Hunting for my own Best Exotic Marigold Hotel
Intrepid Lady Sorrel Bentinck sets out on a solo trip across India at the tender age of 73
IT WAS time for an adventure and to think about my future. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel movie had whetted my appetite, portraying an India that exerts a particular charm for the more mature traveller who wants excitement, and also some time for contemplation.
At 73, I shared the anxieties of Dame Judi Dench’s character Evelyn in the film: I felt jaded and boring, and wanted some fun.
That is why I chose India. It is anarchic, vibrant and full of colour – in contrast, Britain is grey and drab. India has so many reminders of the glory days of the Raj, and of the wild excesses of its ruling classes. I thought it would be a fascinating place to visit.
Just before I left for my trip there were reports of rampant swine flu, horrific attacks on women, and of electoral unrest, resulting in vicious eruptions of violence. All good reasons to stay at home. Was I scared? Not really, or I wouldn’t have gone.
I obtained my visa in Edinburgh after a bit of a palaver about my name. Through some bureaucratic idiocy my passport has, under ‘Surname’, Lady Sorrel Bentinck, and under ‘Given names’ Sorrel Deirdre, so accordingly my name was Sorrel Deirdre Lady Sorrel Bentinck.
My trains and hotels were all pre-booked, which was a good decision. Other than that, I made no plans. My family came to see me off, and they were more apprehensive than I was. The last time I had travelled alone, I had stumbled across smugglers in Cambodia who nearly shot me.
I flew via Dubai and the transfer there was awful – the plane was late, I couldn’t find the gate for the connecting flight to Mumbai, and I ended up being the last on one, near to tears, feeling stupid and that this venture was a huge mistake. This was compounded by there being no taxi from the hotel to collect me when I arrived at Mumbai. Jet-lagged and with no money (one cannot get rupees in Britain), I finally managed to get to the hotel and it was awful – the sheets were dirty, and the staff uninterested when I complained about the taxi. But too tired to move on, I insisted that the sheets were changed immediately and stayed put. Breakfast was also dire – a
pile of hard white toast – but this was the exciting first day of my adventure so off I set, sidestepping the rubbish on the pavements, to get a ferry to Elephanta island in the bay of Mumbai. The island is renowned for its ancient caves, many of which have carved sculptures.
Avoiding the attentions of guides offering to show me phallic symbols and ‘other things’, I roamed around the caves.
But on my way back to the ferry I was holding two banana skins and looking for a bin when I was confronted by an evil-eyed, manic monkey. I yelled at it, and tried to be frightening. It took no notice and hurled itself at me with scratchy claws, bared pointed teeth and screeches.
Horrified, I threw the skins away, meaning them to land on the ground. Instead they fell into a local vendor’s tray of rings and bracelets, which the monkey grabbed along with the skins. The owner was sweet and kind, and wouldn’t take any money to pay for her losses. Red with fear, heat and embarrassment, I slunk off back to the ferry.
From Mumbai I travelled overnight to Bhuj in the state of Gujarat. Trains in India are extraordinary. Some have up to 24 coaches, and if you get on the wrong one you are trapped as they are locked upon departure. It