Into the Aravallis
Pushkar to Udaipur, 3rd - 6th November
Pushkar was crammed with tourists. Like Rishikesh, the old centre had lots of shops selling souvenirs and handicrafts, and half the restaurants and cafes had boards outside advertising Israeli food to attract the post-conscription crowd. The mela had brought in hundreds of thousands of people and some streets were like walking through a concert crowd. The designated mela ground was thankfully more spacious; I walked at least a kilometre to reach the camel trading area. There were lots of hawkers, with food, jewellery, clothing, tattoos and souvenirs aplenty.
My expectations of a field full of camels, however, were disappointed. There might have been hundreds of camels there a few days before, but only a handful were left. Apparently the unseasonal rains had made the exposed camels sick and they'd been sold in a rush, with only the least desirable camels still remaining. There were maybe twenty still there - not much more impressive than the group I'd seen on the road. That was a bit disappointing, but I bonded over it with a middle aged Dutch couple as we walked around together. It was interesting to see the experience they got of India as white travellers - every hawker would specifically target them, random people would walk up asking for money, and any interaction might turn into a sales pitch. I'm very thankful for my ability to blend into the crowds here in comparison, and I think that even when I've told people about my background they usually perceive me more as a fellow Indian who's been successful than as a foreigner to extract money from.
I left the mela grounds after sunset, satisfied that I'd seen everything. I even did a bit of consumerism, buying a light jumper for the cold Rajasthan evenings (I have to remind myself that it is actually November). The British tourists I'd met in Jaipur were staying near me, and we spent a quiet evening in their hostel cafe. It's nice to spend time with fellow travellers, chatting with people from home and letting my metaphorical hair down in terms of my English. Indian English is a very particular language subset and accent, and I usually don't get the opportunity to speak in my natural accent and speech patterns unless I'm on the phone home. I actually think my British English is rusting a little from lack of practice, with some Indian English phrasing sneaking in.
Leaving Pushkar, I wanted to head along the Aravallis to Udaipur. The most obvious route would be following National Highway 58, and I was more than a little nervous about what that experience would be like. It's absolutely no fun riding all day on a road full of trucks blaring their "musical" horns right next to your ears as they overtake you. For my first day, at least, I avoided it, taking a slightly roundabout route through Peesangan to Beawar. The backroads were pretty smooth, and despite leaving late I made it in good time. Reaching Beawar, however, I had some new problems. First, I came to an abrupt halt near a roundabout as I felt something in my back wheel, and discovered it was a long piece of wood. I hadn't spotted anyone throwing anything, and I choose to believe that it had somehow entered my spokes by accident. A little shaken, I headed to the cheap hotel I'd earmarked, but discovered that they didn't want to accept a foreign guest because they'd have to deliver a paperwork form to the police station in person. This hadn't been a problem for me before, perhaps because staff had been willing to accept my OCI card as proof of Indianness or just happy to bend the rules a bit.
Beawar, apparently, was more of a rule-following kind of place. I tried to find a dharamshala for a while, but gave up after several kilometres of wild-goose chasing. A bit annoyed, I called a more expensive hotel (advertising around 3,000rs) and got the price knocked down to 2,000. Still double the 1,000 I'd been aiming for, but they were happy to do the foreigner paperwork and I'd be on the comfort of a hotel room as opposed to a dharamshala. Comfort was entirely the right word, as it turned out to be a super plush room. There was a shower with seemingly unlimited hot water at a good pressure, and a glass door separating it from the rest of the bathroom. The room itself was good, too - clean, spacious, etc - but the shower was what I really cared about. The adjustable height clamp even worked. I was in love.
From there, it was time to join National Highway 58 and see just how bad the honking trucks would be. In a lovely turn of events, though, they were hardly even present. The road was shockingly empty for a national highway, and the smooth tarmac let me cover distance really easily. I suppose the trucks must be taking another route, or perhaps just don't come to this part of the state. It was smooth sailing and I covered 85km despite some long breaks. On NH58, I realised, the roadside provides all you need. Villages along the way will have the small shops and dhabas I've become used to, and the highway is where the more posh establishments reside. Resorts, themed cafes, and regular restaurants line the tarmac as their own isolated plots. It's the opposite of what I'd expect from a European point of view, but I see how it would happen here. Towns and villages don't have the kind of public space that's nice to spend time in - squares, pavements, etc - and the streets can be noisy and smelly, so the fancier places are found where there's land available to make their own oases, and where there's more 'footfall', which is the highway. Private development fills the middle-class comfort niche that it's hopeless to expect from public spaces (see also: malls). It's slightly sad, and, telling a friend about this, I was reminded that it's not just a developing-country phenomenon: "sounds like America".
The next couple of days continued down NH58, with long days in the saddle punctuated with roadside restaurants. The Aravalli range stayed on my right, and while I avoided crossing into them I did get a bit of elevation myself. I think the challenge of a little hill is good for me; flat riding gets depressingly monotonous. There's some kind of parallel there about life: you need a bit of a struggle to give you the feeling of making progress and achieving something. A bit of elevation also usually means the landscape is prettier, with less human development and farming. I loved looking around at the scrubland, with more and more lakes appearing, and plenty of bird life. Weirdly, it reminded me of the Scottish highlands - hills, scrub, and huge cows. Then you remember the weather and the fauna, and reality reasserts itself.
I made a stop in the town of Rajsamand and managed to see the lake before sunset. I'd been hoping to see some more flamingos there, but apparently they only come in late December. Still very pretty, and I got myself a room in the town. Annoyingly, I discovered the next morning that I had a puncture, and I realised it was my first one in India. In fact, I haven't had a puncture since... the beginning of the trip? It's quite possible I've forgotten one, but that's a great track record. I'm still on the same Schwalbe Marathon tires I left London with and clearly they've served me well. Maintenance there has just been pumping the tyres, changing a tube which I think had a bent valve, and swapping the front and rear tyres around. I did unfortunately have to replace a fractured rear rim after Scotland, but that's probably my own fault for under-pumping.
The ride from Rajsamand to Udaipur took me past Nathdwara and the fourth biggest statue in the world, a statue of Shiva. I saw it from a distance (it's hard to miss) but didn't bother leaving the highway to see it up close. When I get to Gujarat, I'll see the tallest statue in the world, the Statue of Unity, so the fourth-tallest is no big deal. Besides, seeing it from a distance already conveyed an immense sense of size. Craning my neck directly upwards might not add that much.
The traffic got more irritating and loud as I continued down the final stretch of NH58 to Udaipur, but thankfully this coincided with a long descent from the hills, letting me freewheel much of the way. Being on the highway, I got the privilege of tunnels blasted through the hills. Those are a thrilling experience: dead scared of a truck slamming into you in the dark, you go as fast as you can along the side while trying not to hit the catseyes and keeping an eye in the rear-view mirror. I hadn't attached my rear light, so improvised some extra visibility by holding my bright front light in my hand and shining it alternately on my rear and front panniers. Combined with all my reflective materials and my white helmet, it was probably not necessary, but it made me feel safer. I genuinely enjoy these tunnel experiences, at least in small doses, and they come with some beautiful views too. I was brought back to my time in Serbia in the summer, which I guess is the last time I had tunnels like this.
I finally left NH58 once I got past the hills surrounding Udaipur, and navigated the smaller streets and hills to reach the central lake, Pichola, where my hostel was located. One of the British tourists who I'd met in Jaipur and Pushkar, Tilly, had recommended this place and I was glad to have followed the recommendation. I had initially been swayed by the promise of curtains on my bunkbed, but the real special feature was the location: right on the lake, with a rooftop cafe for beautiful views. I caught the sunset and also caught Tilly, who had been in Udaipur for a couple of days and was about to get a 16-hour bus to Rishikesh. It's satisfying to have made it to three different cities and seen the same people along the way, even if briefly. I was also immediately welcomed into the hostel rooftop social circle (my reputation having preceded me), which would set me up well for the next few days in Udaipur. It's a beautiful city and I planned to take a little break here - no cycling, just lots of stairs. It would also be nice to see some nature nearby before leaving the Aravallis behind on my way south to Gujarat.
