Chugging through Maharashtra aboard the Deccan Odyssey

BY JIMMY IM

Wes Anderson’s, The Darjeeling Limited, may have glamorized the exoticism of a cross-country train journey through India, but the train itself undoubtedly needed a facelift. Sure the Whitman boys may have had their own beds, pain killers, and each other, but throw in A/C, gourmet cuisine and a personal butler, and you’ve got yourself a ride.

Sans venomous snakes, I hopped onboard the Deccan Odyssey, India’s premiere and only luxury train that traverses the state of Maharastra. Not only is train travel the best transportation option for exploring important attractions, it also comes with perks. Guests experience a variety of destination themes packaged in one journey: cultural villages with cheap shopping, centuries-old World Heritage sites and popular beaches along the Arabian.

Arriving a day early in Mumbai (point of disembarkation), I had just enough time to squeeze in the Prince of Whales museum, Gandhi’s living quarters, historic Elephanta Island, chaotic street markets, and the touted restaurants of the buzzing Intercontinental Hotel. Constantly jostled among 18 million locals and dodging seemingly just as many taxis, I didn’t find it hard to leave the city.

It’s important to note that while India is home to some of the most important sights in the world, it’s unfortunately not the most gay-friendly destination. My experience, from traveling the state of Maharashtra, was to follow the “don’t ask, don’t tell” rule of thumb. “Openly gay” may be frowned upon in most areas but won’t incite a riot, by any means. I certainly didn’t come across any problems as a gay traveler in India.

The knots in my back loosened as soon as I boarded the Deccan Odyssey and met my butler, Harish. Dolled up in traditional warrior garb with turban to boot, he escorted me to my well-appointed cabin, then walked me through the train equipped with a business center with Internet, conference/DVD room, bar, gym, spa, and two dining carts.

Within a handful of hours, we were swallowed by rural India, acquainted with rolling valleys, vast fields, and the occasional sari-dressed woman bearing a child in arms. I was soothed by the deceleration of India’s pace as we chugged through the Deccan Plateau and into the morning’s first stop in Ratnagiri. An unspoiled resort town, Ratnagiri comprises mango fields, and fishing villages with unsurprisingly not much else. After transient tourist stops on our supplemented coach bus, we were let loose on Ganpatipule beach with options abound: camel rides, bullcart sightseeing, henna artistry, certified astrologers, and palmist. Thirty minutes and a birth chart later, I sprawled on the unspoiled shore with a Kingfisher beer until stripped from my beachside rapture.

On day three our 16-guest group participated in some of India’s most underrated activities, like lazy backwater cruises and historic fort exploration in Sindhudurg, before somehow finding ourselves on another beach. I had no complaints, not even with the traditional Aryuvedic four-hand massage offered at Tarkarli Beach resort. The spa services were in the womb of a large fishing boat, treatment menu extensive. Detoxification is a main objective in Aryuveda, so I wasn’t surprised with the intense pressure of the skilled Indian masseurs. I almost requested a pillow to bite, but they finally surrendered me to the concluding holistic mud exfoliation before releasing me to the city of Sawantwadi. Under the World Heritage umbrella for its Royal Palace and unique wadas (houses), this scenic city is known for its delicate handicrafts of sculptures and woodwork. A thorough cooking demonstration at the outdoor performing arts center preceded a puppet show and traditional Indian dances by young locals (of which the boys seemed quite spent from hours of cricket across the field). Dusk unleashed blood-thirsty mosquitoes, indicating (for me) the show was over, although my ambiguous fascination for the Bollywoodish dance will never be compromised.

The only dance I found in Goa, our next destination, was the bohemian strut of Euro/American backpackers frolicking 17 miles of India’s most pristine beaches. Backpackers dig the cheap eats, booze, handicrafts, and carefree nature of Goans. Despite the hedonistic bent of this retreat, a detour to Old Goa, which introduced Catholicism to the state (the Portuguese settled here in the 16th century), was in order. Awe-inspiring remnants of the Church of St. Augustine, its tower still rising high in the sky triumphantly, make the area as unique as its religious history. Nearby is the 400-year-old Basilica De Born Jesus, where the decomposed body of Saint Francis Xavier—one of the most important saints ever—remains displayed in a tomb with side glass panels.

If you’re not too wiped out from the day’s excursion, grab a prime seat back on the train to witness cascading waterfalls as the locomotive ascends the tracks into the mountains.

Wrestling fans will appreciate the ancient city of Kolhapur, birthplace of the “sport.” Kolhapur also marked the beginning of legendary Chhatrapati Shivaji’s Maharaja royal empire. If you can stomach their incredibly lavish history showcased in the new palace museum, it shouldn’t be a problem trying a complimentary cupful of milk pumped straight from a buffalo’s udder while you wait streetside (these milk “stands” are ubiquitous and a Kolhapur specialty).

As the hot Indian sun fizzed behind the mountains, I treated myself to a massage and relaxed in the steam room before exploring Pune, an emerging IT capital but renowned for introducing yoga to the world. I brushed up my haggling skills at Fashion Street, the bargain market. With handicrafts and silk scarves as inexpensive as $3, it was a good idea I brought an empty Kipling suitcase.

The farther we traveled into the heart of the Deccan Plateau, the more “exotic” we became to the locals, our presence rousing swarms of kids who wanted their pictures taken with us and street hawkers who could smell us from miles away. The concentration of this unusual sense of paparazzi was strongest in Aurangabad, a history-rich city and the base of Maharastra’s largest fort Daulatabad. A striking, 12th-century fortress, Daulatabad is a massive and intricate architectural wonder harboring commanding views from as low as the several tunnels or as high as the tower.

What you can’t see from Daulatabad, though, are the Ellora Caves, a World Heritage site that comprises 34 caves carved between 350 and 700 A.D. Ellora’s most popular cave is number 34 dedicated to the famous Lord Shiva and the biggest manmade monolith structure in the world. The span of 150 years saw 200,000 tons of rock chipped away to create this phenomenon.

Perhaps I was a little spoiled from the weeklong pampering but I couldn’t resist the “sedan chair” as soon as we arrived at the Ajanta Caves. Four porters on either side of my seat attached to thick wooden poles eagerly became my “vehicle” for cave-hopping Maharashtra’s most impressive site.

The remote Buddhist caves originate as early as 2 B.C. and feature the oldest paintings in the world, so there was no doubt I spent hours marveling at the preserved artwork on the cave walls and ceilings in several gutted out temples. They remained unnoticed until 1819 when British officers stumbled upon them during a tiger hunt, making the history of these caves much more profound.

We were then ushered over to Nashik, one of the four ancient cities of India (founded 150 A.D.) to admire the Sita Gumpha. The underground caves of this temple are approximately 3500 years old and Lord Shiva’s place of worship, clearly one of the most important temples in India, perhaps the world, but just as inspiring as the other attractions. Still, no matter how much I loved all the sites, I always looked forward to returning to the air-conditioned comfort of the Deccan Odyssey, sharing my stories with Harish, popping my malaria pills and appreciating the aesthetics of Maharashtra as the train chugged into the night.

For more information on the Deccan Odyssey, visit: www.maharashtratourism.gov.in.