The Chandigarh photos

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Saturday 25 October

It’s a Saturday night, 9:30pm and I’m sitting in my hotel room, with my roommate Jeremy (aka Jezaulenko) kipping while I whack away at the keyboard. What’s wrong with me, I hear you ask? Well, there’s a few reasons why I’m here. In chronological order, they are:

- What happened last night;
- What happened today; and
- What is happening tomorrow.

Last night, after a feed at a great little ‘greasy spoon’ a short walk from the hotel, a few of us retired to the room of myself and Jeremy, easily the most spacious of all group members, for what has become known as a ‘monk session’. Old Monk is a dark rum we’ve found right throughout the country that sells for anywhere between 3.50 and 9 AUD for 750ml. Many a session has been had on this little gem, and many a hangover endured the following day. I’ve pretty much left it untouched until last night. It has been mixed with mango juice, lemonade, coke and a few others, although I don’t think it has been drunk straight by a large number. Combine this with the world-famous Moore music collection on this laptop, playing all possible requests, and it became quite a big session. A massive session in fact. Messres Moore, Foster, O’Kane and Banks lasted well past midnight and through one request by hotel management to turn the volume down just a few clicks (we took the most sensible action and closed the door instead). Big Pete and Sarge might have given it a fair old nudge too. The end result was that I was well and truly ‘flyblown’; I think I might have hit the pillow at 4:30am.

One smart thing I can’t recall doing is slipping a note under the door of Bumble and Mick, rooming just across the hallway, to wake us up before we missed the sightseeing bus in the morning. It was to prove a very very worthwhile move.

I was still drunk when I headed down to reception just before 9am. But I’m sure I’ve had lesser nights and woken up a lot worse than how I was feeling then. Which was a godsend seeing our itinerary involved two outstanding tourism opportunities, the 16th century city of Fatehpur Sikri, and the king attraction of them all, the Taj Mahal.

The Fatehpur Sikri city was an hour-long 50km bus ride west of Agra, although this was considerably longer on the return trip due to our bus breaking down. I probably didn’t have my full faculties with me at the city, particularly earlier in the visit, and the photos I’ve taken might be of more importance than they normally would be, but it was still pretty impressive.

We arrived at the Taj around 4pm and spent the remaining couple of hours until darkness overtook us taking it all in. It’s an awesome sight, particularly given it is located in a typically gritty, largely unattractive Indian city. It’s gobsmacking that this building was erected over 350 years old. And like many other sights and experiences, my feeling is that your true appreciation of it grows more and more as the days pass by since your visit.

The amount of people there was remarkable, although I suppose it shouldn’t really be a large surprise. Unfortunately it meant that there were few chances to get pictures with myself and the Taj the only two items within the frame. I think I’ve got plenty of good pics anyway.

Oh, and the third point listed above (tomorrow) refers to our 10am train trip back to Delhi, and then the battle that will be leaving the train station and heading to our hotel. Given our experiences on the trains and in Delhi on Wednesday it’s bound to be a little challenging.

Sunday 26 October

We’re now on the train to Delhi, hopefully with only just over 30 minutes of the 3 hour trip to go. Although the seat I’ve purchased is in class 3A (which stands for three tier and air conditioned), I’m sitting in the cattle class with Wisden (known as such due to is extensive cricket knowledge), Jeremy, Bansky and Brendan. I figured it was better to be here than sitting by myself up there, exposed to the seemingly infinite curiosity in westerners, particularly Australians, held by the locals.
The Agra visit was quite brief (3 days) but well worth a visit. Everyone knows of the Taj Mahal but there are a number of attractions there that should be included in the itinerary of any visitor travelling through this part of the world. Other highlights that we saw included the Agra Fort, just up the river from the Taj, Akbar’s Mausoleum in nearby Sikkandra, Mehtab Bagh and the previously discussed Fatehpur Sikri.

On of these, Mehtab Bagh, can probably be bracketed in the same sentence as the Taj Mahal as it’s an attraction only because it’s directly across the river from the Taj, around 300 metres away. We headed there late afternoon on Friday to watch the sun go down on the Taj and to play a game of beach cricket. Plenty of cracking snaps were taken, particularly in the freshly-cleaned Cats jumper (it was grey and navy blue after nine days of Subcontinent test cricket).

Another place that might be worth a look at, depending on which recreations take your fancy, is the Agra Club Golf Course. Run by the army, it is a reasonable track given the city it is located in, however its 5th hole has to be seen to believe. Picture three golf holes running roughly parallel. Between the first and second holes lay 150 metres of tall eucalypts and thick, ball-swallowing scrub, all situated in a deep gully. When the ball (eventually) crosses these, after at multiple shots, and arrives at the “second hole”, it is at a fairway which is not wide (imagine crossing an ordinary fairway) and has a ominous looking swamp on the other side of it. The green is on the other side of the swamp, in between which are a thick, tall row of trees which need to be cleared as well. Just to top it all off, one might need to have the cows which are grazing on and around the green cleared from it, before playing their final shot in.

I’m hoping that Google Earth might have an aerial shot of this because it’s simply like nothing I’ve seen before on a course.

I’ve never had the services of a caddy until playing at Agra Club but it was another different experience here. Although it was nice to avoid having to carry the clubs, especially as the weather warmed up, the caddies did seem to cheat for us a little in the time between them arriving at the supposed location of our ball and us arriving at the same location. They were a little hopeless too in their duties but, as I’ve mentioned before in an unrelated topic, you do get what you pay for. Our lasting memories of this place might also be warped by the dramas we had in paying at the end of our round for green fees, ‘hired’ golf balls, hired clubs and our caddies, in which there seemed to be money that went mysteriously missing from the hands of one of the staff members. Maybe it got lost in his pocket. We were seriously outnumbered at the time, as it appeared that we were the only players on the course all morning and all staff members were present, but we were still able to show strength, give the staff what we thought was necessary/reasonable and hastily strode off.

Here's a few day's worth...

Sunday 19 October

Stand up if you were in the gay bar last night

Sunday 19 October

For sale – ticket to day 5

Sunday 19 October

Can we avoid the follow on? 13 runs to go.

At least the middle and last sessions (to date) have been more positive. I’d say out of the six sessions on the first two days, our boys could only lay claim to victory in the first days’ second session.

9 to go now.

I did miss the first session today due to stumps being called quite late last night (or perhaps this morning is more accurate). A decent group of us celebrated International Day of Man Love by going to the local gay bar. Which is possibly insultingly named Down Under.

8 to go.

Just lost Watson. Nine down. Bugger.

The facebook photos of myself and a few others will paint the picture of the night. In brief, my mouth after the Butter Chicken wasn’t the only thing ‘flaming’ last night.

Big six from Mitchell Johnson, aka Derek Zoolander, over long on. 2 to go.

Siddle stumped.

No follow on employed. My countdown turns out useless, much like the lane markings on the road here.

Go the draw!


Wednesday 22 October

AFD count: nil.

Location for this blog is a comfortable first class carriage on the well-patronised train between Chandigarh and New Delhi. We’re currently around two-thirds of the way through the 266 km, 4.5 hour trip, with a trip of around 190km again to be endured to arrive in Agra, the city famous for the Taj Mahal.

Although it sounds like a slow trip for the first leg, the train does pick up some decent speed at moments. It is the sizeable periods of low, cruising speeds, and lengthy stops at stations, that racks up the time.

At the moment, my preference is this method of transport around India as opposed to planes, particularly where the distance between two destinations is similar to that between Chandigarh and Delhi. To stand at the open door (yes Mum, I’m being careful!) and watch India go by is a relaxing yet awe-inspiring experience.

Obviously we’re disappointed by the result of the second test but I’m sure that many people’s thoughts of the series having been decided and the glory days of the Australian cricket team being over are premature. So premature in fact that I’ve called for the well-advertised nasal delivery spray. The key points that come to my mind are:

In both games we’ve been “in” the game well into it. In the first test the locals were 4/140-odd and then around 6/250 with the boys already having posted well over 400. One more wicket in either of those two situations and the game is very different. Again, in the second test, India were about 4/140 on the first day. If Rudi Koertzen happens to call for the third umpire and Ganguly is given out stumped on 35 by the third umpire the game changes once more.
We did lead the first test for its duration.
The Aussies have lost tests early in the series and come back before. And will do so again. The 1997 Ashes tour comes foremost to mind.

According to the local press, the Mohali venue is one of the top test match venues in the world. Top 4 or top 6 are the rankings I’ve heard bandied about. Happy to go on record to say that’s the usual Indian press bias and not an opinion to be considered as worthwhile. Clearly the journos have not had to have a number two in the area of the ground we’ve been situated in. Cubicles that haven’t been cleaned since WWII, complete with faeces decorating the walls, makes them the most disgusting toilets I’ve seen anywhere. Add to that the decaying concrete terraces, the dirty plastic bucket seats, the lack of shade and decent feeds and the meagre crowds (no more than 500 people were in the stadium for the first ball of the first and fifth days) and I think I’ve got some pretty good arguments.

Anyway, I’m cruising along, watching the Indian countryside, and now the slum and sprawls of Delhi pass by the open train door. This is living.

Thursday 23 October

Well, did yesterday turn out to be a day of contrasts. After yesterday’s blog things went steadily downhill. First of all, we progressively fell behind our scheduled arrival time at Central Delhi station of 1:30pm. We were to arrive there around 2pm. Our connecting train from Delhi to Agra was to depart from another Delhi station, Nizamuddin. The group’s original intention was to disembark at Central Delhi and catch a 4 km taxi or rickshaw to Nizamuddin in the scheduled 90 minute break between trains, however once we identified that the train from Chandigarh was to pass through Nizamuddin anyway, we decided to stay on the train, through the half hour stop in Central Delhi, and simply switch trains at Nizamuddin.

Long story short, the train arrived at Nizamuddin after the 3pm departure of the Goa Express, including a stop at Agra Cannt. As a result, we jumped onto another train which would pass through Agra which departed at 4pm, although this time it was cattle class all the way. The contrast in comfort between the train from Chandigarh in the morning and the train to Agra in the arvo couldn’t have been more stark. Ineffective fans replaced airconditioning, hard, synthetic-covered benches replaced padded seats and beds and crowded open carriages replaced private booths.

And this was all after sitting in the open door of the train at Delhi station, non-platform side, watching the locals turf their rubbish out of the window into the ‘drains’ between the tracks, and the rats, of a very decent size I might add, sniff out the food from the general junk. Add in the constant bad stench and the dense mass of people and it’s fair to say that the Delhi is going to be a very different place to Bengaluru and Chandigarh once we are there in a few days time.

The best was yet to come. It’s around 4:30pm by now and we’d just left Nizamuddin. I’m switching between standing and sitting on the floor of the open area at the end of one of the carriages in the lowest class section of the train, along with 4 other men and the bags of around 10 from of our group. A local has just advised us of the throng of people about to get on at the next ‘stop’. Actually, the train never stopped, or went directly past a platform. It passed a station around 3 tracks away from the platform. But unfortunately it did slow to a crawl, allowing a stampede of people to push, in a ridiculously dangerous manner, their way onto the carriage. I was certainly concerned for the safety for a few, particularly the small number of women and kids coming onboard, although suspected that I was going to get through it OK. It was a disgraceful situation and one that the locals should be ashamed of, but with the absolute inefficiency and ineffectiveness of the authorities here, be it police or security, there’s nothing to stop such occurrences. Clearly this same process happens every day, providing a huge number of Delhi residents with a free ride home. Thankfully a most of the free riders jumped off around 20 minutes later, again not at a platform but onto the open railway, granting us relief for the rest of the trip.

Unfortunately the only pics I’ve got of the crush are on my phone, due to some technicalities difficulties with my extremely cheap (read dodgy) e-bay digital camera (note to self for the next time I log onto eBay - you get what you pay for).

We did get into Agra safely but around 3 to 4 hours late. Luke aka Sparrow, team leader/tour operator, thinks this was the first time in his 175 train trips around India that he has missed, so it sounds like most trips are more comfortable than this. I’ll take Luke’s word for it as he has significantly more negative than positive things to say about the Indian infrastructure. Still, there’s bound to be a few of us a little toey when heading to Agra Cannt for our train back to Delhi on Sunday.

Photo albums

Bengaluru #1 -
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Bengaluru #2 -
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Bengaluru #3
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Chandigarh, India

I think my hopes of seeing an Aussie test victory in India are dashed, unless the boys manage to win the third test in Delhi in one day. It's tea on the second day and we're 1/13 chasing 469 on the first innings. More realistically I'm hoping for a draw now, as a loss is the least preferable result.

The ground here at Mohali, which is really a suburb of Chandigarh, is OK but not as enjoyable as Bengaluru. It is a large concrete ground with minimal shade, seating that is a little uncomfortable on the backside and a distinct lack of food options. After the veritable feasts on offer for ridiculously low prices in Bengaluru, the Punjab Cricket Association ground offers potato chips, small Dominos pizzas, ice creams and popcorn. Disappointing.

Although the crowd to day is reasonable - maybe 5,000 or so - the atmosphere is akin to an AFL match in Canberra. They've just fired up after Rudi Koertzen's raised the finger to give Ponting out, but even with our boys at 2/17 it feels like a day in the park. It was embarrassing at the start of play yesterday when no more than 500 people would have been in attendance for the first ball.

I don't think it is widely known but apparently today is the International Day of Man Love. It is appropriate that I am here in India as the affection shown by men to each other is a clear cultural difference between us. It is nothing for men to be seen holding hands, as a pair of police were spotted yesteday, or with their arms around each other in their seats at the ground.

A great idea here in Chandigarh, and indeed in Bengaluru, is the use of countdown clocks on traffic lights to inform drivers, cyclists and roaming cows of how many seconds are left until the lights turn green. The only problem with the implementation of this here is that that the rickshaws, taxis and three-door cars tend to take off with five seconds left, which is consistent with the overall law-flouting approach.

Chandigarh, India

I can manage to find myself in awkward situations overseas. Another city, another rickshaw rally, although unlike Bengaluru the Chandigarh version involved cycle rickshaws, not auto ones. And this was just a race around a car park, albeit one that was nearly a kilometre long. In an attempt to win the race, myself and my team mate Brad, a new flagger, actually took our turn over the pedals while our local peddler took a break in the back. Unfortunately during my turn I managed to clip and knock over a scooter, appearing to break a small plastic light cover off the back of it. After five minutes or so of a growing crowd, plenty of deliberations in the local dialect and no owner in sight, the light cover appeared to have been clipped back on and I was told it was OK to head off. I’m sure I’ll look back and think of it as an amusing situation but at the time all I was thinking of was having to deal with an angry owner, communication problems and the parting of a significant amount of rupees.

Another day, another Gus Worland venue, this time the amazing Nek Chand Rock Garden. I don’t think I’ve spent a better 10 rupees (around 30 cents in AUD) in India.

Watching the idiot box here is a different experience. There’s a ridiculous amount of channels (at least 70) and both English and Hindi are used throughout. Some TV shows appear to carry both, particularly the Indian Cricket League 20/20 broadcast, which is commentated in English and discussed post-match in Hindi.

Also a different experience is the sight of men relieving their bladders in public without as so much as batting an eyelid. The stench of urine prevails in many streets and parks as a result. Trying to justify in my head why things such as this seem to be acceptable yet PDOAs (public displays of affection) (I think K.Lawson might have come up with that one) are not.

Chandigarh, India

We now find ourselves in Chandigarh. This city, more like a big town aka Geelong, is supposedly India’s greenest and cleanest and my drift around the main mall area, located relatively close to our hotel, didn’t do anything to disprove it. It’s a lovely, clean, less frenetic place compared to Bengaluru, and is going to be a completely different world to the gritty monstropolous that will be Delhi.

Bengaluru finished on a great note. Although it was disappointing not to see the Aussies win, the cricket was engrossing well into Day 5. I loved where we stayed and the city in general. Although I had many great experiences in the city, the best were certainly on the last day there (Tuesday 14th), when we had a ‘rickshaw rally’ in the morning (like a car trial, only much more fun given the location) and I went wandering off the beaten track in the afternoon. Myself and Gill were the last team across the finish line back at the Highgates Hotel, around an hour later than the second last team, due to our ability to find ourselves off course and stuck in traffic. Still, it was a heap of fun covering many of the Bengaluru streets, away from the tourist areas. And the 3.5 hour adventure only cost us 201 rupees plus a tip of 100 – approximately 10 AUD in total.

A personal highlight during the rally was coming across the Bangalore Youth Hostel where big Gus Worland lodged during his time here in An Aussie Goes Bolly.

Plenty of dramas on the flights up to Chandigarh. First of all, a local had a seizure on the Jet Airways flight from Bengaluru to Delhi, just prior to landing. He was OK when we finally got down but there were some scary moments there. He was sitting only two rows in front of me, but that was still close enough. Then, as we were late to arrive in Delhi, rather than disembark our flight and head to another gate in the terminal to catch our connection, we actually walked off the first plane, onto the tarmac and onto a bus which drove us 100 metres directly to the second plane.

One of the great aspects of flying is the ability to get a birds-eye view of the world. The sheer size of Delhi and its thick pollution haze is just amazing. Also similarly as extraordinary is the density of the Indian population between Delhi and Chandigarh, in the way that at all times there are multiple towns and cities within view. The animal species that are/were unique to the country, e.g. tigers and elephants, have never had a chance to survive in large numbers given the coverage of the civilisation here over the land.

Dare I say that Chandigarh airport might just be the most rundown terminal that the Australian players have ever seen foot in, if not the most rundown building. It really is third world and surprising for a city that is otherwise as relatively structurally impressive as Chandigarh.

Tonight we managed to find Singh’s Chicken, another venue attended by Gus Worland, and a short walk from our hotel, for a late night feed. With sensational cuisine like this at cracking prices (again and again) it’s no surprise that the tightish Industrie jeans I’d bought only a couple of weeks before I left Oz are starting to become a real squeeze on the waist.

It was hard to say goodbye from the boys from Bunbury & their mate Lyon on Monday night, although I might catch up with Lyon at the upcoming Brisbane test in a month or so. Hoping that the next time we have a frothy together won’t be too far away as we shared plenty on this trip. And maybe a Bob Neil national anthem or two.

Bengaluru, India

I'm writing this sitting in a a near empty Chinnaswamy Stadium, over an hour before play, to ensure we get our seats for the day. It appears as though you can roughly estimate the crowd size for the day using this formula: somewhere between 1/8 and 1/4 full on weekdays, multiply that by 2 for a weekend, and multiply that by 2 again for India batting. With the hosts being 8 down I suspect we won't be getting a full ground today.

On Thursday and Friday we were in the front few rows of the grandstand. Saturday and Sunday, however, the gates have been opened earlier nthe advertised starting time of 8am (only in India!) and these seats have been snaffled by the "Indus Army". I think we won't see these people again on the fifth day (Monday) however. They'll have to resume their jobs in security, police or auto rickshaw driver, which seems to apply to 95% of the population.

The Indus Army became a little hostile towards our group late in the game on Saturday - including giving us a few reminders that "this is not Sydney" (referring to the supposed Aussie cheating at the test match there earlier in the year) and a number of chants that the Aussie cricket team were "going down:. By themselves these probably sound like they are about as vicious as a labrador pup but the chants were well and truly directed towards us. I think we've taken it pretty well but I'm sure we're looking forward to giving a little bit back, perhaps in a more humble manner, if the boys come away with a win.

Other than that I've loved every minute of sitting in the Indian crowd. They really do cheer everything - including many dot balls. They're also certainly very one-eyed, fuelled by a remarkably biased media which deliberately stirs their feelings of being on harshly treated in many situations involving opposition teams or umpires. Now there's probably a few people who know my impartiality towards umpires/referees - I believe they have minimal influence over the outcome of games - so I think I'm better placed than many others to say that the local's views that the rest of the world being against their team are misguided.

The locals certainly get involved in the game to an admirable level, which I think shows up the fashionably passive crowds in the clean but passive Down Under stadiums. There's no drinking at the cricket either.

I'm finding that a number of people in our group are quite negative about the Indian population and their many idiosyncracies, but I must say I absolutely love the people and appreciate that it's the mix of these qualities that make them great. Overall, they are friendly and relaxed. They love seeing Aussies anywhere and are fascinated by our basics such as names and home cities. I've had plenty of photos taken with me, as have many of the others in our group.

On Wednesday we were at the ground watching our boys go through their last day preparations when a confident young Bengaluruan aprroached us for a game of cricket versus some local kids out in the suburbs, an offer we were only too happy to accept. Immediately upon our arrival at the "ground", a large gravelled area devoid of any grass but abundant with rocks, stones and cricket games, we were given Aussie player nicknames - I was (and still am) Shane Watson, while the other boys were allocated Ricky Ponting (Nick), David Boon (Mike) and Adam Gilchrist (Matt). Without going into too much detail, the outcome of the game was a reminder for myself that I'm better off wielding a Best Bets rather than the willow during the summer. A scratchy ten or so (ended by a leg side stumping), which folllowed three overs of batsman-friendly deliveries, failed to provide me with any reason to pull on the whites or creams in the near future, unless for lawn bowls.

Nick, Matt and Mike have been 3 of the group of blokes I've spent more time with than others, along with their mate Lyon from Brisbane and Matt from Bundoora. The first three boys are all from Bunbury, so there's been a fair bit of footy banter and sledging thrown about. As a Cats man I've really got the best hand - Nick (Port), Mike (WCE), Lyon (Blues), Matt (Freo) and Matt (WB) can't compete with the all-conquering line "and just remind me when your last flag was?". But it does appear that there are Hawthorn supporters just pouring out of the woodwork over here too.

I've got the Cats jumper on again after giving it its debut on the second day of the test. I haven't really heard whether it's got a run on the Fox Sports coverage yet but you certainly can't miss a man with milky white skin in a largely white jumper. I have managed to (probably) get myself on Neo Cricket, the national broadcaster here. There's a show on the channel called Tour Diary hosted by a young celeb called Archana, who provides daily 'colour' reports on Indian cricket. Archana came around to our area before play on the first day and first person she chose to sit down and speak to was me. The interview lasted 5 minutes but a lot of the questions seemed to be the same - i.e. how have your experiences in India been? Two others were interviewed, Pete and the tour operator Luke. The interview was to be shown this morning however I've left the hotel early to ensure I get a seat at the game.

It's now 15 minutes to go before the first ball and I'm gettting the feeling that I could've stayed at the hotel to check out the interview. The crowd isn't exactly flooding in as a write. Disappointing.

The food at the ground has been a highlight of the tour to date. Just down the stairs and out the back is a smorgasboard of food stores, the best of which sells a fresh bread with a curry or casserole, which varies every day, and sometimes a dipping sauce for 20 rupees (around 60 cents AU). Without doubt I'll be seeing them during the lunch break today.

Actually, overall the food has been simply awesome, certainly different from what one would find at a typical Indian restaurant in Australia. And cheap - 2000 rupees (65 AUD) withdrawn on Tuesday was to last me the next four days, including zero AFDs (Alcohol Free Days).

Time to go. The players are just coming onto the field now and the still smallish crowd is going nuts. My feeling is that television understates the volume of the roar of the Indian crowd. And it possibly overstates the volume of the silence when Sachin gets out (note to the local crowd - when the great man gets out for a well made 49, remember to give him a clap or two!!). Let's hope there's plenty of silence today.