This post was written by Di as a series of irregular e-mails to Laura and Julian. They were too good to miss, so I’ve put them together, added a comment here and there and placed some photographs where appropriate.

 

I’ve always been intrigued at the idea of a city built on/in water. How does that work? Well, now I sort of know, though I can’t deliver a monologue on the nuts and bolts of the engineering challenge. I mean, I still don’t know what came first: the water or the city? And if you’re faced with a great big puddle of water, well, you wouldn’t ordinarily say “I know what to do with it! I’ll build a city”. Or would you? Anyway, for those who haven’t been here, imagine, say, Madrid or Florence even, then wish away all the roads and replace them with canals. And there you have it, Venice!

 

 

 

 

We got to Venice lunchtime-ish and caught the Vaporetto to our digs. This is a truly gorgeous introduction to the city – highly recommend it. We disembarked at our “bus stop”, Rialto, at which point I discovered to my horror that in order to get to our hotel we had to navigate one set of staircases after another, both up and down. The ups I could manage, but the downs, with luggage, defeated me completely. We eventually wrestled both our suitcases all the way – and it wasn’t actually a short walk. We arrived at our digs exhausted, sweaty, desperate for a shower and perhaps a snooze, only to find no one there! The front door was open, but otherwise, it was the Marie Celeste. Long story short, we finally got into our room much later than we had hoped and a nap was out of the question. We swiftly showered then hit the streets only to realise that thanks to our paltry diet of sleep on the flight, our joints were not interested in walking and our minds were quite deranged. So, supper and so to bed.

 

This morning found me thoroughly rested and up for it. We did the tourist bit today and headed for St Marks Square. Our hotel is right beside the fish market so we wandered through there eying the fabulous spread of fresh fish and shellfish, followed by an open market of yumptious fresh fruit and veg. If we had access to a kitchen I would have bought a greedy-sized bag of fresh artichoke bottoms to cook and scoff (without sharing). Now that’s a job I wouldn’t like – stripping tons of artichokes to get to their prime meat.

 

St Marks Square is everything the travel guides say it is – and more. The huge, ornate cathedral, the acres of columns around the square, the elegant cafes with white jacketed waiters and small orchestras discreetly tinkling out old fashioned music. My gob was truly smacked.

 

 

 

 

 

Wandering back in the general direction of our hotel, we perched on two stools outside a tiny cafe and while Paul was getting me a cappuccino, I fell into conversation with an American gent (whose partner, inside, also ordering cappuccino had fallen into conversation with Paul). No reason to stop chatting once we all had our beverages, so we passed a delightful time getting to know each other and then said happy goodbyes and parted company.

 

Yesterday saw the day dawn with sheeting rain and lowering clouds. Determined not to miss a day of our wonderful trip, we headed out, expecting to have the city to ourselves. But not a bit of it. The hardy Venetians were out in force, as were our fellow tourists, as determined as us to get full bang for their buck. By day’s end I was adept at manoeuvring my brolly through narrow lanes and avoiding losing an eye to someone else’s less well wielded brolly.

 

But I am ahead of myself. The previous evening we pottered out for a glass of vino and a bit of supper. After a gentle hour or so sitting in a sunbathed square, watching a tireless Boston Terrier chase a frisbee, we went in search of supper. We found ourselves off the tourist track in a  residential area, outside an understated Trattoria. As the door swung open we were greeted by a Dad and daughter duo enquiring if we had a reservation, which boded well for quality of food, but less well for availability of table. Anyway, on the clear understanding that we had two hours and no more,  we were shown to our table. Simple, simple food, freshest of the fresh – my scallops were still tired from their swim; and little stars on the plate, like my shaved courgettes, tossed in seasoned flour and deep fried to melting mouthfuls. Paul had fillet(s) of John Dory. What a treat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pavement pounding has been the order of our days. The city is exquisite – a maze of skinny lanes which criss-cross the canals up, over and down narrow bridges, then burst out on to huge squares, lined with tiny crowded hostelries, as old as Jesus, and reeking with atmosphere.

 

You can have a coffee, a beer, a glass of wine, a snack, a full-on meal. Today started sunny and we saw the city in its Byzantine glory, the buildings in sumptuous colours, ornate, decked with complicated statuary. The modern dress of sightseers looked out of place – capes and leggings and feathered headwear would have been more appropriate.

 

Its beauty is surreal, the more so since everywhere is exquisitely preserved and lovingly looked after – except for occasional outbreaks of graffiti. I was warned the place was overrun with rubbish, the pavements hazardous with dog turds and the canals stinking. Well, no rubbish, I’ve come across two turds and the canals are clear, clean and unsmelly.

 

Another couple of wonderful days have passed in this gorgeous city. We’ve elected not to do the cathedrals, museums and galleries and instead have pounded the pavements, letting our feet take us where they will. Yesterday we came across what I suppose in Venice passes for a Main Street; broad, lined with shops and cafes and lovely to stroll through. There were any number of restaurants to choose for lunch and, in truth, it’s hard to pick, because they all have identical menus.

 

Unfortunately we chose probably the worst restaurant in the whole of Venice – I’m not entirely convinced the person who cooked our meal actually knew how to cook. To add insult to injury, as I poked my fork into the unappetising mess it gobbed oil all down the front of my top. The weather here has been very chilly (and wet) and, having packed summer and winter kit in equal proportions I am now short on the warm stuff. Anyway, we made up for it in the evening by going to our local wine bar and nailing several delicious small snacks.

 

 

 

 

Today we wandered the length of the waterfront beyond St Marks Square. Eventually we found ourselves out of the tourist area and in a long residential street, canals across and along it, washing strung between the houses and over the canals. One building seemed to be a school and we could hear the music group practising – all idyllic. There was a barge parked in one canal, groaning with beautiful fruit and veg. But here’s the thing: none of that gorgeous stuff is on offer in any of the restaurants. Asparagus and artichokes are obviously in season here and I ache to order a plateful, drenched in melted butter. But no. Mains come with mundane veg, usually cooked to death and if you’re lucky, appetisers will include caprese. Insalata mista is fresh and tasty, but utterly predictable. Everything I read about Venice warned it wasn’t gastronome central and they weren’t wrong. Which is not to say we haven’t had some excellent food – we have – but all very predictable.

 

Getting around is either on foot or on the many water taxis. There are no cars, bikes, skateboards or roller skates. In consequence Paul and I have been putting in the hard yards. There are bridges everywhere, all with stairs : some few, some plentiful. It is only in the area around St Marks that ramps have been installed.

 

When we arrived here I could no longer “do” stairs (at least, not down), but I am happy to report that provided there is a bannister or Paul’s shoulder I can now skip down stairs like a spring lamb! (provided, that is, I am full of anti inflammatories). But the truth of the matter is that I am physically very tired – you either leg it, or you stay in your hotel room all day. Not an option.

 

 

 

 

Today is our last day and we’re ending it on a high note. The weather gods banished the clouds, turned off the rain and switched the sun on. Paul and I headed for the ferry terminal and caught a ferry to Murano.

 

Murano is famous for its glass and in some small, superior part of my mind I expected it to be all very kitsch and unsurprising. Well, first off Murano is just plain gorgeous – tiny island, dissected by a broad canal which forms the “high street”, tiny, manicured buildings at every turn. And the glass! Oh my! There were at least a dozen or more vases I ached to be able to get home, unscathed (but the prices!). And the glass jewellery! And the chandeliers! Paul doesn’t understand the essence of a good chandelier and kept pointing out tasteful ones. I know it’s really about how over the top they are. And there were some wonderful over the top ones – even a few tacky ones.

 

From Murano, back on the ferry to Burano. It’s the Bo Kaap on steroids. Street upon street of tiny terraced houses, each painted in a different Smartie colour. The shops too were brightly painted. The island is quite big so it was super sensory overload. We had lunch in Burano – if we had hoped to find a change of menu from Venice, we were sore disappointed.

 

And tomorrow sees us heading for the airport and home. Its been a wonderful trip and quite unlike any other. We’ll be back…

When I left you last, we were en route to Narlai and full of trepidation as to what kind of caravanserai we’d find there.

 

Narlai is deep in the Rajasthan semi-desert, but we needn’t have worried. The tiny town – 7,000 inhabitants make it more than a village I think – has twenty Jain temples, a Hindu temple or two and at least one mosque. It also has a spectacular boutique hotel, once the 17th century hunting lodge of the maharajah of the time.

 

At every turn, the buildings, passageways, corridors, staircases and tiled floors speak of a long lost time; India when hunting boar was the pastime and an occasional tiger never went amiss. In this magnificent group of buildings is a collection of time appropriate furniture and a somewhat later style of electrical equipment, including giant rheostats to control the ceiling fans and brass switches for the lights.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The whole effect is like stepping back at least a hundred years in time, the dominance of the Maharajah and of course, the omniscient Brits with their military rule and shiploads of wares from the best factories the Industrial Revolution could then produce.

 

Throw in a bar and an excellent dining room and you have a recipe for a very special hotel – definitely one of my favourites.

 

 

The drive from Jodhpur was as interesting as any interaction with India’s roads. Narrow, twisting English-Like country roads, with full tolling and toll plazas – manually operated, but tolls nonetheless.

 

 

 

 

Narlai itself offers the tourist little, except for the aforementioned multitude of temples and a huge rock eruption, topped by a white marble elephant. For the travelling street photographer (me), there were endless opportunities, especially at dusk and dawn, as India’s sun rose and set through the dusty air.

 

Two and a half days of blissful not much to do.

 

 

 

 

Udaipur is a different matter. Built around a man-made lake, the city is in full-on festival mode, with music, drums, chanting and revelry at every turn. We braved the crowds to see the huge City Palace, after which we took in the sunset at Monsoon Palace and followed that with a half day off, before en-planing for Delhi.

 

 

 

 

After many days of travel, intense heat and getting up early, I’d abandoned my daily dawn walk, but resurrected my meander here in Udaipur, to find the many aspects and lake views enchanting. Or at least they would be if it were possible to ignore the rubbish that every one of India’s 1.05 billion inhabitants think it’s OK to strew everywhere.
For twenty odd days, I’d managed to ignore the mess and animal excrement, but this morning, it finally got through to me and I wandered back to the hotel feeling that while I should mind my own business; most Indians seem to have no problem living in an endless mess.

 

 

But, there’s more to it than that. It seems clear that we’re encountering the attitude to litter and mess we also encountered in Egypt; go from place to place, enter the pristine building, office, hotel or restaurant, close the door and the indescribable mountain of shit simply ceases to exist. Until you go outside once more to move on to the next refuge.

 

That said, Udaipur is just as enchanting as the cities we’d already seen and a waterfront dinner in the gentle evening warmth, with lights twinkling and pleasure boats smoothly passing, was an absolute treat.

 

 

 

 

Our flight to Delhi was delayed, delivering us into this city of 18 million souls long after dark. The hotel – one of the typical glass and chrome creations – turned out to be awful. Grubby, poorly run and with a bizarre Internet access system that required a trip to reception for a new ID and password every four hours. Half the lights didn’t work, along with the fridge and kettle in our room. No-one was remotely interested in fixing either.

 

 

I’m tempted to continue, but I’d end up with more rant than post. If you’re planning to visit Delhi, let me know and I’ll give you the name of this place of awfulness, so that you can avoid it.

 

 

 

 

That said, the city flops between magnificent, wide, French-style tree lined boulevards and the usual hovels and street living we’d encountered elsewhere. Our guide ensured we saw the huge Jama Masjid mosque and enjoyed a cycle rickshaw ride through the old city’s Chandni Chowk bazaar en route to the Mughal-era Red Fort. From there, it was a brief stop at the India Gate, Humayun’s Tomb and as if to underscore the undeniable role English architect Edwin Lutyens played in the shaping of Delhi, lunch in a restaurant themed around his work.

 

The following day – our last – was spent re-visiting Chandni Chowk by tuk tuk and on foot, followed by a surprisingly good French meal at an almost impossible to find restaurant in an area called Moolchand.

 

We’d have done more, but a midnight hotel transfer awaited us, followed by an 04:00 flight to Dubai and two hours later, a connection to Cape Town.

 

 

 

 

Surprisingly, we were all sad to be leaving. India is truly as incredible the ad blurb suggests. Probably more so. In a month, we spoke only English, had no difficult street experiences, enjoyed the best of hospitality, experienced only helpfulness and at no time felt threatened by crime or bad people. We watched where we walked (vital for all the reasons you can think of), ate in what looked like the most hygienic of places and didn’t drink anything that didn’t come from a sealed container. I also managed to watch some of the Rugby World Cup and South Africa’s cricketers spoiling India’s cricketing day(s) on several occasions.

 

So, in short, it was bloody fab. There were lots of places we didn’t see and a return visit is clearly on the cards – you’ll doubtless be hearing about that from me, too.

 

What about the photography and the cameras? Simple; the Fuji X100T performed flawlessly. It was joined by my new Fuji X-Pro1 and 35mm f1.4 in Agra, which likewise delivered superb images from a bewildering variety of scenes, situations and sights. The files were manipulated – at least until the idiots at Adobe released the so-called Lightroom upgrade, which stopped pretty much everything on my MacBook Pro working while it was loaded – in the aforementioned PoS. I then used one of VSCO’s plug-ins to add various film simulations and effects. For a reason I have yet to work out, India and its population’s brilliant colours lent themselves especially well to this kind of post processing.

 

 

 

The X100T’s 23mm (35mm equivalent) lens is razor sharp at f2 and as good as anything that comes from Leica by f4. For street work, there isn’t much that will beat it. The interchangeable lens X-Pro1 gave me a little more reach with its 35mm (50mm equivalent) lens again setting standards for acuity. In the main, the light was good enough to shoot at a maximum ISO 400. Markets, alleys and after dark meant both cameras were used at up to ISO 1600, still at least a stop below their theoretical maximum.

 

I shot almost 4000 images with no misfires, blank frames or read errors. Now, all I need to do is sort them out and finish the editing process.

 

Thanks for reading.