Blog

  • On the Road to the Golden City of Jaisalmer

    When dusk took hold we were barreling out through the outskirts of New Delhi slums. The evening breeze streaming through the windows cooled the muggy carriage air. I had no idea yet I was bound for Jaisalmer, it was a mere inkling of a future plan

    An elderly lady began reading over my shoulder, Young men were playing card games on the higher berths, leaning overhead to pass playing cards to one another. High-school kids jostled to take photographs with me on their mobile phones.

    As the night sets in, elaborate meals unfurl out of silver tiffin boxes and families sit around the carriage tables tucking into dhal, their fingers scooping mounds of rice.

    Escape from Dehli

    Delhi had been a bit of a blur. A sludge of memories – honking cars, stinking heat, sweet roadside chai, hazy jetlagged sleeping, a sprawling megacity. By the time my senses began to return, it already felt like time to get out.

    I was on my way to the desert city of Jaisalmer, departing from the hectic Old Delhi train station. Families laid sleeping across sheets of newspaper on the floor, a distinct aroma of spices and retched urine wafted through. A decrepit fan whirled lazily in the corner, providing a hint of a breeze through the otherwise stagnant air.

    The standby train ticket I had hoped for was full, so instead, I opted to reserve a seat on the evening carriage to Jaipur. Beginning an unplanned journey to a pink Rajasthan city 300km Southwest of Delhi, on the route toward Jaisalmer.

    Many more passengers crowded into the carriage. By the time the locomotive groaned and creaked into Jaipur, I had befriended a carriage full of old, curious, ladies. They asked why I would choose the third class carriage without air conditioning, but were more perplexed about why I travelled without a husband.

    The night passed quickly in this manner, and before I knew it we were pulling into Jaipur.

    I stumbled out into the warm night air, immediately surrounded by hoards of tuk-tuk drivers. I was questioning my decision to arrive into a new city, alone, at such a late hour.

    • Flowers and perfumes in Jaipur
    • Perfume bottles in Jaipur
    • Hanging saris Jaisalmer

    First, my arrival into the Pink City of Jaipur

    Over the coming days I wandered the old bazaars of Jaipur’s pink city with fervour. Stopping to chat with many people and to drink in as much from each moment as I could. With time, I came to understand more of this incredible culture, the one my grandmother left behind in the forties when she migrated to New Zealand. The land she never stopped talking about.

    I was surrounded by the intoxicating perfume of thousands of roses and marigolds woven into garlands. I stopped to check out a selection of flower oils in beautiful glass perfume decanters. The shop owner invited me to sit and drink chai with him as an old man did the rounds with an old copper teapot. We talked of religion and India and his perfume shop, a small, portable steel cabinet which was passed through his family for generations. The older man sitting beside was lacing roses onto threads. He stopped to drink tea with us and gave me a fragrant rose as a parting gift.

    Wandering the bazaars is one of the true delights of visiting India.

    Aromatic spices mingle with the stench of sewers and sizzling street food as you narrowly dodge roaming cows and eye up glittering saris, all through the choking heat of exhaust fumes. Nothing in the world will give you such an assault on all your senses at once, but it’s a worthy pursuit and an incredible adventure.

    Jaipur is also home to some of the most fascinating architecture, that draws crowds from all around India and beyond. The majestic Amber Fort, the Albert Hall, Hawa Mahal (Palace of the Winds) all call Jaipur home.

    • Tandoor and naan in Jaisalmer
    • Jaisalmer Street Food - Pakora and green chillis
    • A cow waiting outside a temple in Jaisalmer, India.
    • Snack cart India

    Railway Journey Through the Thar Desert bound for Jaisalmer.

    “Ma’am, ma’am – come quickly, visit my shop. Very good price for a very good friend. Where are you from? I have very nice trousers, just for you…”.

    The endless attention-seeking tactics are prolific in Jaipur, fed by the constant stream of tourists into the Golden Triangle. My patience wore thin, and my exhaustion from the busy city bustle won me over. I booked a ticket to Jaisalmer, a mystical sandstone city in the heart of the Thar desert.

    By the time the sun rose out the window of my breezy, dusty sleeper carriage, it was sand for miles out every window. We were well and truly in the midst of the Great Indian Desert. Looking over a mind-boggling 200,000 km2 of desert that spill out over across the border into Pakistan. Watching the cityscape of Jaisalmer appear out my window, I felt as though I’d awoke mid-dream in a far-off mythical land of sandcastles, date palms and camels. Wondering if perhaps I’d awoken in the narrative of Aladdin, and any appearance of Arabian princesses or flying carpets wouldn’t have felt at all out of place.

    Here we are, in the Golden City of Jaisalmer

    It was a new day, and I’d found myself in a fairytale city crafted almost entirely out of sandstone. A magical wonderland of ornate palaces and golden buildings as far as the eye can see.

    I was excited visit the palaces and wonders of this incredible golden city – the Rajmahal, Jaisalmer Fort, Parsvanath Jain Temple, Chandraprabhu Temple, the Patwonji ki Haveli and the Salim Singh-ki Haveli were all carefully circled on my map.

    I pushed my way through another sea of touts, tuk-tuk drivers, and camel-tour salesmen. I was looking for my driver, who would take me to reunite with an old friend of mine from back home. A familiar face who was also backpacking around the Indian subcontinent. He would be joining me for a few days of rooftop sleeping and fort exploring.

    Despite being the hottest place during the day, the rooftops of Jaisalmer transform into the most pleasant by night. This is especially true if a breeze happens to blow through. There’s something magical about sleeping under the stars in the desert, hearing the world go by around you and peeking out over the edges to see sleeping strewn across the nearby building tops, and cows nuzzling through trash piles for a midnight feast.

    Porridge was to be found everywhere, a rare treat that was most likely brought over by the British and stuck around even after they left. Each morning we would wander over to our new favourite cafe, where the owner would usher us into his special air-conditioned office to eat. He would lead us past the scattered diners, and though to a solitary table, away from the stinking heat of the day. My daily lassi and banana porridge supplemented with electrolyte sachets, a daily necessity in this desert heat.

    • Jaisalmer doorway
    • Painted goats India
    • Street cow, Jaisalmer

    Time to Move On

    Yet, despite my exuberant use of oral rehydration sachets, the heat began to wilt my brain, and I began to understand how mirages of oasis form in one’s mind. Work became more and more difficult, but none the less, I adored this city. It felt plucked straight out of Arabian nights, and each moment of wandering the golden streets, exploring the expansive fort, and listening to the dusk call to prayer over the mosque loudspeakers was magical.

    Money was running thin, and I needed somewhere cooler to focus on my work, and a job opportunity awaited me further north in Rishikesh – so , I departed sooner than I’d hoped.

  • Khuushuur in Mongolia (Making Mongolian Dumplings)

    I first discovered Khuushuur in a typical Ulanbataar restaurant. I sat and devoured while the snow fell outside and the rest of the world felt like it was tucked off a million miles away. Enough research had warned me of the local cuisine and prepared me to lower my expectations significantly.

    You see, Mongolia is not a country famed for its enticing cuisine. All the inhabited corners of the country are remote and with a climate that swings wildly between inhospitably cold and scorching hot. It makes sense that it’s difficult to grow fresh produce and that most of the diet is focused around the meat of hardy animals.

    Before arriving, I’d spent a long while sitting on a very long train journey thinking about what the food might be upon my arrival. I’d expected something more akin to neighbouring China. Yet Ulaanbaatar appears to take much more influence from nearby Russia, not only in the look and feel, but also the food. Borscht and sour cream complement the mostly stodgy, fried, meaty diet of dumplings and beef noodles.

    All kinds of Dumplings feature predominantly in Mongolian cuisine (thanks to China and Russia right on the doorstep) and everywhere I ate offered some variation on a dumpling.

    Yet, if you cast your mind away from the more unique of offal and fermented horse milk, Mongolia offers some superb comfort food suitable for even the picky eaters. Being such a frigidly cold country for a large part of the year, means that the food is generally high fat and meat content, often fried or preserved.

    Take, for example, khuushuur. Meaty, lightly spiced filling, wrapped in a golden fried pastry. A fried version of the more famous steamed Buuz dumpling. Sometimes with some potato inside, sometimes with a dollop of sour cream on the side. Each maker has their own special way of pleating and folding them, like a signature. A universally tasty, crispy, and comforting. Perfect for cold winter days. Of all the Mongolian foods I tried, this simple fried dumpling (which reminded me more of a crispy pie) was one of my favourites.

    Making Khuushuur at home

    When I was a child, my mother used to make us pies that although not fried in the same way, reminded me so much of khuushuur that I instantly wanted to make these for myself and have them again and again. As it turns out, it’s not at all difficult to make at home, and I have a recipe you can try yourself.

    Mongolian Khuushuur

    Khuushuur is a large, fried, meat dumpling popular across Mongolia. Wrapped in a golden pastry with a steaming meat inside, it’s a perfect comfort food for those bitterly cold Mongolian winters.

    Filling

    • 500 grams beef (mutton, or potatoes (or a combination) (either minced or finely diced for the meat. Finely diced or mashed for the potato.))
    • 1/2 onion (finely diced)
    • 2 cloves garlic (minced)
    • 1-2 teaspoons salt
    • 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
    • 1/2 teaspoon either dried marjoram or cumin (the choice is yours!)

    Pastry

    • 2.5 cups flour
    • 1/4 teaspoon salt
    • 1 cup water (enough to mix the dough)
    • vegetable oil (enough to fill a frying pan to around 2cm)

    To Serve

    • 1/2 cup sour cream
    • 1 wedge cabbage (Shredded)
    • 1 beetroot (Shredded)

    Making the pastry

    1. Mix together the flour, salt, and enough of the water to create a kneadable dough.
    2. Knead dough until it’s elastic and smooth, then set it aside to rest for 15 mins

    Preparing the filling

    1. In a large bowl, mix together the meat (and/or potato) along with the onion, garlic, salt, pepper, and herbs/spices. If the mix is too dry, add a little water.

    Putting it all together

    1. Once the dough is rested, split the dough into four pieces, then cut each piece in half again. Roll each piece of dough into circles, leaving the edges a little thinner than the middle.
    2. Working quickly to prevent the dough from drying out and becoming difficult to work with, hold the pastry circle in the palm of your hand and spoon a dollop of the filling into one side of the circle, leaving plenty of room around the edges to seal everything together.
    3. Fold the circle in half in your hand, using fingers and palm, so that the edges come together creating a half moon shape. Squeeze out the air and flatten the filling as you work around, pinching the edges closed and tucking them under as you go.
    4. Repeat the process for each khuushuur

    Cooking

    1. Add around 2cm oil in a frying pan and heat until hot.
    2. Fry two to three of the pastries at a time, cooking until they are a golden brown. This usually takes around 2 minutes per side.

    To Serve

    1. Mix together shredded cabbage and beetroot, along with a small dollop of sour cream to create a salad.
    2. Serve the pastries alongside the cabbage and beetroot salad, along with the remainder of the sour cream on the side.

    Khuushuur is a large, fried, meat dumpling popular across Mongolia. Wrapped in a golden pastry with a steaming meat inside, it’s a perfect comfort food for those bitterly cold Mongolian winters.

    Main Course
    Asian, Mongolian
    Mongolian, Pastry

    LIKE IT? PIN IT!

  • In Mexico, a return to the city of Oaxaca

    Descending into Mexico City for the first time was one of the most surreal moments of my life at that time. It made impressions that would change the course of my life in profound ways.

    Oaxaca, Love at First Taste

    At just 26 years old, despite working as a flight attendant, I had never strayed beyond the South Pacific.

    I sat spellbound, watching the streetlights out of the plane window as they sprawled out further than I could imagine. Living in a small city on the other side of the world, where a drive across the full expanse of the city took under an hour, provided a sharp contrast.

    Mexico had captivated me for the longest time – the colours, the sounds, the smells, and the music, but most importantly was always the food. I dreamed of sinking my teeth into fresh tortillas and devouring bright, unusually shaped fruit. I yearned to discover the delights of Mole pooling over black beans seasoned with avocado leaf.

    One day, my Mexican dreams came true.

    • Potted plant with colourful building in Oaxaca, Mexico
    • House in central Oaxaca
    • View down a small lane, Oaxaca.

    First Stop – Mexico City

    Jolted from my slumber by the sound of Spanish chatter out in the corridor, I awoke in my small, central-city hotel room that first morning. I had arrived late the night before, muddling through broken Spanish with my taxi driver as we navigated the streets of Mexico City’s Distrito federal – DF to the locals. Despite being late, the streets were buzzing with life, and here I was, wide-eyed and fizzing. I had finally arrived in one of the most interesting & celebrated culinary destinations in the world.

    A twist of fate and a last-minute competition entry is what first flung me into Mexico, I was joining as a part of a flagship food tour. The four of us set off, guided by a Mexican local who enraptured me with tales and mythology. She provided welcome glimpses into the past and present realities of Mexican life, language, love, and the culture of a country I’d long been in love with, yet never set foot on.

    Each day brought new and delicious possibilities. With each tortilla, each pozole, each margarita, even each tiptoe into the unchartered territories of crunchy chapulines, I fell more and more in love. I found my nights spent plotting and scheming to move here, to live out my days in the colourful streets of Southern Mexico. Days spent eating endless configurations of maize off a smokey comal, evenings passed exploring the mezcalerias.

    A Dream to Return, Realised.

    On my return to New Zealand, days, months, and eventually years passed. The dream of living in Mexico still a tiny spark in an overcrowded mind. I often found my mind wandering back to the sounds, aromas, and vibrancy of Latin America. I had left the continent assuring those who would listen that I would be back to live here. No matter what it took, I’d find a way. There was no doubt in my mind.

    The collectivo ride from Xoxocotlán airport sparked nostalgia in me, as well as an unsettling churning in my belly. Would it live up to my expectations? Had my nostalgia warped and moulded Mexico into an unattainable dreamland?

    In many ways this city had barely shifted over the past five years I’d been away. The wide road in from the city lined with cantinas and taco trucks, taxis honked on the highway and the outskirts of the city dotted with derelict auto shops, and billboards promoting everything from corona through to lucha libre.

    We wove through into the Centro Historico where wide boulevards gave way to cobbled roads and cacti, blue buildings with striking orange doorways, storefronts of every colour with rooftops of terracotta potted plants.

    • Oaxacan Cafe
    • Views from Xochimilco
    • Pink tortilleria building oaxaca
    • Snake street art oaxaca

    A Land of Many Cultures & Traditions

    Oaxaca is a cultural, artisanal, and gastronomic heart of Mexico. The region brings together sixteen indigenous cultures, the remains of an ancient civilization, and the many languages, foods, traditions that come along with that.

    The historic footprint here is enormous. The cultures here have survived better than most in Mexico, bringing an incredible richness. However, not without their own hardships too. Oaxaca is one of the poorest states in the country, and many live meagre lives dotted around the sierras. Lives that have suffered considerably at the hands of natural disasters, poverty, and discrimination.

    It is the cultural diversity of Oaxaca that makes this mountain town quite so special.

    Settling into Oaxacan Life

    I transitioned from a starry-eyed tourist to a temporary local, savouring chocolate de agua and Quesadillas de Flor de Calabaza for breakfast each morning at a small local restaurant. The crumbling exterior and plastic chairs gave no sign to the delights it held inside.

    The fridge was stocked with second-hand soda bottles full of homemade aqua frescas in every exotic flavour. To the right of the counter, an old lady perched in the wide open entrance sits curled over a large, round comal.

    The fragrance of cooking tortillas was inescapable. I relished every moment spent watching the frothy cacao whipped into the steaming water. I sat tearing into quesadillas, with the queso Oaxaca stretched between my fingers, revealing the zucchini flower inside.

    • Oaxaca street art xochimilco
    • Oaxaca street art two ladies
    • Oaxaca bungalow house

    A Beautiful Home in Xochimilco

    We moved into a two-storied bungalow, set in the most traditional of gorgeous Mexican neighbourhoods. Cobbled streets and colourful facades built up along the edge of a river accentuated the neighbourhood’s beauty. In the morning you could hear the clack-clack of the weavers crafting rugs amidst the call of elote vendors peddling hot corn from their handcarts. I was in paradise.

    My return was everything I had hoped, and then a whole lot more. We rediscovered all my favourite spots – the carne hall lined with dangling meats served with piles of tortillas, salsas, herbs, and lime. The Zocalo, Oaxaca’s eternally alive town square. Punctuated by a spired cathedral, and flanked by restaurants serving margaritas to outdoor tables. The perfect spot for people watching, complete with live mariachi and pick-pocketing children selling chewing gum.

    So much was the same it barely felt five years had passed in my absence. Still a haven of delicious flavours, an explosion of sounds, parades and fireworks. Still a small city filled with sweet, generous people. I left the first time suspecting six days wasn’t enough time for somewhere so wonderful, and I left the second knowing that neither was six months.