Thursday 28 February 2019

Ahmedabad (2), A Stepwell, Gandhi and a Thali: Gujarat Part 2

Gujarat: The What, Where, When and Who

India
Gujarat

This post covers day 2 of a 14-day journey around Gujarat, following our circuit of Rajasthan last year. Smaller than Rajasthan, Gujarat is about the size of the Island of Great Britain and has much the same population.

5,000 years ago, Gujarat was a centre of the Indus Valley civilization and subsequently played its part in most of the major north Indian empires. When Islamic invaders reached northern India in the 9th century Gujarat held out until 1300 when it became part of the Delhi Sultanate.

Our trip round Gujarat was hardly the neat circuit of the Rajasthan tour, and we did make variations to the plan mapped out here, but if we did not see everything the state has to offer, we saw as much as anyone could in the time available.

An independent Muslim sultan seized power in 1391and Gujarat maintained its independence until becoming part of the Mughal Empire in the 16th century and later the British Empire, though local rulers of a patchwork of Princely States retained considerable autonomy. At independence in 1947 Gujarat was part of the State of Bombay, becoming a state in its own right in 1960.

With a long coast line facing the Arabian sea, Gujaratis have been seafarers and international traders for millennia.

Gujarat is the home state of both Mahatma Gandhi and the current Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi.

-o0o0o-

Adalaj Vav, a Jain Temple, Sabarmarti Ashram and Vegetarian Delights

Waking refreshed and largely adjusted to the new time zone, we enjoyed a good Indian breakfast. Vijay arrived on time and we set off for Adalaj.

The Adalaj Stepwell

Adalaj is 20km north of Ahmedabad, just far enough beyond the urban sprawl to be a separate small town. Its main attraction is a 15th century stepwell (vav in Gujarati). Stepwells are usually ponds rather than wells, constructed in semi-arid regions to collect the water of the monsoon rains. Over 120 were built in Gujarat alone between the 4th and 19th centuries, serving as stopovers for caravans and venues for festivals as well as providing for local needs.

Many are utilitarian, but we had previously seen fine examples at Hampi in Karnatika and Bundi in Rajasthan so thought we knew what to expect. Adalaj Vav was like nothing we had seen before.

Set in its own small park, there is little to see from above…

The Adalaj stepwell from above

…but once you step down from the entrance everything changes.

Entering the Adalaj stepwell

There are five storeys...

Descending the Adalaj stepwell

...of finely carved pillars and beams…

Fine carving in Adalaj stepwell

….until you reach water level where you can look up to see the sky, but not down to see the water as that has been covered for safety.

Adalaj stepwell, looking up from the bottom

The Story of the Beautiful and Virtuous Queen Rudabai

The well is credited to the beautiful Queen Rudabai (spellings vary) and there is a legend behind it. Like the story of Queen Padmini at Chittorgarh Rudabai is valued mainly for looks, and again the virtuous and beautiful woman ends up dead. Despite the problems, I enjoy these tales (sorry).

In the late 14th century, Rudabai’s husband Rana Veer Singh ruled over the small Hindu kingdom of Dandai Desh. To alleviate the endemic water shortages, he began work on a large stepwell at Adalaj.

Before the project was completed, Dandai Desh was invaded and occupied by Mohammed Begada, the Muslim ruler of a neighbouring kingdom. (I presume that 'Mohammed' Begada and Mahmud Begada who was Sultan of Gujarat 1458-1511 and built the tank we saw at Sarkej Rosa yesterday are one and the same). Veer Singh was killed and Queen Rudabai attempted to perform sati and join her husband in death. However, Mohammed Begada hated to see an attractive woman go to waste, so stopped her and proposed marriage.

Rudabai agreed to marry him provided he completed the stepwell. Besotted by her beauty, Begada built the well in record time, and started planning the wedding. But Rudabai’s only desire had been to see the completion of her husband’s work; she walked once round the completed well, prayed to the gods and jumped to her death.

Fine carving even on the watchman's booth, Adalaj stepwell

There may be a flicker of truth in the story, but little more. If the well was built at speed to facilitate Mahmud Begada getting his hands on Rudabai, why bother with so much decoration?

Hutheesing Jain Temple

We returned to Ahmedabad and stopped at the Hutheesing Jain Temple (spellings vary, our itinerary had two different spellings in one sentence) dedicated to Lord Dharmanatha, the 15th Jain Tirthankara, and started in 1848. It was planned and financed by wealthy local trader Shet Hutheesing Kesarisinh at the instigation of his wife, though she sadly died with only a ceremonial foundation stone laid. Hutheesing persevered with the temple and remarried but died shortly afterwards. His new widow Shethani Harkunvar took over, supervised the construction and brought his first wife's dream to fruition. It makes a pleasant change to have an Indian story where a woman is more than just decoration.

Hutheesing Jain Temple, Ahmedabad

Outside is a Kirti Stambh or tower of victory. Forgetting Jains’ pacifist beliefs, I foolishly asked Vijay which victory it commemorated. ‘The Victory of Truth’ he replied. It is a typical Jain tower, the design having changed little over the centuries. We saw two very similar towers in Chittorgarh fort last year, one a 12th century tower beside a Jain temple, the other 15th century and built by a Hindu ruler who co-opted the idea to celebrate a military victory.

Kirti Stambh, Hutheesing Temple, Ahmedabad

The rectangular temple compound is much bigger than it appears in the photograph. We walked round the courtyard looking at the 52 shrines and ended up observing a service in the centre; the faithful having gathered to pray for peace between India and Pakistan. Prayers were offered, there was chanting and much throwing of rice and pouring of milk. After the Indian Air Force strike against a terrorist training camp inside Pakistan on Monday, and a subsequent retaliation by the Pakistanis their actions were appropriate. Ahmedabad is not far from Pakistan, and within the next ten days we would come very much closer to the border, so we had personal as well humanitarian motives for hoping for peace.

Photographs were not permitted inside the temple, so here is a picture of a squirrel instead. Cute isn't it - I like the way its tale is camouflaged against the tree.

Squirrel oustide the Hutheesing Temple, Ahmedabad

The Sabarmarti Ashram

A short drive across the Sabarmarti River took us to the Sabarmarti Ashram where The Mahatma Gandhi lived from 1918 until 1930.

The Mahatma Gandhi

We first visited the recently built museum which tells the story of his life through quotes, original documents, photographs and paintings.

Ghandi in the Sabramarti Ashram museum

Mohindas K Gandhi was born in Porbandar on the Gujarat coast in 1869. After finishing high school in Ahmedabad, he studied law at University College London and at the Inner Temple where he was called to the bar in 1891. In 1893 he went to work in South Africa, joined the struggle for civil rights and first became involved in non-violent civil disobedience. Returning to India in 1915, he organised protests by peasants, farmers, and labourers against excessive taxes, becoming leader of the Indian National Congress in 1921. Congress gradually increased its demands until, in 1930, its aim became full Indian independence.

Gandhi as a law student in London, photo in public domain, sourced from Wikipedia

In the same year Gandhi led the great Dandi Salt March. The 400km 24-day mass protest against the British imposition of a salt tax started from the Sabarmarti Ashram and finished at the village of Dandi in the Navsari district of southern Gujarat (see map at start).

Gandhi campaigning, Sabramarti Ashram museum

Gandhi's Life at the Ashram


The ashram consists of a number of small buildings housing Gandhi, his followers and guests

Sabramarti Ashram

Hriday Kunj, where Gandhi and his wife Kasturbai lived and worked…

Hriday Kunj, Sabramarti Ashram

… is a simple six room bungalow built round a courtyard.

Inside Hriday Kunj, Sabarmarti Ashram

Gandhi’s original writing desk and charkha (the wheel on which he spun the yarn for his own clothes) are kept there.

Gandhi's writing desk and charkha, Hriday Kunj, Sabamarti Ashram

Morning and evening prayers were held at the open air Upasana Mandir, now a place to let sleeping dogs lie.

Upsana Mandir, Sabarmarti Ashram

The ashram’s peaceful atmosphere made it easy to forget that we were still in an urban setting and the backdrop across the Sabarmarti river was a jarring reminder.

Gandhi spinning cloth in the 1920s. Picture in public domain, sourced from Wikipedia

Gujarati Thali

Gandhi was noted for his abstemiousness. Sadly, the same cannot be said of me; I lack the self-discipline; indeed I do not want that self-discipline. This is only one of the reasons my lifetime’s achievements do not match up to Gandhi’s, but at least I can have a good lunch. (as Orson Welles said ‘Ask not what you can do for your country, ask what’s for lunch’)*.

Gandhi was a vegetarian – like the vast majority in Gujarat – and we rarely ate meat during our Gujarati sojourn (indeed it was rarely available). Vijay divided the local cuisine into two traditions, ‘Kathiawari’ which originates from Gujarat’s large hook-shaped western peninsula and tends towards fieriness and ‘Gujarati’ which leans towards sweetness. He recommended Gujarati thali as the best introduction and dropped us at an appropriate restaurant.

We have been fans of the south Indian thali since our first visit to India. We have eaten North Indian thali in Delhi, which had fewer dishes, some with meat – thalis are generally vegetarian – and lacked the subtlety. We saw Rajasthani thali on several menus last year, but my only attempt to order it produced dal-baati-churma, undoubtedly Rajasthani comfort food, but not a thali.

Gujarati thali, Ahmedabad
We were a little early (12.30). In the next half hour all these tables were filled and thalis were flying out of the kitchen

Gujarati thali looks like a southern thali, the rice, chapattis and poppadums similarly replenished ad lib. It is though sweeter, two of the dishes we would have called ‘desserts’ – and they brought round a tray of desserts as well – and others had lurking, low key sweetness. Although less fiery than in the south, the spicing was equally subtle and varied. We enjoyed it very much, though I doubt I would ordinarily chose a lunch with three desserts.

Around the Sidi Saiyyed Mosque

We returned to the hotel and had a nap during the hottest part of the day – hopefully the final adjustment to our new time zone.

Refreshed we wandered out to look at the Sidi Saiyyed Mosque which sits on a traffic island opposite the hotel. The mosque, which is completely open-sided, was built 1572/3 in the last days of the Gujarat Sultanate before it was absorbed into the Mughal Empire. It is famed for its ten latticework windows (jalis) in the arches at the back and sides.

Sidi Saiyyid Mosque, Ahmedabad

All contain complex geometric patterns, but the most famous and intricate jali, a Tree of Life, has become the unofficial symbol the city.

Tree of Life jali, Sidi Saiyyid Mosque, Ahmedabad

We took a stroll round because there is always something to see on India’s (too often litter-strewn) streets.

The streets of Ahmedabad

Walking in the road is the norm, the pavements are usually filled with parked motorbikes, blocked by dozing bovines, colonised by stalls selling food, underwear, stationary, whatever or are just too uneven.

The streets of Ahmedabad

Ahmedabad Evening Food Market

We had visited the market yesterday and Vijay had suggested staying until it turned into a food market around 7.30, but we had been too tired after our overnight flight. Feeling better today, we had discussed an evening visit. Vijay immediately volunteered to accompany us. We would have felt guilty dragging him from the bosom of his family, but we knew he lived in Bhavnagar 170km to the south, so he had already been dragged.

Wandering back into the city’s old centre we found part of it laid like a Chinese night market, though in dry Gujarat the ‘beer girls’ who are a feature of Chinese night markets were conspicuously absent.

Ahmedabad food market

Vijay asked if we wanted to eat. A snack would be in order after our sizable lunch, but eating in a market like this in India, where hygiene standards are not always the highest, would generally be considered a risk. On the other hand, we reasoned, guides tend to be risk averse on this topic, so if it was his suggestion it must be alright.

We settled for stuffed masala dosas. Dosas are made from fermented rice flour, so they are a bread of sorts, the stuffing was mashed potato. I really do not want to think about a mashed potato sandwich, but this was delightful, the dosa meltingly thin, the potato so skilfully spiced it did not feel like wading through an ocean of carbohydrate – though it was. And there were pickles and chutney and a glass of buttermilk. The buttermilk on supermarket shelves at home is, I read, a cultured product that has never met a pat of butter, but this was the real thing, the liquid remaining after the churning of butter.

Vijay and Lynne with their stuffed dosas

We bought ice creams on the way back. Well, at 25p each it seemed churlish to refuse.

I am happy to report we suffered no adverse effects. We discovered later, when we came to know him better, that Vijay had suggested eating there on the assumption that we would say ‘no’ and was very surprised when we didn’t. The more we visit India and other south Asian countries the more resistant we seem to be to ‘stomach upsets’ (and that statement is a horrible hostage to fortune!), but we took similar risks throughout this trip without any problems.

*Less flippantly JRR Tolkien once wrote If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world, a sentiment I whole-heartedly endorse.

Wednesday 27 February 2019

Ahmedabad (1) Liquor Licences, Mosques and Tombs: Gujarat Part 1

Gujarat: The What, Where, When and Who

India
Gujarat

This post covers day 1 of a 14-day journey around Gujarat, following our circuit of Rajasthan last year. Smaller than Rajasthan, Gujarat is about the size of the Island of Great Britain and has much the same population.

5,000 years ago, Gujarat was a centre of the Indus Valley civilization and subsequently played its part in most of the major north Indian empires. When Islamic invaders reached northern India in the 9th century Gujarat held out until 1300 when it became part of the Delhi Sultanate.

Our trip round Gujarat was hardly the neat circuit of the Rajasthan tour, and we did make variations to the plan mapped out here, but if we did not see everything the state has to offer, we saw as much as anyone could in the time available.

An independent Muslim sultan seized power in 1391 and Gujarat maintained its independence until becoming part of the Mughal Empire in the 16th century and later the British Empire, though local rulers of a patchwork of Princely States retained considerable autonomy. At independence in 1947 Gujarat was part of the State of Bombay, becoming a state in its own right in 1960.

With a long coast line facing the Arabian sea, Gujaratis have been seafarers and international traders for millennia.

Gujarat is the home state of both Mahatma Gandhi and the current Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi.

-o0o0o-

Ahmedabad: The Former Capital of Gujarat and a Huge but Little Known City

We touched down in Ahmedabad at 3 am. That is 9.30 pm GMT, a time we might normally expect to be reasonably alert but after 17 hours on the road we were anything but. Ahmedabad has 5.6m citizens making it Gujarat’s largest city and India’s 5th largest, ahead of Kolkata (Calcutta) and Chennai (Madras)*. Unfortunately, I was too tired to gain any meaningful first impression of this little-known metropolis as we drove through the dark, but not exactly quiet streets to the House of MG where we checked in and went to bed.

The House of MG, Ahmedabad

The huge and handsome House of MG sits on a T-junction of busy roads in Ahmedabad’s Old City, on the north bank of the Subramati River. Built in the first decade of the 20th century as a home for businessman and philanthropist Mangaldas Girdhardas, the house was restored in the 1990s and converted into an 18-room heritage hotel.

The House of MG hides behind peaceful gardens at a busy intersection, Ahmedabad

Our room, lined with Girdhardas family photographs, was large, comfortable and (wi-fi, flat screen television, and air-con apart) in keeping with the period of the House.

Our room at the House of MG, Ahmedabad

The door was locked by an electronic gizmo which noiselessly clenched it tight the instant it closed and was released by a button inside or by waving a card at the key pad outside. This is hardly ground-breaking in the 21st century (we live in the future!) but I mention it because i) it was entirely at odds with the rest of the room's electrics and  ii) our boarding at Dubai had been delayed 20mins as the electronic door between gate and plane had resolutely refused to recognise anyone’s card.

The switch panel in our room, House of MG, Ahmedabad

Awake and refreshed, we lunched in the hotel’s Green House Restaurant (so much cooler than the Greenhouse Restaurant) on fried bhajis, fried gram flour balls and, because I insisted on something that had not been fried, steamed cubes of fermented rice with mustard seeds and sesame – they were an error.

The Green House Restaurant, House of MG, Ahmedabad

How to Get a Drink in Dry Gujarat

After lunch we met Digvijaysinh (Vijay), who along with driver L, would accompany us for the next fortnight. But before we set off to explore Ahmedabad, we had a job to do. Gujarat was the home state of Mahatma Gandhi who was born in the port city of Porbandar in 1869. As well as campaigning for Indian Home rule, he was a champion of temperance, and out of respect for his wishes his home state has enforced prohibition since 1961. Fortunately there is a loop-hole for visitors.

Armed with passports, a letter from the House of MG stating we were temporary residents, used boarding passes to prove we had just arrived, driving licences to show we had a permanent address outside Gujarat and a phone so they could email us a password, we presented ourselves at a small office with blacked-out windows beneath the Comfort Hotel just south of the river. We had hoped to acquire a liquor permit each, but discovered our hotel, with effortless and unconscious sexism, only mentioned me in their letter. After 30 minutes wrestling with the intricacies of Indian bureaucracy I signed the big green ‘Naughty Boys Book’ and was handed my permit.

My Gujarat Liquor Permit (with a ouple of redactions for the sake of my privacy)

This allowed me to buy two ‘units’ of alcohol immediately and two more in ten days’ time - a ‘unit’ being 1 bottle of spirits, 3 bottles of wine or 12 litres of beer. We would have liked a beer with our dinner, but drinking in Gujarat must be done in private not at a restaurant table, so we settled for a daily nightcap.

The Liquor Store, its windows forbiddingly blacked out, was next door. My permit was examined, I signed another big green book and was permitted to enter, but only alone. Inside was a well-stocked drinks shop; for a price they had major brands of most drinks, even a selection of single malts. Local spirits were cheaper (£10-£12) and I chose a bottle of Old Monk rum, distilled in Chennai, and a whisky. Like most south Asian whiskies it was a locally distilled grain spirit blended with a dollop of Scottish malt and equipped with a fancy Scottish name. There are several variations of the name Macintosh (McIntosh, MacKintosh etc) but this was the first time I had seen it spelt with a Q!

MaQintosh Premium Whisky and Old Monk Rum

Drinks safely acquired we set off for Sarkhej Rosa.

Sarkhej Roza

A roza is a mosque and tomb complex, and Sarkhej, a village of weavers and indigo-dyers before the urban sprawl consumed it, is home to Gujarat’s most revered roza.

Sarkhej Roza, Ahmedabad

Gujarat was absorbed into the Delhi Sultanate around 1300. A century later, when Delhi fell to Timur (Tamerlane) the local governor took the opportunity to declare himself the first Sultan of Gujarat. His son Sultan Ahmed Shah (ruled 1411 to 1442) was influenced by the Sufi saint Shaikh Ahmed Ganj Baksh who lived at Sarkhej. The saint suggested Ahmed Shah build his capital nearby on the banks of the Subramati, which he did, modestly naming it after himself (though Vijay pronounced it Arm-uh-bad).

Ganj Baksh died in 1445, aged 111 (allegedly), and Ahmed’s successor and eldest son Mohammed Shah built a tomb for him at Sarkhej. Designed by Persian architects the complex blends Islamic styles with local Hindu and Jain features, creating possibly the first Indo-Saracenic building, a style later developed by the Mughals and culminating in the Taj Mahal

The mausoleum of Ganj Bash, Sarkhej Roza
Shoes may not be warn, the white painted path reflects the heat, otherwise the stones in direct sunshine would be too hot to walk on

Vijay, a devout Hindu, bowed his head to the Sufi saint in a moment of silence while I just gawped.

The tomb of Ganj Baksh, Sarkhej Roza

But not everybody was allowed in, indeed half the human race are considered unworthy. Lynne was unimpressed.

Some of those who had to remain outside and the man who guards the entrance, Sarkhej Roza

Later in the century Sultan Mahmud Begada excavated a 7ha tank, though it no longer contains any water…

Mahmud Begada's tank, Sarkhej Roza

….and he, his sons and queen are buried across the courtyard...

The tomb of Mahmud Begada and his family, Sarkhej Roza

...in tombs of their own,…

The last resting place of Mahmud Begada and his sons, Sarkhej Roza

…the sexes separated in death by a cavern of gloomy elegance.

Inside the tomb of the Mahmud Begada family, Sarkhej Roza

Crossing the courtyard, we were stopped and asked for a photograph, and then another and another. Vijay obliged with their cameras, and we asked him to take some for us too. This often happens where foreigners are an exotic rarity, and as we were still in Ahmedabad, European faces would, we expected, be uncommon throughout Gujarat.

One of several families requiring a photograph, Sarkhej Roza

The mosque is in adjacent courtyard. It has a huge open space…

The courtyard to Sarkhej Roza mosque

….with a pillared entrance to a closed prayer hall, but there was little else to see.

Outside the prayer hall, Sarkhej Roza mosque

After the tank was built Sarkhej became a favourite retreat of the royal family. Two palaces were built on the far side of the tank, though they are little more than ruins.

The palaces opposite Sarkhej Roza are mainly ruined, but some parts are still impressive

The view back to Mahmud Begada’s mausoleum has a backdrop of tower blocks, the thirsty urban scene explaining where the water for the tank has gone.

The thirsty tower blocks of Ahemedabad and the empty tank of Sarkhej Roza

Ahmedabad’s Old Centre

We drove back into town…

Driving back to central Ahmedabad

…dropped the car at the hotel and walked into the old centre of Ahmedabad, a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The Bhadra fort and parts of the old city wall can only be glimpsed through the clutter of the market.

Ahmedabad's old square

It was not an easy walk, tuk-tuks and motorcycles forced their way through the pedestrian throng, the cacophony of horns as they attempted to clear their paths just adding to the confusion.

Pushing on through the market, Ahmedabad

We passed a shop front restaurant, the benches outside filled with a selection of Ahmedabad’s more ragged citizens. We had hitherto encountered the usual quota of beggars, and Vijay had been adamant we should give nothing, but here he paused. ‘That is where you should give to the poor,’ he said (these may not have been his exact words), ‘they feed the needy as donations come in.

The poor waiting to be fed, Ahmedabad

I approached the man sitting at the entrance and fished out a 100 rupee note. He made a signal to the people on the benches and the first ten filed forward and sat in the gloom around the wall behind him. At this point I would have preferred to move on but Vijay told me to wait. The man scooped up a mixture of rice, lentils and vegetables (the vast majority of Gujaratis, Vijay included, are vegetarians) and offered the plate to me, insisting I touch the rim before it was passed to the first customer. I had to similarly bless the second before being allowed to go. So, ten people received a small but wholesome meal for 10 Rupees (£0.11p, €0.12, $0.13) each.

So how did it make me feel? I felt ashamed, ashamed that I had stood and watched people being fed with my loose change, ashamed that I had left others still sitting and waiting when I had given so little. I felt perplexed by the values of a world which had given me so much and them so little and confused that to some I have wealth beyond imagining, yet do not consider myself a rich man. India can be challenging - and it is good to be challenged.

Jama Masjid, Ahmedabad’s Friday Mosque

Leaving our shoes at the mosque entrance we entered a large colonnaded courtyard with a central wudu.

Courtyard, Jama Masjid, Ahmedabad

Our walk towards the prayer hall was accompanied by the dusk call to prayer, but we would have time for a look round before those with a more serious purpose arrived.

Prayer hall, Jama Masjid, Ahmedabad

The mosque was built in 1424 by Sultan Ahmed Shah I, the founder of the city so it is slightly earlier than Sarkhej Roza. The elaborate entrance to the prayer hall features a hanging ornamental arch between the slender inner pillars, a decoration we had not seen before but is, we would discover, very common in Gujurati religious architecture, whether Muslim, Jain or Hindu.

Prayer hall entrance, Jama Masjid, Ahmedabad

Lynne was not allowed inside, which neither surprised nor pleased her, though there was actually little to see and photography was unwelcome. Vijay and I were asked to leave after only a short look. ‘These people are volunteers,’ he said, ‘and sometimes become a little over-enthusiastic.’ I found Vijay’s ability to always see the best in people refreshing.

Worshippers were now arriving in numbers. Washing before prayers is important, so in addition to the central wudu there was a line of taps along part of the colonnade. The sight of thirty men engaged in communal foot-washing was unusual to our western eyes – and slightly amusing.

Communal foot-washing, Jama Masjid, Ahmedabad

Wandering through the Streets of Ahmedabad’s Old City

In the run-down streets outside….

Outside the Jama Masjid, Ahmedabad

….we found the mausoleum of Ahmed Shah and the son and grandson who succeeded him. The tombs are well looked after, but the location makes you wonder if anyone really cares. And if that is true for the Sultans it is doubly true for their wives entombed nearby.

The tomb of Sultan Ahmed Shah and his successors, Ahmedabad

We continued our walk through the old city, pausing at the sugar cane crusher. A handful of canes are passed through the crusher three or four times, a couple of lemons being folded in on the second pass...

Our sugar cane look well crushed, Ahmedabad

...to make a refreshing drink, the sweetness balanced by the lemon’s acidity.

Lynne and Vijay enjoy a refeshing crushed sugar cane drink

There are some fine old havelis in the narrow streets…

Haveli, Ahmedabad old city

….some of which look to have survived unchanged from medieval times.

Haveli in streets of medieval narrowness, Ahmedabad

Around 7.30 the market starts to transform into a food market and Vijay was keen that we should stay, but we were flagging and there was still a twenty-minute walk back to our hotel, so we decided to leave that for tomorrow.

We returned, shared a paneer curry in the Green House restaurant and retreated to our room to break out the Old Monk for a night-cap and then have some much needed sleep.

*Though Kolkata and Chennai both have bigger metropolitan areas - and some sources put Chennai 5th and Ahmedabad 6th


Saturday 15 December 2018

Cannock Chase, Wind and Rain: The (N + 8)th Annual Fish and Chip Walk

Staffordshire
This is the 9th of these walks I have written about – I started with the Nth though the exact size of N is still discussed. In recent years I have warned that I am running out of new things to say about a walk across Cannock Chase, but the time for warnings is over, this time the well has run dry.

Almost.

After a wobble last year with only three walkers on a January Chip Walk, it was good to be back in the proper pre-Christmas slot, and for there to be 6 participants: Francis, Lee and me (last year’s stalwarts), Sue and Mike (last year’s missing regulars) and Anne S on her first (hopefully of many) Chip Walks. It would have been 7 but for occasional welcome guest Anne W having to cry off at the last minute.

Mike and I arrived at Chase Road Corner to find Francis’ van parked with the flattest of flat tyres and Francis, Sue and Lee sitting inside, oblivious. We pointed out the problem and while they were taking stock of the situation Anne texted to say she would be ten minutes late. She suggested we set off and she would run and catch up. Her enthusiasm is a tonic, but nobody has threatened to run on a chip walk before; I don’t think it should be encouraged. We waited for her, of course, and she arrived as Lee and Francis finished changing the wheel.

Changing a tyre, Chase Road Corner car park
Those not involved in motor mechanics spent the time enjoying the Chase Road Corner car park’s arctic condition. It is an exposed spot and we set off into a stinging icy wind. I paused to adjust a boot lace and found I was quickly left behind, even the swiftest walkers in the group going just a little quicker to get the blood circulating….

Moving briskly from Chase road corner through a cold and biting wind
….and to be over the lip of the Sherbrook Valley as soon as possible. The descent into more sheltered territory came as a relief.

The descent starts, led by two Geographers and two of Santa's elves
Despite the slightly different starting point we soon picked up last year’s route, following Marquis’s Drive to and through the visitor centre and down to the railway and the A460. In the lowest part of the walk the weather felt positively balmy – at least in comparison.

One of them has disappeared! Marquis's Drive down to the railway line and the A460
A footbridge now spans the railway, but you still have to cross the A460 Rugeley-Cannock Road where the stream of fast cars is much more dangerous than the occasional train ever was.

There is no reason why the climb up to Stile Cop Road seems much easier on Marquis's Dive than the tedious drag up Miflins Valley - they start at almost the same height, are much the same distance and the two paths eventually join - but it always does. We paused for coffee where one of the mountain bike trails joins the main drag.

Coffee stop above the mountain bike trail
We continued to the end of Stile Cop Road and crossed it into Beaudesert Old Park and descended to the Horsepasture Pools. Francis took a nasty tumble on this section last year, but the path is now in much better condition with far less slippery mud, so the descent was made without mishap.

Down to Horsepasture Pools

At the pools we felt the first drops of the promised rain, though it was only spitting as we strolled from the pools to Upper Longdon and the Chetwynd Arms.

Thw Chetwynd Arms, Upper Longdon
The walk had been only 10Km, and we had been fairly swift, so we reached the pub shortly after 12. Lynne and Alison T, who were to join us for lunch were still some distance away. So there was a problem, how do you kill 30 minutes in a pub?

We ordered when they arrived, though as it was a Fish and Chip Walk the only real choice was garden or mushy peas.

Lunch at the Chetwynd Arms
l to r, Alison T, Lynne, Sue, Lee, Anne, Mike, Francis (and I'm hiding behind the camera)
It was Sue’s birthday, and her meal was delivered with a lighted candle. Happy Birthday Sue, and because it is your special day I shall not even mention that you ate vegetarian lasagne on a fish and chip walk.

Happy Birthday, Sue
I was waiting for her to blow out the candle, not realising she had already done it (Duh)
The longer we sat in the pub the steadier the rain became. Three years ago we gave up at lunchtime, but then we had been soaked in the morning and the afternoon looked worse. Also, Lee’s car was in the pub car park, which it wasn’t this year, so the temptation never arose.

The temperature was reasonably mild as we climbed into our wet weather gear and took a sunken path out of Upper Longdon which runs north of the Chase…

Down the sunken lane from Upper Longdon
… and into the field paths above Brereton (which is, I suppose, a suburb of Rugeley). Every walk on or around the Chase offers the opportunity of a view of Rugeley Power Station, but these paths have the very best. Softened by the mist, it has, as Anne observed, a certain brutal beauty.

Rugeley B was opened in September 1970 and burned 1.6m tonnes of coal a year to produce around 9 million MWh of power. There was a plan to convert it to burning biomass in 2012, but that came to nothing and the power station closed in summer 2016. The 120 job losses were regrettable, but Rugeley B is yet another coal fired power station no longer venting carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, and that is good for the whole world. The ever-reliable Wikipedia tells me it is scheduled for demolition next summer, so this may be the last photograph of it to appear in this blog – but I will believe that when I don’t see it.


Rugeley Power Station
We returned to the woods at Chetwynd Coppice, found our way round the exotically named India Hills and returned to Stile Cop Road by the cemetery, 1.5 Km south of where we crossed it earlier. I had expected to turn up the hill and walk to the car park we usually use, but Lee had parked in the cemetery, so that was the end of the walk. The afternoon had been a brief 3 Km jaunt, but even at 3.15 the light was beginning to fade.