Day 94-96: Nashik — IndefinitelyOOO

*"My god I was happy not to be in Vapi"*

It’s fair to say Nashik was a frivolous addition on our India itinerary. A confluence of right time, nice wine! I’d done a bit of research... of course I had… into India’s burgeoning wine scene and Nashik was its centre with five or six vineyards all happily nestled together in Mahatrastra – just one up from Gujurat – a dry state – hardly seems fair.

We’d coincided our trip with Sulafest – Sula Vineyard’s, the most well-known of the wineries, - 11th annual music festival staged in their grounds complete with Amphitheater! It was quite the palaver to buy tickets and organise for us to camp there – not being residents and all – and we’d gone in deaf as it were, ahead of any of the ‘acts’ being announced. But in fairness the wine was the primary pull.

Having had our interest piqued by this festival when we booked back in November we then did some research and asked around for other festivals and gigs but it seemed Sulafest was something of a calendar highlight. The phrase slim pickings was never uttered.

The days before the festival were spent touring the other vineyards of Soma and York and whilst some blends cater to Indians extremely sweet tooth many of the wines we tried were very palatable indeed. And helped to fill the Cava shaped hole in my life at least momentarily.

As it turned out our 2 days of sampling prior to checking in to our campsite meant that all we really fancied was a beer but no one seemed to mind.

So in spite of the near unknown (to us) line up the same excitement percolated in us as we trundled from our tent towards the sound of music. The fact we were in flip flops and not wellies also added a certain joyousness to the occasion.

It might have been because we had the EDM tent to ourselves on day one but day two brought a last minute decision which started a seat of the pants chain reaction…

The only band we really wanted to see wasn’t on until the afternoon slot … post our scheduled train departure. But seeing Jack’s deflation at the news The Beat and Ranking Roger (senior AND junior) of Mirror in the Bathroom renown were going to be missed was Ska too much to bear (geddit). So we decided to stay and board instead in Vapi - four stops into the journey and Gujurat's most industrialised city. Easy right?

Having arranged to leave our rucksacks at the festival gate and thanks to Mr Roger's prompt set finish we hit our marks to leave and pick up our Ola taxi as painstakingly planned - leaving 4 hours to take a, well 4 hour car trip to the station... what could possibly go wrong... Well, everything as it turned out. Firstly no Ola. Then a very apologetic Ola driver at the back of a very long queue into the festival for its finale. Then as we waited, around a dozen tuk tuk drivers all arguing amongst themselves insisting and debating that the journey could not possibly, under any circumstances, be done in that time. Policeman on the gate who gave us chairs to sit on as we waited forlornly agreed. At the point of our driver arriving we had 3 hours to do a 4 hour journey. Did we even set off in blind hope or stay and watch the rest of the festival, where there was also quite a lot of wine? Blind hope won the day and we set off on what can only be described as the taxi ride equivalent to Le Mans. A journey which took half the normal time at white knuckle, tyre screeching (and lifting slightly) speed... Needless to say our driver got a massive tip and hugs from both Jack and I with the requisite amount of gratitude at having arrived in time and also alive. He also insisted on taking selfies with us to help illustrate the tale to his friends – it being unbelievable otherwise as every tuk tuk driver and policeman in Nashik can attest to.

There was of course the distinct prospect that if we missed the train we'd have to spend the night in Vapi, a city we'd never come across until a matter of hours previously when it won the prize as the nearest station that our train also stopped at. As we approach it from a distance, despite our physics bending forward motion, the car became engulfed in the thickest smog I have ever seen. Everywhere around us was enveloped in the grey which hung above this place. A place I later googled and discovered had the unsightly honour of being the 7th most polluted city in the world.

Of course the train was late anyway but we were nevertheless relieved when a night in one of Vapi’s guesthouses appeared to be off the cards and we boarded the train a few stops later than planned… only to arrive in our carriage to be told they’d sold our beds because we didn’t get on at our original point of departure... I see.

My pleading eyes (helpfully also streaming from the smog) and very vocal protestations of ignorance at one stage looked like cutting no ice and a stay in Vapi with no onward train ticket e.g. no likelihood of leaving any time soon came back into abominable view. Plus we’d miss the safaris we’d advance booked – an afterthought that heightened matters further. The train was moments from pulling away without us on it when the guard had a change of heart informing us we could travel but we’d have to make do with one bunk between us until 4am – fine came our without hesitation cries. In total we occupied three bunks during the overnight trip – some wedged together, some buried under other people’s bedding (Jacko) but get to Gir we did. My god was I happy not to be in Vapi.

With huge distances to cover, there are consequences for missing a train so parts of the itinerary have been pretty rigid. We did build in some room for flexibility, however and so are able to take an unexpected detour.

We've developed a taste for domestic wine (again, it might actually be foul but with no access to imported reds and whites, it has substituted perfectly well.) For the sake of variety, we decide to take a trip to the Nashik valley, India’s wine country.

Much is made of a particular combination of searing heat, occasional monsoons and mineral-rich soil in this region. This, combined with improving viniculture techniques learned in Europe (Moët & Chandon have bought up a huge swathe of the valley and other established firms are following suit) means that the quality of Indian wine has much improved over the last fifteen years or so. Apparently. So, wine tasting in Nashik it is.

While planning this diversion, much to our surprise we discover that Sula, the largest domestic vineyard, whose name we have seen on almost every bottle we’ve bought, are hosting a music festival at the time we’re there; Sula Fest. This is unexpected. Bands just don’t tour in India. A first glance at the lineup reveals no one we recognise except, amazingly, The Beat (80s 2-tone band from Birmingham and a personal favourite. Check out their ska cover of Tears Of A Clown. Brilliant.) That decides it and we book tickets and camping.

All in all, our trip round the vineyards is delightful, and completely familiar. We could be in Spain or Italy. There are a few cultural differences, though. The wine is necessarily younger than we're used to and Indians have a very sweet tooth which is reflected in the blends with the sticky dessert wines disproportionately popular. Red is served with a chill on it, as in parts of Spain, which makes sense - ‘room temperature’ means something very different here. The local vintners are very passionate and seem to know their stuff (to me anyway. I can’t honestly claim much wine expertise.) They all stress, though, that a wine drinking culture is still in its infancy in India. Helen and I are the only Westerners here and when the group is divided up for the tastings, were embarrassed to discover we’re the only ones to sign up for the full flight while everyone else settles for sipping only a glass or two.

The festival itself is a blast, though many of the acts are awful. The Beat and their near-original lineup really deliver, though, despite looking every day of their thirty five years on the road. Lead singer Rankin’ Roger is deep into his fifties but as energetic as his son, Rankin’ Junior who he shares vocals with. We pogo and moonstomp along with the band and have a great night. The crowd are in great spirits, boozing and dancing, none more so that the very drunk but happy guy we kept meeting whose only words were "Beard Bros!"

We are in equally good moods. For a while... We stay late to watch the music, planning to miss our train's departure but take a car and catch up with it in Vapi, a little more than 100 miles away. It’s an important train to catch, overnight to Sasan Gir in faraway Gujarat but successfully navigating the rails these last few months has made us confident / complacent. Leaving the festival at the end of the evening is near-impossible, the badly maintained country roads snarled up with festival traffic. Time ticking away, we sit on our bags by the exit while a succession of taxi drivers and policemen tell us that making our journey to meet the train in four hours is physically impossible. We have nowhere to spend the night and no way forward. The police, condescending but friendly and amused at our idiocy bring us chairs and I make a series of frantic phone calls until I find a driver who insists it can be done. Hoots of derision and an insistent shaking of heads from the assembled experts.

With little choice, we plough on and hint at generous compensation if our driver can get us there on time. Our options are running out as the town we’re hoping to meet our train is some industrial nightmare where finding late night accommodation will be challenging. On reflection, suggesting a big tip might have been a mistake as, once were through the local gridlock, the driver floors it and starts to throw the car around the perilous bends. We drift into every corner, the back end sliding out while he smashes through the gears. I’m normally pretty sanguine in the back of cars at speed but this is genuinely scary. We barrel through villages with dogs and pedestrians scattering in the headlights. No concessions are made to speed bumps and we leave the ground every time we ramp one. Helen and I are ashen-faced in the back, scrabbling for seatbelts - there are none - and I try to keep my eyes off the speedo as the needle passes numbers we’ve never got close to before in India. After a while it becomes too much and, despite there being so much at stake, I ask him to slow down. He smiles and shrugs and eases off for a minute or two before cranking up the speed again, passing convoys of honking trucks on the inside, wheels scrabbling for purchase in the gravel, inches away from the deep ditches that line the roads. I’m not too proud to say I was petrified and ask again to ease off but to little avail.

True to his word, though after nearly four hours of white-knuckle terror, Asian Colin McRae screeches to a halt by the main entrance to the station and shaking we pile out, thrusting bundles of notes at our driver and discover that our train is an hour delayed. Because of course it is.

We loiter on the platform as so often before and look forward to bedding down for the night. On boarding, however, we find out that our bunks have been given away to others on the waiting list. We blunder around in the dark whispering amongst the snoring passengers as the train departs, exhausted and a little at a loss as to our next move. We meet the conductor who has no English but takes pity on us. In that, we’re lucky; we’ve seen people thrown off before. The night is spent shuffling around berths as they empty and then moving on again as reserved passengers board. Sometimes the pair of us share an upper bunk - no easy feat - and sometimes we get to nest in the tangled linen of a recent occupant, still warm. We’ve travelled longer journeys but none as wearying as this.

Still, it’s all worthwhile as the next morning we descend into the right sun and broad horizons of Gir National Park, where the lions live.