Thursday 20^th December

Every now and then Pete thinks he would like to go on a cruise.  A commercial one on a big liner, not our 2xs-type cruise.  (This is all for the future, when he can’t actually sail2xs any more.)  Last week at the party in Snug we met Zenda and Bob, from Laurieton, where, incidentally, we spent several very happy days on our way south.  They are very keen cruisers and have been on many.  In fact this year they went on five.  Yes FIVE!!  They actually spent 150 days of 2012 at sea!  Dubai, New Zealand, coming and going, a circumnavigation of Australia, somewhere else… They obviously enjoyed it all very much.  Their theory is that it is actually cheaper than staying at home.  They look for specials and never go on a cruise for more than $100 per day.  That money covers accommodation, transport, entertainment and food.  LOTS of food!  And indeed lots of entertainment and transport!

India #47

Jabalpur is not a tourist Mecca.  I think people might stay there overnight on the way to one of the big national parks about 100 kilometres from the city, where you can ride on elephants and go looking for tigers.  Unfortunately it wasn’t tiger season (there is a tiger season??) and we didn’t have time to veer off into the jungle.  The other thing Jabalpur has to offer is Marble Rocks, in a deep river gorge.  This all sounded very gorgeous, in the brochures, and in Lonely Planet.  Gently gliding down the river in a boat, admiring black and beige and green and white marble canyons from below.  Lovely!  ESPECIALLY the “gliding in a boat” part.  We were very hot, and tired from our train travel, and we were very keen on this.  Our lovely hotel manager told us, helpfully, when and where to go, and called a lovely comfy taxi for us. 

Our driver was very kind, courteous and patient.  He sat in his hot car, wearing socks and heavy shoes (WHY?), and waited while we trotted off down the steps in the little village where the beginning of the Marble Rocks trip is situated.  I gazed lovingly at some cheeky monkeys swinging over our heads; they seemed to look at me with amused contempt, and they were right to do so!  Down the steps we drifted, only to find, at the edge of the river, that no boats were available.  In fact, the river was far too flooded and heavy for boatmen to be able to manage any sort of boat trip.  We found this hard to believe; Indians are incredibly strong, and incredibly hard working.  We actually think the boats are a myth, that they NEVER are operating on this river, for some inscrutable reason. 

So, how to see the Marble Rocks?  Well…follow that guide, up and down many many marble steps, in the blazing sun.  He was a very annoying guide.  We all loathed him because his every second word was boat.  This in spite of the fact that his accent was almost incomprehensible.  We never failed to understand the word BOAT.  He would lead us to some high lookout and say, “Down there you can get a BEAUTIFUL view of black marble rocks, from a boat.”  Or “When you are on a boat, the stunning green cliffs of marble soar above your head.”  (Or we THINK that is what he was saying, the only word which was really clear was…boat.)  Pete told him, very crossly, that he was banned from saying boat.  This didn’t deter him at all.  “It is lovely and cool and breezy, sitting in a boat while you drift up and down this majestic gorge!” was his next sentence.  “If you say BOAT again, we will hurl you off the cliff and you can become a boat!” said Pete.  The guide smiled sunnily and replied, “It is so relaxing and airy, down on the river in a boat.”  We gave up, and (reluctantly) paid him his 100 rupees.  It was worth it to get rid of him; we really couldn’t understand anything he was telling us other than the bits about the mythical boat.

After our walk along the clifftops, our patient driver took us to the fabulous big wide waterfall.  We had to walk a bit to get to it, but this time it was really worthwhile, because we just loved it.  Mary and I immediately went and sat on a concrete ledge and dangled our legs in the blissfully cool water, admiring the awesome spread of waterfall to our left.  There were young men swimming and splashing in the weir, and cows lying contently on the cool concrete at our side.  We were more than happy to sit there.  We dipped our hats in the cool water, in Tasmanian bushwalking fashion, and were very grateful for the immediately cooling effect on our poor hot heads.

Pete and Vish, meanwhile, had been scooped up by a pod of men eager to chat and network.  They were busily lined up for photo shoots, with one group after another of middle-aged men, all gazing seriously into the camera.  Pete and Vish are obliging blokes and they allowed themselves to be photographed many times; Mary and I were quite perplexed by it all.  WHY did these men want photos of Vish and Pete?  We think they are lovely but are they really in the Ian Thorpe Fashion or Photographic Model of the Year category??  We discussed it later, over a Lovely Hotel meal, and we decided that it is all for business.  They can put these photos of themselves alongside Pete and Vish in albums to show prospective clients.  “See, these are our business partners in Australia!  They are going to import our leather bags/giant orange balloons/bongoes/peacock fans!”  Or maybe they are to show their bosses… “Yes I know you thought I was having fun at the Narmada Waterfall and the Marble Rocks but in fact I was networking with these very important Australians!”

All along the rough road down to the waterfall there were stalls selling things made of – you guessed it – marble.  Some were very beautiful, some just hideous.  And everything was too heavy, whether beautiful or ugly, for us to contemplate putting it in our packs.  I did, however, stop and buy a very small black marble cow.  So small in fact that you can’t tell it is a cow at all, but never mind, I thought Barbara would love it.  She does love it but she is convinced it is a camel… The stall I bought it from was very meagre.  Just a few artefacts, laboriously carved.  Pete and I were irresistibly drawn there by a gorgeous little girl, about six years old, standing seriously behind the tiny display, hoping and praying for a sale.  She was with her grandmother, and they were just delighted with their one tiny bit of business.  Why wasn’t she at school??  She was a very bright little child, full of energy, already learning English.

Apart from marblework, there were also buskers lining the pathway.  One of them was playing a strange one-stringed wailing instrument.  Mary stopped and politely indicated that she wanted to take a photo.  She then showed the man the photo on her digital camera and gave him a bit of money.  He didn’t seem to be responding very much to any of this; it was only when she joined us that we were able to tell her he was blind, had, in fact, no eyes at all….