Friday 1st February

 

I have been looking at the weather maps and forecasts for the whole of Australia.  It has been quite catastrophic, here and there across the continent.  Dreadful floods, dreadful bushfires.  So much havoc and tragedy – it brings to mind my favourite poem from school days, My Country by Dorothea McKellar.  Here is a snippet:

 

I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror -
The wide brown land for me!

 

Just at the moment we seem to be overdosing on the terror, on the flood and fire if not the famine…

 

On a lighter note…

 

Nicole and James usually go to Coles Bay in this last week of January.  As soon as they make a booking for accommodation, and plans for carefree sun-filled days on Freycinet Peninsula, the Weather Gods start grinning and counter-planning…and it invariably rains, with accompanying howling winds.  So this year they took Grace, Olivia and Matilda AWAY from Tasmania for the last week of January.  Away to…Northern New South Wales…Their plane was one of only six allowed to land last Sunday, because of rain and howling winds.  They got to their accommodation, and then were told not to drive anywhere because of the dire conditions:

 

From the internet weathernews…

 

A severe weather warning is still out for damaging surf for much of coastal NSW as ex-tropical cyclone Oswald's legacy batters shores after bringing heavy rain and damaging winds.

 

Pete rang Nicole on Monday and she said, in sad tones, “PLEASE tell me it is pouring with rain in Coles Bay!”

 

India #80

 

Beautiful Udaipor Day (BUD)

         

Well that is what my notes say… And I know now that while Pete and I were having a BUD Vish, Mary and Hana were having hot, sticky frenetic days in Mumbai.  They had been planning to go north, to the small village where Vish’s father (Amed’s grandfather) had grown up.  This was going to be the high point of their holiday, in fact.  To their consternation, when they got to Mumbai they found that the whole area surrounding the little village was in quarantine.  Some dreadful Ross River fever-type epidemic was laying people very low indeed; I think hundreds died.  So instead of a nice peaceful rural sojourn, they were at the India Club in Mumbai.  This, ofcourse, wasn’t horrible, because they were surrounded by Vish’s lovely family, but it was all very hectic, with a huge wedding being organised from London.

         

Back in Beautiful Udaipor… Pete and I asked Shambu to pick us up at ten.  “I will be there at 9.45!” he shouted.  We said there was no hurry and that we really didn’t have an agenda.  We wanted to take a boat trip out to the hotel on Jagmandir Island, but other than that he could choose places to take us.  Our first stop was at a beautiful little lake.  Shambu indicated that we might like to walk around it.  And what bliss!  It was just lovely, shaded by trees, and the most wonderful and amazing thing was…for the first time in India we had silence.  No traffic noise, no shouting, just birds.  It took us a little while to realise what was so different.  Ten minute of silent and peaceful beauty.  We watched a man who had a most desirable job, scooping stuff off the top of the lake.  He waded about with a long branch, gently scooping up leaves and rubbish and sorting it all out on the edge of the lake.  He was in no hurry and seemed totally at peace with himself and the world as he idly scooped and splashed.

         

Our next stop was at some very famous palace gardens, with many strange water features.  Not so pleasant… There was an all-pervading smell of urine, quite overwhelming.  We decided the water features were no such thing… they were all toilets!  We didn’t stay long at all, but we did see lotuses growing in the ponds, and that was a definite bonus.

         

Shambu then drove us to the outskirts of the city where there were 220 mausoleums,  They were there to commemorate the maharajahs of Udaipor – 76 of them in an unbroken line of descent.  Not a single other person around, not even a guide.  We clambered around very happily admiring the carvings and the columns.  Whole families of langurs were living there – no badboys, as there were at the mausoleums in Jaipur, just badmonkeys.  They seemed very happy with their lot in life.  I wanted to take some photos of them and went up quite close; they were so very pretty, all silver, with long black tails, black faces and beautiful brown eyes.  Shambu said, “Don’t go too close, they are quite vicious.”  I thought I knew better; they were so gentle and so peaceful.  But one of the males was watching me and when I got too close he snarled, very suddenly, revealing wicked sharp teeth.  I gave a sharp shriek and fled back to Pete and Shambu, who very nobly didn’t say, “I told you so.” 

         

After this we went to a Jain temple.  This obviously didn’t make too much impression on me: my notes say, bluntly, “Jain temple.”  I do remember it was very hot and we had to skip across scorching marble in our bare feet going ouch ouch ouch to look at various bits and pieces.  I still haven’t got a grip on the difference between Jains and Buddhists… But I have learned that it is impossible to become a Hindu; you are born Hindu and that is it, they don’t convert people or recruit anyone to their church.  Are any other religions like this, a matter only of birthright, do you know??