, on a level that re-defines the word, is still all around.  The old shanty towns of decaying cement structures, rusty corrugated iron and plastic sheeting, still line the roadside and the putrid muddy banks of the stagnant, black water canals that twist through the outer city.   Half naked children play in the piles of rotting rubbish that surrounds these shacks whilst mangy, disease ridden dogs roam amongst them, scavenging for anything they can eat.  This is the reality of India, but it is only a part of this great sub-continent and is something that should not be allowed to distract from the overall picture.

Our transport arrives at Mumbai Station, amidst a mass of black and yellow Morris Oxford taxis who’s origins date back to the 1950’s.  The main concourse of the Station is littered with people sprawled all over the floor waiting for trains, but there are other shapeless forms apparently sleeping,  despite the oppressive heat and the fact that it’s only mid afternoon. 

As we step out of our vehicle we’re immediately spotted by Deccan Odyssey staff who thankfully rescue us from this depressing scene and escort us to a private waiting area.  On the way, as we weave through the hordes that litter the concourse floor, we’re acutely aware of the silent, but intently curious stares our presence attracts.    At the waiting room we’re greeted with the traditional Indian floral leas and red dots on foreheads and at 4:00 pm, along with a small group of fellow passengers, we’re taken to board our waiting train.

Twenty one coaches, in royal blue and black stretch along the length of the platform, each coach named and monogrammed with the Deccan Odyssey’s crest.   As we walk past the long line of carriages, I’m struck by the lack of Staff and people on the almost deserted platform.   This is so unlike the scene that greeted us at the Palace on Wheels and just doesn't‘ seem right.  But eventually we arrive at our carriage where Harish, our Coach Manager, dressed in Royal Indian Military costume, greets us and takes us on board. 

The Deccan Odyssey, run by the Taj Hotel Group, has only been operating for about 5 years which is reflected in it’s modern décor and facilities.  Although the cabins (4 to a coach) are similar to those on the Palace on Wheels, they appear larger,  more modern and stylish, and far better appointed with telephone, internet connections and fully tiled ensuites.

After unpacking and settling in, Harish, takes us on a tour of the train.  We walk through a couple of accommodation cars before arriving at the Health Club which features a small gym, a beauty centre for manicures and hair styling, complemented by a massage and sauna facility,  all fully staffed and waiting for business.

We then move into the Conference Car, set up as a library with tables and chairs, a selection of reading material and a large screen, plasma TV.  Two beautifully appointed Dining Cars follow before we enter the Bar Car where we sit and enjoy a cold beer whilst the train commences it’s journey south.

It’s then that we discover the reason for the lack of activity on the platform when we boarded.   Anne and I are sharing this 21 carriage, 5 star Hotel on wheels with just 6 other passengers !  

All of this luxury, all 21 carriages complete with some 25 staff (reduced from the normal 40) , are here to serve just 8 people heading south to Goa !  The staff are quick to point out however that  we’ll pick up a further 10 passengers in Goa for the return journey,  but that will hardly over tax the facilities !

We’ll have 8 days and 7 nights in pure luxury on board this traveling Hotel, with daily sight seeing arranged in a similar manner to the Palace on Wheels, but for us, it will be a refreshing change from the large groups encountered on the previous train..

Dinner is served at 8:00pm and  we sit back with our complementary bottle of wine, enjoying a delightful mix of Indian and Continental cuisine served to traditional Taj Hotel standards.  At around 9:00 pm, some four and a half hours after leaving Mumbai, the train comes to stop.  I comment to our waiter, thinking it’s just another stop on a single track system, made to allow the passing of opposite direction traffic, only to be told,

“Oh no Sir, the train will stop here for 6 hours to allow you a peaceful nights sleep”. 

It will be that way for the first 3 nights !

Only in India …..

8Rajasthan By Train (Part7), by BJ. (19th April '08)

This morning a visit has been arranged to the Ghana Bird Sanctuary near Bharatpur and requires a 5:30 wake up call!   Thankfully, it’s not compulsory.

It’s been a very dry monsoon season for the past couple of years and the usual massive numbers of birds attracted8888 to these wetlands have decreased dramatically.  Besides, it’s likely to be cold in the old fashioned rickshaws provided for the visit (“I really don’t need to take a jacket”) and I’ve had an unusually restless night thanks to the somewhat violent rocking motion of the train.  I decide on a raincheck, pull the covers back up and enjoy a couple of hours of deep, motionless sleep whilst Anne departs to check out our fine feathered friends.

Bird numbers were disappointingly low and Anne is back on board by 8:00 am for breakfast.   I make a leisurely entrance into the day feeling far more human after my additional sleep and join her for coffee as the train gets under way later in the morning for the City of Agra.

We arrive in this famous City just before midday with high expectations.   Apart from being our last stop on the POW tour, Agra, located on the banks of the Yamuna River, is the location of the Taj Mahal!

With heavy smog forecast for late afternoon, our schedule is quickly changed and we head directly to the Taj Mahal to make use of the fine weather conditions in the middle of the day.

Completed around 1648 from white marble as a mausoleum for the favourite wife of Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan, the Taj Mahal was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1983 and draws thousands of tourists daily, both locals and foreigners alike.  So much has been written about the Taj it’s difficult to add to the descriptions, but whichever way you look at this structure, it’s truly a magnificent work of art.

Over 28 precious and semi-precious stones are inlaid into the white marble of this building to form intricate floral patterns and panels of script, the craftsmanship so exceptional the patterns at first appear to be painted.  The massive central dome, over 17 metres in diameter rises to a height of 65 metres and appears to changes colour as the sun’s rays filter through the clouds and ever present smog. 

Unfortunately, the main tomb containing the graves of the wife, Queen Mumtaz Mahal and the Emperor Shah Jahan, is in the lower level, now permanently closed to the public.  Even more annoying is the ban on still cameras inside the structure and the fact that video cameras have to be left a staggering  200 metres from the monument!  Our highlight turns into a disappointment, at least for me with my new HD video camera and a developing hobby of making documentaries.

But it’s a wonderful sight, viewed from any angle or any distance.  We’re fortunate to have visited around midday with the best light conditions, but for those that can afford the time, there are some stunning effects to be seen in the early morning mist that rises from the nearby Jamuna River, and at sunset.

Reluctantly we leave the Taj, it’s gardens and crowds and head for lunch at the usual 5 Star hotel.  The usual shopping stop is made to admire the local handicraft products and then it’s on to Agra Fort often called the Red Fort of Agra.

Constructed from red sandstone by the Mughals during the mid fifteen hundreds, Agra Fort is surrounded by double walls, some 2.5 kilometres long, rising to a height of 21 metres.   Listed as a World Heritage site, it is historically the most important fort in India.  

The country was governed from here by a series of great Mughal leaders and in 1857, during the Indian Rebellion, a large battle took place here that resulted in the end of the British East India Company’s rule of India.  This event signified the beginning of a century of direct rule by Britain.

Apart from the fortifications, Agra Fort contains numerous palaces, temples, gardens and magnificent halls.   One of these palaces, the Musamman Burj , a large octagonal tower over looking the Taj Mahal, was home to the Emperor Shah Jahan, builder of the Taj, when held  under house arrest by his son for the last seven years of his life.

We’ve arrived here late in the afternoon and with all government controlled sites closing at 5:00pm, time is quickly running out.  We’ve seen the major sites, the Khas Mahal in white marble, the Jehangiri Mahal in red sandstone and numerous other buildings, but the Red Fort of Agra has far more to offer.  

We tumble out of the huge gates of the Fort as the military guard starts securing for the night and head back to our busses, turning to snap that one last photo as we go, acutely aware that this is the end of our journey.

Back on board the train it’s drinks and dinner as usual, with e-mail addresses being swapped and promises made to keep in touch.  As the train departs for its final overnight run back to Delhi, we adjourn to the Bar and celebrate the successful conclusion of a wonderful week in Rajasthan, on board The Palace On Wheels.

Rajasthan By Train (Part6), by BJ. (8th March '08)

After a short early morning run our train arrives around 7:30 at Udaipur, known as the City of Lakes and located nearly 600 metres above sea level in the foothills of the Aravalli Mountain Range.

With breakfast behind us, we stroll along the platform, through the usual greeting committee of trumpets and flowers, before boarding our waiting busses.  Our first stop today is at the Garden of Maidens.

Built by Maharana Sangram in the mid 18^th century, the Garden of the Maidens is a wonderfully lush, green oasis in the chaos of the city.  A series of pools, one covered with flowering Lotus plants, are surrounded by manicured lawns and rose gardens, cut off from each other by huge trees and walled courtyards that are typical of the discreet areas frequented in days of old by ladies of the court.  Beautiful fountains rise from the pools and gardens throughout the park, all of them operating simply on natural water pressure.  Strolling through these well maintained gardens is a relaxing interlude, particularly after the almost constant line up of Palaces and Forts.

But then it’s back to our usual routine, with our next stop at the City Palace, on the shores of beautiful Lake Pichola.

First established in 1559, the City Palace has grown over the years into an incredible profusion of courtyards, terraces, balconies and smaller Palaces, all clustered together to form a magnificent spectacle.  Set into a hill side and rising high above the city, the Palace dominates the eastern foreshores of Lake Pichola , with an almost medieval, European atmosphere. 

A massive, triple arched gate, known as the Tripolia and built in 1725 leads the way into this architectural wonderland.  In every direction, intricately carved windows, balconies and arches look down onto a maze of courtyards, beautifully decorated with tiles, mosaics and coloured glass panels.  Various rooms of the Palace have been restored to their former glory in spectacular fashion whilst others function as a museum, displaying all sorts of antiques, paintings and furniture.

Perhaps one of the most amazing exhibitions is the Crystal Collection, displayed on the first floor level of Durbar Hall.  Originally ordered by the ruling Maharana in 1877 from the Birmingham based company F. & C. Osler, the huge crystal collection did not arrive in India until after his death. 

Considered as a bad omen, his descendants left the collection in the original packing cases, unopened until 1944!   Since that time it has been on public display and includes everything from complete dinner services to vases, fountains, a bed and dining table, all made from crystal in the UK and transported to India!

 As much as each Palace we visit resembles the previous one in the wonderfully detailed architecture, each one is also uniquely different, the City Palace of Udaipur being no exception.  If anything, The City Palace of Udaipur is perhaps one of the best we’ve seen so far in India.

 Lunch is provided at the Shiv Niwas Palace Hotel, in the crescent shaped courtyard adjoining the City Palace.  Originally built as the private residence of the Maharana, to accommodate and entertain his guests, the complex has been restored to its former elegant state and converted into a luxury hotel.

With lunch out of the way we settle down to a relaxing cruise on  Lake Pichola.  Nestled between the arid, treeless peaks of the towering Aravalli Mountains, the lake softens this otherwise harsh landscape and produces a welcomed cooling effect during the long hot summer months. 

 We cruise slowly up the eastern shore line, past the towering City Palace that looks down onto broad expanses of steps leading down to the water, where groups of locals bathe and wash their cloths.  It’s a scene as old as time itself.  At the northern end of the lake, a river is spanned by a bridge, bearing some vague similarities to the Rialto Bridge on the Grand Canal in Venice.  Perhaps this is the origin of Udaipur’s other nickname, the Venice of the East.

 We turn to the south and travel past the magnificent Lake Palace, originally known as Jag Niwas.  Constructed in the middle of the lake in 1746 and covering some 4 acres, this stunning, white Palace consists entirely of marble and now operates as a luxury hotel under the Taj Hotel group.

Beyond the Lake Palace is another island Palace, Jag Mandir, our destination.  Built during the early sixteen hundreds as a hideout for a wayward Prince, the Palace courtyards look out across the waters of the lake through rows of magnificent arches set above a long line of white marble elephants.  We’ve come here to enjoy afternoon tea, the cooling breezes and the wonderful views. It’s little wonder that Udaipur is one of India’s major tourist destinations.

Back on the train and under way by 5:30, we enjoy some pre-dinner drinks, a meal fit for a Maharaja and an early night.  Tomorrow will be a very early start for those with an eye for birds.

Rajasthan By Train (Part 5) , by BJ. (24th Feb '08)

Throughout the night, the Palace on Wheels (POW) rattles and bumps its way back across Rajasthan, heading east to the small town of Sawai Madhopur, about 130 kilometres south east of Jaipur.  It arrives here at 4:00 am, but our quiet time is soon interrupted by a very early, morning call.

We’re up at 5:30 in time for a quick coffee and then off the train to our waiting transport.  There’s no welcoming committee this time and no air conditioned buses. 

We climb into small, open topped, four wheel drive trucks, fitted with rows of seats.   It’s still dark and the seats are covered with dew but there’s an old blanket on each seat to be shared by couples.  We wipe the seat dry and wrap the blanket around us.  We’re nearly 500 metres above sea level and it’s cold in the pre-dawn darkness, about 5 degrees.

Our local wild life guide climbs aboard and were off, racing along the narrow bitumen road, 11 kilometres  to Ranthambhore  National Park, one of India’s Project Tiger Reserves.  With luck, and that should be spelt with a capital L, we just might see one of these magnificent cats in the wild.

Arriving at the Park early is critical, as it’s not just the 100 guests from the POW that are here, this place is packed every day with tourists from all over India.  The Park limits access, both the numbers that can enter and the time of entry, but sightings are most common in the early dawn as the tigers move to water to drink or to hunt.

Arriving at the Park entrance, frozen to the bone from the chilly blast of cold air roaring through our open vehicle (“we’re going to India, I don’t need a jacket”), we’re allocated Area 3 and head off into the thickly wooded hills.  It just might be our lucky day as Area 3 has the reputation of providing the most sightings.

There are 37 tigers currently living in this 390 square kilometre Park, comprising open grass lands, numerous lakes, gorges and dense forest.  As we crawl over the rough, dirt tracks, our guide stops the vehicle frequently to listen for warning calls put out by other animals when they sense the presence of a tiger.  These calls, if we hear any, should lead us into the right area.

We pick up bird calls from time to time and reverse our route, crossing paths with other vehicles as we traverse the open grass lands where dozens of deer stand motionless, watching us pass in the early morning light.  Patches of mist rise above the lakes and streams where wild boars stop to drink, the long elephant grass at the waters edge providing ideal cover for a stripped predator.  It’s a peaceful, beautiful landscape, but it’s eerie.

It’s on one of these frequent stops whilst listening for calls, that a real emergency strikes!  A female passenger, a young French woman in the back of the truck, announces in heavily accented English,

 “ I ave  to pee.”

Our Indian guide chooses to ignore the rather embarrassing statement, pretending instead to be totally absorbed in listening for animal calls.  The woman’s desperate declaration is made again, this time louder, ensuring that she has everyone’s attention, including the guide. 

The woman begs to be let off the truck and find a tree or nearby ridge to hide behind whilst satisfying natures call, but the guide is not happy.  Although we’re in relatively open grassland with a few scattered trees, the very animal we’re searching for could be lurking just metres away in the long, dry, straw coloured grass and not be seen.

Reluctantly, but with no other options available, he lets the woman off the truck on the proviso that she stays up against the rear of the vehicle.  His obvious concern highlights to us all, the potential for a sudden and potentially deadly attack.

Suddenly everyone is chatting in nervous embarrassment as the poor woman hides at the back of the truck, our conversation helping to drown out the sounds of natures call.  Her relief is obvious, in more ways than one when she climbs back on the truck. 

As the morning drags on, the chances of spotting our tiger dwindle.  We’ve seen every type of bird, deer, wild boar and even a crocodile hiding in a small stream near the edge of the track, but it’s now highly unlikely that we’ll see a tiger.  It’s just getting too late in the morning.

Slowly, we’re making our way back past one of the lakes on our final search of the morning when we pass another vehicle in a hurry, heading the opposite direction.  Tigers, as in plural, have been spotted!

We quickly turn around and race after the other vehicle, nervous excitement spreading through the truck as we bounce and lurch our way over the rough dirt track in a cloud of dust.  As we fly over the crest of a hill, vehicles can be seen gathered near a stream below, their occupants pointing excitedly into the bushes.  At the same time numerous other trucks are converging onto the scene from all directions, the noise and flying dust surely sufficient to drive our shy quarry into permanent hiding.

As we arrive at the stream, our driver jockeys for the best position as everyone strains to find the elusive animals in the dense bush!   People are pointing and voices are raised as directions are shared, but there’s nothing, just dense green leaves hanging down to the waters edge.

And then as if a veil had been lifted, the unmistakeable colouring of an Indian Tiger at rest on the opposite bank of the stream starts to filter through the dense foliage.  Not one tiger, but two magnificent animals are in view!

They’re largely hidden by the foliage but there’s sufficient detail to clearly distinguish the two animals.  One gets up and moves, its camouflage instantly lost as it does so, clearly displaying its huge head.  It’s believed they are two of a group of three cubs, nearly fully grown, the third cub almost certainly hiding nearby.  

With the distance, the dust and the crowds, photography is difficult but we manage to capture a bit of colour.  Our eyes however have captured a truly remarkable sight, one that hopefully will continue to become more common place and one that will never be forgotten.

By 10:30 we’re back on the train and enjoying a wonderful late breakfast, still high on adrenalin from the mornings sighting as the POW heads for Chittorgarh.

We arrive at 4:00 pm and head for Chittorgarh Fort, located on a hill top, 180 metres above the town.  Slowly, our bus makes the long climb up the hill, passing through seven narrow, but massive gates that guard the approaches to the Fort.  It’s Sunday and the traffic is a chaotic on this ancient, narrow roadway.

Built in the 7^th century, Chittorgarh Fort is one of the most historically significant Forts in Northern India and is spread over 700 acres, housing magnificent examples of Rajput architecture.  

Sacked on three occasions by Muslim rulers between 1303 and the mid fifteen hundreds, the Fort was to be the scene of incredible sacrifice by both soldiers and women, both groups refusing to fall into enemy hands.    This defiant determination resulted in the death of some 13,000 women and 32,000 soldiers during the second siege in 1535.

Temples, old Palaces and fortifications are scattered all over this hill top which is also home to hundreds of monkeys giving the whole area a distinctly Indiana Jones atmosphere.  Most striking of these structures is the Victory Tower, standing some 37 metres high and constructed from red sandstone and white marble.

Built in the mid 14^th century, the 9 level towers commemorate King Kumbha’s victory over the combined Malwa and Gujarat forces of Mahud Khilji.   For those not suffering from claustrophia, the tower can be climbed, up a narrow, dark passageway, 157 steps to the top!

After an entertaining Light and Sound Show set amongst these awesome ruins, depicting the Forts violent history, we return to the POW for dinner and an early night.  The train stays parked at the Station all night, not leaving until 5:30 the next morning for the short run to Udaipur.  It’s a great chance to catch up on some much needed sleep.

Rajasthan By Train (Part 4) , by BJ. (11th Feb '08)

It’s 7:00 am when the Palace on Wheels (POW) draws into Jodhpur Station on the south eastern edge of the Great Indian Desert.  After a leisurely breakfast we’re on our bus heading out for the day by 8.30.

Established in 1459, Jodhpur is Rajasthan’s second largest city and is commonly known as the Sun City or Blue City, due to the indigo tinge of the whitewash used on many of the buildings. Our first stop here is at Jaswant Thada.

Built in 1899 in memory of Maharaja Jaswant Singh II, Jaswant Thada was constructed from white marble and functions as a traditional cremation ground for Jodhpur rulers.  Beautifully carved gazebos, multi level gardens and a small lake are all located within the grounds, which also provides great views of the magnificent Mehrangarh Fort, our next destination.

Sitting high on a solitary hill top, 150 metres above the city, Fort Mehrangarh rises through the haze to dominate Jodhpur’s skyline.  Thick stone walls, up to 36 metres high, rise vertically on all sides to enclose an area of over 5 square kilometres, making it one of India’s largest and best known Forts.

Commenced in 1458 by Rao Jodha, the Fort was cursed by the only hill top resident at the time when he was forced to leave his home.   In an effort to neutralise this curse and it’s threat of severe water shortages, history tells us that Jodha buried a volunteer, alive, in the foundations!  The sacrifice was in vain, as the Fortress suffers from water shortages to this very day, a fact more likely attributed to it’s geographical location, rather than a curse.

Most of the Fort as it stands today, dates to the mid sixteen hundreds and contains several magnificent palaces, such as the Pearl Palace, the Flower Palace and the Mirror Palace, all of which function as Museums.   But the Chamunda Mataji Temple complex within the Fort, houses an idol of the goddess Chamunda, transferred from the old capital of Mandore in 1460 and worshipped today by most of Jodhpur’s citizens.

It’s quite a climb to the Fort, up the long steep access ramp, through the huge entrance gate, the massive archway protected by two solid doors, imbedded with protruding spikes to discourage the use of elephants by attacking armies.  For those not able to make the climb, an elevator has been installed to whisk tourists to the first level within the Fort, one of the very few devices found in India that caters for the handicapped.

Once inside, the beauty of the Fort is just overwhelming!   Palace walls rise high above the cobbled pathways, set with row after row of scalloped archways, intricately carved balconies and honeycombed windows.  The beauty and elegance of the detail carved into these ancient structures is simply magnificent.

Inside, an exquisite collection of royal costumes, elephant carriages, musical instruments and furniture occupy the many rooms and hallways, all stunningly decorated with mosaics, tiles and frescoes.   One of the best collections of fine Mughal art work to be found in India today lines the walls of these Palaces, alongside the finest examples of Marwar paintings and ancient weaponry.

From the many terraces and balconies on all sides, the blue buildings of the city of Jodhpur spread out into the desert haze of the valleys far below.  It’s little wonder the Fort rates as one of the most popular tourist destinations in Rajasthan.

The morning has disappeared before we know it and we’re soon boarding our bus for the short trip to the Umaid Bhawan Palace for lunch.

Located on Chittar Hill overlooking Jodhpur, the Palace was completed in 1944, after 16 years of construction by some 5,000 workers.  With 347 rooms, it was the world’s largest private residence when constructed for the Maharaja Umed Singh and features a large central dome, over 33 metres high.  The whole building is even more unique in that it does not use any cement or mortar, relying instead on a clever system of carved, interlocking stones to hold the structure together.

The Palace is today divided into three sections, one comprising the residence of  Gaj Singh, who inherited the property and title of Maharaja from his father at the age of four.  The title and other privileges were removed by an amendment to the Indian Constitution in 1971. A public Museum forms the second section and the third, our lunch venue, is rented by the Taj Hotel Group.

Set on 26 acres of land, the Palace covers some 14,000 square metres and is stunning.  Polished marble floors lead to the huge domed area which serves as a central lobby, past a cavernous dining room and a ball room that lay off to each side.  Immediately below this lobby area is the huge indoor swimming pool and spa, looking like sunken baths from the Roman era.

Beyond the Dome the building open onto a wide terrace set with towering columns and utilized as an outdoor restaurant.   Broad steps, stretching the full width of the terrace lead down to the manicured lawns and gardens, an outdoor swimming pool tucked behind the magnificent rows of flowering bougainvilleas.

After a lunch that is truly fit for a king, we have time to enjoy the pool facilities or just stroll around the Palace grounds before returning to our train at 3:00 pm.  It’s been a short, relaxing day for a change and we enjoy the scenery as the train gets underway for our next destination.  Tomorrow will be a very early start.

Rajasthan By Train (Part 3) , by BJ. (29th Jan '08)

We awake early the next morning as the train continues on across the sub-continent of India, through terrain not too dissimilar to that of outback Australia.   Short, scrubby trees scattered across a flat, arid landscape covered by dry, brown grass is interspersed with the odd sign of humanity trying desperately to scratch a living from this harsh land.

At 9:00 am we pull slowly into Jaisalmer Station, some 800 track kilometers  west of Delhi and just 75 kilometers from the Pakistan border.   Founded in 1156 and known as the Golden City, Jaisalmer lies in the heart of the Great Indian or Thar Desert, on an old trade route that still functions today. 

With the music, floral leas and red dots of the Welcoming Committee behind us, we board our buses and head off for the days sight seeing.

First stop is the old City Fort, located on top of Trikuta hill and overlooking the city.  Our buses can’t make the climb as the cobbled stone streets and lanes are just too narrow and crowded,   but it’s a fascinating stroll through this ancient city, past the usual hawkers, snake charmers and even a balancing act, hastily put together as we approach.

Built from yellow sandstone which reflects the golden rays of the sun, the Fort is home to over one quarter of this cities population.  Shops, restaurants, temples and hotels are all located within these ancient walls, interconnected by narrow passageways full of intrigue. 

Magnificent, terraced structures known as Haveli or mansions dating back to the early 1800’s tower above narrow lanes and spacious courtyards, their windows and balconies carved with incredible patterns and intricate detail.  Hand written signs advertising restaurants and hotels compete for attention amongst the dozens of small shops selling local wares, whilst all around, pockets of daily life go on seemingly unaware of the steady flow of tourists that stream past their doors.

This is an India far removed from the decay and filth of the big cities.  This is magnificent India, colourful and fascinating, just as it was in the days of old.   

Leaving the Fort we stroll back through the markets and board our bus for the short trip to  Lake Gadissar.  A small man made lake in the centre  of Jaisalmer, it  was constructed around 1156 as a rain water reservoir and is today the location of many small temples, some of which rise directly from the water. 

From the Lake we adjourn to the train still waiting at the Station, for lunch and a brief siesta, before leaving on a forty minute bus trip into the desert.  We’re here to see the sun set over a sea of magnificent sand dunes that stretch in an unbroken procession to the west.    Climbing aboard our Camel (Rocket), we lurch off into the desert in true Lawrence of Arabia fashion!

The tops of the dunes all around us are dotted with people, locals and tourists alike, who flock here daily to watch the huge red orb sink slowly through the permanent dust haze of this region and disappear below the horizon.  Bands of locals and gypsies put on impromptu song and dance routines, in a futile attempt to compete with natures display, all in the hope of earning a few tourist dollars.

Back on the bus after tea and coffee in the desert, we head for the train to freshen up and change for dinner.  Tonight we’ll dine at the Fort Rajwada Hotel and be treated to a cultural show.  The 5 Star Hotel and dinner is splendid, as we’ve come to expect in India although the cultural show, entertaining as it is, becomes a little tedious.   An extra glass or two of wine helps to compensate.

Back on the POW we crawl wearily into bed and at 23:45 our train departs for our next destination.

Rajasthan by Train (Part 2), by BJ.

Relief comes at 3:00 am when the rocking, lurching motion of the train finally comes to a halt.  It had stopped at other times during the night as the Palace on Wheels (POW) waited on sidings to allow scheduled passenger and freight trains to pass on the mainly single track system, but this was the final stop of the night.  We had arrived at our destination, Jaipur and at last we were able to drift into a couple of hours of welcomed, undisturbed sleep.

Breakfast is served at 6:30 in the small lounge at the end of our carriage by our two personal attendants.  Pastries, breads, fruit and eggs to order with real bacon (not beef bacon) and grilled tomatoes are complimented with steaming hot coffee and tea.  The service is faultless although the lounge is somewhat cramped.

We’re escorted off the train at 7:30 to be met by a welcoming committee, floral leas and a pair of beautifully decorated elephants!  These welcomes, in one form or another, become a standard feature at each destination.  Although there are just over 100 passengers on board the train, we’re split into 4 groups for the duration of the trip and quickly herded onto our fleet of air conditioned buses.

Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan, is situated in barren, desert like country, surrounded by towering hills some 265 kilometers south west of Delhi.  Commonly known as the Pink City, a name derived from the pink colored sandstone used in the construction of the old city, Jaipur was founded in 1727 by the great warrior-astronomer, Maharaja Jai Singh, the Second.  Today, pink stucco is commonly used to imitate the sandstone used in the past and so maintain the cities colourful image.

Jaipur is also known for it’s series of broad, regular streets, 34 metres wide, which divide this city of over 3 million people into six main areas.  Based on ancient Hindu architectural concepts, the city is considered to be one of the best laid out in Northern India and a credit to its founder.

First stop on our tour is the Hawa Mahal, or Palace of the Winds, Jaipur’s most well known landmark.  As seen from the street, the five story structure is little more than a façade, built from pink sandstone in 1799 with rows of multi faceted windows, delicately cut out in a honeycombed fashion.  The structure forms the women’s chambers of the City Palace and was constructed to enable ladies of the royal household to observe the everyday life of the city without being seen.

In the broad street facing the Palace, camel drawn carts mingle with Tuk Tuks, trucks, and motor cycles whilst hawkers and snake charmers compete for space on the pavement and the attention of the tourists.  Our bus load of camera wielding travelers swarm onto the street, adding to the chaos as they jockey for position, hoping for that perfect picture.   It’s a relief to climb back on the bus and head out of town.

Our destination is the old city of Amber, the former capital of Jaipur state and the location of the Amber Palace.  Located some 11 kilometers from Jaipur at the entrance to a rocky mountain gorge, the magnificent Amber Palace / Fortress complex is perched majestically on the high mountain ridge that overlooks the ancient city.

Access to the Palace is by means of a long and narrow, stone pathway that winds up the hill side, presenting a formidable climb, but the task is made easy for us - we’re provided with elephants!

There’s quite a line up at the boarding station but the POW appears to have some priority and we’re ushered in from the side.  Brightly decorated pachyderms mill around in front of the boarding platform whilst others, responding to the prods and calls of their handlers or Mahouts as they’re known, join the line of animals waiting to load up, their numbers swelling as more and more elephants return from the Palace.  Before we know it, it’s our turn and we climb aboard, onto a large padded cushion in a square metal framed basket strapped to the animals back and hang on!

The lumbering beast sets off on the climb, joining the long procession of animals lurching their way up the steep incline.  We hold tight trying to get accustomed to the irregular, swaying motion, and it’s not too long before one relaxes and starts to enjoy the ride.  The trip to the Palace takes about 15 minutes and is a lot of fun.  If nothing else, it’s certainly very Indian!

But entering the Palace through the towering arched gates on our lumbering steeds, is like stepping back in time!   We enter a huge courtyard surrounded by a high parapet wall where a continual line of elephants unload their passengers. Unfortunately, the center of this courtyard, which in earlier photos is shown to contain trees and gardens, is undergoing renovations, but this fails to detract from the overall impact. Arriving here, in this majestic Palace on the back of an elephant, suddenly seems totally appropriate.

Although originally commenced in 1036, most of the present day structures were completed in the 17th century, the combined Rajput-Mughal architecture being considered as some of the best examples to be found in India today.

Our local guide leads us through a never ending series of climbing, winding, descending passage ways, through tiny rooms and spacious courtyards, where each turn provides stunning views of the Palace’s architecture or the city far below.   Room after room is decorated from floor to ceiling with magnificent frescoes and mosaics, whilst tiny enclosed balconies with small, latticed windows protrude from high Palace walls set with intricate patterns carved into white marble.

It’s a huge complex, full of mind blowing features such as the incredible Hall of Victory, set with tiles and mirrors amidst a series of beautiful arches.  The Amber Palace is simply breathtaking, both architecturally and from it’s location, providing a fascinating insight into the grandeur of India’s old world of the Maharaja.

Our trip back down the hill is by Jeep, if one uses the term loosely, the elephants providing uphill transport only.  Perhaps the elephant ride was a much safer option as most of these mechanical marvels dated back to the Second World War and appeared to be in desperate need of retirement.   It was with much relief that we reached the bottom safely and re-boarded our bus!

We head back to Jaipur for lunch, stopping on the way to view the Jal Mahal Water Palace, set in the middle of a man made lake.  Built in 1799 as a pleasure spot for the ruling royals and used for such things as duck shooting parties, the Palace is now abandoned, the first four floors being underwater. From a distance however it looks idyllic, but on closer examination one discovers the water of the lake is a bright, unhealthy green, littered with rubbish and with water-hyacinths encroaching on all sides.  Our guide tells us there is now a plan to utilize the lake for water sports.  The mind boggles ….

A lack of appetite at the thought of lunch amidst the poverty and litter of Jaipur, quickly dissipates as we arrive at the Raj Palace Hotel, a stunning, immaculate, 5 Star facility where a buffet fit for royalty awaits us.   It’s a standard that is maintained throughout the trip. Having guests come down with Delhi Belly is just not an option for the people who run the POW.

Back on the bus, we head for the Observatory, set up in Jaipur by Jai Singh in 1728.   Of the five observatories he is credited with building, the Jantar Mantar in Jaipur is the largest and best preserved.

A strange cluster of sculptured shapes, scattered across the open spaces of the park, all have specific purposes, such as indicating star positions, calculating eclipses and measuring time.  A massive sundial, over 30 meters high, is the centre piece of the Observatory and is amazingly accurate.

Final stop on our first day’s tour is at the City Palace in Jaipur.  Occupying more than one seventh of the area within the Walled City, the Palace comprises courtyards, temples and museums as well as being the current residence of the present Maharaja of Jaipur.  Typical of the Rajasthan and Mughal architecture of the period, the palace is a kaleidoscope of coloured mosaics and frescoes.

Highlight of the Palace lies behind a huge set of brass doors which open to a courtyard containing the magnificent Hall of Private Audience – a simple but elegant structure of scalloped archways trimmed in pink and white and mounted on double columns. Two giant silver containers are on display here, reputedly the largest vessels of their kind in the world and were used by the Maharaja Madho Singh to carry water from the Ganges on his journey to England.  Behind this courtyard and rising high above the walls, stands the seven storey Moon Palace, the present Maharaja’s home.

Tied, but excited by our first day’s sight seeing, we arrive back at the Station and board the POW at 6:30 pm, flopping onto the lounge at the end of our carriage.    Mohan, our cabin manager is waiting for us and plies us with hot towels and cold drinks.

Dinner is served at 7:30 as the train pulls out of Jaipur Station heading for Jaisalmer, our next destination.

Rajasthan By Train (Part 1), by BJ. (14th Jan '08)

The station is already busy when we arrive, passengers seated on rows of seats fitted with white covers and set on red carpet that’s been laid out especially for the event.   Facing the seats, a group of local musicians sitting beneath a colorful welcome sign set the mood with typical Indian music whilst porters and tour guides swarm around, sorting out baggage and tickets.

Surprisingly the station is otherwise deserted, empty of the crowds I had expected to see but perhaps it’s due to the large number of uniformed and armed security guards that seem to be patrolling the platform.  After all, this is Delhi, India, with a population of 16 million and one would expect the railway station to be crowded.  But this is not the main terminus in Delhi and the train we’re waiting for is not any ordinary train, it’s the Palace on Wheels (POW).

First established some 25 years ago, the Palace on Wheels was created from the grand railway carriages originally used by the Maharajas of old India, refurbished to take tourists on a spectacular journey through the many wonders of Rajisthan.  Today’s train was purpose built in 1995 in the tradition of the old carriages but with more up to date facilities.

At 4:30 pm, all 21 carriages of our train arrive, some 750 metres in length!   Slowly it crawls into the platform, a large diesel locomotive drawing the long string of yellow carriages, each ornately decorated in brown and gold trim and bearing the trains crest.

In traditional Indian style, we’re welcomed to the Palace on Wheels with a floral lea, a turban for the men and a head scarf for the ladies, plus a big red dot like a target or perhaps a gunshot wound, in the middle of our foreheads!

The Palace On Wheels

We’re then escorted to our carriage, named Dholpur, where our carriage manager Mohan, decked out in regal Indian costume greets us and settles us into our compartment. 

There are 14 coaches for accommodation, each consisting of 4, twin berth compartments with ensuite bathrooms complete with showers and a small but comfortable lounge area at one end of the carriage where breakfast is served each morning.  Two beautifully decorated Dining Cars and a spacious Lounge / Bar Car make up the rest of the passenger facilities, with the remaining 4 cars containing generators, stores and crew accommodation.  The train operates an all inclusive tour of 8 days / 7 nights from Delhi, traveling mainly at night and stopping during the day for pre-organized sight seeing.

As the train commences its journey, we relax over a glass of red wine in the cozy lounge at the end of our carriage, our minds racing with expectations.

With the train winding its way out of Delhi and daylight fading, we gaze silently out of the window at the poverty that surrounds this huge city.   Between the railway tracks and the adjacent roadway, family groups can be seen huddled around small fires to keep warm in the chill of the night air, their home and only shelter provided by a simple plastic awning stretched between nearby trees.  All around, a sea of rubbish stretches in every direction.  The extreme contrast between our environment and that of so many of these people, gives us cause over the coming days to often wonder what they must think of us, in our Palace on Wheels. 

We join our traveling companions that evening for a wonderful dinner of Continental and Indian favorites severed on fine China and silver ware, complemented by a variety of International wines served in good crystal.  The Dinning cars are beautifully decorated in the tradition of the Orient Express and the service is nothing less than 5 Star.

Tomorrow’s sight seeing will be a long, busy day requiring an early start, with breakfast served in our lounge area at 6.:30 am.  It’s been an exciting day, full of wondrous new discoveries and experiences and  with the promise of even greater delights ahead of us, we shower and hop into bed as the train rambles on through the night. 

A City of Contrasts, by BJ. (11th Jan '08)

Like a huge red ball, the early morning sun struggles to penetrate the heavy layer of smog that shrouds this city of 16 million people.  In the half light of early morning, the streets are already throbbing with the never ending flow of traffic, the tranquility shattered by the constant blaring of horns.  A distant mosque adds to the noise, calling through the haze to the faithful, beckoning them to prayer.

Overhead, Black Kites are already circling on weak thermals in search of their prey, competing for food with the stray dogs and packs of monkeys that roam the streets with immunity.  On the edge of the road, a cow and its calf sit peacefully surveying their world, oblivious to the chaos their presence creates as the traffic fights for a path around them. 

Street sleepers emerge from under piles of cardboard and rags to prepare for another day of futility, whilst others lay undisturbed through out the day in exhausted sleep or perhaps in the stillness of death.  The deformed and disfigured shapes of beggars, wrapped in bundles of torn, dirty rags, lie sprawled on street corners and in their favorite doorways, desperately pleading to anyone who will listen. 

Tree lined streets lead though blocks of low rise apartments surrounded by high concrete walls, the tops draped with barbed wire, the bottoms stained with urine and other human waste.  A worker sweeps furiously to clean the dirt and dust from a driveway whilst ignoring the crumbling footpath on either side, littered with unseen mountains of rubbish.

But elsewhere roads wind through manicured parks with acres of well maintained lawns and gardens, and then plunge into huge reserves of raw, untouched forest.  Ancient ruins of temples, mostly religious, some serving as burial sites, rise through the masses of green foliage on a scale and grandeur that rivals the ancient ruins of Rome.

Through the haze a huge stone arch rises in striking similarity to the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, but carved in large letters across its face is a single word, “INDIA”.  Built in 1921 by the British as a memorial to Indian Soldiers killed in the First World War, The India Gate stands 42 metres high and sits at one end of  the Rajpath, or Kings Way in New Delhi.  At the opposite end of the Rajpath stands the imposing structure known as Rashtrapati Bhavan, built in 1929 as the home for the Viceroy of India during British rule.  Today this magnificent building is home to the Indian President.

But Delhi is a city of amazing contrasts.  The poverty and decay of the Old Delhi streets, teaming with road side stalls selling everything from  goat meat and live chickens to shoes and sarees,  are crowded with motor cycles and Tuk Tuks, the three wheeled motorized buggy seen all over Asia, some literally stacked high with young children heading to and from school.    Above these streets, an unbelievable network of electrical cables, looking like wind blown remnants of a spider’s web, tie the maze of crumbling buildings together as if helping to hold them up.

But not far from this scene, the cement and granite structures of 5 Star hotels rise above the squalor.   Immaculately dressed doormen open taxi doors and welcome their affluent guests to the other side of Delhi.  Workmen currently swarm over many of these hotels, frantically upgrading rooms and facilities to standards equal to those found anywhere in the modern world.

These 5 Star towers of decadence offer incredible breakfast buffets, catering for every taste from Western to Asian and Indian, with a variety of quality food that quickly turns this early morning event into the main meal of the day.  But it’s difficult to witness the abundance of food in these establishments and the waste, without reflecting on the desperate need of others not too far away.  Whilst watching a nearby table being cleared, Anne and I reflect on an event we experienced in Quito, Ecuador during our South American holiday.

We sat eating a Pizza at a roadside café in the city and found ourselves under constant but mild harassment by a teenage shoe cleaner.  With the wrong type of footwear for shoes polish we couldn’t’t understand the teenager’s persistence and reluctance to leave us in peace. 

It was only as we were about to leave, having finished our meal that the boy made his intentions clear and came closer, clearly driven by desperation.  He simply wanted the crusts of our pizza which we had left on the plate, fully aware that they were about to be collected and thrown out. 

But Delhi is really an interesting destination, full of historical monuments and ancient ruins from the past.  We’ve not scheduled sufficient time here to take in all this city has to offer, but what we have seen has been a pleasant surprise.

Unlike other big cities in India, the traffic, although hectic, continues to flow and the intensity of the crowds found in Mumbai and Calcutta, don’t appear to exist here.  Temperatures, particularly during our stay in early December, were delightful with days around the mid 20’s and nights of 15 degrees centigrade, but, certainly avoid the summer months.

India is exploding into the 21^st Century with an intense and almost fanatical desire to compete head on with the rest of the world.  Tourism is strong, with everything on offer from back packing adventures for those wishing to get up close and personal, to the very top end where one can sit back and be spoilt with the charm and opulence of old India and the days of the Maharaja.   

It is this Maharaja’s empire that has drawn us here, where we will join a couple of luxurious train journeys, the first of which departs from Delhi for an eight day extravaganza through Rajasthan, known as the Palace on Wheels.

A Quick Fix, by BJ. (6th September '07)  -  Apologies - pictures to follow - G

It’s still early spring, but the sun beats down with relentless fury from a cloudless blue sky onto the rich reds and browns of a  rocky escarpment that rises abruptly from otherwise flat terrain.   Massive gorges cut their way into this dry, ancient rock formation, where the near vertical walls honeycombed with the effects of erosion and rising hundreds of feet, are intimidating and overpowering. 

Nothing stirs in the mid day heat except for the masses of tiny yellow and mauve wildflowers, swaying in the gentle easterly breeze blowing in from the surrounding desert.  It’s a harsh, beautiful landscape and a  glorious monument to mother nature as old as time itself, where the silence is broken only by the calming sigh of the breeze in the Desert Oaks.  This is the Kennedy Ranges National Park, 1,100 kilometers north of Perth, Western Australia……..

“So where are we going this year, and when ?” says Ken Hart as he sips his beer at the regular Cathay Retirees Lunch in July.

“I’m not sure we’ve got time for a bush trip, we have so many other commitments coming up”, I reply.

“Iris and I were thinking of heading up to Useless Loop or Steep Point, near Shark Bay for a few days.  Why don’t you come with us?,” Ken suggests.

I’d been getting restless, thinking of the bush and wanting to get away somewhere but we just didn’t seem to have time.

“Hmm… I definitely need a fix,” I told Ken, “but it would have to be the end of August, early September and only for about 10 or 12 days.   Let me have a look at the maps and see what we can fit in.”

And so the seed was planted.  Very quickly a plan was hatched, Clarrie Turner agreed to join us and we were headed north just a few weeks later.

We drive leisurely through the small country towns of Coorow, Three Springs, Mingenew and Mullewa, the location of the ‘Outback Pub’ in which Anne and I had the misfortune to overnight some time back.  The country side is green from recent rains and wildflowers are starting to appear but it’s still a little early this far south. 

Camp is set up that night amongst a cluster of Mulga Trees, just off a quiet country road in the Chapman Valley, east of Geraldton.  It’s a clear, crisp night and we settle in to our first night in the bush with the warmth of a generous camp fire and the ambience of an almost full moon.

The following day we continue to Northamton and along the North West Coastal Highway to the Murchison River where we turn east, heading towards the tiny community of Murchison Settlement.   The wildflowers are in full bloom up here and the landscape is alive with colour.

That evening finds us camped on the banks of the Murchison River, a truly delightful setting in the heart of the outback.  There’s no doubt, these remote outback settings are as addictive as a cold beer on a summer’s day, and I could feel my fix taking effect as I gazed over the mirror like waters of the river.  It was good to be back in the bush.

An easy drive the next day on good gravel roads takes us through the small town of Gascoyne Junction, 170 kilometers east of Carnarvon, where we refuel before traveling the final 60 odd kilometers to the camp site on the eastern side of the Kennedy Ranges.  There’s nothing here in the way of facilities except for a bush toilet, but it’s the only readily accessible site in the National Park, with walking trails into three spectacular gorges.  We’ve come here in the hope of traveling a rarely used track that traverses this ancient mesa.

Archaeological evidence gathered from more than 100 sites, suggests the Kennedy Ranges were occupied by Aboriginal people some 20,000 years or so before European settlement in the late 1800’s.  Declared a National Park in 1993, the area today is officially described as “offering a wilderness style experience to the more adventurous visitor.”  It’s a fair description. 

We spend two nights camped here whilst we explore the walking trails in the nearby gorges, each one distinctly different but all of them draped with a wonderful tapestry of wildflowers and the occasional fossilized tree branch laying amongst  the huge boulders.

Magnificent examples of black iron stone, shattered by an unknown prehistoric event, reveal their intricate, internal layers, as smooth and well defined as a modern day casting for some complicated piece of machinery.  In stark contrast to this hard, polished surface is the sandstone, so soft that the touch of one’s hand causes it to crumble into grains of red sand.

Subjected to only 8 inches of rain each year, the soft sandstone walls of all of these gorges have been eroded by the flow of water to form incredible rows of pockets or holes, ranging in size from just a few centimetres to large caves and overhangs.  It is this unique honeycomb effect that makes them so special.

A strenuous, one hour hike into Drapers Gorge is rewarded by one of the only permanent water sources in the area.   A series of rock pools leads the way to a large, deep swimming hole at the head of the gorge,  providing the only  means of removing the red dust from our hot, weary bodies. 

But eventually it’s time to head north and search for the track that leads over the Range. Although the route is officially open, it’s use is discouraged (actually closed to public access according to one or two signs), owing to it’s remoteness and as a result, is rarely traveled.  We are also told of a recent crossing by a local policeman who managed to set his vehicle alight in the tall, dry spinifex grass that covers the track.  It’s a serious warning and one that has us all more than just a little concerned.

The long dry stalks of the spinifex are highly inflammable and sometimes grow as high as the engine bonnet.  When it grows in the centre of the track it breaks off as a vehicle passes over and can quickly accumulate underneath until it bursts into flame from the heat of the exhaust.  Instances have also occurred where people have simply parked on top of clumps of spinifex, walked away to take a photo, only to turn around and see their vehicle on fire ! 

We’re all armed with long hooks to rake the offending stalks from beneath our vehicles and refillable water sprays to combat any outbreak of fire.  Both Clarrie and I have first hand experience of the dangers of spinifex having spent some 40 minutes on a previous trip under a Mercedes 4WD extinguishing a fire !

As we move north from the camp, we follow the escarpment along a rarely used track that we’ve located on our topographical maps.  We’re using lap top computers linked to GPS to give us a moving map display, the only way to have any chance of following this type of route.  But the charts have not been updated since 1996 and as we discover, our track disappears about 12 kilometers north of the camp site !

We’re forced to back track, leaving the escarpment behind as we move further east through the bush to rejoin the main road heading north to Mount Sandiman Homestead.  It’s disappointing but not entirely unexpected.  The author of a local 4WD Magazine spent 2 hours lost in this area last year, trying to find the start of this very same track.

After a series of false starts, we arrive at Hewitt Well , at the start of the climb onto the escarpment.  But the climb turns into a non event, being just a steady incline on an easy going, sandy track.  Before we know it, we’re on top, looking out across the vast flat expanses of the surrounding landscape.

Winding our way across the escarpment we startle a  group of feral goats that decide the easiest escape route is along the track in front of us.  Despite using the horn, our head lights and repeatedly accelerating and charging the animals, the goats maintained their possession of the track !  Only after a couple of kilometers and when showing sure signs of exhaustion, did these big horned goats give up their stubborn claim of ownership and turn off the track into the surrounding spinifex.

On top of the escarpment the track passes through a large area of sand dunes up to 18 metres high but follows a relatively easy route through the valleys, only occasionally taking the more demanding climb over the ridges.  But in this part of the country, sand dunes are spinifex country and once again we’re treated to a pleasant surprise.

Although the spinifex cover is dense, it’s green, making it far less prone to ignite but even more reassuring is the fact that it’s not as high as expected.  It appears as if there’s been enough recent traffic on the track to keep it short,  eliminating the risk of build up beneath our vehicles.

It’s a pleasant, relaxing drive, through dunes, spinifex and wildflowers and a few hours later, we commence the rocky descent down the western side of the ranges, negotiating numerous wash outs but nothing really demanding.  On reaching the bottom, we set up camp for the night amongst a garden of magnificent wildflowers and  wonder what all the fuss was about with this track. 

Perhaps it’s just the difficulty in finding the way in and out for there’s really nothing else hard about the route.    The Kennedy Ranges National Park is currently not high on the list of favorite destinations for travelers but as we discovered, it’s full of great surprises and very definitely worth a visit.

The following evening finds us enjoying the delights of down town Carnarvon.  It’s a Motel, hot showers, a real toilet and proper beds !  Pure luxury !

With a population of just over 9,000 people,  Carnarvon is an important agricultural area and home to a NASA Space Tracking facility established in the 1960’s.  It was through this facility that the world first heard Neil Armstrong’s famous words, “One small step for man, .....”.

With showers and laundry behind us we head north along the coast to Point Quobba, past the Memorial dedicated to HMAS Sydney, lost with all hands in the area in 1942 and on to Red Bluff, one of the  popular fishing camps along the coast.  That evening finds us 160 kilometers north of Carnavon at Three Mile Camp, on Gnaraloo Station, a destination for very serious wind surfers !    The ‘breaks’ are huge, all with very appropriate names, such as Tombstone !

We enjoy a couple of nights in this beach side environment, a refreshing change from our normal, desert like habitat, soaking up the sun and surf.  But a relaxing lunch on the beach rapidly turns into a serious rescue when an inexperienced driver bogs his vehicle in the sand whilst trying to retrieve his dingy.

Hopelessly stuck in the sand, with waves washing in around the wheels, the vehicle was rapidly sinking and fast approaching the ‘right off’ stage when the Boys From The Bush leapt to the rescue !   Whilst Ken raced for his vehicle and started reducing tyre pressures, a Snatch Strap was quickly attached to the stricken vehicle. 

With little time to spare, Ken hooked on to the Strap and catapulted the luckless vehicle to safety.  It was a very valuable lesson, particularly for me, as I had never before witnessed the speed in which a stranded vehicle could become completely overwhelmed by the sea and lost.  Needless to say, the owner was just lucky we were there at the time and very, very grateful !

We turned south the next day, back through Carnarvon and down the North West Coastal Highway to the Overlander Roadhouse where we turned west into the Shark Bay Marine Park area.  This is home to Monkey Mia, the famous Dolphin Resort where wild dolphins come in to the shallows to inter-act with people.  Our destination this time is Tamala Homestead, on the way to Steep Point. 

We check in at the Homestead, are quickly offered ‘Pensioner Rates’ (must have been the way we looked) and are soon headed for the ‘Beach Hut’.  Located some 15 minutes drive from the Homestead and on the opposite side of the main road, the ‘Beach Hut’ is a pre-fabricated, container like, workers accomodation, just 50 metres from our own private beach on the southern shores of Denham Sound. 

There are five individual bedrooms, each containing two, wire sprung, steel framed beds.  A cement floor verandah runs across the full width of the building.  There’s a fresh (but slightly salty) water supply at a nearby tap and a bush toilet.    An old wood burning stove is set into a cement foundation in the ‘courtyard’ at the front of the Hut, with a modern day gas BBQ (minus a gas supply), perched on top.

This is posh for bush accomodation and the price is simply amazing  -  $3:30 Australian per person, per night !

The next morning we’re off to Steep Point.  A good dirt road takes us part of the way before entering the Park area where sand tracks become the standard, only 4WD vehicles are permitted and tyre pressures must be reduced to 20 psi. 

We stop and pay our entry fee at the Rangers home where signs threaten tyre pressures will be checked and fines imposed for infringements of the 20 psi rule.  Advice is given on the condition of various tracks and we move on.  Our tyres aren’t checked.

Steep Point is the Western most point of Mainland Australia and sits high on the rugged Zuytdorp Cliffs that rise hundreds of feet above the huge rolling swells of the Indian Ocean.   The Cliffs are named after the Dutch ship of the same name that was wrecked on the coast just south of Steep Point in 1712 with 286 people on board, some of whom survived the wreck, but not the Australian outback.   Their camp site was discovered in 1927, scattered with silver coins and artifacts, but it was only 30 years later that the site was connected to the wreck of the Zuytdorp.

We drive along the cliff tops, stopping to soak up the views and watching the huge swells smashing against these formidable cliffs with monotonous regularity.  At one location, holes in the cliff top vent plumes of spray high into the air, driven up hundreds of feet by the awesome power of the sea far below.

Turning away from the cliffs we find a magnificent secluded beach on the quiet waters of Denham Inlet and stop for lunch.  The white sands are completely undisturbed by prints of any kind and lapped by turquoise waters that are unbelievably clear.  This is pristine, unpolluted planet earth, as rarely seen today.

We sit and look across the narrow passage to Dirk Hartog Island, the site of the first known landing of a European (Dirk Hartog) on Australian soil in 1616.  It’s an incredible feeling, to be gazing at a sight that would have changed imperceptibly from that seen by the Dutch Captain nearly 400 years ago.

Early the next morning we awaken to a thick fog which surrounds our beach hut.  Perhaps the weather is changing and it’s time to head home.  For now at least, I’ve had my quick fix.

Travel Update (2nd Sept '07)

If you scroll down hundred of years you will find an article by Dave Baines which has a paragraph as follows:

"There are several agents offering their services to the airline industry. We have used Dargal. com, who have advertised in the company news letter, Canadian  Interline 2000, and lately on the last few cruises, Kazzrie Jaxen, Kazzrie@theinterlineshop.com an attractive and personable lady who works from Costa Rica, but offers a more personal service. She took the trouble to travel to meet us in San Jose. If you put your name on the mailing list you will get enough info on future cruises".

I've had an email from Kazzri and she tells me that her new address is:

interline@kazzrie.com

Amend you records as you see fit.

Graham

The Lady In Green, by BJ. (28th April '07)

Although I've made the trip many times, I still enjoy the experience of crossing the Nullarbor Plain and joining that small, constantly changing community of people who travel the Eyre Highway, linking Perth to the East Coast.

Twenty four hours a day, a steady stream of vehicles make their way across the Nullarbor Plain, a flat, featureless expanse of semi-desert, that separates Perth and Adelaide. The majority are commercial vehicles, big trucks and road trains, followed by Grey Nomads towing every variety of caravan one could imagine. And then there are the transients, those people who are re-locating from one city to another, often with all their worldly possessions jammed in the back of their old family car. And of course there are the nutters, like me, who just enjoy the trip.

But regardless of which category the travelers fall into, they all stop from time to time for fuel and food and it's on these occasions, at the various Roadhouses along the route that some very interesting characters can be encountered.

The Mundrabilla Roadhouse is located some 1,300 km east of Perth and 1,300 km west of Adelaide on the Eyre Highway and I pull in for lunch.
 

A high rocky escarpment lies to the north behind the Roadhouse which looks out across a flat coastal plain dotted with stunted trees that protrude from a carpet of bluish grey shrubs. It's not an unattractive landscape, but it's a harsh one and there is no other sign of civilization apart from the Roadhouse.

There's a big rig sitting in the parking area, the driver checking tyres and a 4WD with caravan parked next to the Toilets, but no sign of the occupants. The whole place looks deserted.

I walk into the shop and ring the bell at the empty counter. No one comes. I ring the bell again, and again, but still no one appears. Eventually a phone rings and a woman rushes in from the kitchen, apologizing profusely for keeping me waiting. It's Ok I tell her, answer the phone and as she does so another woman appears.

They could be sister's except one is about two foot shorter than the other, but their wrinkled, leathery faces looking like crumpled pages from a Sydney Street Directory, are stark testimony to a hard life in the bush. Whilst the 'cook' attends to the phone, the other woman ignores me. But then a third woman appears, only too eager to help.

She has a foreign accent and a complexion that doesn't fit the environment so I guess she's a tourist topping up her bank balance whilst experiencing life in the outback. I order a hamburger with chips and coffee then move to the adjoining dinning room and that's when I see her.

She's making herself coffee at the self help, 'Free for Driver' coffee bar and she moves away as I approach. Her dark green track suit pants hang limply from the waist like pleated drapes on a window frame, with no visible sign of a body beneath them. The long sleeved, round neck top, in a lighter shade of green hangs just like the pants and does nothing to disclose her female form. She is painfully thin but I try not to stare and make myself a coffee.

The dinning room is empty apart from the two of us and I take a table at the far end, next to the window. She sits at the opposite end by herself on a stripped cushion to soften the harsh laminex seat against her bony frame, a mug of coffee cradled between her long thin fingers as she stares intently out of the window at the dusty car park.

The 4WD and caravan depart and then another truck, this time a road train called 'The Mac Muncher' rolls to a stop in the midst of it's very own dust storm. I wonder if the driver frequents MacDonald's or is the name simply a slur on Mac trucks because he drives a Kenworth. He'd go hungry out here looking for the Golden Arches so I guess it's the latter.

My thoughts drift back to the lady in green and I notice a large cushion, decorated with a frangipani print, sitting on top of a folded blanket against the wall behind her. Next to the blanket is a plastic laundry basket full of Folders, the type used to hold loose pages. It seems an odd collection of items.

I study the woman, trying to guess her age. Fashionable highlights streak her shoulder length brown hair in contradiction to the complete lack of any recent attempts at grooming The unruly mop hangs over her forehead partly obscuring her eyes but it's unable to hide the gaunt, narrow face, her large nose and prominent cheek bones accentuated by hollow cheeks. She could be 10 or 12 years either side of 35, it's impossible to tell.

From a large brown shoulder bag sitting on the table she produces a wallet and franticly flicks through the contents searching for something. A number of 'plastic cards' are visible, including one with a photo ID, perhaps a driver's licence, but the searching continues, on and on and her lips move constantly in silent yet never ending conversation. Her hand moves up to the side of her face, as if trying to shield her silent conversation from others but the facial movement is still plainly visible and relentless. I'm embarrassed and look away, but my curiosity keeps drawing me back like a moth to a light.

The two truck drivers come in, help themselves to coffee and settle in at a nearby table. They casually look around the room, glancing at me and then the lady in green, with the same lack of interest they would show in an empty beer keg. The short sister comes into the dinning room, looks around, tidies the coffee bar then exits without even a glance at the lady in green ! It's almost as if she doesn't exist.

Perhaps I've been too long on the road, but I don't understand why she looks so unusual to me but no one else seems to even notice her. I guess these people take this sort of thing for granted but my curiosity is screaming for answers.

How did she get here ? Where is she going and how ? Why is she so thin and what's with the strange collection of belongings. Her clothes and appearance would suggest she's almost destitute but there's 'plastic' in her wallet. If this were the middle of a City, where the unfortunate homeless are common place one would simply dismiss it, but out here, in the middle of nowhere, it just didn't make any sense.

Suddenly she stands up, searches through her laundry basket and extracts a folder, flipping through it until she finds the page she wants. Picking up her shoulder bag and the folder, she walks out of the room.

Some fifteen minutes later I finish my meal and walk out through the shop, wondering where she's gone, but the lady in green is nowhere in sight. I'm curious but at the same time concerned and I stroll around the outside of the Roadhouse, wondering if perhaps a chance encounter might produce an opportunity for conversation and some answers, but I'm out of luck. There's no sign of her.

I climb into my truck and head west but it's well over an hour before I can stop searching for answers and concentrate on the journey ahead. Even that evening, sitting in a restaurant over 600 kilometers away, I could not help wondering about the Lady in Green and those unanswered questions.

A Day Off In Whistler, by BJ (18th March '07)

The first two pictures are on the way to Lillooet, the last two in the town - G

Like so many, I’ve been skiing at Whistler, north of Vancouver in British Columbia, for more years than I care to remember, but never seem to tire of the place.   Already sporting more than 200 plus runs spread over two mountains, more areas and runs are being opened on an almost annual basis.  Providing the snow is here and this year is one of their best, it’s a wonderful destination for all skiers, regardless of ability.

Whilst there may be some who can ski all day every day for the duration of their holiday, it certainly isn’t me !   A day off every so often to rest those burning legs seems to occur more frequently as the years go by, but just how do you fill in those ‘days off’.    One can only walk through the village so many times.

If you’ve not already done so, rent a vehicle for the day and take a trip to Lillooet, a small gold mining town from the past that is nestled in a beautiful valley about 131 kilometers north of Whistler.  As an old saying goes, “It’s not the destination that’s so important, it’s the journey”, and it’s certainly appropriate here.  The drive is simply spectacular !

About 30 kilometers north of Whistler is Pemberton, a small but rapidly developing community spread out beneath a circle of magnificent mountains.   Connected to the outside world only by the railroad until Highway 99 reached it in the mid 1970’s, Pemberton is primarily a farming community but today is rapidly expanding as an accommodation option for those that work in Whistler.

Beyond Pemberton the road travels through the tribal lands of the Lil’wat First Nation people, following the Birkenhead River through prairie country dotted with tall Poplar trees before arriving at the vast expanse of Joffre Lake.  After briefly following the Lake, the road turns away and begins to climb to the Cayoosh Pass in Joffre Lakes Provincial Park.  On the two trips I’ve made to Lillooet, both in March, the road was ‘Open’ and clear of snow, but check with local authorities if you’re not sure.

The road climbs steadily to around 4,200 feet above sea level as it reaches Cayoosh Pass and follows the path of an ancient Indian Trail which was later developed into the Gold Rush Trail favored by prospectors in the 1850’s.   Sapper Duffey, a private in the Royal Engineers, was the first European to travel this route and described the 11% grade on the climb as “too intimidating for further consideration”.  Originally built as a logging road, Duffey Lake Road as it’s known today, was opened to the public in 1975.

As one goes over the pass the terrain changes.  The densely forested slopes of the mountains give way to massive, almost barren, rock faces that plunge at amazing angles to the winding river in the bottom of the narrow gorge.   High on these rock faces, water falls hang in frozen beauty, awaiting the warmer weather which will once again rejuvenate their spectacular flow.   At lower altitudes, snow melt cascades over the debris fields of avalanches both old and new, washing rocks onto the highway just as fast as patrolling work vehicles can clear them away.

The Highway continues to descend, winding around the walls of the gorge until the terrain opens to the emerald green waters of Seton Lake, with the BC Rail line snaking around it’s edge. 

Lillooet, today with just 2,700 residents, sits on the banks of the Fraser River in a magnificent valley and was once an important centre on the old Gold Rush Trail, boasting a population of 15,000.  Distances along the old wagon trail to the Cariboo and Barkerville gold fields were measured from the  ‘Mile O’ marker, located in Lillooet.  Today  Lillooets serves as a major rail and road junction and is increasingly feeling the impact of growing tourism. 

A variety of eating choices exist from local Hotels to Diners, all with just a touch of Wild West atmosphere, whilst the odd Antique / Gift Shop provides browsing territory for the women.  But it really is the trip more than the destination that makes ‘lunch in Lillooet’ a wonderful way to spend a day away from the ski slopes of Whistler. 

The Mighty Pajero (11th Dec '06)

I couldn't leave this one out - G

Well guys, I'm afraid I'm the bearer of sad news.

It is with heavy heart that finally I have to report the tragic end of a glorious career. Well perhaps there were a couple of failures along the way, but ......

I refer of course to the brilliant services provided by the one and only Toyota Recovery Vehicle, otherwise known as my Pajero ! At long last, after more than 10 illustrious years of service to the world of Toyota, the time has finally come to hang up the Pajero keys. It is indeed a sad day.

No longer will the 'little red truck' be seen dashing over sand dunes, wading through crocodile infested rivers and leaping to the rescue of terrified Toyotas stranded in dry salt lakes. It is without doubt, the passing of a great era, a time when many a vehicle ventured into the Australian Outback with confidence, knowing the 'Mighty Paj' was never far away. It's unlikely the Outback will ever be the same again.

The good news is the mighty Pajero is to be replaced and the services previously provided by the retired Mitsubishi will be taken over by another vehicle.

With due regard to the feelings of Toyota drivers, at times embarrassed by the ever friendly services of the Pajero, it has been decided that the new Recovery Vehicle should at least come under the same badge as those to whom it may assist in the future.

Accordingly, I have to announce the arrival of the new Recovery Vehicle, a Toyota Prado. Hopefully, the new Prado will uphold the traditions so heroically established by it's gallant predecessor.

Seriously guys, I couldn't bring myself to buy such a nice new vehicle with a rattly turbo charged diesel under the hood. Quiet enough in cruise and even under heavy acceleration, but under light to medium acceleration it rattles like a petrol engine that is pinging or suffering from pre-ignition.
I'm told this noise level has come about by the engine being lighter in construction than the previous one, but what ever the cause it reminded me
of the Toyota Mini bus I used to drive for Peel Health Services ! So I've
gone back to petrol, 4.0 litre V6, automatic.

P.S. Please be advised that due to an increase in operating costs there may be a small increase in recovery fees in the future.

Take care.

Cheers,

Brian.
 

The Last Frontier, by BJ. (27th Oct '06)

To the west, savanna grasslands stretch endlessly towards a coastline edged with impenetrable mangroves, infested with saltwater crocodiles and sea snakes. In all directions, forests of termite mounds rise from the dry, straw coloured grass like miniature sky scrapers in some alien city. Grazing cattle shelter under scattered trees, seeking temporary relief from the oppressive heat.

To the east, mountains rise out of a turquoise sea, draped with the lush tapestry of tropical rainforest. Pools of fresh, clear water spill over rocky escarpments creating spectacular water falls and rapids as they rush to feed big rivers that harbor the mighty Barramundi.

This is a landscape where big snakes abound and wild pigs roam, equipped with sabre like tusks that could disembowel man or beast in an instant. It is a harsh land, where few people live. It is the Cape York peninsular of Far North Queensland.

Covering some 115,000 square kilometers (twice the size of Ireland), this remote wilderness area at the northern tip of Queensland is often referred to as Australia’s last frontier and was our destination on a recent 4WD trip.

Leaving Perth in company with Ken and Iris Hart, Anne and I headed for the Cape on the most direct route, a distance of some 4,500 kilometers (2,800 miles) through Alice Springs and Mount Isa….

The sparse population of the Cape is served by so called Developmental Roads that link the various Aboriginal Communities and tiny townships to civilization in the south. Jagged rocks, severe corrugations and huge potholes filled with a fine, powder like dust known as Bull Dust, are all standard features of these roads which extract a heavy toll on our vehicles.

Both of us suffer punctures from the sharp rocks, with Ken’s tyre being completely destroyed in the process. A shock absorber is sheared from it’s mounts on my vehicle, but luckily it occurs whilst enroute to Weipa, site of the world’s largest Bauxite mine and a friendly 4WD Shop, where repairs are quickly carried out.

Much of the land on the peninsular is comprised of Aboriginal Reserves, all of which have very severe alcohol restrictions. We’re warned repeatedly by locals on our way north to treat the matter seriously, but most of our planned route avoids these areas. It’s only at the very top of the Cape, when we cross the mighty Jardine River that we’ll come into contact with these restrictions.

Small quantities of alcohol are generally permitted but we’re carrying 4 litres of wine in excess of the limit. And what is the penalty if caught ? For the First Offence it’s a fine of AUS$37,500 with the Third Offence carrying a massive $75,000 fine !

It’s serious stuff and definitely not worth the risk. We find a convenient spot in the bush to hide our excess wine and pick it up, untouched, on our return south 5 days later !

North of Weipa, at a Road House known as Bramwell Junction, the true challenge of a trip to the Cape begins. It is here that the old service track for the Overland Telegraph Line commences.

Completed in 1886, the Line provided an essential communications link to settlements in the far north, including Thursday Island in Torres Strait, remaining in service until 1987. A rough, narrow track running along side the line (known as the OTL) and used by crews to maintain the service, today forms the basis for one of the most adventurous 4WD trips in Australia.

Although only 120 kilometers long, the track has been severely eroded by rain and the passage of hundreds of vehicles that make this pilgrimage every year, making travel extremely slow. For us, it’s an overnight trip !

Washouts and creek crossings are too numerous to count with the occasional big river thrown in for good measure. Our first day on the track is relatively uneventful and we set up camp next to the Dalhunty River where we’re entertained by ‘the boys’, (two lads from Victoria) attempting to climb out of one of the River’s tougher exit tracks.

With so many vehicles traveling this route one is never alone for very long. In fact there’s a well known saying that originates from traveling on the OTL.

“When in trouble, sit tight and wait for a Victorian to arrive – they have all the toys”.

The next day we come to realize just how true this is !

Gunshot Creek, some 15 kilometers north of the Dalhunty is perhaps the most notorious crossing on the OTL and as we discovered, it was to live up to it’s reputation.

Numerous approaches to the creek have been eroded by vehicles to the point where they resemble excavations made by a Front End Loader or similar digging device ! Barely the width of a vehicle, a series of deep chutes plunge almost vertically into the muddy overflow of the creek ! It’s truly an awesome sight!

The only alternative to these ‘chutes’, a much easier approach track, was completely blocked by a 20 meter tree that had collapsed directly across the route just seconds after a preceding vehicle had passed ! There was nothing we could do except sit back and wait for the cavalry to arrive - I mean the Victorians.

Well, not quite. Our very own Ken in his trusty Land Cruiser decides to try the ‘chute’.

Crawling slowly forwards in Low/Low gear, differential locks engaged, engine just idling, Ken eases over the top and starts the descent. Seconds later, as he’s half way down the chute, the rear of the vehicle seems to come completely off the ground and the Land Cruiser, with Ken now just a startled passenger, slides unceremoniously to the bottom where its face plants in the deep muddy water ! Somewhat sheepishly, Ken sits trapped inside grinning, whilst we attach a rope and drag him free with no damage apart from a slightly bruised ego.

But then true to form, the Victorian arrives and sure enough, he has a chain saw ! We manage to cut the fallen tree and drag it to one side, opening the much easier and far less dramatic approach to the creek.

After the antics of crossing the Gunshot, we happily retreat to the delightful setting of Fruit Bat Falls for lunch and a cool (croc safe) swim at Twin Falls !

Although the creek crossings keep coming with such delightful names as Mistake Creek and Cannibal Creek, the remainder of the trip north proves to be uneventful, with just one exception, Cypress Creek.

Straddling this deep, steep sided ravine is an old log bridge, where the term bridge is used very, very loosely indeed ! A makeshift series of logs, bamboo and metal planking has been lashed together with bits of rope to very roughly conform to the wheel tracks of most vehicles.

It’s something from an Indiana Jones movie and simply walking across is a feat in itself ! When it comes to driving across, having someone guide you over this engineering marvel, is absolutely essential.

But at last we reach the top and head for Cape York. At 10 Degrees 41 Minutes 18 Seconds South, it is continental Australia’s most northerly point and looks out over the islands and blue waters of Torres Strait. We take the usual touristy pictures and head back to Seisia to set up camp.

The next day we take the Ferry trip to Thursday Island (T.I.) and enjoy a much needed rest.

On our return south, we take the OTL Bypass Road, pick up our excess wine and come across a large semi-trailer sitting on the edge of the road. Stopping to see if everything is OK we discover the truck is bogged in soft sand. All attempts to extricate the vehicle under it’s own power prove futile.

The ‘Boys From The West’ leap to the rescue but a valiant attempt by the mighty Pajero to drag the truck free also fails. Quickly deputizing Ken’s Land Cruiser as an ARV (Assistant Recovery Vehicle), we both hook on the front and between us drag the huge truck back onto the centre of the road and firmer ground !

Further south we turn east on the Frenchman’s Track and head for Chilli Beach, near the Lockhart River. But the track holds one major obstacle for us, the Pascoe River.

Although we’ve crossed this River earlier, the crossing on the Frenchman’s track is deep and fast flowing. It’s a serious crossing and I decide to ‘walk it’ first. The water is deep, up to my crotch, 85 cm deep (33 inches) to be precise !

There’s a large rock on the left and the bottom slopes off to deeper water on the right. The trick will be to stay close to the large rock.

Ken, with his snorkel protected diesel goes first, in case he has to pull me out. His vehicle lurches on the uneven, rocky bottom and he hits the big rock ! He backs off, clears the rock this time and exits the river without further incident.

With no snorkel and being petrol powered my Pajero is at much greater risk but we had already crossed Nolan’s Brook on the way north which was deep, but not quite this deep ! I wrap a water proof ground sheet over the front of the vehicle to prevent the bow wave flooding the engine and plunge in !

The water rapidly increases in depth and I watch in helpless fascination as I see it approaching the top of the Right Hand Mud Guard, the location of the engine’s air intake.

Perhaps it’s my pre-occupation with the air intake or just the uneven bottom, but I also slam into the submerged rock. The water level is lapping the bonnet – I know I’ve got very little time left if I’m to avoid a catastrophic engine flooding.

I back off, then quickly move forward only to slam into the rock again ! The next attempt results in another collision. The third time proves lucky and one very, very relieved Pajero driver eventually pulls clear of the Pascoe River.

I mentally put a very big ‘Tick’ next to ‘River Crossings’ and decide that I don’t need to experience them again !

We continue down the east of the peninsular through Lakefield National Park, stopping at an old historic farm house, about 100 kilometers north of Cooktown. As we walk back to the vehicle I notice the tell tale signs of a radiator leak on the ground – a large puddle of green engine coolant !

It looks like a leaking core. We add some of Ken’s magical radiator leak fixing elixir, top up the water and push on. It eventually gets us to Cairns and civilization where a new radiator is installed.

Although Cape York is finally behind us we still have a long way to go before we eventually get home. Completing just over 16,000 kilometers (10,000 miles) we arrive home safely, some seven weeks after our departure.

Etiquette for the English visiting Scotland. (1st July '06)

The tourist season is upon us and it may be timely to remind visitors, especially of the English persuasion that certain rules of etiquette should be adhered to. A few of these are as follows:

Traveling from Down South (Englandshire way). Please find below a list of DO's and DO NOT DO's in our fair country. I hope they are of some help in allowing you to understand our social rules and etiquette.

It is considered bad manners for tourists to pay for drinks in Glasgow Pubs. The biggest person in the bar (referred to as The Numpty) will be only too happy to pay. i.e.:

BARMAN: "That will be twenty pounds sir."

TOURIST: "The Big Numpty over there is paying."

BARMAN: "That will do nicely sir."

BIG NUMPTY: "Welcome to Scotland!!"

In Highland pubs always ask for plenty of water when drinking the local single malts, this tells the locals that you like it so much that you want to make it last longer. After your first sip announce to everyone in the bar in a loud voice "This is pish!" from the Gaelic Piesh Na' lavvy meaning Water of God.

Thurso is Scotland's largest hypermarket and multiscreen cinema complex and is only a short taxi ride from Glasgow.

The Scottish Police force actively encourages tourists to take their hats as souvenirs.

Braemar is famous for its miles of sandy beaches and has some of the best surfing in Europe.

Balmoral Castle sits on top of Ben Nevis near Sauchiehall Street in Edinburgh. There is a cable car from Edinburgh zoo to the top of Ben Nevis. Because of its height it offers all year round skiing and there is a revolving restaurant on the roof of the castle.

Often you will see men in bowler hats marching about playing the flute and banging a drum. This is a multi denominational religious ceremony and the object of this procession is to collect pictures of religious leaders which must be stuck to the drum. Any images, particularly those of the Pope will be greatly appreciated.

There is a nocturnal thistle called a "Spiky Jessie" which is found on Calton Hill in Edinburgh. As these flowers only open at night a trip up the hill is recommended. Just tell a taxi driver that you want to go up Calton Hill to take pictures of the Jessies coming out and he will be happy to oblige.

The Latin inscription on Edinburgh's coat of arms says "You'll have had your tea?"

The most popular hotel in Glasgow is called The Barlinnie.

Old people are banned from Scottish towns on Tuesdays and Thursdays. If you see any gently restrain them until a police officer arrives. This may also provide an opportunity to get a hat as a souvenir.

Glasgow operates a policy of plain clothed street bankers. As it is well known that carrying small change can tear people's pockets, these bankers will approach tourists and ask if they have any spare change. Once given this money they will exchange it for coins or notes of a higher denomination. In order to deter criminals, these Banker often dress in a scruffy unkempt manner but they are all highly trained in finance.

Edinburgh zoo has an adopt an animal scheme and tourists may take home any animal they wish.

At many beauty spots you will find musicians playing the bagpipes. They are employed by the Scottish Government to provide tourists with spending money which can be found in bowls beside them. Feel free to take as much money as you want.

William Wallace escaped the army of Oliver Cromwell by jumping over The River Forth at Perth on a bicycle.

If you go to a concert by The Royal Scottish National Orchestra it is considered impolite not to shout "Hoots!" during quiet sections of music.

Celtic are known as the Gers due to being formed by Gerry O'Malley a Fruit importer who was the first man to introduce citrus fruit to Scotland. So if you walk into a pub filled with people wearing green and white say" Up the Gers, I'm proud to be an orange man!" and you will receive a warm welcome.

Policemen are known by the old Gaelic word "keech"

"Jobbie" is a word meaning a lot of effort has gone into producing something i.e. when you have enjoyed a meal, tell the waiter that it tasted like a great jobbie.

THE LONG IRON ROAD, by BJ (Episode 10) (6th June '06)

Anne and I are both tucked into bed and sound asleep when the 11:55 pm train for St. Petersburg departs Moscow Station.  With only 8 hours to St. Petersburg we try to maximize our rest.

Awake at 6:30, I find the landscape draped in fog as I peer out at the passing country side, but it soon clears and we’re left with stunning blue skies.  The train arrives on schedule at 8:00 am and we head off to our Hotel for breakfast before starting our City tour.

St.Petersburg, Russia’s second largest City is located on the Neva River delta, sprawling across a series of islands connected by up to 300 bridges spanning the river and minor canals alike.   Home to some 4.7 million people, St.Petersburg is a relatively young city, being establish just over 300 years ago, in 1703.

But St. Petersburg was Russia’s Capital for more than 200 years and today still represents the cultural centre of the country.   Built largely on swamps, the city developed around a complex series of canals, resulting in it often being referred to today as the Venice of the North. 

First stop is Birzhevaya Place on Basil Island.  Originally intended to be the centre of port facilities in the new city, the Spit on Basil Island was marked by two massive Rostra Columns built as ancient light houses.   

Adjacent to Basil Island is the magnificent St Peter and Paul’s Cathedral on the Fortress Island of the same name, with its beautiful gold spire rising to more than 122metres.  Completed in 1733, the Cathedral is the burial site of nearly all of the Romanov Monarchs.

Then it’s on to St. Isaac’s Cathedral with its massive central dome, over 100 metres high, covered with more than 100 kilograms of pure gold.  Completed in 1858, it is the largest church in St. Petersburg and one of the largest domed buildings in the world.

But the most eye catching church in St. Petersburg has to be the Church of Savior on Blood.  This magnificent ‘onion domed’, structure, commenced in 1883, was erected on the site of Alexander 11’s assassination and contains over 7,500 square metres of mosaic masterpieces which completely cover the walls and ceilings of this incredible church.

However, the crown of St. Petersburg has to be the State Hermitage.  A collection of 6 buildings, including the Winter Palace built in 1754 that houses Russia’s prized works of art.  This is the Museum to end all Museums!

Containing over 3,000,000 items, the Museum represents the world’s cultural development from earliest times up to the 20^th century.  Gallery after gallery is lined with the paintings of the world’s greatest Master’s.   We have a 4 hour whirlwind tour, touching only on the highlights, but it’s enough to gain an appreciation of the shear scale of this collection.

Our visit to St. Petersburg has coincided with the annual City Founding celebrations and Nevsky Prospekt, the main Street, has been closed off for a massive parade.  The crowds are unbelievable, lining the footpaths, packed onto balconies and perched on window sills, all in an effort to get a better view.  Water tankers parked across side streets to block off traffic have become impromptu grandstands, with dozens of people standing all over them.  

Despite the free flow of beer and vodka, the crowd is well behaved, intent only on having a good time and celebrating their cities anniversary.  Whilst the parade is enormous and hugely entertaining it provides us with a major problem.  We need to get back to our hotel to prepare for an evening at the Ballet and that means crossing Nevsky Prospekt!

The parade just keeps coming and search as we may, we can’t find an under pass.  At times the parade stalls and comes to a halt and some locals brave the police cordon and make the dash across the street.  We decide to try but immediately Anne and friend Carol are stopped by the Police.  There’s some shouting and wild sign language, then suddenly the two women are being whisked across the street. 

I yell to the other two guys with me, “GO, GO, GO!” and push through the crowd and police line.  We’re off, running across the road and through the parade.  As we reach the other side, the police step back and let us in without hindrance.  We’re amazed but we’re over and the women are all giggles!

It appears they somehow convinced the non English speaking policeman they had a flight to catch, and as they were hustled across the road they managed to convey to him that there were five of us in their group!

The night at the Ballet goes off without a hitch and the next morning finds us at the Pushkin Palace, about an hours drive from St. Petersburg.   Also known as the Summer Palace, the 18^th Century structure was heavily damaged during the German siege of St. Petersburg in the Second World War.   A massive reconstruction program has slowly restored the building and its magnificent rooms to their former glory.

We finish our St. Petersburg visit with a relaxing canal tour, before our final group dinner and preparations are made for departure in the morning.

The Long Iron Road is not an easy trip as both the traveling and sight seeing is fairly hectic, but thanks to out guide and travel company, it’s been a wonderful experience. We’ve both enjoyed the trip immensely and would highly recommend it.   

And before you say “ Oh, I couldn’t do that, it would be too difficult ”,  just give a thought to our traveling companions Mary, at 81 years of age and her husband Harold, at 87, both of whom carried their own bags and never missed an outing  !

THE LONG IRON ROAD by BJ (Episode 9) (6th June '06)

Moscow, a city of some 12 million people is a vibrant, throbbing, fashion conscious, cultural overload, the equal of most cities in Europe !  Wide, tree lined streets are jammed with cars that create massive ‘parking lots’ or unbelievable race tracks as Mercedes, BMW’s, Toyota’s and even American Hummer’s, hurtle along at incredible speeds.  Pedestrians have no rights and Road Rules just don’t come into play. 

Giant onion domes topped with Orthodox Crosses catch the eye where ever one looks, their sparkling  gold coverings reflecting the sun’s rays.  Red brick churches, granite faced shops and office blocks line the multi- lane streets, but again this is not a high rise city.  Most of the buildings are no more than 6 or 7 stories high. 

But scattered throughout the city are the Seven Sisters, a series of seven monstrous high rise buildings designed and built under order of Joseph Stalin.  It seems that one of the Sisters is visible no matter where you are in Moscow or which way your looking.

However the heart of Moscow and the centre of tourism is Red Square and The Kremlin.  This is a display of such size and grandeur, immaculately presented with a richness in colour that leaves one completely overwhelmed !   It’s just a magnificent spectacle.

A huge red, castellated wall surrounds the Kremlin, topped by massive towers and shielding magnificent yellow and white official buildings.  At one end of the massive, cobble stoned Red Square is the imposing red and white structure of the History Museum and at the other, the incredible, multi coloured domes of St Basil’s Cathedral !  Stretching the full length of the Square facing the Kremlin, is the Gum Department Store, the shopping domain of only the very rich.  The size of the Square and the surrounding buildings is awesome !

Facing the Square, and in the shadow of the Kremlin Walls, is the red granite Mausoleum of Lenin, who has remained here in State since his death in 1924.  We line up with hundreds of others to join the somber procession through his tomb.

Red Guards are everywhere and the crowds are strictly controlled.  We’re briefed not to joke or even smile and to stay strictly on ‘the path’.  To step off the chosen route will immediately trigger a warning blast on a Guard’s whistle. To step off a second time, risks being shot, at least that’s according to our Guide. 

We hear lots of whistle blasts but never the rattle of gun fire.  Somehow I think our Guide’s read one too many spy novels.

We enter the square, unadorned granite structure of the mausoleum and  immediately we’re plunged into darkness, the wall to wall black carpet absorbing what little light filters inside.  Struggling to see, we move into the completely black passageways and carefully descend the steps leading down into the tomb.  Only the dimmest of lighting exists and we move forward by feel as eyes struggle to adjust.  On each landing, an expressionless Guard watches our every move, their dark green uniforms and hats blending into the black walls, leaving only their stark white faces visible,  ghost like in the darkness.

And then suddenly, there he is, appearing to be suspended in space, the black surrounds of his casket and it’s supporting structure almost invisible to the eye in the dim light.  Subdued lighting shines directly onto the body, clad in black suit, white shirt and red tie.  His white face and hands appear to glow in the darkness.   It’s a grim and sobering sight.

After leaving the Tomb we stroll through the magnificent malls of the Gum Department Store, on our way to visit the Kremlin.

Passing through the enormous walls of the Kremlin and entering the paved courtyards, one is immediately overwhelmed by the sights.  Official buildings line the roads and courtyards, their white window frames standing out against the brilliant yellow walls.  Huge cannons from a past era edge the buildings behind magnificent green lawns and trees.  It’s a wonderful kaleidoscope of colour.

At every corner, the glittering gold domes of Russian Orthodox Churches appear. Ahead of us, dozens of priests, in gold robes and hats of varying colours, gather in a procession to escort a religious icon as it’s moved between churches.

Once again our direction of movement is strictly controlled by means of painted white lines and the shrill blasts of a whistle.  But just to be allowed inside this amazing symbol of Communism, is an incredible feeling. 

We stroll though the immaculate parks and gardens of this great fortress, past a tree planted in memory Jurii Gagarin, the first Russian astronaut .  Our Russian guide tells us he became more popular than the President and consequently met an untimely death in an arranged plane crash.  

But perhaps the highlight of the Kremlin tour is the Armory.  Housed in a magnificent yellow and white building, one enters through the cellars, where massive curved ceilings hang low over head and the heat is oppressive.  It looks as if it’s going to be a tough couple of hours in these claustrophobic cellars, but then we’re ushered through security and up a narrow staircase to the main entrance.

Marble walls rise perhaps 15 meters to massive domed ceilings, supporting  the most amazing chandeliers.  A white marble staircase, about 4 metres wide and draped with red carpet leads up to the first level where some of the most incredible riches are on display.

This is not a display of military hardware, as one might suspect from it’s name although some weaponry is located here.  This is a collection of artifacts, jewelry, clothing and old horse drawn carriages that simply has to be seen to be believed.  

Faberge Eggs, Jewelry, Gold, Silver and China artifacts of all types, plus Christian relics and gifts to the Tsars by foreign countries, are all here.  The scale and incredible wealth of these displays is equaled only by the stunning beauty of some of these items.  Enormous gold plates, huge drinking challises, and jewel studded, gold book covers adorning ancient manuscripts, fill the display cases that line the beautifully decorated halls of the Armory.

The weaponry  that is displayed here is also very special.  Beautifully engraved, pearl inlaid dueling pistols and magnificent swords and rifles from all corners of the globe compliment incredible suits of armour.  These were all gifts to Royalty and they were all very special indeed.

The following morning we set off to explore the Metro, Moscow’s incredible underground railway system.  Commenced in 1935, the Metro’s Stations  were designed to double as massive bomb shelters, in similar fashion as the London Underground was used during the Second World War. 

But Moscow’s underground stations weren’t just designed to be ‘bomb proof’, they were designed as highly decorated, palatial chambers.  Most of the floors, walls and columns are made from highly polished red and white granite, some with decorative chandeliers hanging from arched ceilings inlaid with intricate mosaics whilst others are adorned with bronze statues in the central hall or set into the corners of every arch way.   One of the most stunning  stations is highlighted by illuminated stained glass panels set into the walls of the central hall between each arch that leads to the platforms.

Long, non stop escalators rapidly deliver passengers to and from these subterranean palaces, plunging up to 140 metres below ground level through semi-circular tunnels.  It’s an amazing sight, but this is an incredible system that has trains arriving at stations every 90 seconds and handles 9 million passengers every single day ! 

After a couple of hours of riding trains and negotiating the crowds, we pop back up to the surface and stroll down Arabat Street, the City’s well known pedestrian mall and Market area.  But then it’s off to St. Basil’s Cathedral.

Commenced in 1555, St. Basil’s is one of Moscow’s most famous landmarks, sitting at one end of Red Square.   The Cathedral, instead of being one large open structure, houses nine separate chapels, interconnected by a maze of narrow, twisting passage ways.   Golden Icons and intricate floral patterns dating from the 17^th century line the ancient brickwork of the walls, whilst original lanterns using mica instead of glass, hang on long chains from the high ceilings.

We finish the day with a leisurely cruise along the Moscow River before preparing for departure from this incredible City.

That evening we board the 11:55 pm train bound for St. Petersburg on the final stage of our journey on the Long Iron Road.  

THE LONG IRON ROAD, by BJ (Episode 8) (4th June '06)

Ekaterinberg, a City of 1.3 million people located in the Ural Mountains just 60 kilometers inside Asia, was established in the 1700’s with the intention of becoming a major industrial centre.  Today it is just that, with large armament manufacturing plants and technical educational facilities.  Until 1991, it was a closed city and naturally has a large military presence.  The American U2 pilot Gary Powers, was shot down here when conducting his infamous spy flight in 1960.

But today the city has a very European feel - wide tree lined streets and footpaths with street side cafés and bars.  Along Lenin Prospekt a very French atmosphere exists, perhaps because of the trees and low rise apartments of only 4 or 5 stories. 

Despite an average salary of only US$200 per month, people are generally smartly dressed, but in stark contrast to their sense of dress, are their drinking habits.   A well dressed and attractive blond in her early twenties sits at the bus stop drinking beer straight from the bottle !   Elsewhere a young mother walks her toddler through the park, also swigging from a bottle.  It’s so wide spread, you look out of place if you’re walking down the street without a bottle of beer or vodka in your hand !

A morning City Tour takes us to the Church of Blood, built in memory of  the last Russian Tszar, Nicholas, The Second and his family, who were assassinated here in July, 1918.   Built on the site of the house in which the assassination took place, approval to commence construction of the magnificent Russian Orthodox Church was given in 1997.  Once commenced, construction took just two and a half years. 

About thirty minutes drive north of the City is the sight of the graves of  Nicholas and four members of his family.  Now considered to be a religious shrine, a series of seven Orthodox Churches have been built at the location in honour of the family who have since been canonized.

The Churches have been constructed from logs, in the style of traditional structures in Siberia and decorated with magnificent religious icons and incredible chandeliers.  The original excavated grave site is marked by a memorial cross and surrounded by an elevated covered walk way.

It is now widely believed that the bodies of the missing two children, Alexander and Anastasia, were burnt.

We pay a quick visit to the European / Asian Border, 60 kilometers to the west of Ekaterinberg, where the crossing is celebrated with Champaign and Certificates, compliments of our local Guide, before we head back to our Hotel for an early night. 

The next morning, under grey skies and light rain, we make our way to the Station to board the 9:05 am train to Moscow and settle into our two berth compartment for the twenty four hour run.

Leaving Ekatinberg behind, the rolling, tree covered hills of the Urals stretch on forever.  Mile after Mile of forest continues to cover this huge country, the light green leaves of the Silver Birch contrasting with the darker shades of the Pine trees to form beautiful patterns across the hills. 

The towns keep coming as well, the same old wooden buildings where living conditions appear to be only marginally improved the closer we get to Moscow.   But Spring has arrived in all her glory to this part of Russia and the countryside is bathed in shades of green, broken only by the rich, dark soil of cultivated fields and vehicle tracks. It’s hard to imagine this landscape blanketed in white and locked in the deep freeze of winter.

By early afternoon we’re out of the mountains and back amongst  wide open expanses of cultivated plains, set under a clear blue sky.  Towns are showing a slight improvement in living standards, or at least  we thought so, and then you see something that shatters those thoughts.

At  Yanaul, still some 1,200 kilometers from Moscow, a little old ‘Grandma’ wanders the Station.  With a  bright blue jacket buttoned tightly against the cold wind and a red scarf pulled over her hair, she shuffles along in worn boots that slide in and out beneath her long black skirt.  Her wrinkled face wears a look of despair as she clutches her hand bag in one hand and a loaf of bread wrapped in plastic in the other.  She’s unable to find a buyer for her bread, despite the going rate of only  60 cents US !

She’ll stay here all day if need be to add her small contribution to the family income.

Along the side of the track, the distance from Moscow is shown in Kilometres.  At 18:45 we pass the 1,000 km mark.  The train is due in at 9:25 am.

An older Russian gentleman traveling in our carriage makes friends with us and our traveling companions Mike and Mandy, from Canada.  With broken English plus Anne and Mike’s broken Russian, picked up from Lonely Planet’s guide to the Trans Siberian, we establish he’s a retired Rocket Engineer. 

He’s a friendly guy, making sure we have food and drinks.  Socializing on the Trans Siberian is all part of the experience.  He is somewhat surprised to see me taking video out of the train windows and although it’s no problem today,  lets me know that twenty years ago I would have been taken away in handcuffs.  In the evening we lock our compartment door early, to avoid the inevitable Vodka party.

The next morning we awake at 5:30.to find  the grey skies and drizzle have returned..  We’re 220 kilometers from Moscow and passing through swamps and wetlands that look more a part of Alabama than they do of Russia.

Dead, leafless trees  reach up towards the sky from the still, black water that surrounds them, like a scene from pre-historic times.   A veil of mist hangs close to the surface where patches of thick green slime surround small islands of grass that struggle to stay above water level.

At the next station, the vendors are already there, despite the early hour, offering everything from sets of fancy colored glass ware to small chandeliers !  We’re obviously in a glass producing area but I have no idea who would be interested in these products.

Most of the vendors are neatly dressed guys in track suits, perhaps in their 30’s but there’s still the odd ‘Grandma’ clutching just two or three items and hoping desperately for a sale.  I wonder how many times a day they walk up and down these cold, windy platforms.

At least we make one ‘Grandma’ happy when Anne gives her a plastic bag full of ‘goodies’ for which we have no further need.

Once again, as if on schedule, the clouds lift and we arrive in Moscow  at 9:25 am with brilliant blue skies .

The Trans - Siberian leg of the Long Iron Road is finally complete.

THE LONG IRON ROAD, by BJ (Episode 7) (4th June '06)

As the train makes its way out of Irkutsk, we settle in for the longest leg of out trip, some 50 hours on the Long Iron Road to Ekaterinberg.  The carriage is hot, having been locked up at the station without air conditioning for some time, but with outside air temperatures at 12C, it soon cools down once we’re under way.

We cross the mighty Angara River and head out through massive railway shunting yards and into the suburbs of crumbling cement apartment blocks and old wooden houses.  But before long, the cities and towns are largely left behind, giving way to rolling hills coved by endless forests of Silver Birch.  Dozens of grass fires burn unchecked, leaving a patchwork of scorched black earth across the rolling brown hills.

From time to time, the same old style wooden houses appear in townships that look so poor, clustered around abandoned factories or power stations that belch black smoke into the atmosphere.  It’s a sobering sight, seeing the conditions under which these people live. 

But perhaps these people are just as comfortable and happy as those living in ancient stone cottages in some old Italian village, a village that we would see as ‘cute ‘ and ‘appealing’.   Maybe it’s just the drab, unpainted timbers surrounded by the bleak landscape which has yet to recover from the winter snows, that gives us the impression of severe hardship.  After all, some houses even have a Satellite Dish, but somehow I feel the hardships we imagine, are real.

As the train continues through these villages we realise that most of these houses appear to rely on an old fashioned well in their back yard for their water supply.   It would appear the hardships are indeed real.

With evening approaching we arrive at Zima, home to a huge marshalling yard and railway workshops with dozens of locomotives lined up for maintenance.  The shear size of this railway network is staggering, in fact this section of track, between Zima and Moscow, reportedly has the busiest freight network of any railway in the world!

Further on we pass enormous stock piles of logs, stacked perhaps 5 or 6 meters high and stretching for a couple of kilometers !  Although it’s 10:00 pm, but still daylight, crews are still busy loading these logs onto dozens of freight cars that sit idly in the sidings awaiting locomotives to haul them away.  Over the next 24 hours we pass many more of these giant stock piles of timber.

As darkness sets in around 11:00 pm we finish our Vodka and hit the sack, but it’s not a restful night despite the creature comforts of our compartment.  The track has still to be upgraded and the train rattles and shakes it’s way across the Russian Steppes!

By 6:30 the next morning we give up any further attempt to sleep, pull back the curtains and stare out at a landscape little changed from the night before.  The sun appears over the horizon as a big red ball, trying desperately to penetrate the smoke and mist haze that hangs low over the country side.

Acres of cleared land stretch across the largely flat terrain, separated by clusters of Silver Birch.  Some of the fields are cultivated, others just huge expanses of straw colored grass, the end product of Russia’s massive logging industry.

Numerous small Stations flash past, each with the Station Master, more often than not a woman (Station Mistress?), standing ceremoniously on the platform, displaying a circular white disk.  I suspect it’s a signal to the train crew that the next section of track ahead is clear, although with today’s radios and automatic signaling I would imagine it’s more of a symbolic courtesy than a practical means of communication.  What ever the purpose, it’s as much a part of the Trans - Siberian experience as the unsmiling face of our uniformed Cabin Attendant vacuuming the corridor or tending the coal fired hot water boiler.

The whole Russian railway network runs on Moscow time, from one side of the country to the other.  Time Tables, Station clocks and all clocks on board our train display Moscow time.  I suppose it makes sense, after all, you could hardly expect Russia to operate a nation wide network of trains based on GMT !

The day passes with vistas of endless expanses of Silver Birch forests, stretching as far as the eye can see, over a landscape as flat as Australia’s Nullabor Plain.  Towns become more common and larger, but still consist mainly of old wooden houses.  

We climb steadily through hills, crossing the Yenesy River on our approach to Krasnoyarsk Pass, a city that was closed to foreigners until recent times because of its industrial significance.  The Station is large, it’s buildings impressive and well maintained, sporting a huge mural of Stalin on one wall.   A lot of the industry inspired by his generation now stands idle, the buildings slowly decaying.

As the sun swings to the west, the ‘unsmiling one ‘in the Cabin Attendants uniform comes along the corridor, closing all the curtains to keep the sun out.   Our protests about not being able to see the view are lost on deaf ears - besides, it’s her carriage and she runs it with an iron fist! 

Twice in the last 24 hours, our unsmiling host has bustled up the corridor and through the compartments wielding her vacuum cleaner with aggressive determination in her efforts to keep her private domain ‘ship shape’.  She offers us DVD’s to play in my Lap Top Computer, Key Rings and Post Cards, all in an effort to supplement her income.  I wish I could help, but I know I’d be paying a huge premium if I were to buy these items.   I politely decline and shortly after Anne tells me there are no more tissues in the toilet.  Probably just coincidence ……

At Mariinsk, another large station we stop for twenty minutes and Anne buys bread and pastries from the many vendors that line the Platform.  It’s a way of life when traveling the Long Iron Road.

 It also appears as if our Cabin Attendant has changed shifts here, for we now have a slim, brunette, the smiling one, to replace our dumpy, unsmiling blond.  And the toilet tissues suddenly re-appear….!

As the day draws to a close we head to the Dinning Car for dinner.   What greets us is totally Art-Deco, 1930’s style!   Frosted Glass panels set in chrome rods divide the booths with heavy, braided curtains hanging from the windows. 

An unsmiling waitress directs us to a booth and drops a menu on the table.  It’s written in Russian and English, with only about half the items available.   We order Fish for Anne and Beef Stroganoff for me, plus two beers and suddenly the waitress is all smiles!   We must have done something right, but have no idea what it was!

The meals are small, very small but as we’re only sitting all day, perhaps they’re adequate.  After dinner we adjourn back to our compartment and discuss the world’s problems with our traveling companions over our nightly ration of vodka.

As dusk settles, the towns and cities seem to be getting bigger.  By bed time we’ve arrived in Novosibirsk, the largest rail terminus in Siberia!  It’s very apparent that the backbone of Russia’s transportation system is its rail network and unlike a lot of abandoned industrial sites scattered across the country, the railways are very well maintained and run to precise schedules.  

There’s a three hour time change on this leg of the trip, so we hit the sack early as we head into our second night.  Besides, we had visitors and the vodka ran out!  Life on the Long Iron Road can be quite a social event.

We awake early the next morning to be greeted by a grey, overcast sky and light rain showers.   It’s only 5:00 am but the sun is up somewhere, hiding behind the clouds.  The train is traveling fast, on good track and it’s a relatively smooth ride.  Sometime through the night there’s been a shift change and the dumpy, unsmiling one has regained control of our carriage.

The landscape is largely flat with occasional towns but mainly it’s just huge expanses of open fields, broken up by groves of Silver Birch that go on and on forever.   Cultivated fields stretch to the horizon, the deep furrows of dark brown soil looking like soft rolls of corduroy draped over the plains.

Spring has arrived early here, the grass is lush and the trees have developed their new coats of light green leaves.  It’s a pretty sight in the half light of early morning.

At 5:50 am we pull into another nameless Station, already busy with people setting up market stalls, with vendors on the platform hoping to pick up some early trade.  The town looks more developed than those seen yesterday.  Houses are more substantial with a larger proportion made of brick and cement, and the back yard Wells appear far less frequently.

An hour or so later the clouds lift.   The carriage slowly comes back to life as people begin a new day, shuffling down the corridor to the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, gathering hot water for coffee, or heading to the Dinning Car for breakfast.  The trolley girls start pushing their wares through the carriages, selling drinks and pastries.  It’s become a familiar pattern.  In many ways, traveling the Long Iron Road is a bit like camping out!

Throughout this section of the journey, the train races across massive steel bridges spanning many of Russia’s mighty rivers, all of which flow north to dump their huge volumes of fresh water into the Arctic Sea.  The only exception is the mighty Volga, which flows south into the Caspian Sea.

Occasionally we pass local cemeteries with brightly painted fences marking off the various plots, decorated with large tombstones and Russian Orthodox Crosses.  Floral tributes adorn many of the graves and some even have ‘picnic tables’ and benches painted in the ever popular Aqua Blue, permanently set up within their fenced enclosures.

Just after 11:00 am we arrive in the City of Tyumen.     Although there’s still a scattering of old wooden houses in the suburbs, the City itself is largely multi-story office and apartment blocks and is a major centre for oil and gas.   After a twenty minute stop we’re on our way again on the final leg of this stage of the trip.  It’s a four and a half hour run to our destination, Ekaterinberg.

We arrive on schedule, just over 50 hours after leaving Irkutsk and head straight to our Hotel for a shower!  None of us are too surprised to learn our Hotel was once the home of the KGB.  What was surprising was the fact that the whole second floor was ‘missing’!

From the outside one could easily think it was only a four story building, but the Lift had Buttons for Floors 1,3,4 and 5.  So then we tried the Stair Well.  The Second Floor is there alright but hidden away behind tightly locked heavy steel doors!  

And it’s been that way since the building was renovated for present day use.   It’s an intriguing introduction to Ekaterinberg and one for which no explanation was ever offered.

It’s just another of those cultural experiences on the Long Iron Road.

THE LONG IRON ROAD, by BJ (Episode 6) (3rd June '06)

The City of Irkutsk is home to some 700,000 people and straddles the Angara River, the only river that drains nearby Lake Baikal.

We’ve arrived early in the morning from Ulaan Batar Mongolia, and after quickly refreshing in our Hotel, we head out for a walking tour of the city, but the weather is bitterly cold.  A temperature of only + 5C is reduced further by the chilling effects of a gusty northerly wind and occasional snow flurries.

The City is considered to be the ‘Paris of Siberia’ and is a show place for the classic old style wooden houses of the region.  Built more than 100 years ago, these beautiful old structures with highly decorative window frames and eaves, are dotted through out the City. 

Largely constructed on an unstable land mass above a natural underground water reserve, their inadequate foundations have resulted in  most of them slowly subsiding below street level.  The window sills of some ground floor windows are now flush with the footpath and yet most of these houses are still occupied. 

Built before the advent of plumbing, residents of these old wooden houses relied on hand operated pumps, scattered throughout  the surrounding streets, for their only water supply.  Buckets would be filled and carried back inside the houses, regardless of the weather. 

This practice, which has been going on for more than one hundred years, can still be seen today.  Just like a picture from a history book, little old ladies dressed mostly in black, can still be seen today struggling back to their sinking, wooden houses, under the weight of two large buckets of water obtained from the local pump. 

But the City also has it’s trendy shops, bustling markets, museums and churches.   Pedestrian malls are full of well dressed people shopping for everything from mobile phones to Nike shoes.  Mini skirts with long leather boots mounted on crazy stiletto heels are popular with the younger women, some classically Russian with long blond hair, others sporting brilliant copper coloured red hair which seems to be the current fashion.

The following morning we depart Irkutsk by bus for Lake Baikal, some 65 kilometers to the Southeast.   The drive takes us along the shores of the Angara River, through the newer housing estates, where large, modern brick homes are being constructed.   There is obviously money here but only for the minority. 

But we’re soon in the country, traveling  through huge  forests of Silver Birch, their black spotted white trunks a common sight in Siberia.  We stop briefly at the Wood Carving Museum, where early wooden houses have been preserved along with a collection of reconstructed replicas of old churches and military forts.  It’s gives us an insight into the life styles of both early settlers and present day villages in this part of the world.

Lake Baikal, 450 metres above sea level, is the second largest lake in the world, next to the Caspian Sea and holds some 20 percent of the worlds fresh water.  Over six hundred kilometers long and averaging 50 kilometers wide, the lake is in excess of 1,600 metres deep, making it the deepest lake in the world.    More than 300 rivers and streams feed the lake which supports a huge variety of marine life.

Completely frozen during winter, the ice had only broken up some two weeks before our arrival although traces of it still remained in places.  Opposite us, on the Eastern shores, a wide expanse of this ice could still be seen in the distance, backed by snow capped mountains that rise to over 2,000 metres.

We travel to the small community of Listvyanka, near the mouth of the Angara River, where we stay overnight in a local Chalet.  The town has become a popular summer holiday destination for locals from Irkutsk as well as tourists, catered for by numerous Chalets. 

The township is old and generally run down, with old wooden houses displaying their brightly colored window frames.  These ornately carved window frames, so common on these wooden houses are considered to be status symbols - the more ornate, the higher the status.  It’s no wonder the frames are painted whilst the rest of the house is left bare.

We enjoy a relaxing evening stroll through the village, a visit to the markets and an early night.

The next morning we head back to Irkutsk for lunch before making preparations for our afternoon departure by train for Ekaterinberg.  The Station is neat and well organized and we have little trouble making our way to Platform 5 for the 4.25 pm train. 

Anne and I have a two berth (First Class) compartment with a “Mini-Bar”, pictures and mirrors on the w