We arrive at Ahmedabad at 4:50 am. The retiring rooms are full but we are told the restaurant will open at 6 am. Our good luck with train station restaurants comes to an abrupt end. At six, we go to the restaurant and are told they won't be ready to serve until 6:30. OK, at least we have a place to sit and wait. Nope, some petty bureaucrat asshole kicks us out. He says they need to "clean". When we return after 6:30, not a particle of dust has been disturbed from any of the tables. After all that waiting, the food we eventually receive is completely inedible.
Unfortunately, I could write volumes about the many jerks, from policemen to hotel and restaurant workers, who made our short stay in Ahmedabad unpleasant. I will try to spare the poor reader from the full extent of my whining. My sunny mood from Udaipur is almost completely evaporated.
The bulk of this day is spent getting my worried Sybil to a radiologist so she can have a mammogram X-Ray taken for a lump she has discovered on her breast. After much running around we are able to do this at the "X-Ray House."
We sleep at the Kamran Palace. My initial inclination is to write "(overpriced -- not recommended)." However, we went around and saw what else is available in Ahmedabad. The Kamran Palace (near the Relief Cinema) is about as good as it gets.
Dec 4. Another bad India day -- more jerks, traffic, noise, rip-offs and awful food. Strangely, even though we've had such a rotten time in Ahmedabad, I don't have such a bad impression of the city. First off, it is a real city, larger than most places we've seen and full of interesting architecture and bustling street activity. Unfortunately, the hassles involved in visiting generally outweigh its redeeming qualities.
I spot some interesting brand names among the many items offered for sale: "Scissors Cigarettes" (slices up your lungs?), "Gripe Water" -- for complaining babies, and "Monkey" brand "black tooth powder" (for making your teeth black as a monkey's?).
After a bemo driver takes us to the wrong place (and demands to be paid anyway) we wind up walking to the Calico Museum. This is supposed to be one of the best textile museums in the world and it may well live up to its billing. They have an amazing collection, excellently presented in a garden haveli setting. Our guide tended to editorialize too much about how Western culture has eroded Indian arts and crafts, but aside from that, our visit was a treat.
We have a good dinner at the Uddhar Restaurant, listing to the soundtrack for "Kutch Kutch Hota Hai" compete with the traffic noise outside. My "fixed lunch plate" was excellent and Sybil's "baked Florentine," made with a pineapple cheese sauce was "interesting."
Dec 5. Sybil tries unsuccessfully to get an edible breakfast at the ZK Restaurant (not recommended). Then we return to the Calico Museum with the hope of seeing the rest of their large collection. Oops! Sybil's watch is wrong (I never carry one) and the galleries we want to see are already closed for the day. We get some compensation with a tour of the gardens.
Next, we wander around the 15th century Jami Masjid mosque and the adjoining royal tombs. A gun-toting security guard ("not guard -- security," he says) relentlessly tries to squeeze us for baksheesh. We just smile and pretend we don't understand. When he asks what country we're from from. I answer "Bonaire," and Sybil goes on to describe the ABC Islands to him. He's completely uninterested (he only wants our money) but another man nearby asks us if we have Muslims there.
We buy some sodas at a nearby stand. The first two Mirandas the vendor pulls from his fridge and opens for us are frozen, and thus rejected. After finally receiving some unfrozen pop, I notice the vendor banging the caps back on the rejected bottles and returning them to the fridge to sell to someone else.
I strike up a conversation with a man who used to be a university professor. He is a Muslim and he vehemently rails against the Hindus at his former school, who he says sabotaged his career. He says he's had a case in court for years in an attempt to get his pension. Many of the Muslims we've chatted with in India have expressed a strong dislike of the discrimination they feel they are subjected to.
My birthday ends with another train ride through Hell. People fight below us and then try to eject us from our berths. The night is filled with voices and flashing lights. Still, we're alive and relatively healthy, so I offer prayers of thankfulness. I'm certainly thankful to be leaving Ahmedabad.